I’ll have to establish daily runner rapport with these men so I’ll feel comfortable “tripping” in front of them and expecting their assistance. To be continued.

In my personal money-saving travels (read: daily life) I’ve noticed a very popular hot dog establishment offering a “recession special.” This place has a so-bad-it’s-good thing going, plus all men love hot dogs because they’re allowed to.

I am delighted upon arrival to find the outpost plastered with Obama-supporting posters providing me an interesting conversation starter beyond, “so how do you like your dog?”

Lee Katzman, a be-speckled red head from Long Island, likes his with beans and sour kraut. “Nah, it’s just cheap and quick,” he says when I ask if he’s here to support change we can believe in. I don’t like anything cheap and quick, least of all change.

(Run day three: I boldly wave at U Chicago Hoodie. We’ve passed each other three times now. I believe him to be The One because we’ve passed each other three times now.)

This cheap food idea seemed promising, but truly highbrow men can be picky. I switch tactics and go to the most expensive organic market in my area. It has five tasting stations offering hearty options that, if combined, could serve as a free meal.

Once there I load my basket with items that might be conversation-worthy to a man: ostrich egg, three racks of lamb, the biggest knife they sell, etc.

As suspected, I bump into the same guy on my second tasting of the free-range chicken meatballs. He looks like Clive Owen in a tasteful bomber jacket. I smile and shift my man basket into his view. Nothing.

But not five minutes later, we’re both back for another taste! Shocked I say, “Ha! Looks like we should buy a package and cook dinner together some time!”

He says, “Haha,” and walks away.

Tester woman says, “Wow,” and offers me a fourth meatball.

(On day six U Chicago beats me to a “hello.” I am almost fall accidentally and way ahead of schedule.)

I was striking out for the typical female reason – assuming men think like women. They’re not carefully clipping coupons and shopping wholesale. They’re probably spending more money to replace the money they lost.

And so I went where, apparently, no fedora-clad woman with a moleskin notebook has gone before, an Off Track Betting center.

It was in fact 100% men, but ¾ were 65 plus and wearing those winterized denim jackets with the fuzzy white material at the collar. Deal breaker.

Then in the far right corner, staring at me like you might a baby you found alone in a bar, I noticed two guys in quite nice pea coats.

“Hi, I’m doing a little research,” I mustered, “do you think you could talk me through how this whole thing works?”

Dave K. (26, accountant) and Andy R. (25, actuary) politely gave me the 101. “So, trying gambling to make some extra cash in the light of these hard times?” I asked Andy because he was better looking. “No,” Dave rudely answered for him, “He’s a gambling addict.”  Right. 

I chatted with four men among five midtown headhunting firms, but decided unemployed does not a promising start make. In the pre-tour holding room of my local top ten-business school were at least ten men of various ages and nationalities. None were my type, but I’m scheduled for a full info-session next week. And in the Financial Planning section of The New York Public Library’s Rose Reading Room I counted three attractive men who were not (obviously) homeless. Careful table placement could prove very effective in that environment.

Wash U and I continue to build toward an entire sentence exchange. When I last saw him he was wearing expensive new running shoes and has switched to the latest iPod, so either he hasn’t been affected or this really is a fake recession. I’ll take either.