by Richard
I have a serious love-hate relationship with Google. Right now it’s weighing heavily toward hate, blazing, incandescent hate, a hate hotter than the fires of a million suns. Well, okay. Maybe not that much, but, boy, do I not like it right now.
See, I’m trying to carry on one of my favorite Christmas traditions and Google is making it much harder. When I was growing up, my parents used to wrap up the presents and then put stickers on them with our names. In the from section, thought, it was all together different. What they would do was they would put a fake name in there, a fake name that had something to do with the present. A fake name that, if we could only grasp who it was, would be a great clue toward figuring out what was inside.
I used to love it. And, because I loved it so, I brought it with me to my own family once I got married and especially when I started having kids. It was great because, if it was done well, no one would get the fake name clue until after they’d opened the present and then it would be like a glowing hurricane lamp in a dark night over their heads. Oh, now we get it! That sort of thing.
For example, I might have purchased my wife, known to me as She Who Must Know What’s Inside, some of those sport cords, big and thick rubber bands with which you can exercise. On the from space, I’d write something like Eel O’Brien. Now, you’d have to be a comic book geek to get that one, I’ll admit. But, if you are one, you’d know that Eel O’Brien is the alter ego of Plastic Man, a hero who stretches. Oh, now we get it!
Growing up, I was pretty good at this sort of thing because my mind is stuffed full of otherwise useless trivia. As I got older, I only got better. Of course the trade off for that is that I can no longer remember what I had for dinner the night before, but I consider it a worthwhile trade.
So every Christmas I’d go to town with these clues. And every Christmas morning, as the presents were being ripped open, I’d sit back and laugh. Not this year, though This year, the little dudes have discovered Google. They’ve been googling the fake froms. And, worse yet, they’ve been making extremely accurate guesses.
The worse offender is Zippy the Monkey Boy. He got two books. He knew this because he could feel the shape of the books under the wrapping paper. One was from Steve Zissou and one was from Jim Fowler. So, this morning he comes down from his room and asks me if I’ve ever heard of “The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou.” And, he adds, did you know that Jim Fowler was the Emmy-award-winning host of an animal nature program? He holds up one book and tells me it’s a book about marine life and the other and says it’s a book about animals.
So much for a surprise. So much for the fun of trying to figure it out on your own. So much for my month-long fun of watching the little dudes bash their heads against the wall (metaphorically, of course) in frustration.
I hate you, Google. I really, really do.
Tags: A Dude's Guide to Kids, A Dude's Guide to Life, Alter Ego, Amp, Animals, books, Christmas, Christmas Morning, Christmas Traditions, Clue, Comic Book, dude, Eel, ego, exercise, family, Fires, Google, hate, Hero, Hurricane Lamp, kids, little dude, little dudes, love, Man, Monkey, Monkey Boy, Muth, O Brien, parents, Plastic Man, Relationship, richard, Rubber Bands, sport, Stickers, Suns, Surprise, tradition, Useless Trivia, wife, Wikipedia, Wrapping Paper, Zippy The Monkey
[...] not even going to talk about the clues I’ve written on the stickers that get ruined by Google. No, I’m all about reducing stress this year. Still, even though it seriously cuts down on my [...]