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June 30, 2011

A how-to guide on living in a lighthouse. Includes hobo fighting techniques and logistics on how to survive in the brutal lighthouse lifestyle.

   At first, I was like you: anxious, nervous, and a little gassy. Did I really want to live in a lighthouse? 
    My first concern was cost. After all, there are only so many lighthouses in the world, and a mere handful in my region. Fortunately, after a little investigation and bribery, I got some information about lighthouse residence and ownership.
    For instance: lighthouses are considered public domain, like the Gettysburg Address and the recipe for chicken soup. Similarly, nobody has constructed a new lighthouse in over a hundred years, making them somewhat impossible structures to lead a modern life in. But us Lighthouse Dwellers aren't looking for the fast, cheap and sexy ways of modern life. We appreciate the finer things, like building code violations and peacoats. A wily and often itchy lot are we.
   Here's another thing about lighthouse legalities: all people living in them are squatters. As they are public domain, all one has to do is wait for a current inhabitant to leave the premise and if you  can pick the lock quick enough or render the inhabitant unconscious just outside the doorway, than that lighthouse is yours! I recommend a brick.
   There are ups and downs (lighthouse humor!) to the lighthouse lifestyle. If I could just highlight one of the cons, it would be that fucking light. If I spend more than ten minutes in front of it, I start getting literally cooked alive. This is inconvenient since the light's on most of the time and its burning gaze swivels 270 degrees, leaving me only 90 degrees of permenant living space. I can't really complain about this, as it is called a LIGHThouse and not a PERSONhouse. A tip to the lighthouse fancier: make sure you move into a decommissioned lighthouse only. 
  For balance, one of the pros of living in a maison de ecouter is the great exercise you will get. Imagine a five-floor walkup without landings or floors, and in a concentric circle that seems purposely designed to encourage vertigo. Now imagine moving furniture up those stairs. For this reason, I only have three possessions:a bucket, a blanket and a sack of rocks to throw down the stairwell in defense against encroaching crabs.
- Love of cylinders.
- Stairs. Did I mention stairs?
- Sand and sea, re: like of.
- Desire to defend living space continually from crabs/homeless population.
- Superiority or inferiority complex(es).
- Being positive about the 100% certainty you will accidentally fall over a rail in a brick construction an die at the bottom of a stairwell.
Still unsure? Perhaps some actual testimonials from some fellow Lighthouse Lovers will sway you:
"Been living in ol' Bessie for years. Sometimes I don't know where I end and she begins. You got a dollar?"
- Sam Peppertone, Myrtle Beach, SC
"Are you a cop? Because if you're a cop you have to tell me." 
- "Bugs", Santa Barbara, CA 
"Sir, I'm a lighthouse operator. I live in a house like a normal person."
- Gary Inkwell, Sandy Hook, NJ
   Ha ha! See the diversity, the rich colorful characters that engage in the lighthouse game? Some of them almost seem functional, even coherent. If you have retained a good amount of your faculties and don't have anywhere to live, perhaps you may join this noble band of fierce individuals. For one to live this way, standing tall and proud as a beacon of the American spirit, demands courage, honor and above all, honesty. Now if you'll excuse me I have to throw rocks at crabs.