Lately he's been seizing any and every opportunity to chant the inro to Sabbath's Iron Man.
Time for a bath?
NAAAAH NAAAAAH NANANAH, NANANANANANA-NANANAH!
Time for lunch?
NAAAAH NAAAAAH NANANAH, NANANANANANA-NANANAH!
Hey look, the toy aisle at the Red Store!
NAAAAH NAAAAAH NANANAH, NANANANANANA-NANANAH!
Apparently any time's the right time for IRON MAN.
The Wife took him to the park a few days back, and guess what?
NAAAAH NAAAAAH NANANAH, NANANANANANA-NANANAH!
A hessian type applauded and commented "it's never to soon to get 'em started!"
Not realizing that we have nothing to do with it- the tune popped up randomly on my Pandora and Fuss was instantly obsessed. I made him a Sabbath station and can report he loves old Sabbath, early Metallica (Kill 'em All, Ride the Lightning, Master of Puppets), Ozzy with Randy Rhodes, and Zeppelin. Iron Maiden, Judas Priest, Dio, not so much. I guess he's not into the higher registers of metal crooning.
Last night he had a weird super late nap and was acting kookoo while I was trying to get last week's giant book haul listed. The Wife was completely played after a long day of wrangling and put on a Simpsons disc to placate him. He wanted "scary Halloween one!" of course, but we couldn't find it. So he got Colonel Homer, with Homer playing country music impresario for Lurleen Lumpkin.
Some indeterminate time later I was in the bedroom and Fuss rambled up.
"Dada, dada!"
"What, Fuss?"
He struck his 'ready pose', consciously relaxed, arms at his sides and face composed, which usually presages a leap into the void or tumbling run across the bed.
Then he proclaimed
"Country music sucks!"
Ending on a singsong note, with shoulders raised and hands spread palms out at ear level, as if to say nuthin' ya can do about it.
This became the refrain of the evening.
And of breakfast, where my offering offering of toast and juice was greeted with a comically exaggerated shrug and "Country music sucks!" refrain.
If it keeps up I'll try and inoculate him with some Patsy Cline and Bob Wills.
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