Let's Party Like it's Geocities 1999

Why? Because this strange child is my heart.

 I'm just a writer.

I'm not doing this to create a brand for myself, not that there's anything wrong with that. I named my blog Cincy Sarah because it's just kind of catchy and is pretty on-the-nose. I'm Sarah and I'm from Cincinnati. No-brainer.

But every now and then, I get weird pressure from people I know in the blogging community, as it were, to monetize my blog or finish up designing my own site (turns out I really and truly detest that kind of thing), or to organize blog posts into an ebook that I would then sell on my blog that already contains all those posts... and I'm just not into it. I kind of envy the very talented people who have managed to create gorgeous, information-packed websites that draw visitors from all over the world. I'm just downright jealous when they amass enough readers to get free shit from companies just for mentioning them "casually" here and there. That's pretty sweet! I love that entrepreneurial spirit.

However.

That's just not me. I thought it might be, but it's just not. I don't have a particular agenda to promote, though I don't mind holding you hostage now and again to rant about something important (THINK BEFORE YOU PINK, PEOPLE). I like to write things that I hope people can relate to. I try to strike a chord now and again. I'm ever aware that I'm just another anonymous voice on the internet and it's totally understandable that you, the average internet person, doesn't necessarily care about me, in particular. I'm comfortable with that and the feeling is probably mutual. We both know what this is.

I'm also not interested in joining one of these massive rings where everybody blindly clicks on everyone else's blogs and leaves meaningless comments so that everybody gets lots of hits in some kind of modern day chain letter, Google-tricking waste of time.  That feels icky to me.

So I'm just going to continue writing whatever the hell I feel like writing here. And someday, I hope I can relate some exciting news about how someone is paying me actual money for writing things I love to write about. But it won't be Google Adsense. When I point you to Amazon and ask you to pretty please buy my book, I hope you'll want to do that because it sounds interesting and you'd like to support me because you're cool like that.

Now, how about you? What are you up to? I'd love to use my small internet voice to help get the word out about cool things you're doing, too. My next post will be pure promotion of some internet up-and-comers I'm excited about. If you're doing something from the heart and you'd like me to help spread the word, I'm happy to do that. No link exchanging required.

Let's just be real together, like it's Geocities 1999.

The contemplative nature of driving

We drove to Columbus Sunday so Kurt could do some kind of work-related shenaniganry at OSU. The kids were loud and cranky (and subsequently woke up with head colds after sleeping maybe 3 hours in the hotel). The car trips were way longer than they should have been, and everybody was on the edge. As chauffeur, I did my duty by letting my mind wander while weaving erratically through freeway traffic. Not really. I'm such a grandma driver that I recently received the max 30% "Snapshot" discount from Progressive after letting them track me like a wildebeast for 30 days. But the part about my mind wandering, oh yes.

I took some mental notes:

"Oh look! A family! I like families! Doopy doop. I'll just get in this random family's car at the park! Loyalty shmoyalty!"

What would they do with my dog if we all died on this trip, and would she notice that a new family adopted her? Much like David, she just kind of randomly joins other families when we're out in public. Maybe she'd never really realize we were missing. Hmph.

Oh sure, this is loads of fun for Msr. Lobster. "Boil me, eat me, whatevs." Creative Commons licensed by imnotquitejack

Do we really, really know that the lobster doesn't much mind being boiled alive? This whole thing seems very suspect to me. 

This did not happen. Phew. Creative Commons licensed by The Tire Zoo.

 Maybe one of my tires isn't blown up enough? Does it feel weird toward the passenger rear wheel? What is that noise? Is it highway noise or something else? When do I alert my passengers? Should I? Kurt will be really annoyed when it turns out to be nothing. But what if it is something? Oh good a rest area. At this point, I turn to Kurt and fairly scream "We are stopping at this rest area!! WE NEED TO STOP!" I'm content to just let him assume I'm losing bladder control in my increasing old age.

 
Is it pervy that I remember my third grade teacher's ample cleavage? She surely had no idea, but man, we all got an eyeful every time she leaned over our desks. I was always blushing when she talked to me, and she wrote "Sarah is a sweet girl, but I hope she becomes more confident this year!" on my report card. Yeah, I was just feeling awkward because of your constant boobs-in-my-face, Mrs. Let's-go-with-Smith! Honestly, she was a great teacher. I do remember more than the cleavage, but wowza.

If only we could all pull off the sunglasses-all-the-time like the Blues Brothers.

 I wear my sunglasses at night. So I can. So I can... I cannot even believe this song is still floating around in my brain. I was pregnant with David when it started and he will be 4 in a few months. This is how people go insane, I think.

Turns out there's a whole flickr category for displaying what's in your bag!

 I also thought a lot about what people keep in their bags. I have a nearly irresistible urge to rummage around in other people's bags. I am dying to know what's in there, even though I'm relatively sure it's just gum wrappers and keys to things that they don't own anymore.