Unenlightened and Unemployed: My Search for Meaning Becomes My Search for Work

It turns out existential philosophy saturated with pop-culture references is not the get-rich-quick scheme Bernie Madoff promised me it would be.

This project is financed primarily through my savings from working on "Gene Simmons Family Jewels" and some greatly appreciated support from family, so it was never a secret that I would eventually run out of money at some point on the road.

To avoid losing the "purposeful" aspect of my homelessness, I devise a plan to get work in the middle of the project. Of course, speaking as a man with enough stupidity/naivete/we'll go with moxie to head off in search of the meaning of life, getting a regular job is not in the plans.

No, my goal is to find a job that will not only sustain the project economically, but also provide it with a great deal of interesting stories, and perhaps if I'm lucky, even an undercover expose on a potentially corrupt industry. I'm thinking a modern adaptation of Upton Sinclair's The Jungle.

After some careful consideration and planning in my hometown of Phoenix, I decide to take Project Meaning through Texas. In search of an interesting job to write about, I look for the following attributes:

+ Decent pay. I don't need to make a fortune, but it would be nice to make more than the kid working the grease trap at Burger King.

+ An interesting environment. The more exotic the job, the more interesting characters, and the better the chance at unearthing a real story.

+ A little danger. As a product of the MTV generation, I've always felt that dangerous somehow translates to cool and interesting, no matter how stupid that actually sounds as I type this sentence. Plus, I'm a big believer in finding a way to significantly test yourself every once in a while in order to grow as a person.

After considering my qualifications, I came across the perfect job.

"Guess what?" I find myself asking anyone and everyone who will listen, to which most of them feign interest, even going so far as to provide me with an obligatory, "What?"

"I'm going to be a grunt on an oil rig."

And so my search for work (which, as it turns out has very little to do with oil yet does involve a considerable amount of grunting) begins.