Wednesday, July 13, 2011
No Money In This Book's Leaves
I was in the local bookstore the other day looking for Tim Ferriss’ “The 4-Hour Workweek” for some business related research I needed to do. The sales clerk proceeded to ask me if that was “4,” “Four,” or “For” and if that was “Ferriss” as in “Ferris wheel.” Finally, after much swapping of letters that would have lost both of us the national pre school spelling bee, the clerk declared, “It’s out of stock.”
I had my doubts, but I did not request for a spelling rematch. I had decided right away that I had a spare Php 300 because over at the fiction shelf was Miguel Syjuco’s Ilustrado.
Long before I set off to attempt to crack the secret code to earning a fortune online, my interest lay in literature, the kind that pureed your brains, gave you a nosebleed and left you depressed. Not that Syjuco’s masterpiece is anything of that sort, but I’ve only really just started reading it.
It’s been four years since I’ve picked up anything of this sort. Since I had kids, money books made better sense because, for lack of a kinder term, they simplified life in no uncertain terms. Learn what sells and learn to sell or your kids starve.
So why am I cheating on my kids, reading a book that doesn’t teach you how to make money? I’m convinced my uninterrupted running after money has left me dumb and dumber. Soon I might also lose my character.
I’m on a vacation from trying to make more money, at least for a couple of hours, prepared to drown either in my cup of overpriced tea or in Ilustrado’s pages, whichever comes first.