We Are All Just Prisoners Here — Of Our Own Device

Y'all know how I feel about kids' music. I hate it. Loathe it. Can't abide it. I'd sooner stick a sharp ornament in my eye than attend a Rocknocerous concert. So they listen to what we like. This could be heaven or this could be hell. The upside is that they run around singing Aimee Mann and Michael Penn and the Indigo Girls and the Beatles and Sinatra and Sarah McLachlan and the Black Crows and Alison Krauss and occasionally even Depeche Mode. 

The downside is they occasionally get songs — or parts of songs — stuck in their heads. And because whatever is in their heads exits, like a ricocheting bullet, right out of their mouths a moment later (Cody's especially guilty here), this can be irritating. All the way home from school today, here's what I heard. As I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles were white:

"Welcome to the Hotel CaliFORnia! Welcome to the Hotel CaliFORnia! Welcome to the Hotel CaliFORnia! Welcome to the Hotel CaliFORnia! Welcome to the Hotel CaliFORnia! Welcome to the Hotel CaliFORnia! Welcome to the Hotel CaliFORnia! Welcome to the Hotel CaliFORnia! Welcome to the Hotel CaliFORnia! Welcome to the Hotel CaliFORnia! Welcome to the Hotel CaliFORnia! Welcome to the Hotel CaliFORnia! Welcome to the Hotel CaliFORnia! Welcome to the Hotel CaliFORnia! Welcome to the Hotel CaliFORnia! Welcome to the Hotel CaliFORnia! Welcome to the Hotel CaliFORnia! Welcome to the Hotel CaliFORnia!"

Are you getting my drift?

The good news is, I can check out anytime I want. But…you know.