Chris Weagel writes about the intersection of technology and parenting for Wired Magazine. No he doesn't. He can't stand that shit.
What will be remembered about American culture thousands of years from now?
Guaranteed, when the people of Tomorrow think about the people of Today they will think of the feeling of mild nausea one gets when gazing at an aerial photo of a shopping mall.
Robert "Bobby" Kmetz was born a Nintendo Superstar. The doctor called it in the delivery room. You and I have preconceptions of just what a "Nintendo Superstar" is. We know that such an individual is incredibly gifted at playing any and all Nintendo-themed Video Games. We know such a person is impossible to photograph - the photochemical process just doesn't work with the light they reflect. We know they eat only vanilla everything. No additional flavors in their diet. We all know the score, so to speak. What set Bobby "The Capt of Quarters" Kmetz apart from fellow Nintendo Superstars of his generation, though, were his emerald green eyes. With them, he could see through Nintendo games (and phonebooks, although that had limited application). He could envision, just by staring at the game...
But he looked like a sailor.
(And he had these hideous wings like a llama bug.)
On this horrible morning when we wake to find that last night did happen. That we did, as a nation, in fact, elect a gigantic, man-eating Spider as President. That we did not simply hallucinate this, poisoned by the overconsumption of store brand frozen waffles. That we have a fearful 80 years ahead of us - all of us, even the elderly thanks to the Spider's Miracle Life-Extension Technology - 80 years ahead of us folding and unfolding napkins into designs and patterns that amuse this Spider's wife. That yes, goddamnit, Ralph Nader was right. When we awaken to the fact that a right healthy majority of us Americans thought we were electing one of those happy, cuddly Muppet spiders but instead got one of those creepy, rubber-toy H.R. Geiger spiders ruling over us virtually unopposed, why the...
A Severe Thunderstorm Warning has been issued. You're filled with terror. You start to panic, knowing you and your family are unprepared. You never thought this could happen to you. Only those suckers on TV. You're too smart. You wear clean pants. Mother Nature doesn't care about your clean pants. And now, in a mere thirty seconds, she's going to bring down all of God's Fury, right on your head. Piercing Rain. Shattering Thunder. Hail that's as ugly as it is round. And sharp, too. As soon as you make the wrong move - ZAMM! Lighting strikes you straight to hell. "Why didn't I listen? Why didn't I prepare?" Wasting time asking yourself questions you don't have answers for. You had the brochures. You knew you should've bought extra batteries for the emergency radio. That you should've filled...
I cannot tell you what we do on the Special Hat Commission until you join.
It's worth it. You get stickers.
With every Piñata I've ever destroyed, I first took a photograph of it, prior to the party.
These were Polaroid photos, so no store clerk developer had to know I took them. I wrote the names, ages and astrological signs of the Piñatas on the lower section of the photo and carefully affixed them into an unassuming album I keep near the bed.
Oh beat them I did, with total fury. When I was done most of the candy was inedible. Children's tears flowed into a river.
But every night - even to this day - I take out the album. Turn page after page. And I apologize to each filthy Piñata. By name.
Forgive me.
Seriously considering emptying my savings and going heavily into debt to finance the purchase of an industrial farming tractor. The kind that are larger than most convenience stores and feature air-conditioned cabs with satellite radio and real leather glove compartments. I would very much like to drive it, at full speed, which is probably no more than 10 MPH, and that's with the wind at your back, up and down the side streets of my neighborhood. I would do so for the better part of the day - I would never farm anything - occasionally stopping to demonstrate the electric-powered automatic mirrors and sun roof to school kids who didn't already hate me. Often I would just stop in the middle of the street blocking 51% of a person's driveway leaving them livid about driving over their own...
