A Wireless Drug.

I have yurt on the brain (that’s not a term for expired yogurt, people). Matt and I are going camping at Fort Yargo and staying in one of these bad boys for two nights…



The only snag of this excursion? It’s literally a poop-fling away from my work (not really a get-a-way).

Regardless of the location, we couldn’t be more excited for this trip (it’s much needed). So much that our last four conversations (plus an email) have been going over a checklist of essential items to bring (we’re both list people, which is a plus to have someone to compare notes with).

Learning from our last camping trip, we’ve expanded the list to include: scrabble (the board game), my laptop (the 5 Season collection of Dexter, originally for me, has now become a fixation for Matt), playing cards, functioning fishing poles, I-pod dock and tail-gate chairs. Yeah, we kind of winged the last trip, which was in June (I think?). It was probably one of my favorite trips we’ve taken together so far. We hiked, played with the wife-beater-wearing mountain children (and one unfortunately left out little porker named Harmon), fished (sort of) and made up our own game with our neighbor's Dollar General toy set. It was a very memorable, hot, slightly stank trip, but we’re in love so that trumps the B.O and lack of fundamental camping necessities.

Although my I-phone is on its merry way, it’s times like these when I so badly wish to gank a smart phone from the next sticky-palmed-6-year-old I see so it can actually be used for work/social purposes. Let me just say this—Any parent that entrusts their child with a $300 cell phone with unsupervised access to the world wide web needs to be given a 30 second Indian sunburn to the neck from Huge Hand Hank (among other forms of frivolous torture—pardon the oxymoron).

It blows my mind that parents these days hand over expensive electronics with glee to hush or preoccupy their out-of-control children. Maybe a little attention rather than supplementation would be much appreciated and welcomed (and by both parties).

Sure, I’ll let my (future) kids play a game or two on my cell phone while on a long trip or maybe when in line at the bank. But why else would an otherwise irresponsible youngster need their own cell phone?

For educational purposes? That’s laughable. My generation and the ones prior did just fine on learning from GPB, books or from actual people.

It’s true, existing and future generations are now given endless opportunities to succeed from the amount of knowledge the internet has to offer. Of course, you've got security or parental controls set, but don't be

surprised if your child downloads a way to get around your block--yup, there's an app for that! Are we not stealing a part of their innocence if we’re continuing to expose them to infinite streams of information? Along with the good, there comes evil. In most cases, especially involving children, innocence is bliss. I still value that cliché at age 23.

The excuse, “we both work and need to be able to get in touch with our kid,” just doesn’t cut the cake for me. What, you need to contact them at daycare? School? Their friend’s house? (Each place mentioned having either a land-line or an adult with access to a phone). If it’s that vital they need to be contacted, send your oh-so-important message over the morning announcements (It is the unspoken rule of parents to embarrass your kids, right? Not take away precious minutes from their learning time through texting?)

I get it, I’m no mother. I can’t yet understand how much time and energy goes into being a parent. That may be so. However, I do know my children will not suffer from childhood obesity because I gave them a cell phone as a means of entertainment instead of sending them outside to nurture their mental, physical and emotional needs.

Parents, just a thought: Maybe it’s time to stop making excuses for why we’re allowing our children to become spoiled brats, giving into their every want as if it’s a need. Maybe it’s time to get back to the fundamentals and give them what’s truly important— a living role model from which to learn.

Looking back at my childhood, some of my favorite past times were simply playing and being a kid: building forts and trails in our woods with Jordan and Josh; sunday afternoon “band” practices with Cadence and Anna; playing cops and robbers on my bicycle with Christie; utilizing my very active imagination with Savannah (which was always an adventure); dressing up, swim team practices or making movies with Kara, Carley, LK and Ali; and spend the night parties and sneaking out to play pranks. The trampoline was our hot spot and no stinkin’ App could hold a candle to group dates at the movies.

This is all just an opinion, obviously. Everyone chooses different paths to take when it comes to raising their children, neither right nor wrong, or at least not for anyone to declare. And to that I say, “To each his own.” Perhaps it may be that I’m just a tad bit jealous/surprised when a five year old is teaching me how to use the newest I-phone or I-pad.

Regardless, all of this makes me a little weary about bringing a sweet baby into this exceedingly advanced, technological world. With the way things are looking in 2011, I guess I better get used to it...

Oh! Cheese and crust! He's lost his head!

I don’t dive too deep into the pool of the supernatural, even though I’ve been told (only a couple of hundred times) the spirit of Maurice Gibb must live in my throat. Gosh, if that were the case, and I was rocking the stylish wardrobe of the BeeGees’, I would go to every coffee house in Atlanta and show those damn “hipsters” how to truly rock a fedora…



I’m not even that superstitious! Wait, well. I have this theory that Max is actually the cat from 1993’s Hocus Pocus, and all of us humans should proceed with caution when in his presence. Why this theory, you ask? For starters, he’s black, has a British accent and his breath is atrociously close to that of an unwiped keister. I mean, the latter is probably due to the fact he’s on his like, what.. 7th, 8th life by now? I’m sure most of the dead are prone to having death-breath… hehe!! (look what I did there!!) Well, anyhow, the jigs up, you fugly little monster. I know your skecret!

Let me stroll back on topic. There have been some umm, well, “spooky” happenings in my apartment since October began (at least that’s what mom and dad are bellyaching about). I, for one, think my mother is off her wooden rocker and trying to scare the Lebanese out of my dad (not a hard task, by the way). She insists it’s the contrary, but states she does get a good kick out of standing behind doors and jumping out to hear his girly scream and see his eyes pop out.

With all that said, I’ll fill you in since I know you’re just DYING to hear what happened (pun intended and delightfully provided by yours truly):

1. Last week, we’re all getting ready for bed— brushing teeth, combing each other’s hair, applying Carmex and licking the last wall that needed my stamp of approval. I had gotten in trouble the day before for turning up Dave FM too loud and disturbing the tubby pregnant lady above us (she’s a stomper and deserved a taste of her own medicine). My punishment was cleaning duty, all 1200 sq ft (whatever). I’m saying all of this because we went to bed, door closed and locked, to a clean and garden-fresh smelling home (spank you very much). The next morning, we wake up to my dog bowls in the middle of the hall. Dad asks mom, “Did you put these here?” She had some smart-ass remark like, “Why, yes. Yes I did, Matthew,” followed by a disapproving/stank-face look. They immediately turn to me and assume because they’re mine that I must have woken up in the middle of the night, unlocked the door and strewn my plates in a fit of fat-boy rage! I told them I was nestled all night in between dad’s hambones. After all, being the light sleeper he is, he couldn’t deny that fact.

2. Last night, mom and I were doing our usual before bed routine-- all lights off, doors locked, sound machine on and meechums goodnight. We wake up at 7:30 this morning and mom walks out and gasps…. The hall lights were on. We both distinctly remember looking down the dark hall before closing the bedroom door last night…

It’s interesting now that I think of it, but I’m pretty sure the whole dog bowl incident happened a week ago from last night. Regardless, dad’s freaked out and what’s more! American Horror Story comes on tonight. I’m thinking of sneaking out the back window to play a nice little trick on the folks when they’re in the middle of tonight’s new episode…. Might wear a black mask? Might go to Starship and buy a leather one-piece? Might bang on the door and say, “I HATE TREES!” (that’s for those AHS fans)

MMM. Well this could get interesting. Gosh, I love October and not because I’ll be four in 13 days! If anyone else has any bright ideas on how to scare the Bejesus out of my rents, do tell. I’m all ears!

Love,
Angel Joe