Over the summer, I joined Instagram. If you don’t know from Instagram, congratulations on letting life pass you by. Instagram is an app that lets you take pictures and then use a filter to make it look better or more annoying, depending on your taste. They didn’t have Instagram when we were kids and that’s why we were all so unhappy.
But I’ve been making up for lost time. If you were to follow me on Instagram, for example, you’d see that last week I took a picture of the pattern on my skirt. That’s the kind of picture that is worth more than 2 words. And then I had great news! My 11 year old son was on Instagram too! I hurried over to his account (by clicking over) and was mildly horrified because there were a lot of pictures of cats (not Nicki, thank goodness) with sayings on them like “Make My Day” and other Rambo-esque nonsense.
“What’s with your Instagram feed?” I asked him, getting ready to launch into the dangers of LOLCats admiration.
He shrugged and then made Instagram account private. Which means that I now can’t see it.
This is an outrage and a crime against humanity. How can I monitor his online activities and lovingly parent/mock him if his account is private?
“I’m not comfortable with your having a blocked account that I have no access to,” I told him in what I hoped was my “sincere” voice.
“So send me a follow request,” he responded. As if that would solve anything. Because if I sent him a follow request, he’d probably follow me back and I don’t need him making fun of the photos of my skirt that I post. Or adorable puppies, for that matter.
Last month I attended a Go Mighty event and met L.A. Campbell, the author of the upcoming Cartboy and the Time Capsule children’s book. I immediately wanted to read it and after a modest period of nagging, hinting and threatening, she sent me an advance copy. It was honestly a treat to read.
From the book’s Amazon page: In the tradition of Diary of a Wimpy Kid comes Cartboy and the Time Capsule by L.A. Campbell, a laugh-out-loud debut novel about sixth-grader Hal Rifkind—unfortunately nicknamed “Cartboy”—and his horribly historic, hilarious year.
Hal hates history class—it literally bores him to tears. But his father is a big history buff, and unless Hal gets a good grade this year, he’ll never get his own room. Sixth grade gets off to a horrible start when history teacher Mr. Tupkin gives the class an assignment to write journals that will be buried in a time capsule at the end of the year. Things get even worse when his dad makes him take his neighbor’s old shopping cart to school, earning him the nickname “Cartboy.” What else could possibly go wrong? Read Hal’s journal to find out!
Filled with photos, drawings, and timelines, Hal’s time capsule journal chronicles a year in the life of the hopelessly hapless Cartboy.
From me: I often think it must be weird for authors when people who’ve read their book say “I could have written that!” because I imagine the response would be “but you didn’t, dumbass, I did!” (Yes, I spend a lot of my time having imaginary conversations with authors. You should hear the one I had with Shakespeare the other day. He’s a bit of a dick.) But as I was reading Cartboy, I kept thinking how similar my sense of humor is to the author’s. I laughed many, many times, and it was a really fun, funny and satisfying read. My 11 year old is reading it now, so he’ll have his own comments eventually, but for now you’ll just have to take my word for it. Enjoy!