Remind Me Tomorrow
The TimeMachine popup’s been camping in the corner of my screen for three years. Every morning—sometimes twice—it shows up asking if I want to finally back something up. Every time, I hit remind me tomorrow.
I’m 972 days into lying to myself about when I’m actually going to do this.
Everyone’s lost something important. Spilled coffee. Got robbed. Downloaded what you thought was a picture of Anna Kurnikowa but was actually malware that locked your entire drive. Watched years of work just disappear into nothing. That panic, that slow acceptance that it’s actually gone—if you’ve been through it, you understand why backups matter. You just still don’t do them.
A German comedy band got it. The Bohemian Browser Ballett took hit songs from the eighties and nineties and rewrote them as backup reminders. Just throw it in the cloud.
Data here, data gone.
Now it’s too late, you stupid asshole.
Parody songs with a point, basically. Funny and brutal and completely true.
But the thing is, I still haven’t actually set one up. That critical Word file that’s supposedly going to determine my entire future is still sitting right here on this one drive, completely unprotected. Tomorrow the popup will come back and I’ll click the same button again.