I think Facebook and Twitter have teamed up to murder my blog. The random thoughts that used to end up as rants on this slice of the web, are now summed up in 140 or less characters. The irony isn’t lost on this blogger either, as the blogsphere has done it’s part in killing newspapers and even books. And as most other “current” technological advances, the shelf life is shorter than an open carton of milk on the counter in August. You know, not long.
So I’m looking at my twitter and “FB” (as the kids call it) updates, and I’m going to attempt to expand on them, in true FromTheHirp fashion.
April 11th
“The kyd just asked me "what’s donkey kong" so now I know what troubles are ahead for this generation..its gonna be ugly.”
It started when she threw down the gauntlet, challenging me to a wrestling match. My response was, the always clever, “oh, it’s on like Donkey Kong.”
And she gave me a nice age check, with “what’s Donkey Kong?”
Never mind slutty toys like Bratz, or pop shit like Hannah Montana, or the sex and drugs on television, the real problem with kids today is that they don’t even know who Donkey Kong is. The lessons that game can teach, and the hours it can waste are being missed by our kids. Someone needs to get congress involved.
April 6th
“So my dumbass causes to my wife giving the kyd A talk (not THE talk) but close enough. Daddy needs a drink.”
Here’s the story: as the wife was getting the Kyd ready for bed, I had picked up one of Mrs. Hirp’s magazines off of the coffee table and thumbed through the pages. It wasn’t even a Cosmo, but there was some article that had something to do with sex. So, of course I had to read it. Then the Kyd came back in to the living room, so I closed it. She left and I resummed my reading. Of course she had to come back in to say goodnight to the dog and I, and so I closed the magazine. She turned to leave, so I went back to the article. And who knew a 7 year old could read upside down.
She says, “I saw what that said,” and giggled. Great, way to go, Hirp. Oh well, no biggie, she’s seen that word on mom’s magazines before. Shouldn’t be a big deal. But as her mom is tucking her in, the Kyd asks the question, and just 10 years before we wanted her to. “Mommy, what’s sex? The kids at school talk about it, and said its gross.” (she’s in 1st grade, I’m not okay with this in any way)
Mrs. Hirp is thrown off her game, so she tries to get defuse the situation. “It’s when a mommy and daddy are hugging and kissing, and how they make a baby.” She’s feeling pretty good now, as that seems to have ended the conversation. Until a few minutes later when she tells me the story.
“Uh oh,” I tell her, “now when she sees us kiss or hug, she’ll think we’re having sex.” We can already see her at school the next day, “Mommy and G have sex all the time.” To be followed by a visit from the authorities. So we decide it would best for Mrs. Hirp to give a little more detail, hopefully just enough to make the Kyd slightly uncomfortable and drop it until we can consume a few drinks and hope she never, ever ever ever, asks that question again.
Way to go, Hirp. You know better than to do something as silly as read. Idiot.
