The Fable of the Little Chickadee
As I walked through the park on a crisp winter day, I came across a most curious sight.
A small bird sat on a stone bench, pecking furiously at a laptop, a comically tiny cup of coffee beside it. You might not think this unusual—birds must earn a living too, after all.
The peculiarity lay in the fact that this bird—upon closer inspection, a black-capped chickadee—was beeping incessantly. Not in song, but in a language so coarse it could put hair on a baby’s chin.
Intrigued by this exasperated avian, and with my code still compiling back at the office, I decided to approach.
“Morning, little bird. You seem awfully frustrated. Why’s that?” I asked.
The bird paused its typing and looked up.
“Oh—I’m sorry. Was I swearing too loudly?”
“Just a tad,” I said, bringing my thumb and index finger together for emphasis.
The black feathers on its head smoothed out. “I’m dreadfully sorry.”
“Is there any way I could help?”
“I don’t believe so. I’m an engineer, you see.”
“Well, that’s perfect,” I replied. “I’m an engineer too.”
I pulled out the giffin all true engineers receive upon graduation and cast a simple coding cantrip to prove my bona fides.
The bird’s feathers puffed. “You are an engineer,” it said. “And by the notches on your giffin, a seasoned one.”
“I’ve been around a while,” I said, trying not to blush. “What’s the problem then?”
“I recently graduated from TU.”
“Tweeting University?”
“Torquay University,” it said, with mild reproach.
“Pardon me. Please continue.”
“I graduated recently and have been applying to jobs, but I’m worried my programming languages aren’t enough.”
“I see. What do you know?”
“The ones they taught us at uni: C++, Java, and Python.”
“That’s not a bad trio—you’ve got something for systems, general-purpose work, and scripting.”
“Yes, but is it enough? I was reading the TIOBE index…”
I raised a hand. “Ah. There’s your problem.”
The bird tilted its head. “But how else am I supposed to know what language to learn next?”
“Perhaps a story would illustrate this better. But I grow thirsty—let’s walk to that coffee shop, and I’ll tell you on the way.”
The bird sighed. “Fine. I suppose I’m thirsty too.” It packed its laptop, mug, and bag, then perched on my shoulder.
“About fourteen years ago,” I began, “before Acid3 and Chromium, there was a popular technology called Macromedia Flash. Actually, Adobe had just bought it, if I recall correctly.
“Flash was indispensable before modern standards. You could build web apps that ran consistently across browsers and OSes. It was prettier than the brutalist JSF and easier than JavaScript.”
The bird jumped on my shoulder, indignant. “Easier than JavaScript? Really?”
I laughed. “Yes, JavaScript used to be dreadful—misunderstood, misused, and blamed for everything. Like horrorcore hip-hop. Now it’s mainstream, bloated, powerful, and still blamed for everything. Like mumble rap.
“But this isn’t about JavaScript. That’s another story. This is about ActionScript—the language of Flash. For years, job boards were filled with listings for Flash Developers, Multimedia Programmers, even Flex Developers. It was a time when HTML was held together by spit and prayer. VLC was freeing us from the tyranny of QuickTime and RealPlayer. And Flash, powered by ActionScript, ruled the ‘rich’ web, games, and even early YouTube.
“Then came change. Security disasters. New standards. Old tyrants fell, only to be replaced by new ones. Flash, and thus ActionScript, declined.
“Job postings disappeared. Flash became an Instrumentum Non Grato. ActionScript fell into obscurity—47th on the TIOBE index last I checked.”
We sat down with our drinks.
“What happened to those developers?” the bird asked.
I sipped my tea. “We moved on. Some early, some… less gracefully.”
The bird sank into its feathers and gave a small shake. “That’s sad. But wouldn’t TIOBE have helped? If they’d seen the decline in ActionScript, they could’ve switched early.”
“That’s the point. Those ActionScript developers didn’t disappear. Their skills were recycled. The principles they learned carried over. Concepts like frames and tweening—they brought them into new animation libraries. If they’d jumped from tech to tech without building anything, they’d have gained nothing.
“By Ritchie’s beard, Papers, Please was made using OpenFL and Haxe—descendants of Flash and ActionScript!”
The bird tilted its head. “So... we should’ve stuck with Flash?”
“No. Languages fade, frameworks rot. That’s inevitable. The tool doesn’t matter as much as what you build with it.”
“I see,” the bird said. “But that doesn’t really help. I still don’t know what language to pick from the TIOBE index.”
“Fine,” I said, sighing. “Try something for me.”
“Okay, what?”
“I want you to say: ‘Fuck TIOBE.’”
“Eh, what?”
“As loud as possible. I’ll start.”
“No—please don’t—”
Too late. I stood up.
“FUCK TIOBE!” I roared.
Patrons glanced up. Concerned. I pulled out my giffin and flashed it.
“Engineering business. No cause for alarm.”
They returned to their lattes.
“Your turn,” I said.
“Do I have to?”
“It’ll help. I promise.”
The bird looked around, uneasy.
“fucktiobe,” it whispered in one breath.
“Louder.”
“FUCK TIOBE!” it tweeted. Its eyes shimmered. It took flight, circling above in loops and lemniscates, chirping joyfully.
From dim laptop-lit corners of the café, tired eyes lifted. Engineers from all walks—Linux users, Mac zealots, BSD monks—joined the cry:
“FUCK TIOBE!”
“PYPL IS BETTER!”
“FUCK PYPL TOO!”
“STROOPWAFELS AREN’T EVEN THAT GREAT!”
The chorus faded. The bird landed, ruffled but radiant.
“That was fun,” it chirped.
“Right?” I said. “Do you understand now?”
“I think I do. The language doesn’t matter as much as building something worthwhile. Choose the right tool for the job.”
“Exactly. Consider maintainability, community, documentation—of course. But don’t choose based on some beauty contest.”
“Today’s JavaScript is tomorrow’s ActionScript?”
“Precisely. And the lessons learned will outlive them both.”
The bird stared into the distance, thoughts of custom parsers and rogue DSLs fluttering in its mind.
“Well,” I said, standing, “my code should’ve finished compiling. Time to head back.”
“What if I need to contact you again?”
“You won’t need to. You have the knowledge now. Go build something.”
Addendum:
The preceding tale was told with tongue firmly in cheek.
Also, Stroopwafels are in fact delicious.