“What was the worst travel scam you’ve ever fallen for?” Doug Mack asked me during the second round of drinks at a recent “meeting.” The soon-to-be-published travel author had just returned from a trip to Havana, Cuba, where he and his girlfriend had been victim to the “I meant that’s the price per person” airport taxi scam after forking over the originally agreed upon total, and was looking to commiserate.

I paused, trying to think of a gripping story, but came up empty. It’s possible that Doug, like many people before him, believes that I get into a hell of a lot more hijinks while on the road than I actually do. I don’t know why people think this. Believe it or not, I am, in general, the picture of common sense and decorum while I’m on the road. My world travels have been surprisingly, almost uncannily, disaster-free.

Yes, there were the relentless, but relatively tiny bribes I was shaken down for during my first visit to Moldova and Transdniestr (I’ve since developed a defense strategy.) There was that time some jackass tried to snare me with the Greedy Tourist scam in Kiev. I might have been kinda drugged while going through the naughty tourist motions in Bangkok’s notorious Pat Pong district. But in 25 years of traveling abroad I’ve never been robbed, beaten or even had medium sums of money liberated from my wallet.

Usually it’s inexperienced travelers that get caught up in travel scams. Naivety, unfamiliarity, fatigue, greed, drunkenness or an unfortunate combination can lead people to do things they might not ordinarily do. Exchange money at the bus station with a dude sporting a face scar? Buy discounted precious stones to sell for a huge profit back home? Two incredibly attractive women suddenly wanna be your best friends and go bar hopping? Instant alarm bells would go off if any of this happened at home, so why do people fall victim to these situations in foreign countries?

Some travel scams are far more sophisticated. So sophisticated that even travel-hardened veterans sometimes fall for them. Longtime Africa savvy traveler Peter Gostelow recently fell victim to a new wrinkle on the bait-and-switch money changing scheme in Malawi. After six months of living in Romania, in the company of three eagle-eyed companions, one of them Romanian, I was taken for quadruple the normal taxi fare in Bucharest (which still only amounted to about US$35).

In truth, anyone having an off day can fall for a scam, not just traveler newbies. As proof, I solicited travel scam stories from a few travel writing veterans. Here’s a sampling:

Eva Holland website Twitter

“I was freshly arrived in Istanbul, and naturally I was only carrying big bills, straight from the Forex. So when I got hopelessly lost and wound up taking a quick taxi ride back to familiar ground, the driver had to hand over a lot of change. Later, when I went to spend those bills, I learned that they were discontinued notes, now-worthless old lira rather than the new ones that had come into circulation a year earlier. He must have had them ready and waiting for a sucker to climb in his cab — and this time, that sucker was me.”

Paul Clammer Twitter

“Even experienced travellers have to start somewhere, and so it was that I found myself in Morocco in 1994, looking for help in a Lonely Planet guide I’d one day end up co-authoring.

We’d arrived in Casablanca, and almost immediately fallen in with a lovely guy who took us around and introduced us to mint tea. Nothing untoward, but when we met him the next day he needed $30 to pay for a parcel that needed posting – of course we were happy to oblige, and he’d pay us back in the evening. Our rendezvous that night was in a seedy bar, and when we arrived there were plenty of empty bottles on the table. He’d pay us back in a moment, but first a few beers.

And then the details of a complicated drug smuggling scam – he had friends on the docks, who immediately turned up, equally drunk and swaggering and looming over us. Maybe we could actually lend him some more money, as an investment for a bigger shipment? It sounded like an offer we couldn’t (or shouldn’t) refuse. Nervously, we offered another round of drinks, and then when we were at the bar, ran pell-mell out of the door, and straight into a taxi. Thoroughly spooked, we crept out of Casablanca on the first bus the next morning. ”

Zora O’Neill website Twitter

“Egypt is difficult because the people who aren’t scamming you are so incredibly kind, so I live in fear of mistakenly accusing one of the nice people of being a sleazy bastard.

What happened this time: I was there in September 2011, so people were still a bit giddy about the revolution. My first day out walking around Cairo, everyone on the street was all, “Hey, you heard about us in America? What we did? Revolution!”

On a quiet street, one guy flagged me down. He wanted me, an American, to understand how Egyptians worked together. During the 18 days of the revolution, he told me, he and his neighbors, Copts and Muslims, had banded together to keep the street safe. My scam-sensors were on high alert. But he was talking to me about the revolution–he couldn’t possibly be so callous as to be using this as bait. Could he?

Oh, of course he could. Next thing I knew, I was locked in this basement perfume shop, sipping tea and sniffing really dubious lotus-flower oil.

For the first time in my life of visiting Egypt (nearly 20 years at this point), I bought some perfume. It must’ve been a cumulative effect over the decades–the touts finally wore me down. I spent nine bucks on some crappy lavender oil. I did turn down the upsell for the pretty glass bottle. “Well, I had to try,” the guy tending the store said with a shrug.

I wrote it off in my expenses as “Onsite research” and added a note in the guidebook about revolution-related sales gambits. And how you shouldn’t get too mad at the sales guys–they have to try.”

Ryan Ver Berkmoes website Twitter

“First time I took a guided day trip tour. It was from Mexico City to assorted old Aztec ruins and pyramids. I was psyched as the price was great and I’d see a lot in one day. Well what I saw a lot of was really shitty gift shops filled with other glassy-eyed daytrippers looking at a lot of crap, much of it imported from China. Meanwhile the “guide” was collecting his commissions and telling us how this was his “cousin’s place” and other complete nonsense.

Our lovely lunch was a bus-trip-filled slop house with steaming tables of shit that wouldn’t pass muster at Taco Bell. Our stops at the sites were very brief and mostly consisted of warnings NOT to buy handicrafts from the vendors of the official gift stores… (as opposed to his “cousins”)

I learned my lesson and am very picky about ever signing on for day trips. There are good ones, but first ascertain how many retail opportunities will be presented, etc.”

What’s the worst travel scam you’ve ever fallen for? Were you on your first trip or your twentieth?

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From: Leif Pettersen
Sent: Tuesday, December 20, 2011 03:41 AM
To: submissions@inflightmagazine.com
Subject: pich

Dear booger eater,

You know, I’ve always hated your magazine. Erry time I pick up this stink bomb and sedate my brain with the tedious hack work you jackoffs print I wanna rip open the emergency exit door and jump to my deth.

Is your editorial direcction set by a nun, a 3rd grader and Papa Smurf? Jesus.

But I found out yer the new editer I thought I’d give you a chance at printing something other than complete shite for once.

I’ve been stalking you online for three days now and I think we’re total soulmates. Were both drink wine and watch Nurse Jackie and think that vacaions in Florida is for bitches. So, clearly you’re not an idiot. Respect!!!1

So, heres my idea: you send me to Italy, I rent a fucking Lamborghini and I just drive, man. Just drive aroun and see what happens! You ever notice how if you drive a Lamboghinni in Italy you can get away anything! I shit you not. I culd dress like a hobo, drive my Lambo right up to the Vatican and that’d totally let me in! its a intriguing dichotomy and a statement vis a vis society to day.

So that’s it. If this works, we could do all a series. Drive a Lambergini to France, drive a lamborghini to Spain, etc, etc. and I ll totally tweet everything, facebok, etc, etc.

You chew on that. I’m gonna chew on this burrito.

Call me.

Leif Peterse

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Oh, look! Another voter-driven, who-to-follow travel Twitter list!

So, here’s the fundamental problem with these voter-driven lists: they’re far more reflective of existing popularity and the willingness to campaign by the contenders than appreciable talent. Sure, voter-driven Top Whatever lists serve a vaguely useful purpose, even if that purpose is often a distant third to page views and link bait. And in this instance, credit where credit is due, several people from the original list of contenders are performing much better on Twitter these days, in my opinion, than the last time I checked in on/unfollowed them, so there’s something to be said for that welcome revelation which I probably wouldn’t have otherwise experienced.

That said, when/if a who-to-follow travel Twitter list is at all necessary, I feel that readers are far better served by a list that’s been carefully cultivated by someone with highly selective, exacting taste, along with a few words explaining why those travel Twitter personalities merit following.

(Who, me? OK, I’ll do it.)

For the sake of disclosure, the attributes I most appreciate (and personally aspire to) in travel twittering are: a pleasing balance between informational, evocative, entertaining and reasonable self-promotional tweets, dispensed, when space allows, with style and wit.

Here’s the problem, or perhaps it’s just my problem… Lots of people do a couple of these things admirably well, but surprisingly few manage to consistently deliver the entire package. Far too many people burden their followers with an overabundance of tedious, off-topic tweets, wearying self-promotion and/or operate as if Twitter is an instant messaging application. A little of this is fine and expected when one engages on Twitter, but there’s a threshold and, frustratingly, too many people have no idea when they’ve galloped through that threshold on their non-stop, express trip to Suckville. These failings, and my daily struggle to manage distractions, are why I have been and continue to be so fastidious with my Twitter feed management.

With that in mind, and in no particular order, the following are some of the travel people who, when I’m hurriedly skimming Twitter, I always stop and read due to the high probability that they’ve tweeted something great. Of course, this isn’t remotely comprehensive, so anyone that wants to point me toward similar feeds, please leave a comment.

David Whitley: The Grumpy Traveller’s Twitter feed is chock full of travel wisdom, frank opinions and hilarity, with an endearing self-effacing touch. The man is a veritable tornado of freelancing activity, so there’s rarely a moment when he isn’t on a trip, planning a trip or just grumpily returning from a trip. Though he’s recently threatened a direction change, I’ve long been a loyal fan of his blog for its insightfulness and, usually deserved, lambasting of various travel industry shortcomings that every writer, PR person and traveler should absorb.

Ryan Ver Berkmoes: Though Ryan mostly ignored Twitter in the beginning, over the past year or so he’s been active and totally nailing it. He managed the difficult trick of cultivating strong Twitter content without the usual newbie mistakes and now his careful link selection, reliable one-liners and the fact that he’s seemingly on the road for 300 days a year for Lonely Planet, make his feed uniformly exceptional.

Grant Martin: Grant has forgotten more about flying and flight booking than most of us can ever (honestly) claim in our bios. He somehow serves as the editor-in-chief at Gadling while still holding down a fulltime, frequent traveling job requiring him to look at stuff in giant microscopes. He’s also not afraid to publicly call people out on concerns/infractions when necessary, which, of course, I love.

Annemarie Dooling: In a sign of how I’m sometimes alarmingly closed off from great people on Twitter, I only started following Annemarie about six months ago. Holding down what seems to be five or six different blogging jobs is probably why she always seems to have a finger on (and tweets from) the pulse of digital and print travel media.

Mike Barish: More “character” than “personality,” Mike’s feed is eclectic and fun, though his affection for SkyMall products is cause for mild concern. Mike’s showmanship, wit and gift for quippy commentary were seemingly made for Twitter, often out-shining whatever link he happens to be tweeting.

Jamie Pearson: My interest in the mommy blogging genre is just a whisker below my interest in kitty fashion shows and just above my interest in NASCAR. So that I find Jamie’s feed to be consistently smart and entertaining is a testament to her personality and tweet selection, even when they are mommy tweets.

Jodi Ettenberg: I’ve spent some time with Jodi and know this isn’t (literally) true, but based on her Twitter engagement, I like to imagine her Blackberry is Velcroed to her forearm, runner style. Her relentless, yet engaging feed, documenting her ongoing vagabonding and peppered with reliably clickable links on a large variety of topics, many of them #longreads, is endlessly impressive and fascinating.

Paul Clammer: Lonely Planet author, NGO worker and baffling appreciator of what I call “unleisure travel.” Paul’s guidebooks include Sudan, Afghanistan, Nigeria, Dominican Republic and Haiti, where he’s currently living, volunteering and firing off evocative tweets.

Zora O’Neill: Yet another seemingly in perma-transit Lonely Planet colleague, with a particular talent for sharing factoids, clever insights and food tweets wherever she washes up.

David Farley: In addition to being an extremely talented travel writer, Farley is the author of one of history’s most bizarre pieces of travel narrative nonfiction, “An Irreverent Curiosity: In Search of the Church’s Strangest Relic in Italy’s Oddest Town.” He’s also one of the most (sometimes) brutally honest people I follow on Twitter, which can be both gratifying and sometimes scary.

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Remember Slackerology? My probably best-selling, award-winning, religion-changing, planet-saving book proposal may have fizzled out on the desks of 26 editors, to the detriment of all society (history will vindicate me), but I’m still living and honing the theory every day.

[If you need to get up to speed on the modern, minimalist lifestyle I’ve cheekily labeled ‘Slackerology’, you can read about it in great detail here, here, here, here and here or read an incredibly condensed explanation here.]

Further to that, I recently had the occasion to do a detailed calculation of my annual living expenses for the first time (oddly) since moving back to the US and, while I knew the number would be low, the total shocked even me.

My base annual expenses came in at almost exactly US$25,000. Add in the expenses for a few, longish, non-work trips and I’m pegging my annual sustainable income needs at about 28 grand.

How the Bachmann do I do it? Before I tell you, one little thing…

This blog post is entitled “How I live on $25,000 a year,” not “How you can live on $25,000 a year.” Every person and living situation is going to be different. So, those of you who are already getting tuned up to post a comment like “Dear Pompous Ass, what you’ve said here just isn’t feasible when you’re from [place with an inordinately high cost of living] and live 10 miles from work, so thanks for the useless information, but I can’t blah, blah, blah, lame excuses, blah…” can save yourselves the effort. I do not care and I will probably mock you. However, I’d be overjoyed if you gleaned and applied even one or two ideas from this post that could potentially make a difference to your annual living expenses.

OK, my base annual living expenses are comprised of the following list:

•    Mortgage/condo association fee – I live in a 606 square foot (56.3 square meter) condo in a non-flashy building, in the dead-center of Minneapolis, a city that happens to have reasonable property prices. And I have space to spare. As I’ve proselytized previously, people don’t need very much space to live comfortably. My mortgage and condo association fee (which pays for everything except electric, internet and phone) comes out to roughly $1,120 a month.

•    Electric – My small living space and modest lifestyle mean that my electric bill stays low, averaging $32 a month over the past 12 months.

•    Internet – Non-fluctuating, non-debatable expense, $45 a month.

•    Phone – I only have a cell phone (no landline), with voice and data service. No text messaging. Why no text messaging? Because it costs an extra $10 a month and my Android has email, five kinds of instant messaging/chatting software and, oh yeah, makes phone calls. Remember phone calls? Also, text messaging is destroying in-person social interaction (I’m speaking of those people who send/receive one text message for every six waking minutes of their day and give those texts priority over the people sitting right next to them) and greatly increases the chances that idiots will hit me with their cars. But my friends are hard to train and they still send me texts now and then, which cost 15 cents each. So, my cell phone bill fluctuates between $59 and $61 a month.

•    Groceries – I typically spend $40-55 a week on groceries.

•    Transport – This is the estimated, seasonally fluctuating expense for my rechargeable bus/train pass and the maintenance for my bike. I work from home and rarely ride public transport in the warmer months. I estimate that I pay roughly $300 a year.

•    Entertainment/food/alcohol – A generously padded fund. I don’t go out for lavish dinners of lobster burgers and foie gras dogs very often, but I do more than my fair share of brunches, food trucks, happy hours, drinks, burgers, burritos, delivered pizzas, and movies. Also, I enjoy the occasional (case of) wine and cider. I’ve allotted $4,300 a year.

•    Health insurance – I happen to be an exceptionally healthy and (attention ladies) virile 41 year old. With my history of indestructibleness, I have made what seems like a sensible gamble and only purchased basic, individual health insurance which costs $87 a month.

•    Miscellaneous – I landed on $1,800 a year. An admittedly arbitrary, but I believe safe, number for irregular purchases such as clothes, books, DVDs, presents and, every third year or so, a new laptop and smartphone, among other things.

That’s it. That’s 25 grand.

Now, you may notice a few, glaring omissions from that list, including:

•    Car – As I’ve already described in wretched detail, car ownership is second only to shelter in daily expenses and one of the leading time-consuming maintenance burdens and hair-yanking stress triggers for most people. Admittedly, this choice is especially easy for me because I work from home and I’ve located myself in a walkable neighborhood that also happens to be my city’s main public transport hub, but there you go. Not owning a car means approximately $9,000 that I don’t have to raise each year to keep it physically and legally running.

•    Gym membership – My condo group shares an embarrassingly basic, but perfectly passable fitness center. Nevertheless, most of my neighbors maintain gym memberships elsewhere, because they’ve convinced themselves they’ll get a better workout if there are more sweaty people around, white towels everywhere, a different, refrigerator-sized apparatus for every muscle group and cardio equipment with cable TV that constantly measures 16 vital signs and sperm count. Even without my pitiable fitness center, I’m confident that I could get a perfectly good workout by purchasing a few, small, key pieces of equipment (about the same price as maybe two or three months of gym membership fees), educating myself on do-it-yourself cardio and muscle isolation exercises and good old fashion discipline.

•    Dental – I’m one of those medical tourists you read about. I get my teeth checked out in Romania every summer while doing guidebook research. A check-up costs about US$15. I’ve had a few very old fillings drilled out and refilled in recent years, which, with x-rays, costs about US$20 each.

•    Pets – Disclaimer that pet owners should read before sending hate mail/comments: I am already acutely aware that I approach life with what is apparently an especially high level of critical logic and common sense. Imagine a high-functioning Rain Man, but with better taste in food and TV. People behaving in a manner seemingly devoid of logic and common sense is a source of endless bafflement and frustration for me. At the top of this list is any action/behavior/philosophy motivated by religion, followed closely by how utterly useless nearly all politicians have become, but pet ownership is probably in the top 10. What pet owners see as emotionally uplifting companionship, cuteness and I don’t know what else, I see as an unnecessary output of resources. Never mind that caring for pets requires mild (goldfish) to substantial (dogs) time and energy, not to mention the ongoing disposal of fecal matter, vomit and the logistical management for whenever one wants to leave town or even have a long day away from home if Fido/Fluffy shits/barfs on the carpet if he isn’t attended to every six hours, but those extra expenses add up quickly. Especially so when the pet gets old or sick. Even in a year with no pet emergencies, those expenses mean all the more hours you have to be at work to raise the money to keep that pet alive, as well as time away from work/friends to care for the pet when they get into the dark chocolate or tin foil. If you have the debilitating craving for non-verbal companionship and the daily clean-up of another entity’s excretions, go volunteer at a hospital ICU or animal shelter or something.

•    Shopping – I don’t shop. Correction: once or twice a year, someone close to me corners me with a shotgun, binds my hands, injects me with a sedative, throws me into the trunk of a car and drives to an Old Navy. This is how I get new clothes. Apart from that, I don’t shop. This is largely due to the fact that my job/social life do not require dressy attire or even all that much variety. Lastly, “de-crapify your life” is one of the base tenets of Slackerology, and idle shopping – clothes, knickknacks, whatever – does not mix with having less crap. Plus, shopping makes me sleepy and hungry.

That’s pretty much the gist of it. A low-impact, comfortable, well-fed, frequently inebriated lifestyle for 25 grand a year, what many people could earn in a low-stress, part-time job – or full-time freelance travel writing in a shitty economy. Add two vacations in foreign lands each year and bump it up to 28 grand. Any additional income you want for savings/investments is up to you. (Obviously, adjust for the cost of living and income in your area.)

So, please help this high-functioning Rain Man understand, why do people sacrifice free time, friends, family, health and a decent night’s sleep to earn double or triple that much and more?

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Some days the requisite pitching that goes with being a freelance writer is akin to being the homeliest bachelor at the ball. Out of 20 women you ask to dance, 19 either say ‘no’ or don’t acknowledge your presence at all and the last one says “Yes! Just let me run to the bathroom for a sec” where she’s apparently vaporized by ninja robots because she’s never seen nor heard from again.

Last week, while occupied with the time-honored freelancer traditional of doing anything but paying work, marveling at the fantastic number of perfectly good failed/unanswered pitches of the previous few months, I launched a snarky, mock Twitter meme called “failed travel pitches.” It was super cathartic and hilarious.

Since it was so fun, I’m posting some of my favorite tweets below*. [The fact that several of my favorite tweets are my own is simply the result of me contributing about as many tweets as all the other participants combined. If I didn’t feature some of mine, it’d be a very short list.]

@mrdavidwhitley: Twenty things you’re allowed to take in your carry-on baggage that you can kill someone with. #failedtravelpitches

@mikebarish: Epaulettes and Epithets: How to Offend Leaders of Military Regimes #failedtravelpitches

@leifpettersen: Top 5 Practical Jokes that TSA Agents Love! #failedtravelpitches

@douglasmack: Five Dictators Who Will Let You Pose in Their Funny Hats With Them. #failedtravelpitches

@mrdavidwhitley: A single male traveller’s guide to ‘budget hotels near the train station’. #failedtravelpitches

@leifpettersen: Six Ways to Secure a Private Train Compartment Using Poop #failedtravelpitches

@melanierenzulli: World’s Best Places for Dutch Food #failedtravelpitches

@lpusastaff: Top 10 Bromantic Getaways #failedtravelpitches

@mrdavidwhitley: Cities with the sexiest homeless people. #failedtravelpitches

@leifpettersen: How to Say ‘Motherf*cker’ in 26 Languages #failedtravelpitches

@douglasmack: Top Six Off-the-Beaten-Path Places to Get Beaten. #failedtravelpitches

@leifpettersen: Six Countries Where You Can Stage a Coup d’Etat and Probably Win #failedtravelpitches

@sarahturner: Cerebral South Beach #failedtravelpitches

@mikebarish: I’m going to have journalistic integrity & write about this press trip objectively & critically. #failedtravelpitches

*Apologies if you contributed an especially clever tweet to the meme and it doesn’t appear here. Unfortunately, hashtag sort archives only go back seven days and, tragically, I started compiling this post one day too late, and thus pieced much of it together from memory.

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What’s the secret to my modest success as a freelance writer?

•    Timing (‘bad timing’ still counts as timing)
•    Dreamy eyes
•    Writing funny shit

Funny shit is the great equalizer in the world of writing. The ability to write funny shit will often cause editors to forgive many other shortcomings such as grammar, structure, crippling overlong word counts, and frequent references to the contours of one’s bootie in first class airline reviews and the History section in the Moldova guidebook. (Every one of them warranted.)

It was funny shit that got me one of my first magazine gigs. It was, in part, funny shit that swept me into the Lonely Planet author pool. And it’s funny shit that, inevitably, makes some of my least useful blog posts my most popular blog posts. In short, funny shit has facilitated the swift advance of my very late blossoming freelance writing career, despite little experience, zero contacts and no clue.

Writing funny shit is like pretty much any activity. Practice and dedication go a long way, but having natural aptitude provides a huge advantage. Whatever the case, publicly declaring oneself as ‘funny’ is undeniably a risky move, particularly with humor sometimes being precariously subjective. And I’m acutely aware of the dangerous ego required to write an entire blog post tutoring others on how to write funny shit. However, after many years of copious and consistent positive reinforcement, I’ve decided to shoulder the character suicide dual threat of writing this post and giving away some of my favorite funny shit tricks. If I don’t completely screw this up, I expect to receive a Funny Shit Purple Heart, presented, ideally, by Emily Blunt wearing that dress from “The Adjustment Bureau.”

Now I could write an ebook about how to write funny shit, filled with content that any halfwit could find in 60 seconds of Googling, and sell it for $2.99, but all that work for $8.97 seems ridiculous. So, I’m just going to post it here. If you find it useful, you can buy me a taco someday. Here we go.

Step 1. Get a running start and kick a puppy in the face. (Are you fully paying attention now? OK, good.)

Step 2. Get stinking drunk, preferably on a socially unacceptable day for form’s sake, like Tuesday or your boss’ daughter’s 4th birthday.

Step 3. The next day, once you’ve pieced together where all the Chuck E. Cheese’s prize tickets came from, start writing. This precious window – when your brain is only firing at 25% capacity and all your filters for quality, taste, civility, and the resolve to not write about boobies are disabled – is ideal for composing first drafts that will, at minimum, offend/disappoint 70% of your readers. Write every little thing down, no matter how absurd, stupid or pointless. Don’t let the fact that it makes no sense stunt your creativity. I never have. Boobies.

Step 4. Eat an Everything Omelet drowning in Tabasco and sleep it off.

Step 5. With most of your filters reengaged, cut out most of the poor quality, tasteless, uncivil material and boobie references. But not all! The first rule of funny shit is to walk right on the line of offense. Think about it. Who was the last polite, milquetoast comedian that had any success? (Answer: Bob Newhart, circa 1984.) Even if you wanna maintain broad, vaguely edgy, Dane Cook-caliber humor, you’re gonna have to write intimate details about your butthole at least once in a while. If any of this makes you uncomfortable, I think they’re about to hire a new writer for “Garfield,” so you still have options.

Step 6. After all the cutting, what you have left is going to be less funny than what you started out with – funny shit pros call this the “second draft suckification” – but at least now you won’t get piles of hate mail from people who only read at a 3rd grade level. Obviously, you can’t post this unfunny shit. So you go through and surgically transform the unfunny shit into funny shit. Keep tweaking until the material inches back up to a state where it will offend 17% of your regular readers and 92% of readers that found your blog by Googling ‘Leif Pettersen’ looking for the recently deceased Canadian ex-football player of the same name. Some of my favorite tricks for inserting funny shit into existing text include:

•    The unexpected twist: The unexpected twist comedic tool was discovered in 7,364 BC when Grog was hit on the head by a falling coconut while walking down the aisle after his wedding vows with his beloved donkey Ook-Ook. The unexpected twist value was particularly strong in this instance as the sound of the coconut hitting Grog’s head was almost precisely the same sound as when you hit a coconut with another coconut. Needless to say, the whole tribe lost their shit. Grog, of course, slaughtered everyone to regain his honor, setting back the advancement of coconut-on-head humor for millennia, but nonetheless the unexpected twist comedic tool had been born. In written form, the unexpected twist can be as simple as changing one word in a sentence, preferably at or near the end, to something absurd and totally out of context while (just barely in some cases) maintaining the meaning of the sentence. Example: “The process of writing effective funny shit is as challenging and erratic as truffle hunting” can be changed to “The process of writing effective funny shit is as challenging and erratic as riding a fart-powered ferris wheel.” Unexpected twist, yet still makes sense. Sorta.

•    The callback gag: I use callback gags constantly, mainly because they’re reliable and fairly easy to employ. Essentially, you make a joke, or at least make a reference, and then later in the text you refer (“callback”) to that item to comedic effect. You get extra points if the callback also contains an unexpected twist. Back in the Blogging Bronze Age (2006-08), I employed callback jokes bridging several blog posts that were weeks and even months apart. That’s far less effective now with reduced reader loyalty and attention spans measured in milliseconds, so I mostly stick to callbacks contained within a single post. Can you find the three callback jokes in this piece?

•    References to popular culture: Another easy and effective tool, with the added advantage of forming a teensy bond with your reader, is referencing popular culture. It’s akin to a large scale, inside joke since people tend to identify with other people who get the same references. If you want to see this tool routinely used with wild success, just watch a few episodes of Jon Stewart’s “The Daily Show.” Though, again, pulling off this form of funny shit is a bit more delicate in written form, even with a judiciously selected Creative Commons picture thrown in for support. The key here is referencing something that most if not all of your readers will get. In this post, I make a Donald Rumsfeld reference in the first paragraph that’s only funny for people who closely follow current events in the US, which, with a global audience and reading habits being what they are, is arguably not a particularly popular choice. It would have probably been more effective if I’d made a reference to, say, masturbation or Snooki.

Step 7. After all the time and energy you put into Steps 1-6, you may feel as if you’ve gone above and beyond the effort that any sane person should put into a blog post that will probably only get four retweets because no one truly appreciates your genius, but I beg to differ. If you’re really dedicated to writing funny shit for your blog, you still have one more critical step: marinating. Put the post away for 24-48 hours then do one final, anal retentive read-through. You do this to assess whether or not your gags are still acceptably funny with semi-fresh eyes. Absorb each gag word for word. Is it funnier if you change the phrasing slightly? (Remember, funny shit is frequently going to have the biggest punch if it appears at or near the end of a sentence.) Is there something funnier that you can put in place of ‘fart-powered ferris wheel’? A bonus benefit to this step is that you get one last chance to catch any lingering typos.

Step 8. Post that mother! Remember, if your funny shit doesn’t get 84 retweets and 237 comments, it’s not necessarily because it wasn’t funny shit. It could be bad timing or too long [cough] or the topic of your post was of too narrow interest. Or your readers are idiots and you should pay them no heed because you’ll probably be celebrated as a groundbreaking humorist after you’re dead.

Or, just possibly, you’re not funny. Does this mean you should give up trying to write funny shit for your blog? Of course not. Well, OK yes, some of you should give up immediately because if everyone had the gas to drive a fart-powered ferris wheel, humor would cease to be an exceptional thing. But as I stated above, to a certain degree, writing effective funny shit can often be achieved through practice, a strong process and reliable tools.

Or, harking back to the very beginning of this post, you could simply focus on being an exceptional writer. But where’s the fun in that?

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I haven’t bothered Googling to find out for sure – because who has time? – but on the strength of mounting evidence, a post on this topic apparently doesn’t exist and is long overdue.

According to figures that I just made up now, 826,936 new travel blogs are started each year and many of them give off that distinct reinventing-the-wheel odor that we old timers know all too well. What these new bloggers need is an easy to follow, chronological list on hand while they’re setting up their blogs, so as not to repeat these totally avoidable blunders. As always, my selfless, crippling empathy and generosity has inspired me to provide assistance.

So without further adieu, here’s the definitive, surefire task list for setting up a wildly popular travel blog that everyone will read forever.

1.    Remove pants. One assumes you’re setting up your blog while at home, so why not get comfortable? If you’re setting up your blog while temping at a law firm, you should probably omit this step.

2.    Pick a name. These few words may be the most important words you ever write for your blog. The name must be catchy, at least hint at the general theme of the blog and not be clichéd. Unfortunately, every combination and permutation of the words ‘traveler,’ ‘nomad,’ ‘chronicles,’ ‘virtual,’ ‘gypsy,’ ‘wanderer,’ ‘digital,’ ‘vagabond’ and words ending in ‘logue’ in the universe have already been used. So, you’re going to have to dig down to the deepest parts of your brain holes to find a name that doesn’t sound like 10 other blogs that already exist. Honestly, at this stage, if you really want a memorable blog name, your only viable option is to just grab two or three random words, never mind their meanings, and stick them together. Here are a few examples:

•    Galloping Penguin
•    Peanut Butter Shovel
•    Deafening Toe Cheese
•    Hum Gadling Jaunted
•    Paris Hilton Nude

3.    Pick a niche. This is really step 2.5, because settling on a niche and picking a name should be done at pretty much the same time. Or you can pick a niche after years of meandering from topic to topic. I don’t care. For example, I’ve selected the highly lucrative niche of writing-about-writing-and-travel-with-occasional-tangents-like-lists-and-book-reviews-and-minimalist-lifestyles-and-politics-and-ranting-about-stuff-that-I-have-almost-no-control-over-with-some-mandatory-etiquette-tips-and-videos-and-shit-thrown-in-there. (Incidentally, I’m available for public speaking on this topic at your next corporate event. Call me.)

4.    Go make a sandwich. You look peckish.

5.    Pick a design. There are a squillion free blog designs out there and two or three of them aren’t that bad. Once you monetize your blog (next week), you can go out and pay someone to create a custom design, preferably one that prominently features a cartoon version of you, wearing a backpack, walking down a winding road that disappears into the distance. No one has done this yet. You can be the first.

6.    Start blogging! It’s finally time to start writing some words about stuff. This is what it’s all about. Since 87% of travel bloggers are only semi-literate – occasionally featuring worrying grammar bonks in the same paragraph explaining how they left a high-paying corporate gig to travel the world – this is your big chance to stand out. Conjure up the most articulate, witty, evocative words that you know and then arrange them in a creative way. But don’t go crazy. If you want to have double digit visitor stats most days, you’re gonna need to crank out like four posts a week, which means that you really only have enough time to be a little articulate, kind of witty and vaguely evocative. Also, italicize frequently. Shows you’re passionate.

7.    Self-promote the bejesus out of your blog on social media. Actual travel blogging is only about 20% of travel blogging. For example, you’re going to spend a huge chunk of time building and maintaining a social media presence so you can drive traffic to your travel blog, otherwise what’s the point? Make a Facebook fan page and then spam everyone to ‘like’ it. Then get on Twitter, taking special care to mention in your bio that you are CEO, editor-in-chief and pope of your blog, as this will give you instantaneous, totally plausible credibility that no one will see through. For the first month, follow like 1,000 new people every day. If the people you follow don’t follow you back, just unfollow then follow them again as many times as necessary until they go batshit crazy from seeing the repeated email alerts about you following them and they finally follow you back just so they can get on with their lives. Once you have a strong Twitter following, send out at least one tweet a week asking your followers to ‘like’ you on Facebook. Double goes for when you’re approaching a round number of ‘likes’ and/or Twitter followers. See the genius?

8.    Set up a bunch of pop-up windows on your blog. This shows your readers that you’re serious about blogging because you’re engaging your audience with offers to subscribe to your newsletter, take a survey and buy your latest ebook about utilizing newsletters and surveys. Besides, every pop-up window is like a little surprise and who doesn’t like surprises? Masturbating socialists, that’s who.

9.    Build an editorial calendar. May 12th, 2008 was a somber day in travel blogging history. It was on that day that the very last, original travel blog post topic was hatched and written about (except this one, obviously, but now I’ve written about it so you’re too late). We’ve just been rehashing the same stuff over and over ever since, sometimes adding a desperate twist to give the appearance of originality. Say, instead of posts titled “How to pack for a round-the-world trip,” you’ll probably see a clever variant like “How to pack for a round-the-world donkey.” I’m not telling you this to discourage you, I just want to save you the time of agonizing over new topic ideas. Also, since most of you just started traveling or aren’t able to travel often, you’ll have to squeeze out like 15-30 blog posts on every destination you visit so there aren’t any periods of dead air on your blog. If you routinely go, say, 24 days without a new blog post, no one’s ever going to invite you to be a keynote speaker. As such, don’t be afraid to devote entire blog posts to the most mundane subjects like cupcakes, shopping and drunken hitchhikers that you abandon at a gas station in the Romanian countryside.

10.    Get a book deal. The big kahuna. Validation overload. They like you, they really like you. Most people spend months researching and crafting a book proposal with sample chapters, promotion, competition, and market analysis. But since you’re a travel blogger and your story of leaving your job to travel the world is so gripping, you don’t need to bother with any of that. Just send a generic email blast to every agent you can find, regardless if they only work with sci-fi fantasy writers, describing in, oh, say 5,000 words, why you and your back-story are so special. In lieu of sample chapters, simply add “Just read my blog.” Agents love doing this.

That’s it! If you follow these steps to the letter, you’ll be hosting your own travel TV show in no time, adored by fans, drinking truffle juice and so distended with success and respect that you’ll have to take two extra poops a day just to relieve the pressure.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go poop.

Happy blogging!

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Did you know that I juggle? Yep. Since I was 12 years old. Related, I did not first kiss a girl until much later than the average guy.

Last week I went to the International Jugglers’ Association annual festival for the first time in a decade. While I was there I decided to shoot a video profile on the festival for kicks and to have an excuse to shamelessly show off my dope juggling skillz. Here’s the result.

Semi-related, here’s a video starring Steve Birmingham and I doing what we do best: uniquely ungraceful, yet lively six club passing.

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The three or four people closely following my career and composing various unauthorized biographies about me peed themselves a little recently when I quietly launched a new side project: a gangsta rapper alter ego known as ‘Righteous Culo’.

Unfortunately, I immediately lost focus and creative direction. I’m told this is common in rap, what with the distractions of groupies, booze, being a pimp and producing family comedies on TBS.

Well, I’m happy to announce that those dark, wayward days are over and Righteous Culo’s debut album is in full production. I followed the advice given to all fledgling writers and decided to drop dope rhymes about what I know.

The result? The world’s first gangsta travel rap album: “Where’s the Hostel, Motherf*cker?”

Dr. Dre begged me not to go into too much detail, but I so truly love my fans that I can’t resist posting the track list as an appetite-whetter:

1.    “Extra Spicy Kebab, S’il Vous Plaît”
2.    “I Got Bed Bugs at Yo Mama’s House”
3.    “WTF TSA?”
4.    “I’ll Put My Chaco in Yo Ass!”
5.    “Walk This Way – Or You’ll Miss the Bus, Yo”
6.    “Baby, I Don’t ‘Like’ You That Way”
7.    “It Was a Good Day to Do Laundry”
8.    “Hablas Englisho?” – Featuring Bill Bryson
9.    “A Month in Amsterdam – Parents Just Don’t Understand”
10.     “Nuthin’ But a G-String”
11.     “$25 Wi-Fi? – TripAdviser Ass Whuppin”
12.    “Dat Ain’t No Girl! (Bangkok Blues)”

Aight, I gotta go meet with my eyebrow stylist and my limp choreographer. World peace out.

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My awesome Florence Explorer city guide app has only been out for a few weeks (and at only $2.99 it’s by far the best value Florence app in recorded history – please tell 132 of your friends), but I’m already collecting ‘how to make it awesomer notes’ for version 2.0, including an ‘Author Favorites’ feature for the eating listings. But the release of the next version is untold months away! Who can wait that long for my carefully selective and sometimes whimsical recommendations? Not me, that’s who.

So, in the meantime, in the grand tradition of purely subjective lists (fueled by extraordinary research and expertise in this case, obviously) I’ve decided to put together a spoiler list of the best restaurants in Florence right here. Let’s begin.

Budget

Trattoria Mario
Via Rosina 2
Mon-Sat noon-3:30pm; closed in August
A wildly popular, second generation place started in 1953 and run today by Mario’s sons Fabio and Romeo and their kids. It’s a local institution – legend has it that some customers have been coming here daily for decades – appealing to working-class folks seeking a quick refill and visitors looking for an undiluted, shoulder-to-shoulder, Italian lunch experience. Seating is intimate (i.e. tight) and arriving after 12:01pm will probably result in a short to medium wait out on the sidewalk. Once inside order food one course at a time off the hand-written menu on the wall (the English translation is written to the side in tiny pen, so bring your glasses). Specialties include the tripe (served on Mondays and Thursdays) and beef (bistecca). It’s a cash-only place.

Vestri
Borgo degli Albizi 11
7:30am-9pm, except on Sun when it opens at 9:30am
In my line of work, it’s often ethically frowned upon to unequivocally declare anything to be hands-down ‘the best’ anything, but this gelato is really something else. Seriously, you gotta try it. The selection isn’t huge, but what they do, they do very well. They are also, and more famously, a chocolate maker with a generous selection of items, both for immediate enjoyment and transport home as gifts to soon-to-be-very-grateful friends and family. Unfortunately, they don’t seem all too concerned with sticking to their posted hours of business. Three out of four times I walked by, they were unceremoniously shut. So, I’d warn against walking too far out of the way just to visit this place, because, believe me, the disappoint is tremendous.

Al Tranvai
Piazza Torquato Tasso 14
055 22 51 97
Closed  Sun
Loved by locals, this popular eatery puts you shoulder-to-shoulder with a flood of regulars at itty bitty tables. If the crowds aren’t enough evidence, lay your eyes on the  window full of Slow Food endorsement stickers, dating back more than a decade. The hastily hand-written menu suggests frequent changes, so I’ll simply say expect a no nonsense, but satisfying typical Tuscan meal that everyday Florentines cherish.

Trattoria Sergio Gozzi
Piazza San Lorenzo 8
055 28 19 41
Lunch Mon-Sat, closed in August
No one can agree on the name. Trattoria Gozzi Sergio? Da Sergio? Even the sign above the door seems to be uncertain. Whatever the case, I’ve list it here exactly as it appeared on the hand-written menu presented to me during my visit. This miniscule Slow Food recommended place has a rep for openly loathing tourists, but I was treated with flawless courteousness when I was here, so go ahead and join the line of table-waiting patrons without worry. Between the racket from the market stalls just outside the door and the dinning room rush, you won’t feel like you’re getting a typical Tuscan lazy lunch, but you will get a choice of four simple primi (first courses) and a bunch of unpretentious secondi (second courses) including rabbit, tripe, roast beef and grilled chicken. The lone dessert option pretty much sums up the no nonsense atmosphere: cantuccini (dry, sweet biscuits) dipped in Vin Santo (sweet dessert wine). Simple, yet unspeakably delicious. You’ll likely be seated shoulder-to-shoulder or even at the same table with the handful of regulars, lone men that appear to have been among the original patrons when it opened in 1915.

Trattoria Bordino
Via Stracciatella 9
055 21 30 48
Lunch and dinner, closed Sat
This much-recommended, simple place is well hidden only about a minute from the Ponte Vecchio. The list of primi dishes includes crepes and pastas covered in spicy lobster sauce, salmon or clams. Among the many secondi is the least expensive bistecca alla fiorentina (rare t-bone steak) I’ve ever seen (15 euros). There’s also a selection of seafood such as trout, shrimp, sole, sea bass and salmon. A welcome glass of prosecco and the inexpensive carafes of wine make for a tipsy walk home. The dining room is notably dark, nearly the equivalent of eating by candlelight, which, with the décor, gives the meal a pointed medieval feel.

‘Ino
Via dei Georgofili 7
055 21 92 08
11am-8pm Mon-Sat, noon-5pm Sun
There’s an impressive list of panini here (5-8 euros, glass of wine included), all made with local gourmet ingredients, but when you walk in the door and that fog bank of truffle aroma hits you, it’s hard to think about anything else. Popular and casual, you can either take your sandwich away or try to find seating in the next room filled with stools and barrel tables. Order and eat, pay after. They also sell a variety of products like sauces, cheese and pesto.

Midrange

Olio & Convivium
Via di Santo Spirito 4
055 265 81 98
Mon 10am-3pm, Tue-Sat 10am-3pm & 5:30pm-10:30pm, closed Sun
Up front is a delicatessen, with fancy and fragrant food and the occasional spectacle of watching a grunting guy halve an enormous wheel of cheese. In back is a truly special restaurant, with a super daily lunch menu (18 euros) comprised of a photogenic plate of flavorful cold hams, cheeses and mousse, with a glass of wine or water, and a generous dessert. The seasonal a la carte dinner menu may include duck breast stuffed with figs, with balsamic honey reduction sauce or a crispy suckling pig with sweet and sour spring onions.

Enoteca Le Barrique
Via del Leone 40r
055 22 41 92
Dinner only, closed Mon
This enoteca (wine bar), unsurprisingly, has a massive wine list and generous pours, with the added perk of a short, but impressively varied menu, offering cold platters, a few pasta plates, and dishes like duck breast in Vin Santo sauce or squid and calamari sautéed with cous cous. The menu varies from month to month, so expect changes. The welcome glass of prosecco and an amuse-bouche (tiny, pre-appetizer) are a nice touch. They’ve gotten a hearty thumbs up from the Slow Food people and are thusly popular. Arrive very early or reserve in advance.

Osteria L’Antico Noè
Volta di San Piero 6r
055 234 08 38
Noon-midnight, closed Sun
It’s an infinitely debatably point, of course, but by my estimation the sandwich shop side of this combo place is assembling the best sandwiches in the city. Even before you bite into one, you have to respect the long line of students who are wise to the 18 varieties of budget-priced, handheld, quick eats. Equally, sit down next door for a more mid-range priced proper meal, like the “Rigatone Noè” (tomato eggplant, cheese, pine nuts), tagliaerini tartufo (pasta with truffles) or the tortelli di patata ai fiori di zucca (pasta stuffed with zuchinni flower). Secondi options include roast beef with spinach or uovo al tegame con tartufo (eggs with truffle). They also have a somewhat pricey make-your-own salad option.

Trattoria Cibrèo
Via dei Macci 122
12:50pm-2:30pm and 6:50pm-11:15pm, closed Sun and Mon, closed in August
Warning: this place doesn’t accept reservations or credit cards and they defiantly do not serve pasta or coffee. Instead, the more affordable, eight-table sister to the famed, adjacent Ristorante Cibrèo (the trattoria curiously serves many of the same dishes at much lower prices) blows the minds of patient diners with the wondrous dishes coming out of Fabio Picchi’s kitchen, considered one of Tuscany’s top chefs. A multi-year Slow Food designee, Cibrèo’s always-changing, short primi list may include, if you’re very fortunate, the potato and ricotta “flan” with ragu sauce and fresh parmesan, one of the most original and flavorful items I’ve eaten in Florence. The secondi list is generous, with unusual zingers like the rabbit in chocolate sauce. There’s no English on the menu, but the servers are happy to sit (literally) and discuss the food with you. Some people will find the portions a tad small, though this perceived shortcoming fortuitously guarantees you’ll have space for dessert, which should be the chocolate tort if it’s on the menu when you visit. Arrive before 7pm, or risk a very long wait.

L’Osteria di Giovanni
Via del Moro 22
055 28 48 97
Lunch and dinner, closed Tue
This place was so good that I went twice. The dish that brought me back was the exquisite pear and ricotta-filled tortelli. I also enjoyed the sea bass carpaccio and the potato raviolini with porcini mushrooms and black truffles. They pour an always welcome prosecco apéritif as soon as you sit down. One heartening oddity, the bottled water is free! Also, my mom insists I mention that the bathrooms are nice.

High-end

Alle Murate
Via del Proconsolo 16r
055 24 0618
closed on Mondays
This restaurant/museum combo is located in the restored 14th-century Guild of Judges and Notaries. Seating is available both by the second level frescos, most notably the oldest known portrait of poet Dante Alighieri, or the subterranean Roman and Medieval archeological site. The frequently rotating, non-traditional Tuscan menu with southern Italian influences is something of a sight as well.  After dinner stroll around and admire the remainder of the museum, complete with audio guide.

Osvaldo (or Club Culinario Toscano da Osvaldo)
Piazza dei Peruzzi 3r
055 21 79 19
The restaurant and its chef/owner have built a breathless word-of-mouth reputation that’s nothing short of legendary. With a menu that changes as frequently as this one (monthly) it’s probably not smart to list specific dishes, but here’s a few just to give you an idea: shrimp with truffled potato; crab-stuffed ravioli with a truffle sauce; potato ravioli with veal ragu; risotto with zucchini flowers and squid stuffed ginger and herbs; lamb with pistachio sauce; quail with olives, pine nuts and potatoes. The wild boar, among other game on the menu, is truly wild. A friend of Osvaldo’s who hunts in the Maremma Region in southern Tuscany is often responsible for what appears on the menu. Osvaldo’s popularity and limited seating mean that reservations are a must, though pop-ins occasionally get lucky.

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