My youngest son's friend was over today after school.
"Want to go see the girl's basketball game tonight?" I asked. This year's team is better than any other high school basketball team I've ever seen, of either gender. Their style of play is what you'd expect if Dean Smith choreographed Stravinsky's Firebird.
"I can't," he said. "I've got a fantasy baseball draft tonight."
"No, that's not until a week from Sunday," I told him. Like last year, a group of fathers and sons are forming a fantasy league.
"This is a different one," he said.
"Who's running it?" I asked.
"Some guy," he said.
"Who?" I asked again, suddenly more curious.
"Some guy in North Carolina. I found out about it on the internet."
"A grown up?"
"Yeah. I think he's retarded though."
"What are you talking about?" I demanded. "You're playing fantasy baseball with a retarded adult from North Carolina you met online?"
"Yeah," he repeated.
"Do your parents know about this?"
"Not yet," he said. "Why?"
Just then his dad arrived to pick him up. "Are you going to the game with Snag?" he asked.
"He can't," I said. "He's got to get home for the fantasy league draft."
"What league?" his father asked.
"The one he's in with some guy he met in a chat room," I said.
"Huh? You make less sense than my kid." Turning to his son he asked, "What's he talking about?"
"Tell your dad," I encouraged.
"I'm going to join a league this guy's running. And it wasn't a chat room."
"Who?" asked his father. The conversation was starting to sound familiar.
"A retarded man in North Carolina," I offered helpfully.
"No," my friend said, glaring at his son.
"But. . . . "
"No. No. No. No. No."
"But. . . ."
"Don't you know anything about internet safety?" he asked. "What the hell are you thinking?"
"I don't know."
"Obviously. Does he know who you are?"
"No," said my son's friend. "I told him I'm twenty-three."
"What?" his father asked.
"You know. Twenty-three years old."
"Great plan. Does he know where you live?"
"I told him I was in China," said the boy, getting nervous.
"Get your damn jacket," said his dad. "We're going home."
"Does this mean I can't be in the league?"
"No. No. No. No. No. You're spending the night working on an essay about staying away from freaks."
"Oh man," he sighed, reaching for his jacket. He and his dad left.
"You," I said, looking at my son.
"I didn't do anything," he protested.
"Good. Don't."
"Jeez, you guys make a big deal out of stuff."
"When we have to," I said.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Field Of Nightmares
Posted by Snag at 9:39 PM
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18 comments:
Yikes!
I wonder how you would explain the baking contest?
"THAT'S DIFFERENT. IT IS LIKE DRINKING, SMOKING AND SEX. FOR ADULTS! YOU ARE GROUNDED. NO MORE QUESTIONS."
I wonder how you would explain the baking contest?
LOL.
The Internets are (can be) very scary. Somehow I would try to make sure that they just don't become more sneaky about it and try to hide it from you guys.
How to do that? If you figure it out, let me know.
The father sounded like Grizzled yesterday after I told him about fish's video... :)
sure.
Here I am, just minding my own business and wandering by, thinking I might comment a little today among some of my Internet Friends; what do I see but a Modern Cautionary Tale.
Then I read the preceding post. Baking contest nothing, it's Rule 34.
snag's got a point, and he provides his own best examples. I'm going back to hiding under the covers.
The baking contest was better, though, because strangers were sending homemade food to each other.
Hmm. Never mind.
I'm 43 years old and I've never told my mom about my blog specifically because of you people.
I'm still *sneaky*.
Especially because of Pinko Punko.
BP!!!! You're BACK!!!!
w00t!
BP- I forgot... whatever you do, don't stop over at fish's place. It's rule 34 to the nth degree.
THAT'S DIFFERENT. IT IS LIKE DRINKING, SMOKING AND SEX. FOR ADULTS!
When do I get to be an adult? I would like to try those things.
whatever you do, don't stop over at fish's place. It's rule 34 to the nth degree.
Sure, try to expand your horizons about art and music, and this is what I get.
too late.
I'm scarred for what is left of my life.
btw you should tell them, before your checking and savings account are drained, that no matter who has died and left a sizeable inheritance in nigeria, it is not a good idea to divulge your personal information...
...except to AOL, myspace, facebook, friendster, google, yahoo, microsoft and of course the NSA.
I was worried BP had been turned into a newt.
I was worried BP had been turned into a newt.
.....I got better.....
speaking as someone whose husband is in like 400 different on-line fantasty leagues, I am perhaps missing the scary, but maybe it is an adult thing.
The only thing on the internet that I worry about explaining to my nephew, or my sons should I get lucky enough, is my behavior.
"Uncle, what does it mean to call your wang epic? What's a wang?"
"Uhh, see, the thing is...you have to remember that...when a man and a blog love each other very much...oh nevermind."
I wish I had read this before spending ten all of the 2000s trying to have a child.
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