Wednesday 26 June 2013

Rule 34

A couple of months ago, whilst scrolling through a Facebook feed that seemed comprised of;
  1. Photos of food
  2. Trouser wettingly exciting statements such as; "It rained today and I got wet."
  3. "Inspirational" bullshit written across black and white photo's of kittens
  4. Covert racism
  5. Irritating updates on whatever "funny" thing someone's kid said
  6. Blog posts...
  7. Wait... what's my point here?
I noticed someone had shared a status about how they'd grown up in the eighties and that being a kid was better back then. This is patently nonsense, things are vastly better now. For instance, teenage boys no longer have to get their porn from the boot of a burnt out car on some wasteland. Instead they simply type any two words into Google and Rule 34 will work it's magic.

Ok, not a great example.

However, the information revolution has made being a kid a lot more complicated. I'm not talking about things like social media here - the Boy and Girl have yet to enter that bear-pit of mundanity and drabness. But the internet is already having an affect on their lives. I've mentioned before that the Boy was posting crap on my Twitter feed, but things have moved on.

"Dad, what's our email address?"
"Hang on, Boy. I've just go in and I need to get changed."

The Boy was sat at the computer. Again. Since we moved a week ago I mostly see the Boy from behind, his head framed by the computer monitor and the Lego website clanging away. Since I cycle to work, and we've moved further away, I have been coming back from work looking like Swamp thing. So I stripped of my shirt and trousers. 

"Keep your pants on dad. No one wants to see that."

The Boy said, without looking away from the screen. I threw a pair of socks at him (which missed, went out of an open window and I had to retrieve later on), had a wash and sprawled out on the sofa, prompting the Girl to punch me in the stomach and then scale the side of me.

"I love you, daddy. But you've got bogies up your nose."
"Thanks, sweetheart."
"Dad, what's our email address."
"It's TMBSBLOG@GMAIL.COM"
"Ok...."
"Wait! Why?"
"Because WE'VE WON AN IPAD!!"

Now there's no way to convince a six year old that you haven't won an Ipad. You have in fact one the right to be bombarded by spam email about penis extensions and sex swings.

And frankly we have more than enough of those