House of Prince, reality edition, finally has a lawn. The lawn is made of sod. The sod was installed by Dr. Prince and his wife, and it took an entire day and night until 10:30 PM. On a WEDNESDAY. So far, it is still green. This is accomplished by many expensive waterings that also soak our cars and our morning paper.
In our morning paper yesterday there was an article about cell phones for kids and how they will have GPS Kid Trackers in them. A brilliant idea, I say, but Conservative Dr. Prince is worried that such a thing will lead to every human having a microchip implanted in our skin much like the Doggie Lojack we had to get for Frida. But I think there is a difference between keeping your kid safe and Big Brother watching over you. In the article a teen was quoted saying she felt it was a violation of her privacy and moreover, that she couldn’t trust her family because she felt like they would read everything she wrote on the internet. BUT IT’S THE INTERNET. Isn’t that the point? That what you write is there for people TO READ? If you want something to be PRIVATE, write it into a book and lock it up and keep it under your bed. It’s called a journal, Junior, and it’s made of paper. You must use a pen. And nobody will make fun of you if you can’t spell, which is surely the case because you probably rely on spell check. These kids today. Sheesh.
The internet is my lovely lovely friend. There are days like today on which I wish I could simply surf the internet and read blogs and work on my own. I have big dreams for the House of Prince, virtual edition. I would love to have my own domain with pages and stuff and a photo archive and tags and all those bells and whistles that some of you have. I would love to have a larger readership and the time to write articles of substance and reviews of children’s products or things in general. I would love to have a Bad Drivers’ Page – a place where bad drivers could go to learn how to respect the rules of the road. Let’s add bad bikers to that too. I almost ran over a kid yesterday when I came out of the underground parking garage. I wasn’t going fast – in fact, I creep out of there at a snail’s pace to avoid such a collision. But this kid, a sweaty, overweight, bespectacled, behelmeted 12-year-old-ish boy, exactly the kind I have the most sympathy for usually, came to a screeching halt and shook his head at me like I just violated some rule. I was so annoyed that I sternly called to him “You’re supposed to be on the OTHER side of the street!” as he pedaled away.
I am dreaming of staying at home with Kyle everyday, joining my Mama Posse for lunch and park dates, lounging by the pool (all 2 feet in diameter of it) and thinking big thoughts. Here I am however, writing about lesbian moms who are doing exactly that, from a drab, hot office as the loggers debate which 80′s band sucked the most. It’s a living.