Skip to main content

I might be a Blogstitute

I’ve just donated to the Poetry Bus Blog! You should check it out on my blog roll; it’s a great new poetry thingy. I donated for two reasons. Firstly, because they have a donation button on their site that I was curious about, and secondly, because I prefer reading things that are not governed by media moguls, and while I’m forced to pay for newspapers ( and I do buy them, supposedly for intellectual stimulation but really to do the crossword and Sudoku) nobody makes you pay to read their blog, which is, when you think about it, the refreshing work of an independent thinker. Unless, of course, the writer is being paid to produce it by some giant media mogul.
So who pays the bloggers? Well that’s it, nobody. Granted there are some blogs that I would gladly donate towards the demise of, but the bottom line for me is that blogging is a relatively new form of reaching people, and things like the Poetry Bus are original, great and dependant upon generosity. I gave them a fiver by the way. It’s what I throw into the buckets of people doing bag packing for charity at the supermarket. Just like at the supermarket, I convince myself that I am doing it for purely altruistic reasons, but in reality I do it for myself. I feel good when the bag packer’s eyes light up when that fiver goes in, because it’s a note, not a coin. And let’s face it; a fiver is not a high price for inflating your ego for the day and telling yourself how generous you are. Same with the donation: I feel like a proper blog reader now, a good person and a supporter of the arts.
So that’s when I got the brainwave. Why don’t I become a blogstitute myself?  I googled (is googled in the dictionary yet?) setting up a donation button on a blog.  As you may have already experienced, googling is like doing a complex thesis, you start to take detours in all directions. Mine ended with me trying to set up a button that says ‘buy me a coffee’. I thought the word ‘donations’ might look more like me holding out an empty coffee cup and showing off my gammy leg into the bargain. I couldn’t figure it out though and I’m not booked into the ‘how to improve your blog’ course until next Thursday.
There were a lot of opinions about these ‘pay me for this’ buttons. Most people seem to think they’re greedy, and those who use them complain that they never get any donations. But by the time I’d read all this and decided it was a bad idea to add the donation button, I had already navigated my way into having it up on the site.
Thing is, if I do get any donations, I haven’t a clue how PayPal get the money to me. It’s probably all not real. PayPal money is probably just like Monopoly money, just like blogging isn’t ‘real’ writing. And if bloggers got their hands on real money, would they still blog?
Who knows? I can only speak for myself. If I got paid for writing I’d take a moralistic approach. I’d only use it for research purposes, like travelling around the world and staying in luxury hotels so that I could blog about how superficial life becomes when you have a few bob. By the way, the donation button is top right…


Popular posts from this blog

A Packet of Solpadeine and a Lecture Please

Years ago I was a respectable lady married to a nice German doctor, and it was he who brought to my attention that in Germany you can only buy pain killers in a chemist and not in a petrol station, pub or supermarket and that there was not a chance in hell that you could ever buy a pain killer with codeine in it directly from a pharmacy, which in Ireland, you can - Solpadeine.
Then a friend of mine who is a pharmacist told me that Solpadeine was her best seller. So lucrative were the sales that she did not have enough room to store the stuff in her pharmacy. But that was also back in the time when I was respectable, and in the meantime the Solpadeine police seem to be out on patrol.
Now if you ask me, I think it's pure madness to sell substances with codeine in them over the counter at a pharmacy, and I'm also a bit iffy about buying paracetemol in the supermarket, given that any 13 year old can go in and stock up on a drug that is lethal in relatively small doses. But there a…

The MoMa, a Beggar and my Limp

There’s a woman who walks up and down the streets around West 82nd and Amsterdam Avenue asking people if they’ll give her a dollar. I’d put her around 80. Small, wiry, bent, wispy hair. Brittle bird legs in black tights, but still a follower of fashion in a knit skirt with a tartan pattern, more the kind of skirt you might see on a 20-year-old Asian student. Pale pink lipstick, and a crimson red blouse topped with a cream overcoat despite the muggy August New York heat. I wonder what she does with the money she collects. She doesn’t look like she eats anything, can’t tell if she drinks. She’s sober when she pushes her trolley bag up and down 82nd, asking ‘do you have a dollar for me?’ I don’t give her one. I keep my dollars for the MoMa. My feet are killing me after walking into the city, but I’m scared of the subway. I did make a weak attempt, but have no idea what they mean by uptown and downtown. Both of these expressions mean the same thing where I come from: Uptown – as in, I’m…

The Now or the Nervous Breakdown?

There’s a thin line between reaching a state of inner peace comparable to that of a Buddhist monk and being bang on in the middle of a nervous breakdown. Thing is, I’m never sure which state I currently find myself in. It’s true that one feeds the other at times. You need to have a proper meltdown to let the storm settle and find your peace. And peace wouldn’t be peace if you didn’t allow the true tempest of this life to enter your accepting and non-judgemental state of whatever you want to call not letting stuff get to you.
The buzz word nowadays is ‘Mindfulness’. If I understand it correctly, it means that you should mind your mind, like think of it as a place where you set yourself up for feeling good or bad, and as with all of these pop psychology hits, it’s about living in the now. Like Buddhism it involves meditation and sitting cross legged on a straight-backed chair, and then you have to focus, focus, focus…
So far, I’m pretty good at not sweating the small stuff. I don’t worry…