Let’s face it, you’d rather be posting a heavily filtered picture of your kid playing soccer to Instagram than watching your kid actually play soccer. Posting a picture to Instagram turns a mundane event like watching Skyler, Mercedes, or Kennedy stumble around in the freezing rain for an hour into an opportunity for us to get validation. We’ve taken that annoying event and turned it into something meaningful. Now the kid’s soccer match is about the parent. There’s value in that, isn’t there? (Asking for a friend.)
I’ve seen this a couple of times today, and with respect to everyone involved in the reblog chain: the OP can fuck right the fucking fuck off. I would relish the chance for some professional nerd (who makes a living blogging, of all things) to come to my kid’s soccer matches or baseball games and tell me I’m doing it wrong. Yes, sometimes I pause a minute to take a picture and post it. No, I am definitely not doing it to make it about me, or to get validation. Maybe he reveals a bit more about himself and his own motivations than he meant to. Maybe his raison d’net is to get validation, and maybe that’s more important than paying attention to his kids, if he even has them. But I’m just sharing what I’m up to primarily because I’m under the (maybe false) impression that my friends and family care, and secondly to create a document of the events that I might want to look back on someday.
TL;DR: if Moltz has the balls to question my parenting priorities, he’d better do it to my face instead of from his mom’s basement. Fuck that guy.
Well, if you really read the piece I find it hard to believe you didn’t notice it’s a joke. The whole article is a joke. And it’s a joke about me. It’s not about you because I don’t know you. Look at my Instagram stream and you’ll see my kid playing tetherball, my kid doing karate, my kid playing Wii. I mostly post those because I love the hell out of him and think he’s cool. I also post them because my family follows me and wants to see pictures of him. If I don’t post, his grandmother lets me know. Finally, I post them to record the event so I can look at it later, something he enjoys, too.
Now, is there my own pride and vanity in there? Sure. The two things are somewhat inseparable. Which is OK. Some people are douchier about it than others of course. I have no idea where I lie on the spectrum and I certainly have no idea where you lie on the spectrum.
Also, point of clarification: I work in the attic, not the basement. My own attic, which is finished.
I would never work in my mom’s basement. For starters it’s not finished, but mostly because… because…
Because of the furnace.
Their furnace has been trying to kill me since I was a kid.
Also, I’m not actually a firestarter. Just to be clear.
Making inflammatory statements based on incomplete data = AMERICA!