I regret starting a blog post with this statement, but here goes – I was in Starbucks the other day. And this middle-aged man was sitting at the table next to me. We started small talking. He mentioned that he’d started four different businesses from home and that I should do the same. I agreed. That sounded like a fine idea.
Then it came out that I wrote a blog. And this guy was all about ways of making money, so he said I should put ads on my blog and I should finagle subtle advertisements into the posts themselves. For the sake of keeping things simple I agreed with him again. But the whole thing left me uncomfortable. I thought to myself, no, that’s not the kind of blog I want to have! The aim of my blog isn’t to make money for myself or third parties, it’s simply to have a platform for expressing myself and have a platform for connecting with other people.
So, there will be no ads appearing on this website any time soon. And mentions of Starbucks are in no way meant to endorse the company.
I was going somewhere with this. OH! I wanted to say a nice word about a website a friend referred me to. It’s called TypeTrigger.com. Every 3 hours or so they give you a word or a few words that’re supposed to serve as a jumping off point for you to write something and then you write something in 300 words or less. It’s good for those times when you want to write but you can’t think of a single thing to say.
Thought I’d share my latest. It’s a true story from the year 2004. The jumping off phrase was “not my ticket”:
I’m itchy. I’m sitting in the orchestra section for an evening showing of Phantom of the Opera with Dad. I haven’t showered in two days because that’s how long the trip to New York has been for freshman orientation at college and no one else was trying out the dorm showers so I didn’t either.
The man next to me is opening up a Hershey’s chocolate bar and I think that I’d like a Hershey’s chocolate bar, too, but I’ve been itching my stomach and my face and I wouldn’t share if I were him. Dad is grunting because he doesn’t have enough leg room. We walked across the Brooklyn Bridge earlier and it was sunny because it’s August and I sweated some and now the sweat has dried.
Andrew Lloyd Weber music starts to play and the man is still crinkling the candy bar wrapper and Dad is still adjusting his legs and I’m itching myself, but goddammit this musical is brilliant. I hope Christine and Raoul bang.
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