Friday, December 19, 2008
This is old news (discussed here way back in June: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/24993253/), so you're probably already aware of what I'm talking about: "sexting"--nude pictures and messages shared via cell phones. Apparently this is a growing trend, becoming more and more commonplace and occurring with an increasingly younger set.
Well, in the above-linked column, Helen Popkin writes:
"...rather than ripping the cell phones from the greasy paws of the young and innocent and declaring Internet Prohibition (yeah, that’d work), probably us grown-ups should try and wrap our heads around an age-old fact that was true when our parents were stupid brats, not to mention us....Once the hormones kick in, kids are going to do stuff we’d rather not think about...
The best we can do is teach every sprog circling adolescence how to use both their cell phones and their bodies responsibly as you would with any other tool, such as a car or a chainsaw. And don’t freak out too much."
So, the solution, she suggests, is in the hands of the parents. I couldn't agree more. That's why this parent, if ever faced with the reality of his son using his cell phone to "sext," will use his hands to, oh, I don't know, maybe rip the cell phone from his greasy paws?
Now, I'm not dumb enough to think that this will suppress his raging hormones for even a moment. As Popkin rightly suggests, he'll find other ways to make a complete ass of himself. And if he's anything like his Dad, he'll do it often. And publicly.
But here's the thing: it's my cell phone. It's not his cell phone. I'm paying for it, so I get to make the rules about its use. Break the rules, lose the privilege. Rule number 1: No T&A. Or D&A. Whatever. It comes equipped with zero genitalia-minutes. Rule number 2: It's a phone, a tool, not a toy. Something I put in your pocket so you can call me if a deranged psycho is trying to harm you or offer you a variable rate mortgage.
Call me naive. I probably am. But my childhood experience taught me that setting and enforcing "for-your-own-good" rules was one of the primary duties of parenting. That, and listening to Barry Manilow. And much to my son's future chagrin...I'm fully prepared to do both.
Oh, BTW--cell phone rule number 3: Use this to cheat in school and it's your ass. Tell me--do parents even consider cheating "cheating" anymore, or is it now seen as some sort of Darwinian imperative? A post for another time...
Friday, December 12, 2008
Well, time has done its job and I have pulled back from my first reaction. Reluctantly.
But anyone who:
1) had a hand in the chanting and door-busting,
2) touched even a fraction of an inch of the bottom of their foot (probably as close as these "bargain-hunters" get to a soul) to any part of that man, and/or
3) protested when store employees asked them to leave due to the small matter of a man's trampled and broken body, should be as ashamed of themselves as humanly possible.
Yes, that's my Christmas wish. That you members of that mob spend 2009 (and beyond) feeling the most despairing, despondent shame. Aw, you don't have to thank me. I insist! You deserve it! Because, when you put shopping--no matter how spectacular the savings--above the well-being of another human being...well, that's about as shameful as it gets.
Your kind of behavior defines the word "worthless."
Worthless. Just like the flat-screens and iPods and XBoxes and toys and Blu-rays and cell phones and all the other utterly unnecessary crap you despicable cretins killed a man to get.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
...and they had the swinest time, and lived hammily ever after...
And so weirdly British?
Why Twisted Sister’s classic anti-authority anthem “We’re Not Gonna Take It” is being used to hawk birth control. Yeah, that's right. I called it a classic. What're you gonna do about it?
People who walk around with a mobile phone perched upon their ear, like it's some electronic aural sex device whispering sweet nothings 24/7. "Hey, stud...your ear wax is nummy."
Celebrities who think it’s cool to name their kids things like Bronx Mowgli. What's next? “I’m proud to announce that today we welcomed our new baby girl! Mother and Queens Baloo are doing fine."
Why there isn’t a government agency responsible for outlawing names like that. I mean, my God, shouldn’t somebody be watching out for the little Pilot Inspektors and Audio Sciences and Dakota Sierras of the world?
Mothers who shriek along with their pre-teen daughters at screenings of Twilight.
Shrieking fans in general.
My neighbor’s penchant for standing in the middle of our street shooting arrows at a target in his garage while wearing a camouflage jacket and, I dunno, hunting tights?
How my son can be doing so well in kindergarten and yet still be seemingly unable to accept full responsibility for wiping his own ass. Sorry--heinie.
How my wife can call the Evil Dead films "stupid" and then sit for hours in front of a Real Housewives marathon.How anyone could NOT consider "We're Not Gonna Take It" a classic.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Full disclosure: I vetted this like McCain vets a Veep. (Oh, snap!)
But hey--what can I say? I'm mavericky that way.
Anyhoo. It appeared in The Kansas City Star, which is just mainstream liberal media elite enough for an irredeemable "socialist" like me to buy into.
Even if it's only half true, I'm pretty sure it torpedoes the traditional marriage argument.
'Course, what do I know? I've recently been informed by several letters to the editor that my carefully considered vote was, in fact, manipulated and engineered by the very same liberal elite media I found this column in.
Anyway--here you go. Take a click at a brief history of marriage.