On Wisconsin: Fight Songs

There are two kinds of battle anthems: those in the Sousa idiom and the good kind.

“Fight Songs” is the sixth chapter in The Gaytheist Gospel Hour‘s seven part series “On Wisconsin.”

Here in the good ol’ USA, we love our college football fight songs. We like the boastful smack-talk of the lyrics, the militaristic marching band music, the purposeful feeling of “us vs. them” that pumps in our veins when we all sing along.  It could be argued that no other state in the union loves their college football fight song more than Wisconsin, which actually adapted theirs into the official state song.* “On, Wisconsin” is such an epitome of the fight song genre, it was once praised by none other than John Phillip Sousa himself, king of the marching band battle anthem.   It is a pretty rousing tune, if only for the fact it mentions the word “fight” four times in a single line.

But for my money, there’s no better fight song than the one recorded by Pat Benatar in 1979.  “Heartbreaker” dispenses with the jingoistic clap trap of the classic fight song and its attendant arms-forces hoo-hah and focuses directly on the “fuck you” core element of the fight at hand. 

Open Letter To A Cubicle Worker Under Siege

Corporate Druid

I received a cry for help in my Gmail the other day from one of my readers. From what I can tell, this person is a cubicle worker under siege and that he or she had surmised from my bio that I would be somehow qualified to help. Feeling duty-bound to the believers of my mythology, I present both sides of the correspondence, in hopes that in helping this reader, I may also help all my readers (love you both!).

Dear Gaytheist—

Some strange things have been happening at my place of work and your perspective is direly needed. This all started about 8 months ago. Sounds, random, loud, unbridled began emanating from behind soft, fuzzy, fabric walls of my cubicle. One could be described as uncomfortable laughter – like in a Krusty the Clown sort of way.  It’s up then down then up then down.  It’s a laugh that says “Yes I’m a little crazy and I’ll laugh at anything”.  

Help Yourself!

How could you resist?

Somewhere in Cubicle America ™, in a ten-by-ten dead end of a rat maze for the rat race, there is a kitchenette.  In that kitchenette stands a bi-level refrigerator/freezer.  Like a drowsy elder statesman, the refrigerator is prone to rattling, growling white noise filibusters interrupted by startling silences. On the nearby countertop are two heavy-duty, brushed aluminum microwaves; one works, but it’s a nuclear laboratory disguised as an appliance.  It reeks of the splatter of a hundred lunches repeatedly recooked to the point of quantum reconfiguration. One day, the successor to the human race will emerge from that microwave. The other microwave has been broken for two months now.  It sits smugly in the cobra coils of its own electric cord, mocking all would-be poppers of popcorn with its patent uselessness.   There’s a coffee machine that combines the craftsmanship of a give-a-shit barista with the charm of a Chinese water torture machine.  The coffee machine’s ever present puddle buddy perilously lies in wait on the floor nearby like a goon looking to finish what the coffee machine started.  There is a sink.  Its drain trap is filled with debris and chunkage of an indeterminate origin. An inch of grey water gussied up in a filmy veil of pearlescent handsoap stands stagnant in that sink, emanating eternal ennui.  A rainbow of scattered post-it notes decorates the room, giving it the festive flair of a passive-aggressive surprise party.  Surprise!  “This is your home five days a week!  Keep it clean!” Surprise! “Did you enjoy that last cup of coffee?  Did you know that you’re not the only person who would like a cup, too?  Remake after you take!” Surprise! “Im broke!  Fix me!”