Apparently my willingness to drive out of my way so my family can visit PokéStops, combined with my willingness to act as driver and navigator on rainy day Pokémon hunts, makes me “cool.”
Now . . . I knew the definition of “cool” was going to change from what it was when I was a kid, but this is not the direction I expected it to take!
If you want to view paradise,
Simply look around and view it.
Anything you want to, do it.
Wanna change the world?
There’s nothing to it.
I am in no way technophobic . . . barring of course my fears concerning things like engineered super plagues, or nuclear (or worse) devastation, or the risks of overlying on A.I.’s, or . . .
Okay, maybe I’m a little technophobic . . . but in a (mostly) rational way. As a general rule I like technology, I embrace technology. There are certainly risks to be aware of, costs versus gains to be kept in mind, but I for one am glad to be living in a technological age.
Some lines, however, should never be crossed.
I’ve adapted to the idea that phones are now also cameras, and while I don’t personally embrace the “selfie” culture, I recognize it exists, so yesterday I started familiarizing myself with Snapchat so I could better keep in touch with some people I know who enjoy taking pictures of themselves and the world around them. So after downloading the app, I’m opening it up for the first time and . . . WHAM! My phone is now a digital mirror and I’m staring at my own face!
They need to warn people in advance that Snapchat does that!
Class . . . and by that I mean true class, is not something you’re born with. It’s not a skill you can teach others, you can only perhaps inspire it by example, and even then the operative word is perhaps; it’s a trait you have to cultivate within yourself.
Unless you’re joining me for dinner, I generally see no need to discuss my meal plans or eating habits with you.
And though old-fashioned it may be, I apply this same logic to all aspects of my personal life.
It happens from time to time, but it still throws me. I’ll be researching the ballot for an upcoming election, and suddenly I find there’s this one minor election where there is next to no information about any of the candidates.
This always pains me, particularly since we live in the so-called “Information Age.”
I like to feel like I’ve cast the most informed vote possible, and I hate when I’m forced to make a decision based on “Well . . . I know their names, and I know that this one wrote a book about puppies and ducklings. Decisions . . . decisions . . .”
To anyone who was watching me play with my son in our backyard yesterday:
Let me assure you that it was not my idea to play fetch with my son. He brought the stick to me and asked me to throw it for him. I did my best to turn this into a fun opportunity for him to practice how to track objects in the air and keep his eye on where they landed, as well as giving him a little bit of general exercise, but I want to stress that it was his idea!
I just don’t want you to think that I was using my parental authority for the sake of my own amusement.
It’s not a good sign when relative strangers start sizing you up and telling you that you need to relax more; but it’s a worse sign when they are obviously unimpressed with your protestations that you’re doing the best you can:
“I relax every chance I get! The other day, in fact, I sat outside alone in the sun for twenty minutes, and . . . why are you looking at me that way? Twenty minutes is a long time when you share space with a five-year-old!”
One more school story in honor of my son’s first week of kindergarten:
We were going over an alphabet worksheet together, and aside from me helping keep him on track, my son had to do everything himself. Things were going well right up until the point I said, “Now do a ‘P,” then quickly clarified, “I mean the letter ‘P’, of course.”
Naturally this sent my son into a fit of laughter, then his eyes got big and he dashed off saying, “I have to go to the bathroom!”
“Well . . . now would be the time for it,” I called back.
It took five full minutes for him to stop laughing so we could get back to the worksheet.
Some parents would call it a “proud parent” moment when their child knows the answer in class that no one else does, and I suppose I would as well . . . but some things are more impressive to me than factual knowledge.
For instance, when my son’s teacher asked his class if they were excited about the new program they were going to be using in class soon, one by one all my son’s classmates dutifully indicated that they were; meanwhile my son’s symbolic “no” floated lonely and alone next to a sea of yeses.
My son remained unyielding though, because while he was neither for nor against said new program, the question had been was he “excited” about it, and excited about it he was not.
Candles & Curses 