No, earworms not real worms! “Earworm” is the term for those bits of catchy music that you can’t get out of your head. We have all experienced them.
Just the other day, I was plagued with the country song, “I Don’t Look Good Naked Anymore,” running through my brain, never mind how it started.
The only cure I’ve found is to replace the earworm with a lesser earworm that can be more easily forgotten. For that, I have used the old jingle by Singin’ Sam, the Barbasol Man cited in the recent posting of 11/23/2015:
“Barbasol, Barbasol . . . No brush, no lather, no rub-in . . . Wet your razor then begin.”
Often, I then have to replace that with a still lesser earworm. For that, I use pieces of a song popular in the 1980s that I remember because it pretty well described my job and many of the people I worked with. It is a riff on a typical folk work song. I thought the title was “Haulin’ Up the Data On the Xerox Line,” but the real title is “White Collar Holler.” You can hear Stan Rogers sing it on YouTube at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rsDkmVo2fg4
Well, I rise up every morning at a quarter to eight,
Some woman who’s my wife tells me not to be late.
I kiss the kids goodbye, I can’t remember their names,
And week after week, it’s always the same.
And it’s Ho, boys, can’t you code it (Woof!),
And program it right?
Nothing ever happens in this life of mine.
I’m haulin’ up the data on the Xerox line.
Then it’s code in the data, give the keyboard a punch,
Then cross-correlate and break for some lunch.
Correlate, tabulate, process, and screen,
Program, printout, regress to the mean.
Then it’s home again, eat again, watch some TV,
Make love to my woman at ten-fifty-three.
I dream the same dream when I’m sleeping at night.
I’m soaring over hills like an eagle in flight.
Someday I’m gonna give up all the buttons and things.
I’ll punch that time clock till it can’t ring,
Burn up my necktie and set myself free,
Cause no one’s gonna fold, bend or mutilate me!