Always good advice for Mr. Moms and other males who have fulfilled their biological imperative, and are currently sitting at the back of the bus. (Hey, you done with the sports section?)
30.3.11
Another Public Service Announcement
Always good advice for Mr. Moms and other males who have fulfilled their biological imperative, and are currently sitting at the back of the bus. (Hey, you done with the sports section?)
29.3.11
The Order of Our Redemption
First comes love...
...next comes marriage...
...then comes mama with a baby carriage.
Then comes no sleep...
...then come the tantrums...
...back comes love...
...then comes batmanage...
...then comes another damn (bat)baby carriage.
Then comes NO SLEEP...
...then comes sibling rivalage...
...last comes Da-da with accute brain damage.
Driftage.
Tonnage.
Wreckage.
Under the groundage.
Take out the garbage.
Your very may mileage.
Tonnage.
Wreckage.
Under the groundage.
Take out the garbage.
Your very may mileage.
 |
| Parenthood is very much like being stuck in a hole in the floor... but in a good way. |
28.3.11
Your Permanent Record
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| Your past can KILL... or at least make a decent B-movie. |
On the obverse side of that coin, exactly how much information should an employer be entitled to when considering you for a position? (For the record, Da-da's friend's job had nothing to do with driving.) Nowadays, with Big Brother bigger and less brotherish than ever, you can ostensibly never make a mistake and not atone, which is rather inhuman, in Da-da's humble opinion. Everyone deserves a second chance. And a third chance. A fourth chance... yes, Da-da guesses even flaky au pairs deserve a second chance, he said begrudgingly.
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| Your LP permanent record plays and plays and plays and plays and plays... |
26.3.11
Terror, Thy Name is GRASS
Overheard at Trader Joes (visiting New Yorker to local mom):
"We can't go to the park. My child is afraid of grass."
And rightfully so. Thar be GRASS MONSTERS in there.
Concrete is so much safer.
25.3.11
Au Pair Despair
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| Be afraid. |
For those parents who might be thinking about going the au pair route, A Man Called Da-da is here to tell you the plain simple truth: DON'T. Au pairs are lame -- esp. SWEDISH au pairs, who are supposed to be, "the best." More false branding. Mark Da-da's words, the State Department's au pair program will leave you hangin'. Da-da went through four au pairs in a year when he was still employed, and what stressed out parents DON'T need -- and can ill-afford -- is for some cute little chickie to leave them hangin'. Being a parent is hard enough without having to rely on someone who dumps you and your kids after a month. This is hard on the parents, but it's harder on the KIDS. Then again, the au pair program, the au pairs and au pair companies themselves couldn't care less about you or your children, despite all the flowery ad copy. They just want the money.
Yes, the au pair road is expensive ($12k+/yr.), especially since they bail on you 98% of the time, or make things so difficult that one parent has to take over full time. Au pairs are typically homesick, sullen, don't speak english, can't drive, can't COOK, have no experience with children, despite saying so, take 45 minute showers twice a day, are shocked at our low standard of living (yes, read that one again; the standard of living in most other developed countries is BETTER than the U.S., according to the au pairs), and worst of all... YOU HAVE TO LIVE WITH THEM. If you want to know what it's like to have a high maintenance, spoiled teenaged girl as a dependent then by all means, sign up for Au Pair Despair.
Wait. Here's an idea. Let's get young girls from all over the globe who don't speak english and have no life experience or childcare experience, who can't drive or cook and don't know who they are to watch the most precious thing in your world while you're away sweating every moment and working like a dog to pay for it. Let's then charge these little girls $2000 to enter the program, charge parents $12k+ for the privilege, then make hollow apologies when the little princesses bail TO MARRY TIGER WOODS, while the corporations keep everyone's money and say, "So sorry. This is the first time we've ever had a problem." Or worse, the au pairs won't think your palace is palatial enough and the au pair company places them with another host family in your town so you have to see them all the time.
"Da-da, why didn't Schwinge like me?"
So many expletives, so little time.
Da-da has no idea what genius cooked up this little money-making scheme, but he does have a better idea to replace it:
HIRE GRANDMAS FROM ALL OVER THE WORLD
Duh. How many grandmas are there who no longer have any family, or who've been forgotten? How many who have years and years of child-rearing experience and really great recipes Da-da could steal, who are dependable, loyal, seasoned, stable, and who won't BOOM for Vegas the second they find some Y-chromosome sleazeball at the 7-11? Take note State Department hogs and rapacious corporate stooges: parents in this backwater, Second World country would pay a goddamn fortune for someone's Sicilian grandma. Old world grandmas ROCK. And experienced (read BURNED) parents will pay zilch for spoiled, sulking teens from another planet. Da-da would rather punch himself in the face til doomsday.
NOTE: there was a tarnished silver lining to our Swedish au pair bailage. Schwinge was quickly placed with another family about three blocks away -- 'cause au pair companies are cheap and don't want to pay for airfare -- where she proceeded to TOTAL her new host family's minivan after a week. She then bailed on that family two weeks later for yet another family who had a whole freaking wing for her to occupy. Sweden owes Da-da, big-time.
NOTE2: A few pro-au pair folks (who work for the au pair agencies) have claimed that Da-da failed to cite details. Ok. Here goes.
The Ugly Details
Da-da's family went through FOUR au pairs in 15 months. The first, from Central America, was sullen and homesick and wanted a, "cultural exchange," about as much as a traffic cop wants to hear your story. She was very young, in many ways. Most importantly, she was ok with the kids, but they certainly didn't THRIVE under her grumpy care, despite our best attempts at jollying and motivating her; she was not fun to live with at all. By the end, we weren't happy with the program, but childcare in the United States is next to impossible, so we hoped for the best and tried again after the first one's tenure expired.
For the next one, we of course reviewed all the applications carefully, as we did the first time, but the lightspeed with which au pair companies pair au pairs with families, that's not always possible. (Time is money, after all. Gosh, what else could it be for?) After the first au pair retreated into obscurity (and remains in the U.S. to this day, like most others, as an illegal alien), we got our main choice the second time around, Schwinge the surly Swedish au pair.
Backstory time: Da-da lives in a nice two-story house, in a nice neighborhood, in a nice town, in a nice part of the world. Indeed, au pairs are generally, "thrilled," to be placed with a family in this region. However, Da-da and Ma-ma are (well, were) working people of modest means. Our house is not a palace, but it is large. We have lots of room, modern amenities, and we're nice and supportive to be around. The au pair, of course, had the guest room and her own bathroom at one end of the house.
When Schwinge arrived, Da-da was pleased because she seemed intelligent, could speak english well, wasn't homesick in the least, seemed eager to work, and seemed good with the boys. However, any parent will tell you that raising children is a tough, nearly thankless job. Au pairs don't have any investment in your children, and if your children are fussy or demanding or impossible or loud or have an occasional learning disability -- um, like all children, at one time or another -- the au pairs will have a problem. Raising children is a difficult job and little princesses with little child-rearing or life or parenting experience usually have a hard time, and fall back on really bad habits (like telling my oldest that if he didn't put his shoes on faster, she was going to burn all his toys). Anyway, Da-da was paying over twelve grand a year for this type of individual -- yet AGAIN -- up front. This might not seem like that much to you, but it's a lot for us. And if she sucks, you're stuck with her until the company can stick you with another headcase. Back to the thrills.
After one month, Schwinge told the company that she wanted to be placed elsewhere, claiming she, "was used to a higher standard of living." Da-da was speechless. We later discovered what had happened, via another Swedish au pair who didn't know we were the family in question. Seems Schwinge had made her pronouncement after visiting with another au pair in a ritzier area, who told her that the family in the enormous mansion across the street was going to be in the market for an au pair, and that all she had to do was bail, get snagged by this family, and live the good life. Which is exactly what she did, dumping Da-da's family for a richer one, a time-honored human tradition.
She then gave her new (sucker) family what they paid for, totaling their car a week later. And when the work became too much like work (she had three kids to take care of, now, instead of our two), she jumped ship again for yet another family in an even better part of town. She now has an entire freaking wing to herself and watches as one small boy watches TV all day. (Having since left the au pair program, she's now paid $25/hr under the table and lives rent free and pays no taxes -- that's $52,000 a year, tax-free. Now THAT'S the standard of living she was looking for. Welcome to the American Dream, Schwinga.)
Our replacement au pair was an idiot, though a puzzling one. A nice Brazillian, she seemed to understand what you were saying, she seemed sweet, she seemed to get everything we were saying... but it turned out she was dumb as a box of dead crabs. And sullen when we weren't in the room. And not helpful to the children. Or us as parents. (Da-da had to explain how to make scrambled eggs to her seven times -- and she still couldn't do it.) And if one of the boys was crying for his blankie... SHE WOULDN'T BRING IT TO HIM. She'd just stare into space. Like the other au pairs, she wanted to spend quality time with our family not at all. In her off hours, she was gone. When she was here, she took at least two showers a day and used all the hot water, ate only waffles (seriously), pretended to be nice, and had the child rearing ability of a potted plant. After four months of this we asked for another au pair.
The next one was from Switzerland. She was here a week, met some guy at 7-11 with an orange Trans Am and boomed for Vegas three days later. Needless to say, we withdrew from the program and retrieved the tiny bit of our money we could from the au pair company.
A month later, when Da-da took back the kid duty, he was sitting at a local park, watching his boys run around in their matching red ballcaps (helps in tracking them), when another parent asked if those were Da-da's boys. Da-da said as much. The man then asked, "Do you have an au pair with long brown hair?" Da-da told him we used to, but that she was gone, now. "Good thing," the man said, "when she was here with your boys she just sat there and never interacted with them -- even if they hurt themselves." He went on to explain that he'd seen her at the park several times and that this was always the case; in some instances, she made like she was going to hit them if they didn't move fast enough. Otherwise, she just sat and stared at her phone.
To date, Da-da has seen well over 50 au pairs in action with as many families in countless settings, and only ONE of those was worth the money (she was from Germany). Most of them just push kids around in strollers for part of the day, ignoring them while they talk on their mobile phones, arranging their escapes. Like Da-da said before, the au pair program sucks. Anyone who says different is selling something. Da-da on the other hand is not selling anything. He's merely striving to give parenting advice, logistical support, and a little levity, to stressed out parents, past, present and future. If this interferes with your bottom line, Da-da suggests trying a new business model. Da-da's bottom line: if you can afford it, parents do the best job raising their kids.
EPILOGUE: Da-da has calmed a bit since he wrote the above. Harboring anger or ill will is contraindicated to Da-da's ideal, blissful state of No Tantrums and Smiling Faces (would that make Da-da a Moonie??). That said, it is patently ridiculous to cast aspersions about an entire group of people because of one tiny sample. This is bad science, and worse personhood (personness? personility?). Da-da still thinks the Au Pair program is flawed in the extreme, but it has worked for some people (like two). We now return you to the cleansing pre-emptive-burn of life, already in progress.
23.3.11
Games People Play
This sad exchange from a recent school drop-off/pick-up ritual...
====================================Note: don't ask Da-da how he is if you don't wanna know. Note2: Da-da might need a vacation.
Chipper housewife: "Good morning! How are YOU?!"
Da-da (deadpan): "Livin' the dream."
Chipper housewife (never listening): "Super! Have a great day!"
[later that day]
Chipper housewife: "How's it going?!"
Da-da: "Dog sex! Howbout you?"
Chipper housewife (dead stop): "Uh... what?"
Da-da: "I said, 'Great, howbout you?'"
Chipper housewife: "Um. Fine."
Da-da: "Super! Have a great day!"
====================================
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| Da-da gets children ready for bed. |
21.3.11
Typhoid Da-da (or, "Advice for New Parents")
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| Germs! They're what's for dinner. |
Da-da is hardly one to offer anyone advice because he keeps doing everything wrong. Making repeated mistakes is inevitable in regards to parenting (and is, in fact, a time-honored tradition). Why? Because your memory is the first to go. Over the years, lack of sleep, saying the same things over and over again, cleaning the same things over and over again, saying the same things over and over again while cleaning the same things over and over again... this stuff really takes a toll.
Case in point: last night was corn dogs for the kids and leftover spaghetti and meatballs for Ma-ma; Da-da wasn't that hungry (because he's about two steps from shuffling off his mortal coil), so he served as chef, maitre'd, referee and indentured servant, as usual. And as usual, seeing what Ma-ma's eating made both boys want it, too (despite their maddening inability to eat leftovers). Whatever. After the meal, Da-da noticed that his oldest, Nagurski, had not eaten that much of his spaghetti and meatballs, opting for other elements of the meal. Da-da's early warning system kicked in and he started to take the food to the trash... then thought, Well, he's hardly touched it, accompanied by that internecine race-memory phrase whispered in Da-da's mind by countless ghost mothers across the eons: IT WOULD BE A SHAME TO WASTE THAT.
Yup. You guessed it. Da-da woke up sick this morning.
Note to new and future parents: small children are scale models of the Center for Disease Control (CDC), but without the control. Even though Da-da's sons aren't sick, they're carriers for every preschool and elementary microorganism beastie lurking about for an unsuspecting mammalian digestive tract or mucous membrane.
So, Lesson 492: Don't Eat Your Kid's Food.
Ug. Da-da's GORGON cold medicine is... turning... him... to... stone...
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| Nooooooo! |
19.3.11
Escape From Which Mountain?
Da-da ran into an insouciant, childless friend today. "Hey, how's parenthood?" he chuckled.
Da-da fixed him with a jaundiced eye. "Ever see, "Escape from Alcatraz?"" Da-da asked.
"Sure," he laughed, a little nervous. "They got out."
Da-da stared him down: "Did they? Did they really?" Does anyone ever get out?
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| Da-da might need some Tinkerbell mouth-to-mouth. And scotch. |
18.3.11
The Horror of... POSTMODERN BARBIE (UPDATED)
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| Marin Barbie bursts into flame if she has to wait in line for more than three seconds. |
Da-da has two boys, so the only dolls he has to worry about are two (ignored) Major Matt Masons and the entire veteran cast of the Star Wars franchise -- veteran, as they're now missing arms and legs and heads, poor devils. Because of a search for a stormtrooper arm and leg donor at the local toy store, Da-da suddently found himself in the Barbie aisle (it was an accident, Da-da swears), where Fascination of the Abomination immediately carpe'd Da-da's diem. Mattel, the company that makes Barbie, has evidently been exploring alternative marketing channels.
Besides the passe, "Remember the Alamo Barbie" (comes with a puzzled, tooth-missing Barbie, with cowboy hat, leather fringe jacket, and dead Davy Crocket), and the de riguer, "Harley Barbie" (Barbie as a biker chick, how ‘90s), Da-da was surprised to find not only, "Polynesian Barbie" (comes naked with plastic leis, vial of missionary venereal diseases and a Martin Denny CD), but also, "Southern Marin Barbie" (once trophy-hot, this well preserved Barbie drives a silver Mercedes, dresses like she's 14, and bursts into flame if she has to wait in line for more than three seconds). She's nearly identical to, "Grateful Dead Barbie," except for the matching tie-dye iPhone and mumu, flower tiara and four-foot jasmine bong. It got worse from there.
"Pocahontas Barbie," has been renamed, "Gaming Community Barbie" (slots sold separately). This gem was within PC bowshot of, "Redneck Barbie" (slots sold separately) done up with rhinestoned denim skirt, unconscious "dawg," and case of Southern Comfort (singlewide trailer and ‘72 Ford Torino with grass growing from the engine compartment sold separately). Then there was, "Manic Barbie" (wind her up and she stays up for days and days vacuuming, re-organizing her closets and making To Do lists on old Home Pregnancy Test packaging). More puzzling was, "Freudian Barbie," which comes naked with a fish, cigars and an autographed picture of Julie Andrews (Da-da didn’t get it, either).
One of the more disturbing variants – next to, "Klaus Barbie" (sorry) – was, "Coder Barbie." Box verbiage: "Work toward endless, impossible deadlines and circumnavigate vitric egos with CODER BARBIE, and learn that all you can do is NEVER ENOUGH." Pull her string and she shouts: "CODE FASTER YOU HOGS!" Accessories include: computer; another computer; another computer; autographed picture of Darth Vader; twin carpal tunnel wrist-supports and matching ergonomic manical/keyboard; tiny gray cubicle; old squeezy fuzzy thing that "reduces stress"; and a calendar highlighting the extreme outdoor life she doesn't live. Next to that was the sad, "Blogger Barbie," (dirty bathrobe, writes sitting on a toilet, never leaves the house).
Of course, "PR Barbie," was represented. Accessories include: iPhone, iPod, iPad, iBrator, laptop, another laptop, old netbook, 40 bottles of Tums, smelly boxes of three-day-old indian food, Facebook/Twitter addiction, virtual press kit, a silver Scion filled with dry and sticky Starbuck’s cups and dirty laundry atop several inch-thick Powerpoint presentations and white papers. Degree in Social Networking sold separately. Then there was a whole wall of dusty, unsold, "Presidential Candidate Barbie," (vain, reactionary, self-centered, wealthy, doesn’t do a damn thing) and, "Congressional Barbie," (vain, reactionary, self-centered, wealthy, doesn’t do a damn thing) were both on sale for $98,932.13 each. Joe Lieberman mind control remote sold separately.
Da-da won't recount the "Trophy Ken" aisle, as it made him weep like Brian Boitano on thin ice, but the PWNED BARBIE aisle promised to be quite interesting... if Da-da could've gotten into it. It was PACKED. So, what Barbie did Da-da come away with? You know he couldn't resist. He picked up the coolest one, o'course:
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| Da-da's pick: "MUMMENSCHANZ BARBIE." |
17.3.11
Another Public Service Announcement: DWT
 |
| Before. |
Picture 3YO Da-da riding his tricycle down the sidewalk from his suburban house oh soo long ago, sometime around 2:00 in the afternoon. As usual, he was left alone to, "play outside," as everyone in Da-da's generation was -- which Da-da still finds totally inexplicable.
Just then, a neighbor materializes, a 50-ish woman with white hair, reading the newspaper. She absently gets into her beige 1967 Chevy Impala and, still reading the paper, starts and backs her car out of the driveway right into Young Master Da-da, turning his trike over and skidding it backwards toward the street, grinding its left rear wheel post into the driveway cement -- SCRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPE -- Jeez lady, can't you hear that? -- pinning Young Da-da within the tangle of metal, the huge chrome bumper reflecting Young Da-da's frozen horror back to him: Is this really happening? He finally finds his voice and SCREAMS for the car to STOP... which it did, finally, just as the wheel post found a joint in the concrete and was thinking of buckling: a good ten feet. (Let's hear it for good-ole vintage steel construction.) STILL READING THE PAPER, the lady gets out of her car and looks more annoyed than horrified. She frowned. Aren't you dead, yet? she seemed to say, failing to ask if Young Master Da-da was alright, instead inspecting her car for damage. Meanwhile, Da-da rights his tricycle and goes off on his not-so-merry way, shaking, the bent wheels of his tryke squeaking and never the same. Same to you, lady.
So, why does Da-da tell this story? Because he sees so many of you, of all ages -- even cops -- WATCHING LITTLE SCREENS WHILE YOU DRIVE. You must stop this and keep your eyes on the road. There is no info on earth that can't wait until you stop your car. Sure, you think you're okay, because you drive more slowly and closer to the curb, like a blind great white shark in the shallows waiting for some small being to lumber in front of you, for all it's gonna take is for some ebullient little kid to run out in front of you and you won't be looking at the road and those high-tech ABS brakes won't save either of you because you'll never have a chance to use them BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT PAYING ATTENTION. A life will be lost and yours will be ruined. So, please put the phone done and pay attention.
Don't read email and drive.
Don't watch TV and drive.
Don't text and drive.
Don't YouTube and drive.
All this is called DWT, Driving While Texting, and is actually worse than driving after six drinks. Yup. It's illegal. And it's dangerous. Look at the graphic, Copernicus:
 |
| A useful DMV graphic. Know it, learn it, live it. |
Note that it's veeeeery dangerous for you, too.
Why?
Because Da-da and those like him will not be nice to you when he/they get(s) to you. Ever see the Boogieman when he's mad?
 |
| Extradimensional Psycho Clown Da-da just wants to talk. |
Erin Go BLEAH
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| This isn't Photoshopped; no one knows why this river turned green overnight. Can't recall its name. |
15.3.11
14.3.11
SUPERMOON APOCALYPSE, AAAIIEIIEEEEE
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| It's a fact: full SUPERMOON APOCALYPSES encourage run-on sentences. And tantrums. |
Sorry, couldn't resist. In yet another fear-mongering media attempt at mongering FEAR (you getting this?), the moon is apparently going to be soooo close to the earth -- something like 221,567 miles away (or 356,577 kilometers), which is about as far as Da-da goes for a taco, A REALLY GOOD TACO -- that we're all gonna die. AGAIN. Seems we're, "ALL GONNA DIE," about three times a quarter these days, he said, sardonically. Sure, it's the closest the moon's been in 18 years, and YES, it'll be full, such that on the March 19th APOCALYPSE MOONIE close-up, the entire earth will explode and all corporations will perish, boo hoo. (If all the corporations died, would you cry any big salty tears?) Anyway, that's what some people think. Then again, some people read, "PEOPLE."
For anyone not in the know, you should turn all this stuff off and go read, *Jane Eyre,* because:
- It's really good, and
- The fear mongers want you AFRAID and buying things 24/7 and not reading high quality books like, *Jane Eyre,* and using your head for something other than a hat rack while reading annoying run-on sentences all the time, what's wrong with you?
That said, it wouldn't hurt to ramp your earthquake preparedness a little, esp. as the earth and sun are more and more sympatico, electromagnetically speaking, and the mantle seems to be extra slippery in terms of the Pacific plate, but don't freak out about it -- don't freak out about anything, EVER. Even if zombies suddenly appeared, your life would be gravy. Think about it. Zombies mean all bets are off and there's no more taxes, no IRS, no 9-5, no mortgage to pay, lots of adventure and eating beany weenies before being bitten and infected and then leading all your zombie comrades on a ZOMBIE MARCH ON WASHINGTON DC... ah, allow Da-da his little fantasy a moment. Wherewasi? Right. The full moon at perigee does make earthquakes more probable, statistically, as tides are quite powerful, but nothing will happen right away. No, if Da-da were forced to hang his prophetic cheese in the wind, he'd mention that his
 |
| This is actually a quasi-moon-pie/vanilla ice cream thing, which is cheating, a little, but who's gonna complain? |
[Postmortem: after the fact, the Supermoon Apocalypse turned out to be a micro rather than a macro, causing 3 and 5YO Bronko and Nagurski to become LOONEY, and chew on each other all freaking day. However, these types of moons tend to loosen things up for effects later. Da da da.]
13.3.11
Even Extraterrestrials Like Pancakes
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| Da-da gets ready to flip it... oh, wait. That's Uncle Buck. Da-da is easily confused these days. |
Da-da's Pancakes
- Start with Trader Joe's multigrain pancake mix (hey, it's organic), and follow the recipe on the box. Yes, this is cheating, but who cares?
- Add a tablespoon of maple syrup to the batter (Da-da prefers fake Log Cabin syrup, as that's what his UFO family always used; real syrup tastes weird to alien Da-da)
- Chill the batter for a half-hour, then whisk
Da-da will also add blueberries or blackberries for Nagurski, as that's what he likes; kicks up the vitamin C value, too (Da-da's Emeril implant is overacting). IMPORTANT: serve with Da-da Coffee. Small children LOVE Da-da Coffee. With a pound of sugar. Then place children in the cargo hold for three days. Be sure to dog the hatch.
- Use a big iron skillet or griddle, with plenty of either butter or corn oil or bear grease (provided you have the bear's permission); an iron skillet not only cooks better, it also cranks up the iron content a whole order of magnitude, ideal for youngins and beleagered parental units with tired blood -- or no blood at all, Dracula.
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| Like Repo Man, Da-da coffee is always intense. |
12.3.11
The Bankie Code
"Bronco, would you like some juice?"Or, you could write it like this:
"Bankie, DON'T TALK TO ME, BANKIE!"
[BANKIE] DON'T TALK TO ME, [/BANKIE]!Note that Da-da had to use brackets and not less-than/greater-than symbols, as it wouldn't show up, otherwise. Da-da isn't sure what this is good for, but the beginning stages of a whole new BANKIE coding scheme is always exciting.
10.3.11
"BINARY IN A COAL MINE" (Sung to, "Canary in a Coal Mine") -- A Postmodern Carol (#8 in a Series)
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| The scene: a modern coal mine. The voice: "Code faster you hogs!" |
So, the previous post's rhythm turned into, "Canary in a Coal Mine," in Da-da's head, but the, "APE ON THE SUBWAY," metaphor was just too much for his sleepy primate brain, so Da-da flipped it to what he knows best: tech parody! And since Gordo Sumner's 60th birthday (sorry, STING) is coming up in the fall (you knew that, because you love Sting)... what was Da-da saying, again? Oh. Anyway, here's this:
BINARY IN A COAL MINE
[sung to, "Canary in a Coal Mine," with apologies to Gordo... er, STING]
First to fall over when your lines of code are less than perfect
Your sensibilities are so shaken by the slightest defect
You live your life coding binary in a coal mine
You get so dizzy just decoding a command line
You say you want to go outside and feel the sunshine
You're so afraid to leave your cube without a deadline
You live your life coding binary in a coal mine
You get so dizzy even parsing in a straight line
Binary in a coalmine
Binary in a coalmine
Binary in a coalmine
Now if I tell you that you're just a lame code monkey
You do your work but jeez your code is so dang clunky
You live your life coding binary in a coal mine
You look so busy faux-encoding for some overtime
Binary in a coalmine
Binary in a coalmine
Binary in a coalmine
First to fall over when your lines of code are less than prefect
Your sensibilities are so shaken by the slightest defect
You live your life coding binary in a coal mine
You get so dizzy just decoding a command line.
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| "Someone said I could have this." |
NEXT CAROL: I'M TOO FUSSY (EXTENDED FUSS MIX)
9.3.11
The Humbled Da-da or, "APE ON THE SUBWAY"
7.3.11
3/8/11 to Live in Infamy? (or, ALL YOUR BASE ARE STILL BELONG TO US)
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| Alan Shepard wonders, Why do I suddenly feel like a Moon Pie? |
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| Hey! You can't park that there! |
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