To Serve and Protect….and answer 911 misdials….

Yeah so I’m sure we’ve all had an experience reference in today’s title.

My five year old got a hold of his oldest brothers phone and played around with it.

A few minutes later, my thirteen yr old came in to the living room freaking out because the police were on the phone.

They arrived on scene as per protocol about 7 minutes later, and the sight of my wee one in tears gave them a bit of a chuckle. They nicely and warmly asked him to be careful in the future and wished us a good night.

The system isn’t perfect, but I’d rather have it this way then not at all.

Winds and Sails…..

Parenting and the digital age. Ugh.

No one ever said regular parenting was easy.

These days, the task of nurturing our young is significantly enhanced. So much so that it can knock the proverbial wind out of your sails.

Our kids are growing up faster. Navigating their tech-savvy, social network-dominated existence is almost like watching an alien soap opera.

Sure, we grew up with the first instances of the information age, but it didn’t command and define our personalities and demeanor.

There is so much more exposure to a variety of electronic elements. The language, the tone, the intent – it all hinges on the momentary impulse that emanates from their finger tips, like electricity pulsing through a circuit.

What we say matters. How we say it, even more so. And as always,
our audience plays the biggest role.

Its easy to forget that this reality is common place for our kids.

That the new paradigm is not new. Their ability to bob and weave the jabs and uppercuts thrown by their digital peers is as much a survival technique as making fire or reading the sun.

But sometimes, they misstep. They fumble. They make mistakes.

And it is still our job to catch them. To help them help themselves, and to point out the lesson they need to learn.

We are all only human.

Winds of change will blow. Other sails will unfurl. And our kids will be challenged as parents, in ways we can’t even conceive.

The only difference is they are the first generation where everyone else is listening.

Let’s teach them to craft their voice with care, thoughtfulness and compassion. They are our legacy; our lasting imprint on the genetic memory of our species.

Rough Trade

So another misses opportunity for eloquent meanderings through verb and verse.

Another bizarre night of offputting dreams.

Did I actually sleep last night?

I probably did but I still feel like I’m in a movie starring GSP.

Hopefully coffee will sweep away the cobwebs and discarded emotional wreckage that frolics hand in hand with a bad nights sleep.

More to come later today. Stay tuned.

Well, that’s just like your opinion, man……

I should just keep my mouth shut.

Listen.

I have this bizarre notion that people deserve truth.

Perhaps this is the last remaining glimmer of my twenty-something idealism, desperately clinging to life at the edge of a raw nerve.

I honestly believe that my doing anything less than be truthful with you is a disservice.

And that doesn’t jive with me.

You see, I can take you being angry with me.

Feel the need to voice your opinion? Go ahead!

Wanna chuck a burning toaster at my head? Why not?

Perhaps a conveniently located Plymouth moving forwards and backwards over my right foot will provide the necessary relief from tension, gained by my heartfelt but straightforward offering?

Knock yourself the fuck out.

Because I am a big boy. And I have big boy shoulders. And big boy pants to accommodate my big boy balls. And all of these attributes afford me the confidence, the wherewithal and the consideration to respect you enough to not yank your fucking chain. Even if it means hurting your feelings a little bit.

It does you no good. And it does me no good.

No matter what anyone ever says or ever feels about what you do, say or think, they should always be willing to admit that you were always honest.

And that you always knew where your towel was.

Assistance Is Futile….

So my oldest son is participating in an overnight cenotaph vigil with his Air Cadet Squadron for Remembrance Day.

I’m pretty proud of him.

However, as I was finishing work tonight, my wife texted me and said he’d forgotten his toque.

Like any dutiful Dad, I ran it over to him.

As I arrived at the legion, he was sitting at a table with some friends, his back to me.

And that’s when I saw it.

You see, it is customary, in any military oriented organization, to keep a certain dress and deportment about yourself.

Specifically your hair.

Now, he’d done his due diligence last night by using the clippers and giving himself a proper haircut.

Except for the ridiculous swath of hair he missed on the back of his head.

I mentioned it. He said he knew already.

For smegs sake people. If you need help with something, just ask.

Everything’s Coming Up …..Uh, What was I saying?….

OK. So I’m only human.

Not every post is going to be chock full of peaches and light, with happy bunnies crapping out rainbows and shit.

Sorry about that. That was wildly inappropriate.

I have been feeling a strong premonition relating to a head cold the last two days.

Today it appeared to up its game.

I have liquids and rest in my corner. The Cold has its minions invading my sinuses, and is stockpiling mucus.

It’s going to get violent soon.

Gross. It just made me sneeze all over my tablet.

Well played, Cold. Well played.

Nixed Messages

So today I’ve had several pieces of technology fail on me.

The power went out. My laptop died. My tablet keeps rebooting. My vehicle is woefully unprepared for the winter, and dinner was too greasy. Generally the day ended up detouring to Poopsville, and I was being given the key to the city.

Of course at the end of the day I realize these are small potatoes. And for those of you unfamiliar with the mystical secrets of miniature pomme de terre-ians, it means really isn’t a big deal.

Even as we speak, or more accurately as I speak, I write this without the aid of my speak-n-spell option on my phone, which in no way overuses my diminishing battery life, I am working on a plan.

I am rising above. I am adapting and overcoming.  I am exercising the electronic demons that fester and putrify within my apparatuses…..apparatusi….my stuff.

In short, I am doing what any sane, sensible, modern techo-saavy macho dude in my place would do:

I looked it up online, found a solution and followed the instructions.

I can trust the internet, right?

I Stream the Body Electric….

I have an unhealthy relationship with Netflix.

Hang on. Let me start at the beginning.

So like 5 years ago, we nixed cable/satellite as a source of entertainment, primarily due to cost, but also to stave off the bad habits we as a family were developing.

You know. Glued to the set for far too long throughout the day.

Skip to the end – We started using the streaming, digital version of Netflix probably about 2 years ago.

Man, those 3 movies and 2 tv shows were awesome.

I digress. I do that a lot.

Today, the majority of our recreational viewing is via Netflix. Which is ok, because it’s still waaaayyy cheaper than the alternative.

Here’s the problem.

No commercials.

I know, right??

What is my problem?

Here it is: Commercials would compel me to either a) switch channels, or b) get up and do something else, out of hatred for commercials.

Now we burn through tv shows, documentaries, movies of all kinds (that we’d never known existed) like some sort of tweaked out speed freaks.

It’s a bad habit.

And the worst thing of all?

You can never find the things you ACTUALLY want to watch, so you settle for something less than ideal.

Oh. My. God.

I’m paying for a video rental store.

I feel so dirty…….