Written May 2, 2012

My first credit card came via Mrs. Carolina. 1995.

“It’s an American Express for emergencies.” The blonde golfer loved the way I kissed and she visited me once a month in New York. Ms. Carolina told her husband that I was gay. His believing her mapped a faultline in my masculinity. Ms. Caroline was blonde and beautiful. In bed there was never a need for words.

When I moved to LA to help Scottie Taylor open the Beverly Hills’ Milk Bar, I used this card to feed us on sandwiches from Jerry’s Deli and groceries from Trader Joe’s. After three months the bill ran up to $1000 and I had no way to pay back Mrs. Carolina. She flew out for a road trip to Death Valley.

“Don’t worry about it. You can pay me when you sell that book.” Ms. Carolina loved my writing.

She might not have cared about my insolvency and seemingly neither did the credit card companies, who issued me a playing deck of plastic from Visa and MasterCard. I was credit rich without no standing debt.

I thought I was smart juggling various new offers of 0% interest between competing companies. My limit rose with my payments. I soon was given a ceiling on $70,000 despite no visible source of income or assets other than an elephant foot in my East Village apartment. By 2001 my debt was a mere $3000.

Manageable minimal monthly payments while I traveled back and forth to the Orient, but after 9/11 I had no work for several months and lived on the cards, transferring debts back and forth like an off-shore banker, until I was rehired at the diamond exchange.

My debt was $15000.

The winter of 2002 I sold a Burma sapphire for big money and informed Richie Boy that I was heading for Thailand. I had another book to write. I was only 48. The future was still in my favor and Sam Royalle had promised to set me up with an internet website selling F-1 copy merchandise. Leaving America seemed like a good idea, especially since my Thai girlfriend and I were expecting a baby and GW Bush was in the White House.

The credit cards paid for the birth of Angie.

Up to $25000.

I faithfully paid the increasing monthlies with the money from my sublet of East 10th Street. Apartment 3E. My business generated enough income to support a family of three. The problem arose when I lost my ATM card with which I withdrew funds from f1-shopping.net

The other other option was to take cash advances from the cards. I didn’t notice the small print of the contract stating that this move would bump my interest rate to 29%. And my debt started to balloon, so that by 2008 when the Thai police shut down my website for copyright infringement, I owed something like $70,000.

More money than I could pay back and I did the numbers. I had already covered the original debt, but was now servicing the interest. I called the credit card companies to ask for an abatement in the interest levels even though I had no income. They refused my request. I told them without this help that I would be forced into bankruptcy.

“New laws have been written to prevent that.”

“Laws?” I was living in Thailand beyond the reach of America. “Could I speak with your manager?”

“He won’t change a thing.”

“Then I guess this is the last time we speak.” I had no credit line. “Good-bye.”

And like that I was free from their debts. Different creditors phone from time to time. They have purchased my note at probably 5%. Maybe less. I’m not scared of speaking to these faceless voices from the Midwest. I ask them if they are willing to reduce my principal. They refuse and demand the full balance plus interest. I explained that I’m not in a position to pay them this sum. It is 100% the truth.

I have written off this debt in my mind.

My own personal write-off day.

And I have survived with a credit card thanks to throwing out my TV. No strangers tell me what to buy. My purchases are generated by necessity; food and Shelter and transportation, a few beers too. I like the buzz.

An anti-consumer of any offering of globalization.

Broke, but free.

It’s a good feeling.

International Write-Off Day.

It’s good for you.

Ps Sadly Barbara passed this year.

I still owe her that $1000.