Ok, So I’m Broke and Homeless

I’ve been reading a fantastic book by Timothy Ferriss called ‘The 4-Hour Work Week.’ I knew it was for me when I read the title. I’ve never seen a book that so perfectly epitomized my dedication to gainful employment. Ferriss asks you to examine and write out the worst case scenario if you lost everything (financially) in pursuit of your loftiest dreams. The purpose of this exercise is to prove that once your fears are clearly defined, they are much easier to deal with.

Does not suit me

                                                                                                                                                                   

As horrible as it sounds, even the dire prospect of financial ruin holds a romantic appeal to me. Then again, I’ve always had a romantic/hobo-ish nature. Even so, I would hope that I’d be able to see the shit-storm coming right before it hit the proverbial fan and be thus able to escape with at least a few bucks.

This is where it gets fun in my fantasies. First the Brazilian and the Swede start slow dancing… Sorry, wrong fantasy. Ok, first I’d use Priceline.com to find the cheapest airfare and fly my poor ass to Costa Rica. Once there, I’d buy a bunch of used or ‘found’ surf boards, find a piece of cardboard, borrow a magic marker, and start my very own surf school. Since I’d be the least shifty looking of the available local instructors, all the tourists would flock to me.

Paradise suits me perfectly

                                                                                                                                                                      

I’d have all of my students lock their valuables in my safely padlocked and hidden beer cooler. If I ‘lost’ any students (it happens often in CR) due to riptide, shark attack, or because I forgot about them while catching a killer wave in, then that would only improve my bottom line. I’d build a shelter out of my surfboards and palm fronds every night and sleep like a baby who’s drank 17 cheap Central American beers. I’d only ever have to buy my first beer in the local tourist bars. After I began recounting tales of fortune followed by misfortune, followed by multiple surfing tragedies where I’d lost all of my students on a single day, I’m pretty sure drinks would be on whoever I was talking to. My legend would grow. Everyday I’d enjoy fish cooked on an open fire, along with a medley of fresh fruits pilfered from the trees.

When surf was down, I’d lead tourists on expeditions into Manuel Antonio National Park, pointing out the sloths, toucans, dart frogs, and monkeys. I’d also be protecting them from the monkeys, since I have a way with monkeys. I would collect a fee and some very generous tips. Within months I’d open an office and cater to wealthy Americans looking for the adventure of a lifetime in the wilds of Costa Rica. In two years I’d be flush again, and everything would be back to normal. Except the dead tourists would probably still be dead. 

If for some insane reason none of that worked out, I’d have plenty of other options to survive and/or prosper………

– Go to India. Become a slumdog millionaire.

– Kill Kato Kaelin. Take over his life.

– Find a celebrity who has a posse opening for a witty sidekick. Be willing to bust a cap in an ass. Or cut a bitch.

– Become Tim Gunn’s pool boy.

A shitty job

                                                                                                                                                               

– Marry Elizabeth Taylor.

– Write a book about positive thinking using New Age techniques and pretending to use quantum theory. That shit works man.

– Charge to help people become ‘rapture ready.’

– Open a pet rescue service for people who are waiting for the rapture. All fees to be paid up-front.

–  Move to the UK. Find a girl, any girl, and get her pregnant. We’ll get a house, free food, and a monthly stipend to be used on necessities like beer and cigarettes.   

– Adopt Leona Helmsley’s dog.

– Crash wedding receptions, wakes, bar mitzvahs, and Shriners parties for free food and alcohol. And to make friends. 

– Sell Paris Hilton coke. Blackmail Paris Hilton.

– Have sex with Tom Cruise. Blackmail Tom Cruise.

– Write a book about adolescent vampires.

– Find Raymond Babbitt, Ben Mezrich, or Will Hunting. Go to Vegas. 

– Get on Big Brother. Write an e-book about how to get on Big Brother.

-Get a job as Ellen DeGeneres’s official strap-on.

A nice, steady job

                                                                                                                                              

– Bet against the Pirates, the Lions, the Raiders, and the Clippers. Repeat as necessary.

– Reread Catch Me if You Can and Matchstick Men. Become a con artist.

– Buy a Ronald Reagan mask, rob banks, and become an adrenaline junkie. Follow the endless summer. 

– Run a Ponzi scheme on other derelicts.

– Move in with illegal immigrants and teach them English in exchange for a spot on the floor and a nightly meal.

– Write a book about an adolescent sorcerer.

– Offer to kill the ‘I’m a Mac’ guy for Bill Gates.

– Move to Boston. Accuse a priest of molesting me. Settle out of court.

– Move to St. Pete Florida and buy a tent.

– Get a job as Lindsay Lohan’s ‘keeper.’

An exciting job

                                                                                                                                                         

– Write a book about how to become a successful bum.

– Go on Oprah and tell my story.

See, everything will work out just fine!