Somebody's Watching Me.

Part I: Somebody’s Watching Me

Directions: Youtube the above title.

This song was originally performed by Rockwell and Michael Jackson, and recently revived by Mysto and Pizzi for the Geico commercial. Think little stack of money with goggle eyes observing from obscure locations. Listen to it.

I'm just an average man with an average life,

I work from nine to five, and hey I pay the price.

All I want is to be left alone in my average home,

But why do I always feel like I'm in the twilight zone?

I always feel like somebody's watching me

And I have no privacy.

I always feel like somebody's watching me;

Tell me, is it just a dream?

When I come home at night,

I bolt the door real tight.

People call me on the phone, I'm trying to avoid.

But can the people on T.V. see me or am I just paranoid?

When I'm in the shower I'm afraid to wash my hair,

Cause I might open my eyes and find someone standing there.

People say I'm crazy, just a little touched.

But maybe showers remind me of Psycho too much…

I always feel like somebody's watching me

And I have no privacy.

I always feel like somebody's watching me;

Tell me, is it just a dream?

I don't know anymore

Are the neighbors watching me?

Well is the mailman watching me?

And I don't feel safe anymore, oh what a mess

I wonder who's watching me now—the IRS?

I always feel like somebody's watching me…

Part II: Wait, is someone watching?

Sure it’s a catchy tune with funny lyrics—I felt drawn to it right away. This sort of telltale bouncing of my head to the beat and a slight smile tucking in the corner of my mouth always signals, “I like this!”

But you know what? I do often feel like someone’s watching me so at the same time, the familiarity of this song’s sentiments totally weirds me out.

You know the feeling—you’re standing in a grocery line somewhere, you’re at the gas station, or your walking down some suburban sidewalk minding your own business when it happens.

It starts as a faint, little voice coming from the perimeters of your mind, somewhere in the southern corners…hey, hey…what’s that? Someone’s… watching you…right now…

I have no idea how this subliminal information finds its way into my consciousness—do I have secret eyes hidden beneath my fuzzy dark hair? Is it some strange byproduct of Hera creating peacock feathers—when she plucked out the 100 eyes of her dead spy Argus and placed them on the tail of her favorite bird? Did some of those 100 pass onto me, through mysteriously potent recessive Greek genes?

If so, how many are there embedded in my scalp? Yuck.

Regardless of how, the alert comes through, and suddenly you feel uncomfortably compelled to look about, “casually,” as if for no other reason but to check out the amazing view around you:

at the grocery store,

“…oh wow, look at those tabloids—my gosh, Oprah’s weight really fluctuates—and gum and overpriced drinks…and oh my—why is that guy with the scraggly moustache on his face in the other check-line staring at me?”

at the gas station,

“…how are gas prices now compared to diesel? Why is diesel more expensive than gas these days, used to be cheaper…why do I care? And why is the lady in the SUV staring at me from across the island without wavering right now? Is there something stuck to my face? Is she telepathically helping me solve the diesel conundrum?”

on a suburban sidewalk,

“…this head wind is really annoying, that’s why I’m running so slow and feel like I’m about to die…wouldn’t that be funny if I tripped and fell on my face—everyone would look…but apparently someone's already anticipated the opportunity, cause that guy driving by is staring at me and hasn’t looked away for the last 6 seconds. May he crash into the scratchy bushes in the median…”

even at Blockbuster,

“…let’s see, what am I in the mood for…drama? Comedy? Documentary?...how many academy awards did this one get? Um...why is that lady across the aisle staring at me through the wire shelving where this movie just sat…I’m going to put it back slowly and cover her face…”

It’s at the point of realizing that someone has in fact been staring at you, eerily confirming your niggling premonition, that you start to inwardly, quietly, and privately freak out.

Part III: Now we’re watching each other.

You stare at each other for a few breaths, only you’re not really breathing, you’re just pretending to so as to appear natural.

You will probably turn, walk away, then bolt and flee for your life. Stalker. You look back just to make sure, not caring one grain if you turn to salt.

IV: SOMEONE will always be watching.

But here’s another flash of inspiration, there’s an ultimate Stalker out there. Remember the last lines of the song? The IRS…the government. Big brother is watching. He is. And we know it, although we prefer not to think on that one too much at all.

Along with bringing us another day to commemorate brave America’s survival of this sinister singular attack on home soil, September 11 also bestowed on her now paranoid (perhaps conveniently?) citizens a very purposeful present, the Patriot Act. Excuse me, the USA Patriot Act: Uniting and Strengthening America by Providing Appropriate Tools Required to Intercept and Obstruct Terrorism Act of 2001. We’re all at least vaguely familiar with its goal—enhanced security for the nation. Right?

Of course, but the how is a least as important as the what. The Act enables, more than ever before, the government to search telephone, email, medical and financial records, eases up on restrictions to homeland intelligence activities, empowers immigration with greater detainment and deportation, and “lastly,” expands the definition of “domestic terrorism,” therefore enlarging the territory over which law enforcement operates. All well and good for sure—we say yes to safety and security.

But when we said yes, in our fear and trembling, when day turned to ash in New York City, when a pile of rubble reminded us daily of a lurking, hidden internal threat as malignant as cancer, as random as anthrax in the mailbox—when we said yes, did we do so educated about the cost? Because everything comes at a price.

Now somebody’s watching me.

Part IV: Still watching.

Some of the Patriot Act’s original stipulations have been challenged and ruled unconstitutional in Federal Court in favor of civil liberty preservation. Still, knowing that as I sit on my bed, open window to my right, it’s a bit unsettling to really admit that someone might very well be watching me—and I’m not talking about the neighbors. Who knows how—maybe satellite, maybe sensors, maybe key word recognition microphones engrained in the trees—but we are being watched.

Is this a bad thing? Maybe not. After all, it’s a crazy world out there. But I’ll definitely be thinking twice before changing so freely in my own bedroom, before chatting so openly about “world issues” with friends on my cell phone, before writing such liberal blogs…no, not really. And why not?

Part V: No matter who’s watching.

Because I still claim freedom of speech, I still hold to my first amendment rights as I knew them, as I choose to know them, as I hope to continue to enjoy them. I want to say what I think, to worship as I wish, to publish as inspired, to live liberated as our transcendental predecessors propounded, as idealistic as Emerson, Thoreau, and Dickinson may seem now.

I’ve never considered myself intensely patriotic, but when I think about “America,” I’m going with life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I have another niggling premonition that tells me that’s what I’ll always be up to, no matter who’s watching me.