HOW to Read... The TAO of Da-da

The Da-da Trench Test (UPDATED)

Da-da's actually quite sweet -- provided you apes take Hill 407 this time without tantrums.

After inspecting his sleeping troops and settling in to his cold k-ration beany weenies -- AGAIN -- after a terrible day in the kid-trenches (trench beany weenies are the highlight), Da-da ruminated on what it's really like to be A Man Called Da-da, with two sub-7YO mental patients -- or being a parent, in general. What's it really like?

It's like trench warfare, that's what. But with more hugs and vomit. And a stuffed unicorn in no-man's land. Don't believe Da-da? Then take this little parenting test:

The Da-da Trench Test

1. Do you feel exhausted from little or no sleep/being up all night, your fatigue the stuff of legend?
2. Are you perpetually rumpled, dirty, unclean, unshaven, unkempt, perhaps even STINKY -- in public -- and find that you simply don't care?
3. Have you started to resemble Chewbacca? Make Wookie noises?
4. Do you often find yourself wearing the same clothes over and over, day after day?
5. Do you find yourself scarfing cold or lukewarm, greasy food while standing up/walking/running?
6. Have you found that you actually not only LIKE beany weenies, but talk about it in public? 
7. Do you occasionally find yourself screaming?
8. Do you occasionally find yourself screaming the same thing over and over? And over?
9. Do you occasionally scream or pontificate about beany weenies?
10. Has your memory... um, is the... what was the question? 

If you answered YES to many of the above questions, CONGRATULATIONS: you're a parent. Or perhaps a teenager.

If you'd like the...

DELUXE DA-DA TRENCH TEST, TRY THIS

...it's on page 185.

Whose turn is it to take out the diaper pail? (WWI Sam Raimi courtesy of Mr. and Mrs. Ramey.)

*** A MOM-COM-PAC ADVISORY ***

...START TRANSMISSION...

FROM MOM-COM-PAC 08:25:03 GMT 26-4-13HAVING EXPLODED AT 3:06:15 GMT, DA-DA'S ERUPTION SHOWS NO SIGN OF ABATEMENT. MOM-COM-PAC THEREBY ADVISES ALL PERSONS WITHIN A HUNDRED MILE RADIUS OF DA-DA'S HEAD TO EVACUATE THE TRI-STATE AREA IMMEDIATELY. COOPERATION WITH ALL MOM-COM-PAC PTA AUTHORITY INSTRUCTIONS WITHIN THE CORDON AREA IS MANDATORY, LIKE THAT'S EVER GONNA CHANGE. ABSOLUTELY *NO* EYE CONTACT IS TO BE MADE WITH THE ERUMPENT DA-DA DURING THIS TIME.

MOM-COM-PAC OUT

...END TRANSMISSION... 

MAKE *NO* EYE CONTACT WITH DA-DA... REPEAT... MAKE *NO* EYE CONTACT WITH DA-DA...

*** MESSAGE FROM MOM-COM-PAC FOLLOWS ***

"DAD-SERV-PAC is down!"

...START TRANSMISSION...

FROM MOM-COM-PAC 00:25:01 GMT 26-4-13

DA-DA'S HEAD EXPLODED AT 3:06:15 GMT AFTER A LONG BOUT OF THE NOW INFAMOUS WEEKDAY, "PUT YOUR DAMN SHOES ON," RITUAL PLAYED OUT AT DA-DA'S SUBTERRANEAN FORTRESS OF SOLITUDE LOCATED IN THE BOOLEAN NETHER REGIONS. THE CRANIAL EVENT OCCURRED WHEN 6YO OMNI-INTRANSIGENT -- CODE-NAME, "BRONKO" -- INEXPLICABLY REFUSED TO PUT HIS SHOES ON WITHOUT HAVING TO DEPLOY THE DD-870 SHODINATOR (DA-DA/DAD-SERV-PAC). THIS DESPITE THE FACT THAT THE 6YO OMNI-INTRANSIGENT WAS PERFECTLY CAPABLE OF PUTTING ON HIS OWN DAMN SHOES.

DAD-SERV-PAC image from MOM-COM-PAC.

REPEATEDLY FAILING TO UNTIE ONE SHOE'S LACES, DA-DA'S CRANIAL PRESSURE SPIKED AND NOMINAL OPERATIONAL STATUS WAS LOST. THE SYSTEM SCRAMBLED AND COULD NOT BE RESTORED, RESULTING IN CATASTROPHIC ONTOLOGICAL FAILURE.

THE FORCE OF THE BLAST WAS FELT BY FELINE UNITS IN THE OTHER ROOM. BRONKO'S BROTHER, 7.8YO OMNI-INTRANSIGENT, "NAGURSKI," REPORTEDLY SAID TO HIS BROTHER: "YOU'RE GONNA GET IT, NOW." 

MUCH OF DA-DA'S HEAD IS MISSING AND PRESUMED LOST. SUBSEQUENT RESPONSES FROM RESIDUAL BLOBBY PORTIONS VACILLATE BETWEEN CHRISTMAS AND BEING ROASTED ALIVE. COMMAND HAS REPEATEDLY NOTED THAT DA-DA'S HEAD WASN'T WORKING VERY WELL PRIOR TO THE BLAST, ANYWAY. A CONCRETE TRUCK HAS BEEN DISPATCHED TO REPAIR THE DAMAGE. 

MOM-COM-PAC OUT

...END TRANSMISSION... 

"Huh. Da-da's head exploded. Again."

The Wrath of Mom

Uh oh. Ma-ma got the torch out. You guys better run while Da-da distracts her with smoochage...

"Da-da, Does Psychic Jesus Have Video Games?"

Besides offering pizza and video games, Brother J is now apparently psychic. Right ON.

An inexplicable verbal exchange from seconds ago:

5YO Bronko: "Da-da, does Psychic Jesus have video games?"
Da-da (long pause): "What?"
5YO Bronko: "DOES Psychic Jesus have video games?!"
Da-da: "Psychic Jesus??"
5YO Bronko (getting flustered): "You KNOW. The place with the pizza!"
Da-da: "Ooooooooh. You mean the place where Vlad's having his birthday party?"
5YO Bronko: "YEEES. Psychic Jesus. Do they have video games or NOT?!"
Da-da: "Of course. All spiritual leaders offer pizza and video games in their restaurants."
5YO Bronko: "Mm."
Da-da: "And they always know your order before you order it."
5YO Bronko: "Good."

The Triumph of a Man Called Da-da is...

...keeping that Happy Face despite the unfortunate limitations of gravity.

The Triumph of a Man Called Da-da is...

...keenly anticipating this fall's back-to-school fashions. Yes, this year, UNCLE FESTER PLAID is IN.
Good thing, as Da-da's looked like this for years.

The Triumph of a Man Called Da-da is...

The Triumph of a Man Called Da-da is... looking dapper while holding a sleeping primate.

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.

The Wrath of Mom

"Uh oh... your mom's put on her Babylonian headdress. You boys had best pack."

The Wrath of Mom

Isn't this why you married me?

The Wrath of Mom

Da-da told you boys to wear aluminum foil clothing. Either that, or just lower the toilet seat when you're done.
And don't worry: your butt will grow back.

The Wrath of Mom

Da-da told you guys to watch out for the eye blasts.
Don't worry, the feeling in your butt will come back after a few days.

The Wrath of Mom

Don't let that smile fool you. Run, Timmy, RUN!

The Wrath of Mom

Honey? Ok. You've made your point. Da-da will take out the trash when it's full, ok? Honey?

The Wrath of Mom

Um, boys, Da-da would go to bed if he were you. Pissed-off Ma-ma nostril flare means TAKE COVER.
Her feather boa will take your head clean off.

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.

Breaking News From Da-da's Head

Is that "Outer Limits," or "Bowling for Dollars"?

Crap. Must be Tuesday. Either that or Bronko and Nagurski have been playing with the remote to Da-da's head and tuned him to a dead channel again. Huh. It's kinda like real life, but more compelling. Wait, is that a chicken up there? No. It's just the way she's holding the grapefruit.

The Sitter II: A Retrospective Freudian Analysis w/Burned Baloney

Nothing prepares you for what you're going to be like as a parent. People drone on and on about how you'll probably be like your parents, but that's too simplistic and takes into account NONE of the vast, profligate heaps of Freudian baggage you've been amassing across the eons. Case in point: what Da-da calls, "babysitter fear." Few things peg Da-da's Sphinct-O-meter like leaving his children with total strangers. (This fear used to be worse before Da-da completed Bronko and Nagurski's extensive ninja training.)

This anxiety goes wa-ay back to the time Young Master Da-da was babysat one late spring night by Archetypal Teen Babysitter, LINDA, a 16YO neighborhood girl, when Da-da was six. Linda, you know who you are. Da-da should note before we begin that he has what's called an eidetic memory: that is, HE REMEMBERS EVERYTHING... well, until he had kids. Now, HE REMEMBERS NOTHING. Except dumb things that occurred when he was six. Great.

Anyway, Young Master Da-da was not fooled by babysitter LINDA's faux doves-and-bunnies act before mom and dad. And Da-da about came unglued when she tried to put him to bed at 6:00 (interrupting, "Forbidden Planet," which fully activated Da-da's REVENGE circuitry). Prior to this insult, LINDA had made "dinner" for her charge: what she called, "Mexican hats," that is, broiled baloney (BROILED BALONEY?) covered in yellow mustard (what wine would you serve with broiled baloney covered in yellow mustard? VIOGNIER? White zinfandel?)... where was i? Oh, yeah, BROILED BALONEY, krikey, which said babysitter forgot about while yakking on the phone with her long-hair boyfriend, filling the house with acrid, BURNED BALONEY SMOKE. (Da-da can still smell it.) Later, she foolishly assumed Young Master Da-da was asleep (at 7:00?) and snuck out to meet her boyfriend down the street, LEAVING YOUNG MASTER DA-DA HOME ALONE in a house filled with poison, broken glass, dynamite, and toxic burned baloney fumes. Nice.

To make matters worse, this dim bulb failed to notice a six-year-old white ninja -- in glowing white ROY ROGERS PAJAMAS -- tracking her down the street as she schlepped to the water treatment plant around the corner. Why was she going there? Young Master Da-da wondered... Ah.

The water treatment plant had a lush, broad green lawn that the teens used as their May Pole rendezvous field of dreams. The field itself was already packed with teens humping in the moonlight; there must've been twenty couples coupling in early '70s, pre-Burning Man abandon. Linda arrived, found "STEVEN," stripped off all her clothes (seriously), took possession of a very large bong, and boarded the illicit sex train with all the other assembled hippie teens. Young Da-da watched for only a moment. Ok, maybe two moments...

He then went home, found the phone number left on the kitchen counter, and called mom and dad. Once the cavalry arrived, Young Master Da-da walked his parents to the water treatment plant's lawn, toting a police flashlight, and showcased LINDA in full glory. Needless to say, Young Master Da-da pocketed Linda's $20 that night. (And Young Master Da-da watched himself from then on; indeed, Da-da was given a key to the house and was officially a "latch key kid" after that.)

So, it doesn't take Fellini to figure out why Da-da sweats every time he leaves his children alone with little miss perfect (or does it?). Da-da can just HEAR the Freudian archetypes building in their subconsciousnesses. Or maybe that's gas. Either way, it's frightening.

EPILOGUE

It should come as no surprise that Young Master Da-da's parents were bankers and staunch Republicans (it's actually 10 million times more complicated than that, but Da-da will save that for later), and that 6YO Da-da himself was a miniature goddamn Nixon. He's since regained his sanity, going from Republican, to Independent, to Libertarian, to Democrat, to Silly Party... but it took a while.

Da-da has since performed an intensive Freudian analysis of the entire above event. It's not too tough to figure out. Basically, Young Master Da-da had a crush on LINDA -- who was HOT -- but she snubbed him for "STEVEN" (some long-haired geek who would later direct, "JAWS," what a loser). Additionally, she burned Young Da-da's "BALONEY" (do I have to spell that out for you?), turned off, "FORBIDDEN PLANET," then went and humped the hippie, "STEVEN." Oh, the salamis and handrails.

Despite the fact that it's irresponsible and dangerous to leave a child unattended, for the record, LINDA snubbed a highly accomplished and attractive 6YO who not only had his own car, BUT TWENTY OF THEM. Sure, they were only matchbox cars, but Da-da could do a lot with a little... and we're going to deep-six Freud on that one and move on with our lives, already in progress, while Da-da goes out to buy some sausages and a monster truck.