Postal For the Holidays

So, Merry Christmas, everybody.

We've started to receive anonymous telephoned death threats at my office. The first calls came in the weekend before Thanksgiving. On Monday of that week I arrived to find my usual entrance was locked, and there was a typed sign on the door that read "Please Use Front Door." I dutifully went to the front door and was confronted by uniformed cops. Not confronted, actually, but they gave me the once-over as I entered. Later I discovered that all the doors except that one were locked, so the police could see everyone who entered, and presumably trap the crazed gunman or booby-trapped terrorist inside the building. Personally I'd rather unlock the doors and get him outside the building and way down the street, pretty much as soon as possible. Cops will be cops, I guess.

When this first started one of the managers of my company went home, and he hasn't been back to work for over a week. In the beginning I was told that the death threats were directed at him, and he was concerned for his safety and for his family. This made sense to me, as he is a miserable tyrant who attempts to demand respect without earning it. Nobody likes him - not his staff nor his customers. I've never met his family but I imagine they are not too pleased that he is now home with them 24/7. He has few discernible job skills and no tact or social grace. So yeah, who wouldn't want to blow him away?

But now I hear from someone who spoke to the wannabe killer on the phone that the threats were somewhat generic, and any one of us could be in for it. (Disclaimer: I do not take this seriously in any way, despite the locked doors, police presence and now undercover security guards. You shouldn't worry about me any more than I am worrying, which is not at all.) In the interest of not further compromising my already sketchy anonymity and losing my crummy job, I can't utter the exact nature of our business here, but let it suffice to say that most people would like nothing better than to unleash a violent, bloody attack on our kind.

So where does this one guy get off taking the threat personally, and taking a whole bunch of time off to boot? The only positive thing I can see here is that maybe his fear has made him aware that he is a turd who needs to mend his ways a la Scrooge before it's too late. But even that shining light is dimmed by the fact that he is getting a lot of free time while I have to stay here and work!

Well, I have a "real" office (closet-sized, but real) with a locking solid-core door and walls that go all the way up to the ceiling (eat your hearts out, cubicle workers). I have brought my pile of cheap supermarket Christmas CD's to keep up my spirits and my adoring wife packs a lunch for me every day, so I could hold out in here for a couple of days in the event of a siege-slash-hostage-situation.

Now excuse me while I check the employee manual to see about hazardous duty pay.

My Head, It Hurts

I had a migraine a few days ago.

Not the kind I used to get when I was young, a blinding, debillitating pain that wracked my cortex for a day and a half and made me throw up, or want to, and took me out of commission for days afterward. I don't get those anymore, but I still get migraines.

At least I think that's what they are. It's in my head, so no one can see what I see, and no one can tell me what I have. But I had a swirling, shifting, writhing, silvery blind spot in the middle of my field of vision, which over the course of forty minutes moved out to the edges and eventually went away, leaving my eyes unwilling to look at anything bright, my ears unwilling to listen to anything loud and my head full of gravelly cement.

These vestiges are still with me three days later. Everything is difficult. I walk the halls with my eyelids drooping, almost closed. My job, which is child's play, seems impossible. Driving on the freeway I find my car rushing up to the back of other cars who aren't going the right speed. In the mirror, my face is haggard and colorless. I wonder who I am, who is this man who can't do anything, who can't stay awake and can't sleep. There's a piece missing from the middle, an empty place where my identity should be.

I've been through this before, once or twice a year, and each time I am grateful that it isn't worse, like when I was twenty-five, and I had to go to bed and hope for sleep because no amount of aspirin would help. I always wondered what brought these things on, and I never found out. I'm just glad that I no longer wake up disoriented, dirty and disheveled, in an alley behind a cantina in Juarez.

Fellow sufferers, tell me of your pain, as misery loves company.

Not In My Name

Ladies and gentlemen, your protest song is ready.

Note: If you don't want to read the following long explanation,
you can hear the song ("Not In My Name")
by clicking on this clenched fist.

I've been having a lot of fun for the past four or five months writing a protest song for the 21st Century. I've been able to spend about eight minutes a week working on it, so it's not like I'm only producing like a minute of music per month or anything. If I were working on it full-time, adding up all these eight-minute segments I figure I would have finished it in a day or so.

For those who weren't here or don't remember, let me fill you in on this project.

On June 6th of this year, my good friend MPH at the blog Heightened Thoughts wrote the words "Where's the music?" You can read the entire post here, but the gist is that we live in a world of violence, injustice and corruption, and our musical artists are strangely silent about it. Silent, that is, compared to the power and the energy exhibited by the musicians and songwriters of the 1960's and 70's. In MPH's words, "What you had was a collection of artists really responding to the world around them...And it was powerful." Today's music scene, according to MPH, is just not providing us with the inspirational rallying songs of days gone by.

Fair enough, and maybe even true.

So, to help rectify this state of affairs (and have a little fun at the same time) I issued this challenge: If you are really angry, if you really want to protest, if you really feel like marching and singing, send me your angry lyric ideas and I will set them to music, record them and post the results on my blog. Who better to do this, than someone like me, the Oldest Blogger, who was actually there in the sixties and seventies, even though I don't remember a lot of it? You can find my original challenge in the comments on Heightened Thoughts.

Then I began to hype the "uncontest." Those of you who weren't here for it can catch up by reading...

• this
• and this
• and this.

Those are the main three posts in which I exhorted you, dear readers, to send me your song ideas. If you take the time to read them now or later, you will also have the pleasure of re-reading the entire lyrics to "Eve of Destruction," which I posted to show how easy it is to write a protest song.

Most of you were not eager to try this. Maybe you are not as angry as I thought you were. Maybe it was a stupid idea in the first place. But I did hear from some of you, and I also visited a lot of your blogs and captured your ideas for use in the song. Because, as I told you, the penalty for not writing this song with me would be that I would write it myself.

So here it is at last: "Not In My Name." Those of you who helped, wittingly or unwittingly, I thank you. This list includes (but is not limited to)

• MPH of Heightened Thoughts
• Carla of No Bad Days
• Theresa the Hot Chik
• Ron Southern
• Tacit One of Symbiosis
• Aydreeyin, who has quit his old blog
• Steph
• L of Random Speak
• Wichita Brent, who has all but stopped blogging
• G.D. of Lions and Tigers...
• the redoubtable Slinky Cat
• Digitalicat
• SJ the Mom
• Emma Goldman of War On Error
• Alex
• Drink More Jack
• My brother Rick, who played the Big Strum guitar part
  

and all the others from whom I may have stolen an idea. My plan here is to spread the blame around, so everyone gets a thin coat of it and no one - especially me - has to bear the entire responsibility. Don't bother emailing me to have your name taken off the credits, because I won't do it.

To hear the song, click the angry fist at the top of this post. Warning: This is a five and a half megabyte download. If you have a DSL or cable connection you should be OK. If you are on a dialup, a smaller file (but still pretty big) is available by clicking this green "play" button . This version will only work for Windows users, and probably only if you use Internet Explorer.