It's Arbor Day, and Da-da's Got Apes Again

Crap. It's Arbor Day and Da-da's obelisk-tree's got apes. AGAIN.


Just in Case You Missed This...

Just in case you missed, or have forgotten about this important little piece of history, Da-da's posting it for the record. It's where we're all headed, in all countries. This from Bloomberg/Businessweek:
Feb. 20 (Bloomberg) -- Icelanders who pelted parliament with rocks in 2009 demanding their leaders and bankers answer for the country’s economic and financial collapse are reaping the benefits of their anger.

Since the end of 2008, the island’s banks have forgiven loans equivalent to 13 percent of gross domestic product, easing the debt burdens of more than a quarter of the population, according to a report published this month by the Icelandic Financial Services Association.

“You could safely say that Iceland holds the world record in household debt relief,” said Lars Christensen, chief emerging markets economist at Danske Bank A/S in Copenhagen. “Iceland followed the textbook example of what is required in a crisis. Any economist would agree with that.”

Grumpy Da-da's N'oxymoron for a Thursday Afternoon

Yeah. Thanks, Carl. Do you know how much a fresh universe costs these days?

Da-da's grumpy, so today's near-oxymoron -- or "n'oxymoron" -- is, "celebrity chef." For the most part, chefs are not celebrities. Some are, like Jacques Pepin (who can cut an onion faster than any machine), but the rest are just corporate celebrity chef wannabes, rehashing the same voguey or costly, or voguey costly ingredients over and over again in a redundant pottage of pottage redundancy. They wax this tuna while suggesting viewers purchase $400 mixers and $3000 copper-core can openers and exotic, pricey ingredients tossed akimbo amidst amazing quick-cut culinary trips to some cheese-laden caveau in the Pyrenees, or the Champagne region where we're forced to endure them rolling their eyes, moaning and nodding to that impossible-to-procure Fumé Neuberg grown by their now-good-friend, Francois -- all the while wagging their chemically shock-treated hair, $10k smiles and iconic, impeccably slouchy wardrobes in our gray-toothed Old Navy faces. They're not all like that, o'course.

The schlumpy sincere-esque ones are merely obnoxious and gad about hating and mocking everything in the world (like writers, chefs all secretly hate one another) -- except for that impossible-to-procure Fumé Neuberg grown by their now-good-friend, Francois. For the most part, these are not folks you'd let stand in your kitchen for more than a few seconds before whacking them in the head with a baked alaska. We now return you to Grumpy Da-da's (instant) coffee, already in progress. Da-da coffee is always intense.

Here's one Da-da made earlier.


Pay No Attention to the Clown Banging a Shield Behind the Curtain (UPDATED)

Go home, war god.
Three places at once?
The other night, April 12th, at approx. 3:00 am, while Da-da was trying to sleep after visiting with friends in Northern California, Da-da was witness to the weirdest thunder Da-da's ever heard in 198 years of thunder concerts. "Regular" thunder booms and echoes. But this thunder was, to wax onomonopoetic, like this: BAM... BAM... BAM... BAM... BAM... BAM... BAM.... Da-da lost count, but it sounded like seven times. (Seventh Seal? Buehler?) There was no echo, though, just extremely impressive and repeated, loud metallic reports of equal intensity.

The trailing edge of a storm was indeed over us, but nothing was happening until the cacophony, which sounded for all the world like a thousand-foot-tall giant banging a club against an enormous bronze war shield, and there was no rain or hail -- or lightning -- where Da-da was. It did, however, make the whole of Marin County vibrate. And while some might think it was due to thunder echoing (the town where Da-da heard the sounds is in a large box valley, suggesting echo to some), Da-da is a recovering musician (jazz and classical) and has rather acute hearing, and can tell if a sound is an echo or not. Additionally, Da-da not only grew up in a box valley surrounded by mountains and thunderstorms, he also spent lots of time in Colorado Springs, the thunder and lightning capital of the world, so he's pretty much heard it all -- that is, until now.

Apocalypse Parenting 109B: Survey of Mr. Mom Sources and Improbable Means of Dealing w/Micro-Gargantua Conflict

Being Mr. Mom basically means that your mom's curse came true for you, 24/7/365.25. Thanks, mom.


The PTA Has Risen From the Grave

Da-da's guessing this isn't going to go well.

History Has Been Drinking (or "SAM, JOHN... THE BRANDS ARE COMING")

237 years ago, pizzas were delivered in 20 days or less -- or your next pizza was free.

Uh oh. Da-da woke up with a history ramble. Historic ramble? So, buckle up those hob-nailed lyres and get those caveman colonists to a chariot-nunnery pronto, Tonto.

Speaking of untenable segues, kids studying American history are taught that, back in 1775, Paul Revere hit the road on the night of April 18 (um, that's 237 years ago, when Da-da was only TWO) to alert the countryside that British troops were on the move, primarily because the scones and double cream were reported to be much better in the next town (they weren't). Revere and another rider, William Dawes, reached Lexington, Mass., to warn Sam Adams and John Hancock that they were soon-to-become unpaid corporate figureheads of legend -- aaand that they were also going to be arrested for not paying all those outstanding horse certification and parking fines -- oh, and hey, they also needed to lock up all the scones. But, alas, everyone was captured and were made to eat the OLD scones (sans double cream and strawberry preserves, which is against the Geneva Convention), but what they were all really trying to warn us about was that THE BRANDS WERE COMING.


The Last and Final Tax Day of The Greed Epoch

The IRS is READY, baby. (Psst, hand on the handle... ready?)

This icky, doppio-millennio chunk of human history we've been enduring for the past 2000 years will one day be known as the Greed Epoch (or The Real Dark Ages). That's the bad news. The good news is that it's almost over. Really. It's all changing, behind the scenes, for the better, and nothing in the universe can change that. Notice that more and more generals are "going rogue"? More and more people are standing up for... people? And more and more business concerns are cutting ties with all Fox-like fear corporations and media? Yup. Get ready to be shocked... then get happy.


Poetry Corner: Da-da's Brain is Still Missing

Here's Da-da's entry for "The Painted Bride" short poetry contest called, "Sidecar #12." Entries have to include the words: "gyrate," "gap-toothed" and "God." 
Da-da's Brain is Still Missing

Gap-toothed no-neck monsters
screech and gyrate in 6YO
floppy soliloquoy: bed time.

Meanwhile, Da-da's Swedish au pair
lies on a tanning bed blocks away, texting admirers
over blue hawaiians before booming for Vegas.


But the joke's on her: she left
her birth-control God in the bathroom,
and conception is its own reward.

And still, Da-da's brain goes missing.

 You, of course, must like Da-da HERE. Jeez, how could you not? Da-da slaved over that poem (which he lived) for well over five minutes.

Oh. THERE it is. Powering a casino in Vegas. Huh. At least someone got some use out of it.
(Psst... bet it all on 22 Black.)

Abridged Way Too Far

Da-da is now 98% certain that he's been Mr. Mom too long --
though it's always possible that he's simply realizing his full pectoral potential.

Da-da's Fan Club Begins to Coalesce... in a Pink and SPOOKY Fashion

That is so sweet. Da-da esp. likes the spooky MIB on the right.


Da-da Watch UPDATE: "Da-da's Melting Core Sheds Light on Mysterious Exo-Parent"

So far, the shock has been widespread.

This just in...
Da-da's Melting Core Sheds Light on Mysterious Exo-Parent

[March 26th, 2012 in HeadSpace & Exo-Parenting Today]

Scientists now have evidence that Da-da's core has been dissolving, and the implications stretch far outside typical social conventions.

Da-da might be having a change of heart. Literally.

New simulations suggest that Da-da's rocky core has been liquefying and mixing with the rest of his exo-parent innards, which is pretty gross if you think about it. With this new data, parentologists hope to better explain the recent puzzling discovery of a Da-da reading Shel Silverstein's, The Giving Tree and weeping like a little girl.

"It's a really important piece of the puzzle of trying to figure out what's going on inside Da-da," said long-time Da-da-watcher, John Underdaspants, who's not affiliated with... well, with anything.

Abridged Too Far?

It is entirely conceivable that Da-da has been Mr. Mom too long. Da-da's dress is pretty, tho.


Your Basic Pre-Apocalyptic Rapprochement Synchronicity (or "Why Da-da Ain't 'Gunnin' fer 'Squatch ")

Don't do it, 'Squatch.

Ok, this is weird. Da-da was flipping through his littany of bizarro news sites while Bronko and Nagurski were watching aftersnack/snickersnack TV (they're deep into, "Timeblazers," an awesome show out of Canada; the subject for said episode was, "Living in North America 300-odd years ago"). Anyway, right in the middle of it, Nagurski, who's gonna be seven soon, glances over at Da-da and says, "You know, I think Bigfoot is just misunderstood." Da-da blinked at this totally out-of-the-blue, plate-o-shrimp, non-sequitur, big-word Delphic utterance and asked, What?

Da-da in a Dark and Underworldly Place 2.0


Rabbit Hole or Rebirth 2: Your Eventual Fun Future

Now we can extrapolate as to the cause of a lot of the underground noises. (Someone's having their toys taken away, boo hoo for you.) Anyway, here's the latest on all this, and here's Da-da's first post so you don't fall in a pothole: RABBIT HOLE or REBIRTH 1. And...

No matter what's going on, like any good parent, Da-da's just here to help the ballclub. Aaaand, it looks like we all have something to look forward to. Well... most of us. Da-da is breathing a sigh of relief and looking forward to seeing his boys graduate from Starfleet Academy. Da-da will be one of the proud ship-board janitors. Careful, Captain, the floors are wet, but the plomeek soup's ready. Walking feet, Captain, walking feet.

Yeah, Da-da's a geek. What was your first clue?


Dave's Non-existent Uterus is Not a Toy

Meanwhile, Back at Dave's Dubious Uterus...

If You Only Knew THE POWER of the Deep Humor Insertion

Da-da is the pantomime zebra of comedy, at least in his own paddock.

Ok, parents and geeks and lovers of geeks, what do Clone Wars, Transformers, Power Rangers and their Tweenish etcetera ilk have in common? They have absolutely no sense of humor. Born primarily to sell action figures and video games, Clone Wars and Transformers are the worst, offering a tax-audit banality of all things grumpy: grumpy fight sequences, grumpy fear and loathing, grumpy revenge, grumpy anger, grumpy talk of revenge... all redundantly sawing the same boring log into two boring logs.

Those of you old bastards who've been intercoursing the penguin around the block, think about what made the old Star Trek episodes work so well. Of course: they were like real life. Just like a day in NYC, each episode featured cheesy aliens, cheesy mock-danger, delicious moments of tragically hip cheese-clothing and brie-decor salted with skimpy foil costumes of delicate flagellation beneath a soundtrack of sexy cheese. But they also had what makes real life livable (or tolerable): flashes of humor and occasional absurdity.


Da-da's Awesome 2012 Strategic Parenting Initiative 2012 Initiative Thing (REDUNDANCY EDITION)

Ok. You are SO lucky disappointed. Da-da's main sourpoint presentation caught fire and crashed into Haddonfield, NJ. Da-da had 173 powerpointless slides ready and... ok, they were admittedly all the same slide, with only one word on each one, but the transitions were awesome. What was the word? PEACE.

Yes, Da-da's Awesome 2012 Strategic Parenting Initiative 2012 Initiative Thing (REDUNDANCY EDITION) is simple. It's peace. Peace. PEACE. Is this thing on? Parents and most supreme beings want, nay crave Peace. Not hippie peace, but PEACE. Quiet, safe, relaxed, floaty, unburdened peaceful Peace. A place where no one is subjugated, no one uses or profits from the miseries of others, no one's jumping on the bed or hitting their brother when Da-da's not looking. P-E-A-C-E! As non-local beings having a local experience, Peace is our natural state. SO GET ON IT. It only takes a second. All you need do is close your eyes, quiet your mind and think, "PEACE," and imagine yourself... you know, PEACEFUL, and unrepentent in your overuse of capitals -- though keep your eyes open while driving. Oh, and would you please stop leaving your cold drinks on PEACE without using a coaster? Otherwise, we have to wipe it down all over again. Jeez, what were you, born in a barn? Hold on... HEY YOU KIDS, NO DISTURBING THE PEACE. HELLO?

Um, not exactly, but thanks for making it weird.

Apocalypse Parenting 407L: Embracing Your Inner Borg-Mommy 3000

Ex. 10. The Cyberdyne Borg-Mommy 3000: the next step in post-apocalyptic parent evolution.


Monopoly Money for All Da-da's Muppet Friends

How sweet. The Federal Reserve Bank -- which is neither federal, nor a reserve, nor a bank -- has created Monopoly money for us Muppets. Sure puts that whole, "fiat currency" bugaboo to bed, doesn't it? LIBOR outrage, anyone?


Apocalypse Parenting 102: If the Door is Breathing...

Ex. 9. In Mr. Mom-Land, if the door is breathing, everything's fine, even on April Fool's Day; especially so.
After all, we've all seen a breathing door before, right? In college? Or where was that? Monaco?
Anyway, the REAL QUESTION is: which side of the door are you on?
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