As I prepare to welcome a future space-funk warrior princess into my thermonuclear family (T-minus one day to scheduled arrival) I’m going to try and squeeze a few posts in while I can. I doubt much will happen here, though, so this means that these communiqués from the tip of our arm of the galaxy (my current posting, where I am unable to reveal what I’m doing – suffice to say it involves zero-g zombies and the Spandau Ballet reunion tour) may be far and few for the next few weeks. With tiny humans at the fore of my thoughts, I thought I might share some bits and bobs of baby related tech, tunes and domestic-grade laser weaponry.
Actually, I’m going to steal content from Atomique to talk tech. When not busy educating me about the merits of Madchester she has a side gig blogging at a baby clothing shop, where she does her best to sneak science in between the articles about mothering techniques and store sales.
Baby-related science news and nifty gadgets that Atomique is bringing to the moms of Oz:
- A study about the risks new moms take every time they get behind the wheel of a car
- Self-heating baby bottles
- Breadmaking regulations which will reduce birth defects
- The height of early 20th century baby gadgetry: a cage for hanging bub out the apartment window
Music. Baby music. Man, babies have terrible taste in music. It’s repetitive, the melodies are basic and the lyrics are insipid. Wait, am I describing every ‘dance club hit’ from the early 90s or nursery rhymes? I’m confused. Whose space suit is this?
I was tempted to spangle this post with songs with baby in the title, but that felt like I was rubbing clichés all over myself and doing sexy dances for Russian sailors. Not that I know what that feels like – unless you mean Russian space-sailors, in which case a brother’s gotta work his way home somehow, right?
I can’t really find anything interesting about baby music. Well, kind of. Here’s a nursery rhyme in an ancient dialect of French:
Un petit d’un petit
S’étonne aux Halles
Un petit d’un petit
Ah! degrés te fallent
Indolent qui ne sort cesse
Indolent qui ne se mène
Qu’importe un petit d’un petit
Tout Gai de Reguennes.
Wait, I lied! It’s not actually French! If you read it with an outrageously bad French accent, however, it reads like Humpty Dumpty. It’s from a collection of fake archaic French songs which all sound like English nursery rhymes when read like Pepé le Peu, called Mots D’Heures: Gousses, Rames (Mother Goose’s Rhymes).
Closely related to babies are toddlers. Toddlers have way better taste in music. That’s not saying much, but I’ll listen to The Wiggles or Yo Gabba Gabba over, say, Aqua or Nickelback.
A perennial favourite of toddlers which had some bangin’ tunes was Sesame Street; even more bangin’ is a whole album of Muppet Mashups.
Finally, we come to Babies With Laser Eyes. Not every one of you may know this, but quite a lot of technology goes into the modern laser-eye equipped baby:
They’re not as uncommon as you’d expect these days. Frankly, I’m a bit concerned that some of the ‘bargain’ babies with laser eyes we now see coming out of south-east Asia don’t have the same level of safety measures in place as the traditional Swiss and Austrian models. Mark my words, it won’t be long before someone’s house burns down.
Okay, kids – I’m out of here. I’ll get all proud and post reconnaissance images of bub the second in the next few days, and then things may get very quiet. Keep fighting the good fight in my absence.