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When you get older, you get these nostalgic impulses.
A glimpse of color, couple notes of music, the way someone says a word, the breeze across your face when the screen door closes. Things you don’t even notice. But somewhere down in the basement, a domino falls, and tap tap tap, up comes the past until, hours later, you got this little ache in your chest. That’s how I ended up in an arcade with my son, Chip. After twenty years, I suddenly missed pinball. Why now? What does this mean? I have no idea. When I asked Chip if he’d like to visit an arcade, he looked at me like I was joking. This is a kid with an arcade on his phone. But like Linus said to Charlie Brown, a son is a built-in best friend, and Chip is usually game for anything. That kid saves me, I swear. We walked through an arcade the size of the Goodyear Blimp hangar. Wall-to-wall video madness. Kids blasting zombies, hunting T-Rexes, slashing ninjas. One game encouraged kids to heft a sniper rifle and blow a criminal’s brains out the back of his 3D skull. Chunks flew and stuck to the screen (I’m not kidding). At the end of the game, the FBI logo popped up with the words, “Winners don’t do drugs.” But I guess they do splatter brains against brick walls. This is entertainment? I grabbed Chip and headed for the door. And that’s where I saw it. One (just one) beat up, worn out pinball machine. But not just any pinball machine. Bally’s Space Time. Space Time! I just stood there, kind of crying, to tell you the truth. I felt so stupid. Heck, I’m kind of crying now. What’s wrong with me? It’s a pinball machine! But I know better than that. It’s never just the final thing. I think we all have domino souls. I don’t know what sensation makes the first tap, don’t understand the random or determined path they follow, clacking up up up, fanning out like those Guinness Book domino extravaganzas, spilling through my subconscious, streams of memories and emotions and archetypes all falling in different directions, then somehow coming back to one purposeful line, tap tap tap, until that final brick falls flat on my heart and I feel absolutely certain that something just happened, but have absolutely no idea what. I wish I came with a User’s Manual. I’ll have to finish this journal entry later. I’m too worked up to write. I need to go to Sears and sit on the riding mower. Comments 
Media Jean: I’m worried about your dad. 
Chip: Yeah, me too.
Media Jean: He takes everything so personally.
Chip: I know.
Media Jean: Maybe he should see someone.
Chip: Like a doctor?
Media Jean: Or a dance instructor.
Chip: What?!
Media Jean: I don’t know, something! He needs to do something that’s just fun! Something that doesn’t make him think about everything!
Chip: Everything makes him think about everything.
Media Jean: Maybe he should go to Clown College.
Chip: Ha ha! Clown College?
Media Jean: Yeah! I read about stressed out grown-ups going to Clown College. They learn to juggle, walk a tight rope, get hit with cream pies, the whole clown thing.
Chip: I don’t know...
Media Jean: We can sign him up online. We have his digital signature, credit card numbers, email password.
Chip: Yeah, but he thinks we deleted all that after we bought those stem cells.
Media Jean: Oh, yeah. But this time it’s for him, not us. We can sign you both up. Father and son, clowning around together!
Chip: Actually, I think I’d like Clown College.
Media Jean: Who wouldn’t? Maybe we can sign Johnny up, too.
Chip: Don’t you think that’s going a little too far?
Media Jean: Ha ha! We can say it’s a new employee benefit! 
Johnny: I’m not an employee! I’m an officer of this company. I wrote the Employee Handbook. Clown College is NOT a benefit!
Media Jean: Too late! I just signed you up!
Johnny: You can’t sign me up for anything!
Media Jean: Hmmm. On your registration page, they’re asking for a Clown alias. You know, like Bozo or Hobo Kelly.
Johnny: You better be kidding about all this!
Media Jean: How about Nickels? Or Greenbacks?
Johnny: That’s not funny!
Media Jean: Greenbacks the Clown. I like it! It’s YOU!
Johnny: Oooh, you make me so mad!
Chip: She’s kidding, Johnny. But you do stress out kind of easy. Maybe a week at Clown College would be good for you.
Johnny: AARRGHHH!! 
Comic strip from the series "Employee Handbook"
(Kid, Inc. Volume 1: Look Out, Tomorrow, Here We Come!) Have a thought for Bob? Write to us at [email protected]
When I was a kid, I got my hair cut at Carl’s Barbershop, down on Snelling Ave. In those days, there were only two places for a guy to his hair cut: mom’s kitchen table or Carl’s barber chair.
Carl Schulz was a third generation barber. His grandpa opened the shop in 1925 and cut hair through the Great Depression and the War to End All Wars. Carl’s dad took over in 1938 and cut through the Good War and on into the Baby Boom. Then Carl stepped up in 1968 and cut his way through Vietnam and Woodstock, Disco and the personal computer, and all the way to the digital frontier. Carl only had one rule: no reading in his shop. No magazines, no newspapers, no books. hen I pulled out a slug of Bazooka Gum, I knew I had better pop it in my mouth quick and stuff the comic strip wrapper back in my pocket. If Carl caught you reading a Bazooka Joe gum wrapper, he’d hold out his hand and everyone would look right at you until you handed it over. I thought Carl was the smartest guy in town. I’d sit in those big red chairs, waiting my turn, and just listen. He’d talk Wall Street with the bankers, books with the teachers, taxes with the accountants, girls with the guys and kids with the dads. Sometimes, a bunch of us would try and stump Carl. We’d meet at the library, a crowd of 10-year-old knuckleheads, hunched over a Britannica that was three feet square when opened flat. We learned a lot of new stuff trying to stump Carl. Carl had a stroke a few years back and closed shop for six weeks. I finally broke down and made a reservation at a salon. People sat in their own little worlds, reading hair magazines and swiping who knows what on their phones. Half a dozen people got their hair cut at the same time, talking to stylists they didn’t really know, sitting next to strangers they didn’t know at all. Hair dryers blaring, rock music piped in from the ceiling. I went home and let my hair grow down to my shoulders. When Carl came back, we threw a heck of a party right there in the barbershop. You never saw so many shaggy-looking men. Carl cried. I did, too. Heck, I’m almost crying now. Getting your hair cut used to be a community event. No one read at Carl’s because it was rude to read in front of your neighbors. Get to know somebody, for goodness’ sakes. That’s what it was about. Talking and listening, laughing and thinking, waiting your turn, getting your hair cut with a few squirts from a water bottle, letting it air dry, then sticking around after you were done because you really couldn’t think of anywhere else you’d rather be. Comments
Media Jean: Your dad cries a lot, doesn’t he?
Chip: He’s kinda soft-hearted that way.
Media Jean: I bet I walked by that little barbershop a million times, but I never thought twice about it. It looks so… old.
Chip: Carl is great. He’s like Yoda. He knows everything.
Media Jean: Would he cut a girl’s hair?
Chip: Hair is hair, I guess.
Media Jean: Maybe I’ll go to Carl’s Barbershop next time. I’m curious. I’ll bring my dad.
Chip: Just so you know, you can’t use your iPhone in Carl’s.
Media Jean: What?! I’ll do it on the sly, he’ll never know.
Chip: Carl’s way ahead of you. He has a signal blocker in his shop. Cell phones don’t work.
Media Jean: Ha ha! Sounds like something I would do! I like him already!
Chip: He has an old soda machine. You can get a bottle of ice cold root beer for a quarter.
Media Jean: Heck, why wait?! Let’s get a haircut right now!
Chip: I’ll meet you there!
Have a thought for Bob? Write to us at [email protected]
On our way out of Sears, I see one of those old-fashioned photo booths. Sure, it’s got a computer screen now, but the idea is the same: a space so small you’re forced to squeeze together.
A curtain, one seat, four poses, and a film strip in three minutes. I ask the kids if they want to take a picture. They pull out their phones. Of course, they have a photo booth app. They can make as many film strips as they want. “No, no, no!” I say. “That’s not the same thing!” I rustle them into the booth. “See, there was a time when you couldn’t undo and redo everything. A time when you couldn’t carry everything in your pocket.” I insert $5 (inflation!) The monitor comes to life. The kids stare at their faces. “In my day, the photo booth was a magical, romantic, dangerous place. That cheap red curtain blocked out the whole world. It was just you in there. And when the camera flashed, it froze four moments in time. “I remember when I was 16, sitting in here with my first girlfriend. Looking at our reflections. Trying to pose without looking like we were posing. Waiting for that first flash. Waiting. Waiting. “Then FLASH! Caught by surprise, staring straight ahead. "FLASH! Smiling, glancing at each other. "FLASH! Leaning against each other, laughing. "FLASH! Turning in for an awkward kiss. I still have that photo somewhere—” That’s when I notice the kids are laughing. I always get romantic at the wrong time. I know that laugh. They’re going to mimic me now. Adults mock. Kids mimic. The first one hurts, the second one breaks down all your defenses. Pretty soon, you’re laughing, too. Media Jean hits the Start button. They try to recreate my story, starting with that deer-in-headlights look my girlfriend and I had in our first photo. But they can’t keep straight faces. “Smooch booth!” shouts Media Jean. “This is a smooch booth!” Chip laughs so hard, he almost falls over. I was laughing too. Kids find romance hilarious. If we grown-ups could hold on to that, there’d be a lot less heartbreak in this world. Anyway, I got a good laugh and a great photo out of it. What more can you ask of life? Comments
Media Jean: Did your dad keep that old photo?
Chip: Yeah. I found it in one of his scrapbooks. He has a lot of scrapbooks. Wait a sec. I’ll take a pic and post it to his blog.
Media Jean: Got it. Wow, your dad is so young! Is that your mom?
Chip: No. He met my mom a couple years later, at city college.
Media Jean: You must miss her.
Chip: I was pretty little when she left. I don’t remember much.
Media Jean: Sounds like you really miss her.
Chip: Yeah.
Media Jean: Think your dad still misses her?
Chip: He has a lot of scrapbooks.
Media Jean: Yeah.
Johnny: Hey, it’s me. I wasn’t lurking. I, uh, my mom’s making dinner. She’s on a low-fat craze, so I can’t promise anything. But I thought maybe you’d, you know, want to come over.
Chip: Really?
Johnny: Yeah. And it’s Yahtzee night. My mom loves Yahtzee. We play for hours.
Chip: That sounds like fun, Johnny. Thanks.
Johnny: We start at 7.
Media Jean: For a lurker, you’re OK.
Johnny: I wasn’t lurking!
Chip: See you at 7, Johnny. 
Have a thought for Bob? Write to us at [email protected]
I needed a new pair of Ironclad work gloves. That meant a trip to Sears. Always a reason to celebrate. I like Sears. It hasn’t changed much since I was a kid.
Man, I sound old. Chip wanted Media Jean to join us. I had to think about that, because Media Jean asks a lot of questions. The kid has a heart of gold, but she wants to understand everything. I mean EVERYTHING. The other thing about Media Jean, she thinks grown-ups are hilarious. Our logic cracks her up. Talking to her can be a bit deflating. The questions started as soon as she climbed in the car. MEDIA JEAN: Mr. MacMurray, why are you driving to Sears? ME: I need new work gloves. MEDIA JEAN: Can’t you order gloves online? ME: I want them tonight. MEDIA JEAN: It’s almost dinner time. Are you working after dinner? ME: Tomorrow, then. MEDIA JEAN: Why not overnight a pair of gloves from Amazon? ME: I want to try them on first. MEDIA JEAN: Aren’t you getting the same kind of gloves you had before, those Ironman ones? ME: Ironclad. Yup. I like Ironclad. MEDIA JEAN: Don’t you remember what size you wear? ME: Of course. MEDIA JEAN: Then why not save yourself a trip and overnight the gloves from Amazon? ME: I want to try a different color. MEDIA JEAN: What color? ME: Uh, blue? MEDIA JEAN: I love blue! Does Sears have blue Ironman gloves in stock? ME: Ironclad. I don’t know. We’ll see. MEDIA JEAN: Shouldn’t you call first? I’m checking Amazon right now. They have blue in stock. (I had to help Media Jean understand why anyone would drive to Sears rather than surf to Amazon, or we’d never get out of the driveway.) ME: The thing is, I like Sears. I like the way Sears smells. I like walking around Sears. I like messing with the tools. There’s a riding mower on the floor. You can climb up on it, work the gears and everything. MEDIA JEAN: Can you ride it for a quarter? ME: No. But every time I go to Sears, I stop by that mower. I almost buy it, every time I go. I like that. It’s like pretending. For me, Sears is more fun than Amazon. MEDIA JEAN: So... it’s like going to a candy store instead of buying candy online, except you don’t actually buy candy in the store? ME: Exactly! You can see it, touch it, smell it. It’s wonderful. MEDIA JEAN: You’re funny, Mr. MacMurray. ME: You’re a riot too, Media Jean. I glance in the rear view mirror and Chip is smiling up at me, his face shining. The more ridiculous I feel, the more out of sync, the more old-fashioned and just plain old, the more he seems to love me. The more vulnerable I feel, the more love I feel. Go figure. I don’t pretend to understand it. But if that’s the math of the Google Age, I’ll take it. I hope it all adds up in the end. Comments
Media Jean: I like your dad.
Chip: Me too.
Media Jean: I wasn’t making fun of him.
Chip: It’s OK. He knows you like him.
Media Jean: I do. But he is funny. How Sears smells!?
Chip: I know.
Media Jean: I kept taking deep breaths, but I didn’t notice any particular smell.
Chip: My dad sure did. Remember how he’d stop every now and then and just breathe like he was standing on top of a mountain?
Media Jean: Maybe a little of every breath you take stays inside you.
Chip: You mean for your whole life?
Media Jean: Yeah. Maybe you keep a whiff of everything you ever smelled.
Chip: I’m not sure I like where this is going.
Media Jean: Hahahaha!
Chip: I know what you’re thinking! That’s gross!
Media Jean: I wonder if your sense of smell gets better as you get older.
Chip: Maybe you can actually smell memories.
Media Jean: If it’s true, we could create a line of perfume based on memories. Like A Whiff of Childhood or A Hint of Nostalgia.
Chip: Or Sears, the Tool Aisle.
Media Jean: Sears perfume! Hahaha! That’s hilarious! Let’s mix up a batch for your dad. We can make one for Johnny, too. Distill the aroma of a dirty dollar bill and call it A Touch of Green.
Johnny: Make fun of me all you want, but that perfume idea is gold! We need to create new products.
Media Jean: So the lurker finally appears!
Johnny: I wasn’t lurking! I was listening!
Media Jean: Lurker!
Johnny: Well, I have to keep an eye on you idiots! You waste all day tweeting and facebooking and blogging. But when you actually come up with a money-making idea, what do you do? You goof on it! Perfumes that trigger positive memories?! Are you kidding?! That’s the kind of product consumers live for!
Media Jean: ... is he gone?
Chip: Yeah. He logged off the network.
Media Jean: He’s heading to my house, so let’s meet at his house.
Chip: I’ll grab my chemistry set. 
Comic strip from the series "So-Duh"
(Kid, Inc. Volume 1: Look Out, Tomorrow, Here We Come!) Have a thought for Bob? Write to us at [email protected]
I dreamt I was in that Twilight Zone episode, To Serve Man.
The Kanamits, an advanced alien race, arrive on Earth. They’ve come, as the title of their book says, “To serve man.” They share their technology freely. End hunger. Cure disease. Everyone is happy. Except me. In my dream, the hero Michael Chambers mysteriously disappears... and I take his place. I become the skeptical code breaker. The Kanamits are up to something. I can feel it! I don’t trust their technological wonders. If only I could translate their book! Finally, I give up. What can I do? I can’t break the code, and the world is jumping on the Kanamits' bandwagon. Finally, I accept their technology. It’s making our lives better, right? I even agree to visit the Kanamits’ homeworld. As I’m going up the ramp to their spaceship, someone shouts my name. I turn and see Alice holding up the aliens’ book, To Serve Man. I expect her to scream, “It’s a cookbook!” like in the TV show. They’re just fattening us up! We’re on the menu! But no. In my dream, she holds up the book and shouts, “It’s Blogging for Dummies!” That’s when I wake up. I stumble to Chip’s room. He’s at the computer, of course. I tell him my dream. He says, “I have Blogging for Dummies,” and offers me the book. I stare at him a minute. I know I’m beat. I take the book-- And wake up again. Now it’s 2:30 AM and I’m wide awake for real. My face-to-face, hands-on world has been invaded. That’s what the dream was about, wasn’t it? Everyone thinks technology is at our service. Everyone is on the spaceship, my son is the pilot, and here I stand, watching them go. My stomach hurts. Either I’m hungry, or I’m the Charlie Brown of the Google era. Comments
Chip: I don’t know. I just watched To Serve Man online. It really freaked me out. Is this how my dad feels all the time? I need to take him camping or something.
Media Jean: Ask him to help you build something you don’t need. He loves that kind of stuff. Remember that time you asked him to build a tree house?
Chip: Great idea! I’ll ask him to help me build a transistor radio. He had one of those when he was a kid.
Media Jean: Wow, he’s that old? I guess that’ll help him forget all about the Twilight Zone dream. Wish I could say the same. I’m hooked!
Chip: Me, too! Let’s stay up all night and have a Twilight Zone marathon!
Media Jean: My parents won’t let me sleep over on a school night so we’ll have to do it online.
Chip: OK. Funny how parents think if you’re in your room, you’re in your room.
Media Jean: Yeah. Maybe that comes from growing up in a world where everything was in a box. Like transistor radios.
Chip: I’m glad we’re growing up today, not yesterday.
Media Jean: You said it. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow, that’s my motto.
Have a thought for Bob? Write to us at [email protected]
Chip says a lot of poetry is written online these days. A lot of Twitter haiku. Twikiu, for goodness’s sake.
Last night, as I was tucking him in, he held out his cell phone and said, “Write a poem, dad.” Instead, I cracked open my new copy of Walden, turned to Chapter 2, and read: “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived…” Chip was asleep in seconds. Sigh. I’m sticking with my Underwood typewriter. It was good enough for Faulkner, Hemingway, Kerouac and the great E.B. White, it’s good enough for me. Most of the best words in human history were written manually. All those chisels and brushes and pens and typewriters. And you know what? A manual typewriter just feels better. When I tap a key, I feel that satisfying punch (CLACK!) of metal on paper. I like feeling the impact of each letter. Every now and then, I roll out a freshly typed page, turn it over, close my eyes, and run my fingers over those faint and sometimes spiky impressions. Bob’s Braille. Who needs a laptop, word processor or spell check? I got my Underwood, white out, and a dictionary. I’m all set. Comments
Media Jean: What’s white out?
Chip: The label says “Liquid Paper.” Dad uses it to paint over his typos. After it dries, he retypes. It’s sort of like Undo for his generation.
Media Jean: That’s even more work than erasing! Why not just use a pencil? Your dad cracks me up! But the Braille thing sounds pretty cool.
Chip: Yeah, it does feel like Braille. But I like binary better. It’s like seeing the DNA of your thoughts. Try it!
Media Jean: I found a binary-to-text converter online. Here’s “Walden”: 010101110110000101101100011001000110010101101110
Chip: I should make a T-shirt of that for my dad.
Johnny: Would you time-wasters get back to work?!
Media Jean: Hey, Johnny: 01100111 01101111 00100000 01110011 01101111 01100001 01101011 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 01110010 00100000 01101000 01100101 01100001 01100100
Johnny: Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just get back to work! 
HComic strip from the series "Bob's Blog"
(Kid, Inc. Volume 1: Look Out, Tomorrow, Here We Come!) ave a thought for Bob? Write to us at [email protected]
All these years, I’ve pounded out my thoughts on a trusty Underwood Champion Portable Typewriter. My favorite authors wrote by hand or on typewriters.
Can you see Harper Lee writing To Kill A Mockingbird on an iPad? Or Emily Dickinson tweeting Hope is the thing with feathers on a mobile phone? Actually, Emily might have done that. What do I know? Chip’ll show me tweets and messages and posts from Media Jean, and some of her one-liners are pretty good. Just the other day she tweeted: “I’m flying through the air and see everything out of the corner of my eye.” If she had been writing about her unfettered imagination rather than her wireless connection, that’d be flat out poetry. Maybe it is anyway. Repeat after me: What do I know, what do I know, what do I know...? Comments
Media Jean: Your dad’s right. If Emily were writing today, she’d love social media! She could be anonymous and public at the same time. If you ask me, she’s the patron saint of social media poetry. Go, Emily!
Chip: I didn’t know who she was until dad lost his copy of Walden. He likes to read me Thoreau at bedtime. Now he reads Emily. I like her stuff better.
Media Jean: Lost? Didn’t you hide his copy of Walden?
Chip: Yeah. I thought I could get him to read an e-book. I even downloaded Walden to my phone. But he said that would be saccharine.
Media Jean: I think you mean sacrilegious. Your dad’s a riot!
Chip: I love him too.
Johnny: Would you two slackers get back to work?! We’re supposed to be designing software! This is why every responsible corporation in America needs to block social media access for all employees!
Media Jean: Speaking of which, what’re you doing reading a blog on company time?
Chip: Shocking behavior for our CFO.
Media Jean: Unless CFO stands for Chief Facebook Officer. Johnny Green, the new Facebook face for Kid, Inc.
Johnny: One of these days I’m going to take over this company and fire you idiots.
Media Jean: Until then, get back to work, you slacker!
Have a thought for Bob? Write to us at [email protected]
To all you dads out there:
Do you feel out of sync with this synced-up world? Does the skiff of your soul struggle on the choppy waves of the future? It’s OK, you can admit it. You’re not alone. I have a feeling there are more of us adrift out here than you think. Here are my top Overwhelmed Dad Mantras, just for you:
There isn’t much in this world more wonderful than having all the answers for your kids. We really do know everything they need to know, but only for a few years. I still hear Chip asking me all those kid-sized questions: What time is it? Can you make me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? Where do strawberries come from? Can you tell me a story? How do we get home? What’s the moon? How do you tie shoes? Can you teach me to ride a bike? Why’s the sky blue? Can you walk on clouds? Now he has Google and AI. When I wanted to learn origami, I asked my dad. When Chip wanted to learn origami, he asked YouTube. When I wondered where my food came from, my dad and I planted a garden. It took all summer to answer that question. Chip gets all his answers right away, in clicks and bits. He doesn’t ask his ol’ dad much at all anymore. And when he does, he checks my answers online. Being a dad isn’t what it used to be. I miss gazing in his wide open face when I gave him the answers. Miss looking up the answers together when neither of us knew. Miss how long it used to take to discover the world around you. Miss all of that. It was over way too soon. Comments
Chip: I’m going to ask dad why the days are so long in summer. I already know. I looked it up online. But I’m going to ask him anyway. Then I’ll ask him to make me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Media Jean: It’s hard work raising a parent these days. I still ask my dad to take me to the last video store in town even though I got everything streaming on my phone. Maybe mom’s right: it’s the little things that count, especially with dads. 
Comic strip from the series "The Story of Fall"
(Kid, Inc. Volume 1: Look Out, Tomorrow, Here We Come!) Have a thought for Bob? Write to us at [email protected]
Chip asked for a list of my M & Ms (Mantras and Mottos). It’s a long list, but here are a few.
Hate to admit it, but it feels good to vent these out. I should print T-shirts. Bet there are enough overwhelmed dads out there, I’d make a couple of bucks. Might as well let loose with a few more.
Comments
Chip: My dad’s got a million of these.
Media Jean: Maybe you should start smaller, Chip. Try upgrading your dad from Luddite to Neo-Luddite.
Chip: Great idea! As a Neo-Luddite, he could fight technology while still enjoying some of it’s benefits.
Media Jean: Exactly!
Johnny: When are we going to print those T-shirts?! For once, Chip’s dad is right: non-geek men are an untapped market!
Media Jean: We could sell T-shirts online and split profits 50-50 with your dad.
Johnny: Whoa! 50-50? Are you crazy? 90-10!
Media Jean: I guess that’s only fair. Chip’s dad did most of the work.
Johnny: Not 90-10 to him! 90-10 to us!
Media Jean: But we’re benefiting from his creativity.
Johnny: So?! Branding, packaging, manufacturing, marketing, selling — that’s all on us!
Chip: Without the creative, we’d have nothing to brand, package, manufacture, market or sell.
Media Jean: Let’s vote. All in favor of 50-50? Aye!
Chip: Aye!
Johnny: No!
Media Jean: 50-50 it is!
Johnny: One day I’m going to buy this company just so I can fire you idiots! Mark my words.
Have a thought for Bob? Write to us at [email protected]
I’m a blogger.
Me, of all people. I don’t use computers. I don’t trust technology. Bob don’t surf. But he blogs. This might be a good time to repeat my new mantra: What do I know...? What do I know...? What do I know...? I should have expected this. Knowing my son, it’s surprising I didn’t end up online sooner. Alice is going to laugh her head off when she reads this. Bob’s Blog. Good grief. Comments
Chip: I hope it wasn't a mistake putting Dad's journal online. He seems more overwhelmed than ever.
Media Jean: It's OK, Chip. Your dad loves you. Sure, he's a Luddite, but he'd rather blog with you than live on Walden Pond without you. 
Comic strip from the series "Bob's Blog"
(Kid, Inc. Volume 1: Look Out, Tomorrow, Here We Come!) Have a thought for Bob? Write to us at [email protected] |
AuthorHey, I'm Bob, and I hate technology. So why am I blogging? Because I love my son. He upgraded my typewriter to wirelessly post every keystroke online. It makes him happy, so here I am. Archives
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