you can freak if you want to

There are some faceless crazies around here.

Last week Brittany and I were doing some work in the booth when the phone rang. When she answered I watched her face go from amusement to slack-jaw horror. She held the phone out to me and I could hear a middle-aged man screaming this:

"…I don't want to hear anymore fucking black people, in their black fucking places, with their black fucking problems. I don't give a shit about these fucking black people…"

He said something else about taking initiative in the music we aired, before abruptly hanging-up.

Brittany realized that the guy was complaining about a Rihanna song that we had just played. Regardless, she was aghast.

Me, I was more bemused. I had previously been lambasted by a faceless cow who had a go at me by demanding point-blank over the phone, "Where's Bobby?"
"Sorry, she's not working here anymore."
"Oh, that's what's wrong with the radio." Before abruptly hanging-up, and leaving me fuming over this passive-aggressive blind-siding.

No, for me this bigoted-tirade raised a whole raft of questions, like: How do I physically identify this guy in the world so that I can soak him with bear mace? Does he lick his kids with that tongue? And, more importantly, what kind of degenerate, sitting at home listening to the radio, hears one song that works him into such a mindless frenzy that he calls the station and screams about what he perceives to be a personal affront?

It's bloody weird on so many levels.

Wouldn't you change the station? Wouldn't you realize that the songlist has to appeal to a lot of people; not just your throwback, toothless, self?

I mean, I don't even disagree with sentiment. I too am sick and tired of black people carrying on about their men who be doggin', and their "shawty", in high-pitched warbling voices that can't seem to sustain one single note.

Why, just last Friday I committed a radio sin (which I will never, ever, do again). I waited for Mariah Carey (Who, by the way, is about as black as Rihanna. But hey, they all look the same anyway, right?) to reach one of her famous long drawn-out wailing emotion-ridden caterwauls–

–and abruptly killed the song. I said, "Well, that's enough of that.", by way of apology.

Sort of an ambush, I guess. And it was incredibly wrong, hypocritical, and irresponsible of me. It felt great, but it was wrong. The point is, I do get it.

But I also get that I'm sick of white men who lack fiber and then record their voice-tracks while sitting on the toilet, and white women who seem to always want to fight in their songs. I'm sick of the Canadian rock scene. Faber Drive, Stereos, Marianas Trench, Simple Plan. . . They should all be made to battle to the death in a gladiator's arena. The remaining survivors will then have to face Nickleback armed only with Michael Bolton haircuts.

I will say this about contemporary pop music, the black, as usual, is far better than the white. End of story.

Just one other thing about life in Powell River. These people are getting wacky about Halloween. I've counted two pumpkin-carving contests, four dances, and two stage-shows. Some people just down the road from me have decked out their lawn like the Haunted House in Disney World, only more haunt, less Disney. Yesterday the town was overrun by packs of adolescents in full zombie regalia. It's all very pagan for a place that sports about seven or eight packed churches every Sunday.

It has occurred to me, though, that Powell Riverites get goofy about any holiday event. Which means maybe, just maybe, they're all as bored as I am. Any chance to party and they swoop down like pigeons at a bread-crumb convention.

I have seen only one other culture act this way; The Smurfs.