One of my jobs, as you may know, is writing questions for Nashville's best bar trivia company. Since the internet signal that I
Who would have thought that even 5 years ago, so many people would be bringing their computers into bars not to mention coffee shops where the thwack-thwack-thwack of the keys must mean that you are working really hard on that novel you're writing? Not me. I'm obviously guilty of it. 'Cept for the whole bringing-the-laptop-into-a-coffee-shop part. I hate coffee, I don't drink caffeine and every time I go into a coffee shop I get the distinct feeling that I am being quietly judged by Johnny GrandeLatte because I'm more interested in buying orange juice and not tipping the barista for merely ringing up my order and doing nothing over and above the ordinary to warrant a tip and DAMNIT JUST LEAVE ME ALONE AND LET ME OUT OF THIS COFFE SHOP! As an aside, I am strangely excited that the blogger dashboard doesn't recognize "barista" as a word and gives me the little red underline squiggly thing beneath it.
But connectivity is everywhere. Ubiquitous. All the time. We've been juiced up... even when there's no internet connection we have our smart phones that are certain to one day rise up against us. Tweeting, facebooking, foursquaring (which is much more addictive than I thought it was going to be) and other internetting. Three little red underline squiggly things in a row and "barista" has taken its revenge.
Most of the readers of this blog are probably between the ages of 25 and 35 which, conveniently, happens to be the age of most my friends. That's about the only piece of information that Google Analytics won't provide. Yes, big brother is watching you. Special shout out to my readers from Oceania! But being that age, most of my friends are at the point in their life when they are either getting married and/or having babies. This is where connectivity is a horrible thing.
In all honesty, I don't need updates every 15 minutes on what your baby is doing; that she just smiled at you; that he took his first step; that little Timmy Diapers is learning how to use the toilet. I know your kid is perfect. As a matter of fact, I probably really like your kid. As a further matter of fact, I probably think that your kid is a slice of fried gold. Fortunately for you, my dear reader, I am a horrible babysitter. The only game/activity that I know is "I'mgonnagitcha! I'mgonnagitcha!" where in I run around the house and pretend to chase your youngin about. What am I supposed to do with your kid after that? Feed him some ice cream? Let her watch Raging Bull? I don't know. I do know, however, that no one ever calls me to watch their kid. Maybe it has something to do with the empty pizza box in my room and the fact that I still really like cartoons. I'm not an expert.
My point, and I swear I have one, is that I'm just not that impressed with your kid. I prefaced that, as you will recall, with "I probably think that your kid is a slice of fried gold" so the worst you can be is mad at me. Of course, every parent is proud of their kid, and rightfully so. My parents are proud of me but I can't recall the last time my mom's facebook status read "I'm so proud of my little man! He just poured a whole glass of milk all by himself with no spillers! NO SPILLERS!" Of course, I'm 29, don't drink much milk these days, and my mom lives in a different region of the country so it may just be a perfect storm of all those things not having occurred in the same time and space together in quite a while which is the reason my mom hasn't posted that. And my dad doesn't have a facebook account so he simply can't post it.
So, my dear friends who are reading this, I do not need to know all the minute details of your kid's life. Sure, they're cute and, sure, I get it that your really proud of your little one. Take solace, though, that I am more interested in your kid than that Justin Beiber jackass and how he's doing the on the internet. He's 16 years old, Canadian, left-handed, and has to play with a capo on is guitar because I'm betting that his testicles haven't dropped just yet (hang in there, pal!). As a general rule of thumb, anyone born after 1990 can't matter on the internet just yet. I can't seem to think of another teen pop sensation off the top of my head so I guess I'll have to leave it as a blanket statement. I even did a Google image search (with the "safe search" function turned off) just to see if I recognized any of the people that were going to be brought up and got some pretty disturbing images. I am not kidding about that last part.
Now, friends, if your 14 month old gets a twitter account and starts posting pictures, I'll be impressed. Until that day, however, I'm not interested in kids and the world of social media meeting.
I wonder how many disappointed 14 year old girls are gonna come across this entry and be completely disappointed that there aren't more pictures of JB? Well, to satiate the masses, here's one of me with JB:Yup. Me and my dad, Jim Bohn, in 1998 at my high school graduation. There. Now you can't call me a liar.