A virgin writes about sex. Or something similar.

December 3, 2008

alpha-domus1Old journalists don’t die. They just get downsized. And kicked to the curb. And left to rot in the sun, their bodies bloated with words never to be published.

That’s how I’m feeling today. Twenty years in newsrooms across four countries, a million bylines,  and I’m reduced to this — cold-calling via the Internet, begging for freelance assignments.

The good news is Viking Woman is still working. The bad news is I haven’t quite convinced her to let me marry three or four other employed people of the female persuasion, no matter how many times I point out to her the benefits of shared mortgage payments.

I could return to writing novels, I suppose, but I’d have a better chance of striking it rich by buying a lottery ticket. If we could afford to buy a lottery ticket, that is.

Which just leaves blogging for a living.

It can be done, folks. I know because I read Heather B. Armstrong (dooce.com) and she is quite blatant about the fact the ads on her blog site generate enough cash to enable both her and hubby to abandon their full-time jobs.

Ms. Armstrong has somehow convinced eight million people to click on her site’s Google ads roughly every five seconds. And, oh yeah, you can read her blog if your clicking finger starts to cramp up. She writes about her daughter and her dogs. Yeah, I know, bores the ever-living crap out of me too.

I’d tackle the same topics but my babies are now, respectively, 31 and 26 and, even if they were still doing cutesy things, the fact that they live in Canada and I live in New Zealand means I’m not privy to them.

As for pets as blog ammo, we did have a stray cat move in for awhile. But after deciding the kitchen sink was its own personal kitty litter box, Sparky wisely moved on. Just before I snapped its neck.

Now I see Heather is pregnant again. When I was a government employee, that’s what we called a Make-Work Project. One afternoon quickie later, and now she’s about to pop out a lifetime worth of blog material. Frickin’ brilliant! Some people know all the marketing angles.

When I suggested the same tactic to Viking Woman, she was kind enough to remind me she keeps my testicles under the sink in the kitchen, stored in an old mayonnaise jar that still smells faintly of potato salad. So more children is probably out of the question. On a related note, I now have this strange urge to boil eggs and dig out the paprika.

Plan B is to transform bitemymoko into a blog dedicated to travel. I’m in New Zealand and the rest of the world (minus four million or so  Kiwis) isn’t. That’s a lot of potential readers (and, by association, ad clickers). The recent visit by my sister triggered the thought of starting the blog with stories about the bazillion vineyards located up and down the East Coast.

I know what you’re thinking: “But, John, you don’t drink. So isn’t you writing about wine similar to a virgin writing about sex?”

To which my speedy and extremely witty reply is: “Uh, yeah, you’re right.”

Which is where Viking Woman comes in. When not dusting off her collection of gonads (I am, after all, her fourth husband), she’s been known to appreciate the odd glass of sparkling whatever.

My brilliant plan would involve her doing the actual tasting while I make notes and take photos.

It’s not like we haven’t done this before.

Take, for instance, this conversation from our past:

VK: You want me to do what?

Me: Ride all the rollercoasters in Las Vegas and rate them on a scream factor between one and five.

VK: And what will you be doing while I’m soiling my pants?

Me: Making notes and taking photos. On the ground. Where it’s safe.

VK: I’m going to kill you and then I’m going to divorce you.

Me: Fair enough, but could you do it after I finish the story?

Oh, and just for the record, The Roller Coaster at New York New York earned the top rating. Viking Woman rode it with my brother and they both thought they were going to die.

I’m going to guess wine tasting will be a wee bit less hazardous. If not to Viking Woman’s health, then certainly to mine.


One Response to “A virgin writes about sex. Or something similar.”

  1. megan said

    I hate when people talk about their kids and pets too!

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