John R. has coerced me into participating in National Novel Writing Month. Or Nano Wrimo, if you will.

I started off strong with three whole pages. Technically the daily goals are set in word counts. I do not dwell on technicalities.

Other events in the internet world have sidetracked me. My mother called in a state of panic usually reserved for blind people at an electric car rally. (They can't hear them, you see.) She was concerned because I was making fun of my little brother Luis on Facebook. Luis is in the Special Education program, and it isn't uncommon for him to check his various accounts at school. Also, under the Patriot Act, government institutions are granted access to social networking accounts, private or public, and use them in their investigations.

I'm no expert on these particular shenanigans. I've heard of cases in which prospective employers search social networking sites for information on a prospective employee, which is understandable. Employers can no longer rely on a dumb email address to tip them off. I recall a job application that had an email listed as something like "busty1117". My boss threw that one right in the trash.

The difference with state and federal dudes is that they can check any account, regardless of the privacy settings the user requested. It's legal, and not unexpected. Given my classification as unskilled labor, it may not matter as much to me, but I've seen the impact of such attacks based on what most people would consider standard college photos, and in truth, a growing trend among Disney child stars.

I digress. My mother had been contacted by the school saying my statements went "too far" and that she would be receiving a letter. My mother is a teacher and she sees school officials as actual authorities, like police or something. She's also fairly conservative herself. I asked her what I had written that had bothered her and she didn't actually remember. School administrators had read it to her over the phone, in a stern tone, no doubt. This is what I assume they read:

Hey little brother, I know I joke around a lot, and I usually avoid talking about my feelings. So here goes: I don't love you and never have. I hated you as soon as you were conceived, but I could only complain about you to anti-abortionists, since they believe human life begins at conception. It works out well for me, I sell them eggs and charge them for the price of an entire chicken.

But yeah, I don't care about your special needs or whatever because you're a jerk and that has yet to be proven as a part of your syndrome. Also, your dog is ugly and when I see his face I want to throw up, and I usually do.

Also, your little info box says it's almost spring break and that is a lie. You are a liar.


Too far? I say it doesn't go too far enough.

I find the administrator's need to confront my mother about what I've written on the internet to my little brother as a puzzling use of their resources. I imagine their is some appeal to charges of internet abuse. Actual verbal, physical, and sexual abuse is much more difficult to investigate and even harder to prove. Facebook harassment, however, is far more convenient. The site even has a little news feed.

I am happy that my writing is getting some attention. Finally! I get to be misunderstood in my own time! Every artists dream. If I keep this up, I may even get censored! Then I'll write a book about Luis. It will be like Marley and Me, that book about the dog that ruins everything. All I really have to do is replace the word "dog" with "boy" and "Marley" with "Luis".

I wonder if they'll make a movie about it. I wonder who will play me?