“Hey,” I called my sister on my cell phone from the street as soon as I emerged aboveground. “I bought a Clif Bar at the bodega because I’m running around to a million appointments today, and I don’t have time to eat lunch. It cost $3! I opened it, but the wrapper was tough to pull apart, and it immediately fell onto the platform before I could eat even one bite!” I heard the frustration in my voice.
I rushed on, “I’m not sure if the three-second rule applies to food when it falls on dirty train platforms, but I picked it up and ate it since it was $3.”
The air on the other end of the phone was heavy with my sister’s patient listening. I wondered how this story sounded now that I was admitting it aloud.
“Anyhow, if I die tomorrow,” I said, competing with the noise of the street traffic, “I just wanted you to know why.”
She laughed, and I didn’t die. That Clif Bar was overpriced to begin with and begrudgingly one of the only quick meal options available to me that afternoon. At 6 percent of my hourly wage at the time and completely uneaten, I blocked any thought of rodents, bugs, or grime running afoot; conveniently decided the “if on the ground three seconds or less, it’s still safe to eat” rule also applied in this underground train platform instance; promptly brushed that Clif Bar off; and gobbled it down. And thus, with that Clif Bar episode, my stubborn cheap bastardom, already fledgling for several years, had fully arrived. I had paid for it, and I was going to get the most out of my money by eating the entire thing. No matter what.
Growing up and mowing the lawn from the age of 10, babysitting since the age of 11, and on a payroll since 14, I’ve always known and appreciated the value of earning and spending a dollar. Deciding to take the artistic route both in college and afterward, even as my friends who struggled financially in college went on to great careers with impressive salaries, I learned how to make smart choices that would still allow me to do what I love without going into debt. Many a walk down the street did I spend calculating in my head: “Should I buy the weekly transportation pass or the monthly one? Or does it make more sense with my upcoming schedule to just put $20 on a metro card and not get any pass?”
The economy has been challenging for some time now; our country as well as individuals and families are struggling financially. It’s never made more sense for all of us to be cheap bastards. Being a cheap bastard does not mean you are rude, brusque, or ungracious; it means you are smart, efficient, and forward thinking. There’s no reason you can’t lead a great life, have a great time, and do all the things you want to do while living well within your means and saving pennies, be those pennies real or nonexistent.
You’re talking to someone with two Ivy League degrees and nearly six figures of education debt who, in addition to being a writer, actress, producer, and choreographer, has done recruiting for a major airline; worked as a real estate paralegal running closings on houses, co-ops, and condos in New York City and the surrounding area; been a personal assistant to A-list celebrities; and a cater waiter, among many other things. All of these jobs were worked for an hourly wage. I’ve never had someone else pay my rent, my debt, or my bills. I’ve lived in Russia, I’ve seen Japan, England, France, Italy, Turkey, Iceland, Greece, and Africa. No one else has paid my way. I’ve stayed in hostels and adopted what I call the “Eating in Advance Plan,” where I’ve eaten an especially large (free) breakfast (included with the hostel room charge), with enough food for two meals, in order to avoid having to buy lunch later. (I don’t actually recommend you follow my lead in this particular example.)
Why do I tell you all this?
Because it takes one to know one. The most important thing any hustler or mover and shaker knows is that if you want to be happy, be smart, and succeed, you’ve simply got to be a cheap bastard. Whether you live in Pasadena or West Hollywood, Burbank or Pacific Palisades, Long Beach or Venice, and whether you’re black, white, yellow, brown, purple, or green, I’ve got you covered. Visitor or native, you can trust me on this journey as I take your life to a whole new level of cheap bastardom. If you follow all of my advice in this book, you will be living quite large in Los Angeles and completely “in the know,” going to free museums, concerts, theater, television tapings, and art galleries, as well as taking great classes, hikes, drives, tours, and oh, so much more.
Disclaimer: Parking in Los Angeles is a pain. When I can and it makes sense, I’ve done my best to provide tips and to help you out by telling you where to park and how much, if anything and if you must, it will cost you. However, if you get ticked off about something parking related, please do not come crying to me. You’ll simply have to get over it. It’s Los Angeles, and it comes with the territory.