So long, comrades (2/2)

Part I 

We never go anywhere. On vacation, in a place that does not look different from home, we yearn for the routine of the days at home. On business trips we run from airports to offices to hotel rooms convinced that work is enabling us to see new horizons, but while in the past we only needed to travel small distances to arrive somewhere, today we spend a day in a plane and we are still in the same place. Our conversations are made of identical phrases. Companion, our existence is so standardized that I could take your place and you mine and nobody at work or at home would notice the swap. We would not notice ourselves. The history of mankind is the history of man in relation to his work. First, there was hard physical labor which was necessary for our mere sustenance. Later, there was repetitive office work that was however recognized as such and which we, the workers, tried to escape either by demanding better working conditions or by at least distancing ourselves from work during our off-hours. Now there is repetitive office work that the system has handed us down in such a way that we think it holds the key to our freedom. 

As if being clones of each other were not enough, we are also clones of the same one-dimensional being. That being maintains that the universe bound by today’s work ethics and conventions is the only possible universe. Our limitations are clear. Our working hours are incestuously tied to our spare time. Our day revolves around work: there is the commute, the long working hours, and the commute. It becomes hard not to think about what occupies such a central part in our life even if instead of working we are meeting a person, watching a movie, or reading a paper. It is understandable: we can make sense of new experiences only by comparing them to known ones. The conversations with the people that we meet, the books that we read, and the movies that we watch are a mirror of our limited experiences. The experiences are limited because for the most part we are surrounded by people like us, who, like us, commute and work and commute. 

Mastering the rules of the system has become synonym with being good in a moral sense. But why the stated objective of the system is excellence, the rules that the system has adopted work against the objective. The initial objective itself has been forgotten. The requirement of our job is no longer quality or perfection, but learning perfectly well how the system works. And so we take a course in business practices, a seminar in project management, and at the same that we cannot finish all the mediocre work that we are assigned because on purpose we were given more work that we could handle so that we would not slack off. And we lack the ability of judging critically our assignment. Today, our inability to get away from work and even the lack of a desire to escape show that we are subjugated but content. Our contentment, however, is double-faced. Any day they can hear us bitch in the elevators, in the halls, around the water-coolers about how much work we have, how an ordinary sandwich at lunch break is the highlight of yet another day, and how we do not recall the last time that we saw a sunset live. 

Comrade, you sit on the other side of this partition wall and we are so close that I can hear you breath. We share the same neon light and the same filtered air. We are one body and one soul, in good times as in bad times. I can hear you sneezing and coughing. The same cold that you caught from the comrade sitting two cubicles away from me, I am now catching from you. The flu or a headache, every day sees us here at our combat position. We would come to work even with the chicken-pox or the scarlet fever, if the company let us. There is so much work to be done. Back in college we worked whole nights and we took extra-credit courses so that one day we could have a house in the suburbs. Now we work like dogs so that one day we will be able to play golf in Florida. It is the future what we are living for. I remember when we used to slave away for nights in a row so that we could handle at least those math problems that the professor had assigned during previous midterms. From midterm to midterm the problems kept consistently similar. I doubt that we had a good understanding of mathematics then, like today we do not have a good understanding of the issues facing modern technology. Comrade, I hate to admit it, but we are not very smart. It is not for nothing that we are stuck in a cubicle the size of a rabbit-cage. If it is true that our salary has gone up consistently since we were handed our diploma, it is also true that our increasingly more expensive purchases have kept us in a position where for the next few years we are committed to work just to offset already made expenditures. As soon as we were offered a job, even before receiving the first pay-check, we went out and bought a car. Later with a promise of a higher salary, we bought a larger car and a house. 

Comrade, I look around and I see 156 of us on this floor. I see 19 floors like ours in this building. I see thousands of buildings like ours in this town. I see thousands of towns like ours in this country. Ours is the 14th floor of a new building located in Cambridge, Massachusetts. The floor is a perfect square where everybody has a standard-size cubicle assigned to himself, that is, everybody with the exception of those six workers who live in the famed corner offices. How they squeezed 6 corners out of a square is a mathematical mystery. The people in the corner offices are copies of the inhabitants of the cubicles. They are special only in the sense that they are the ones who decide where everybody else sits. They also have other small privileges: we cannot hear their personal phone conversations and they do not catch colds while sitting at their spacious desks - they catch them at meetings. 

So long, comrades (1/2)

Below you'll find e-mail sent to ALL  via UNIX routers. 

ALL not as in "the whole world" but as "Company employees listed in ALL mailing list as of February 4, 1998". As you will see from this go-away letter, it was e-mailed to people not close to the author who was employed with the company for few months. I take the liberty of sharing this historical letter with ALL as in "my readers". I also took the liberty of inserting some line breaks to make reading experience less painful.
 

I looked up the author in Linkedin and since he is apparently not listing the company he left on his terms on 1998 after few months and since there are dozens of people with this name, I kept his signature, so it's up to him to claim this old text as his or completely dissociate himself from it. 

Fourteen years ago. 

If you, the reader, agreed with it back then, what have you done to change your life? If you haven't agreed back then, have you had similar thoughts at one or other point of your professional life? 

Subject: Comrade SendTo: All From: CN=[censored censored]/OU=Ops/O=[censored] PostedDate: 02/04/98 03:25:25 AM  RouteServers: CN=Davinci/O=[censored] RouteTimes: 02/04/98 03:25:25 AM-02/04/98 03:25:28 AM DeliveredDate: 02/04/98 03:26:14 AM Categories: $Revisions: 

When one leaves, there is this irresistible urge to leave a message behind. I always think that the best way to walk out is in silence. I do not possess that much style. Comrade, Good morning. I thought I would beat you to work today, but you are here already. I hear you typing away on the other side of this flimsy partition wall. From the speed of your keystrokes you sound pretty sure of yourself: you know what to say and how to say it. From the power with which you hit the keyboard, it seems that you want your colleagues to notice both your presence and your self-assurance. You do good work; we all do good work. The big boss said it himself, “You have all been working very hard. You have done a great job and I know that you are willing to go the necessary extra mile”.
I am surprised of how successful we are.

In fact, when I look around I see the same faces that I used to see in college: the faces of people who would get A’s only because of the professors’ acquiescence, faces who were incapable of elementary work and who called cramming all weekend long studying. Now, stuck with the same faces, we, today’s office workers, are cramming all the time and we revel in being office workers with two degrees of seniority in the same way that we used to be proud of telling a freshman that we were juniors. How can it be that we, mediocre students inept at remembering simple mathematical formulas because unable to master the learning method, are now doing quality work? Bill, the average student, is now our bi-spectacled boss and he tells us how to do the job. He is the one who sets the standard for quality and who tells us that we have done a good job. When he does, we rejoice. Over the years, our two gaping eyes have turned confident as we have restricted our area of inquiry from advanced mathematical concepts to spreadsheets, from what we knew little about to the little that we know about. That problem that we know how to solve, we think we know how to solve it. Unfortunately, behind these confident eyes there is the same thinking power that was behind those gaping eyes during the week of final examinations. Then, the awareness of the magnitude of that power would send us in a panic. 

I am going to the kitchenette to get a cup of coffee and then I, too, will start working. The little personal rituals - coffee as soon as I get to the office, a quick look at the newspaper during lunch - and the standardized practices of the job give me a sense of security. It is in the regularity of these movements that I rediscover the same certainty that characterizes the world that we are part of. We know what awaits us: work, weekends, work, shopping, business trips, work, vacation, work, golf, work, Thanksgiving, work, retirement to Florida, some consulting on the side, more golf. First, we get used to and then we get comfortable with anything that is repetitive. The repetitiveness of the daily routines, which have become as faithful as the rising sun, makes life seem natural, and if it is natural, then it must be right. 

Comrade, your mannerisms get on my nerves: the gurgling sounds that you make when you drink coffee and your habit of occasionally cracking your knuckles. But then, I think that you must have a similar attitude towards my idiosyncrasies : my chronic coughing and my constant bumping of the chair into the desk And then, when I hear your too ready laughter at the big boss’ jokes and your assertiveness when you speak to a subordinate, I recognize you as a brother. In your servility and pretension I rediscover my servility and pretension. You are a good copy of me. Oh, comrade! The capitalist system has succeeded in shaping us exactly the way the communists had planned it but had failed at. It has made us into people who are just like each other, obedient to the rules of the system, and without a will to rebel or the consciousness of their condition. It did all this under the false pretenses of preserving, heightening, and recognizing our individuality. The results: on the job we can be easily replaced and we live unending similar days in identical offices, off-work we walk around dressed alike - blue jeans and sneakers - and we return from expensive weekends and exotic vacations with the same comments and observations. 


Part II which provides more personal details, e.g. the size of the company and location - along with more social critique.

Super 88 now Hong Kong Supermarket

1095 Commonwealth Ave
Boston, MA 02215
Neighborhood: Allston/Brighton
(617) 787-2288

www.super88market.com/

Nearest Transit: Brighton Ave @ Comm Ave (193, 57) 

Hours: Mon-Sun 8:30 am - 11 pm

Life is full of precious finds in the places where you never expect them. I was looking for "Super 88 Market" information (in short "88", Chinese lucky number,  not to be confused with 99, 96, 69) .  Apparently, I haven't been to 88 for years though I own, use and like Chinese and Japanese dinnerware bought there. Figured that the chain  owner closed 3 out of 6 stores in Boston area in 2008, filed for bankruptcy in 2009 and was bought out by Hong Kong Supermarket. It's still a large Chinese supermarket with great variety and Asian food court. And the smell which I don't mind in Asian markets. No smelly boyfriends in my life but read up. That ecstatic and genuinely funny.

Why Super 88 (now known as Hong Kong Supermarket) reminds me of My Old Boyfriend:

They smell. Just like My Old Boyfriend, Super 88 really stinks. My Old Boyfriend couldn't help it- his feet and each orifice contributed to this condition. They mean well, but they still smell.

They are cheap. My Old Boyfriend aspired to a life filled with bargains in any form and so does Super 88. They both have this attitude. Cheap is sweet.

They are big. My Old Boyfriend was 6'5", had a beer keg-like chest and size 14 (smelly) feet. Super 88 is equally large.

They are hard to read. My Old Boyfriend was an unreliable puzzle when it came to communication. Super 88 can be equally confusing.

They like food. My Old Boyfriend was always eating. During our relationship, I gained ten pounds due to the constant caloric input. Super 88 has an incredible food court in front, which offers all kinds of food. I can't comment on any of it, though, because I am trying to lose those ten pounds now that My Old Boyfriend is history.

They are popular. My Old Boyfriend was Homecoming King, Prom King and and had many friends of all sorts circling around his large, odoriferous orbit. Super 88 is popular, too, especially when key items like Sriracha Sauce are on sale.

They are centrally located. My Old Boyfriend has a great spot not too far from Fenway, easy to find on the Green Line. Same goes for Super 88.

They are not without flaws. But who's perfect, anyway? If you get involved with either of them, you'll be fine as long as you can stand the smell.

 Source: YELP / Dorothy's review: Why Super 88 (now known as Hong Kong Supermarket) reminds me of My Old Boyfriend

Phobias: fear of not being seen in a Dress, Sitophobia etc.

Fear of not being seen in a dress
I am a 40 something transgendered person.
I have been trans as long as i can remember.
I was married for 18 years to a very non understanding wife and had to try and keep my physical trans state hidden.
Anyway cut a long story short we broke up and i moved out.
Eventually got myselve my own place where i could be me.
Anyway, it got to the point now where i hate going out looking like a fella. I prefer my other side. I am very convincing as a girl and have no problemms passing in the public eye.


Sitophobia (fear of food)
My whole life i have always had this Sitophobia problem that i seem to of come to terms with but the people around me just cant, when i was 2 years old i had a traumatic event where i almost died and from this day i have never eaten or even thought of food like a normal human being should! I eat 1 meal a day which consists of 5 slices of bacon in a baguette, i have had this everyday for 16 years! Some food i cant have anywhere near my face and i know it wont hurt or kill me but im just so terrified and i dont know why!

Actually, I was not looking for phobias or anything weird of this sort. I was trying to find the name of this film where people are getting pleasurable sensations from something like paper balls, carp fish nibbling on ones feet in aquarium, etc.
Numerous lists of top weird films but no luck so far. Help!

The roads we choose

This guy, let's call him Jonathan, he is married for 10 years. He is 44 years old. He lives with his wife and two boys, 8 and 6, in Boston suburbs. He loves his children, takes them for day trips and cherishes the idea of taking the whole family on hiking/canoeing/camping trips when the boys grow a little older.

He first met his wife while working at local client site and he was struck by her boyish grace and independence. After 10 years and 2 pregnancies Mariana became more feminine, her body more curvy. She had to stay at home after Peter was born because his developmental delay required a lot of attention and her salary didn't cover the expenses associated with the special childcare and special education on top of Early Intervention program. Peter is in kindergarten now, attending regular school as a student on IEP with inclusion as mandated by IDEA (individuals with disabilities education act), so she is thinking about going back to work. Meanwhile she is relying on him as a bread winner. Family interest for her goes ahead of passion. She had a brief fling with co-worker during off-site training. He was told about the affair in such a matter-of-factly way that he had to accept that it was brought up to his attention for closure and not for reassessment of relationship or any sort of conflict. He only had to wonder whether she knew that she was pregnant when she had this affair. She mentioned that she used condom and he trusted her.

Jonathan is a mellow guy with the need to please others. His mother (she was left a widow when Jonathan was 10) wanted him to grow up to be a real man. She never remarried but always put effort into finding male role models for her son, whether is was a wrestling coach on school team, biology teacher in high school or her three subsequent boyfriends who resembled her late husband but unfortunately didn't measure up. His mother is now retired and lives in California by herself, volunteering at homeless shelter and sharing a house with another lady. She visits a couple of times a year, while they visit in February for her birthday.

Miraculous "port and pickles" diet

Just met a guy at New Year party.
Well, actually that was not my first encounter with him.
But Gosh has he changed!
His story is worth telling.
Three years ago he found himself abandoned by his wife, fat and depressed.
He had to enter the dating market yet again.
His age and income permitting to fulfil his aspirations in search of a beauty he was lacking the looks.


Depressed and frugal as he was he invented a steady routine for himself.
Every morning he was consuming two individual cans of Campbell's soup or one Campbell's soup can of family size for breakfast. Or taking in whatever canned soup was on sale that week.
He was skipping lunch and working out in the gym across the road instead.
After work he was stopping at his friend's house and spending the evening with the supper of pickles in brine, Taylor port wine and light porn.
Six months on this diet allowed him to loose 58 pounds, become attractive and energetic.
Now he is happily married with PhD wife and a little baby.
His weight is almost the same as right after these six months of dieting though now he is feasting on the meals cooked or reheated by his beautiful wife. 
His friend is spending his evenings at local chapter of AA but happiness is not for everyone.

At Walmart at 1.98$ per family size 26 oz. can

Store pricing may vary

You can get it at $10 for 1.5L

Happy and healthy year for everyone whatever you dating situation and dieting resolutions are.