Dad is typing away furiously at the computer, sweat glistening off his forehead. He is trying to make a Web page for his business. His 13-year-old son is across the room playing one of those horrible video games filled with mindless violence, bazooka-toting Barbarellas in hot pants, unshaven macho men blowing up anyone who pokes their head around a corner.

Everyone knows that this kid will grow up to be a violent, know-nothing sociopath who will be a drain on society for years to come. Everyone knows that video games are gradually sucking out his once-malleable brain and replacing it with oatmeal. As any pundit will tell you, the kid should be outside playing basketball or football with his friends; he should be outdoors breathing the fresh air, that his parents are letting him squander his best years in front of a video screen. They are raising another wastrel.

Dad stops typing and yells across the room to Billy, “What do you call those things that hold Web sites?”

Things that hold Web sites? Does he mean a bookmark? Does he mean an ISP? Does he mean a Web host?