Credit: What It Truly Means To Be an American.

April 24, 2006

Cautioning myself.

I didn’t have credit until really late in life. Right when Soul Coughing became a major label band, I was 24, and some manager or other was always co-signing an AmEx or something. Then evenually I was just too stoned to bother.
Now I have credit; I am officially an entity in the eyes of Experian. (it’s kind of bizarre to do a credit check on yourself and be told you basically don’t exist) I’m calling up my credit card companies to get modest increases (MODEST, I tell you) for expenses incurred in moving to Brooklyn. I must keep reminding myself: THIS DOES NOT MEAN YOU GET FREE MONEY. THIS DOES NOT MEAN YOU GET FREE MONEY. THIS DOES NOT MEAN YOU GET FREE MONEY.
What luxury problems we have in America. When I was in Africa, I gave my camera away to this guy named Menges, who could support his entire family by taking wedding pictures with it. His rent, on a small room in a sort of multi-family compound in the suburbs of Asmara, is $5 a month. He and his three kids–and other on the way–live in that one room. Fucking hell, we all should thank God for our credit card debt.