Print is dying. Newspapers are almost extinct and my dad’s media company is looking more like a fossil everyday. I’ve never even read a newspaper in my life. I’m completely digitalized. But I saw an old man reading a newspaper in a park once and I couldn’t help but think, “That’s hard work. You have to fold it so many times in so many different ways. Thank god I have an iPad.”
My dad’s finished. He’s a fat old dinosaur that’s too lazy to turn his fat neck and see the asteroid heading directly towards him. And I’m pretty sure he’s jealous of my idea for an online media company. Here’s a name I’m considering for my online news site: Newsaurus. I want Newsaurus to be like Mashable and Vice News except better. Fantasizing about Newsaurus arouses me more than any woman ever can, including Anna Kendrick and Emma Watson.
A long time ago I dreamt about working at Google. I wanted to work at Google as much as little kids playing football on the streets of Brazil want to win the World Cup. Until a friend told me that Google is no big deal. He said the worst part about working at Google was the disconnect between the hype surrounding what it's like to work for Google versus what it is actually like to work for Google. Google isn’t some kind of magical paradise with an abundance of chocolate and strippers. Google is like any other big company with its fair share of political bullshit and gross mismanagement.
My dad liked me better when I wanted to work for a company. He doesn’t like the new version of my personality, the version that’s obsessed with entrepreneurship. But as I’ve aged I realize I don’t care about helping others build their dreams. I want to build my own dreams. That’s the same reason I don’t want to work for an ad agency anymore. People in advertising think they’re so creative but all they’re doing is helping promote someone else’s dream. My creativity is reserved for my own dreams, for Newsaurus.
My dad walks into the living room and sits on the sofa adjacent to me.
Father: “Have you decided what you want to do with your life?”
Son: “Newsaurus.”
Father: [grimaces]: “I thought you’d be over that by now. Most startups fail. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
Son: “If everyone believed that guess how many startups would succeed? Zero. Facebook and Twitter wouldn’t exist.”
Father: “The world would be a better place without the Facebook and all that other online nonsense.”
Son: “Facebook. Not the Facebook. There’s no ‘the’ before Facebook. And that online nonsense has nearly destroyed your newspapers.”
Father: “It’s a fad! It’s all a goddamn fad! People will realize the mistakes they’ve made one day and go back to reading newspapers like the good old days!”
Son: “Dad, the Pet Rock was a fad. The Internet is not a fad. The Internet and Mobile are both habits and they’re the future. Newspapers and the radio and eventually even the television will all die and even if they are alive in the future they’ll be very unpopular. But I’m predicting they’ll be dead like the typewriter, VCR and VHS, the dodo bird, and of course, Blockbuster and Radio Shack.”
Father: “You’re wrong. You young people think you’re invincible but let me tell you about all the young people I once knew. Today those young people are spectacular failures and–”
Son: “Dad, please. I’ve heard these stories before. All I’m asking is for you to read my business plan. I’ve formed a good team of smart, hard working people. We won’t fail, I promise. And even if we do fail so what? I’d rather die trying than live a long unhappy life. Please just read the business plan. It’ll be a good investment for the family.”
Father: “I’d rather read TMZ or Perez Hilton. My answer is no. I won’t invest a single penny in your doomed venture.”
Son: “Please at least read it before you make your decision. I’ve been asking you for months.”
My dad walks out of the living room and I feel disappointed. Only money can create more money. You need money to clone money to make more money. You can only give birth to money by breeding it with money. If I don’t have the money to start Newsaurus, I won’t earn any money. My dad is an obstacle. He wants to continue investing the family wealth into a dying company and that’s foolish. Newsaurus may fail but it’s a better investment than my dad’s newspapers.
I go to the kitchen and stare at my dad’s favorite cereal box: Weetabix. Weetabix is a wholegrain wheat breakfast cereal. Each piece of Weetabix is about four inches long and two inches wide. Each piece is packed with protein. My dad’s eaten Weetabix everyday for the past 80 years of his long, strong and mostly successful life. He imports Weetabix from the UK because Americans haven’t mastered the fine art of Weetabix-making.
I remember when my dad accidentally dropped a single piece of dry Weetabix on the kitchen floor. It was the worst day of his life because Weetabix breaks easily and the crumbs spread like wildfire. Even today I can still hear my dad saying, “The crumbs… Oh god the crumbs!” My dad hates pets but if we had a dog then the dog could’ve easily eaten it all. Instead he spent half an hour vacuuming the kitchen.
I open the fridge and stare at the jug of milk. I sprinkle some powder in the milk. The next time my dad eats Weetabix with milk will be the last time he eats. My chemistry-savvy friend is always making new poisons and he says his latest poison is the deadliest. His latest poison causes a disease that is most likely to kill a human being. The disease depends on the human being. Everybody’s body has different weaknesses. If a chronic smoker is exposed to the poison, that smoker will most likely die from lung cancer. My dad has a weak heart, his 3rd and most recent heart attack was 6 months ago. When his 4th heart attack takes him down, I’ll inherit the family wealth.