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Hello, my name is Judas Gutenberg and this is my blaag (pronounced as you would the vomit noise "hyroop-bleuach").



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Like my brownhouse:
   maybe I'll get fired
Monday, November 16 1998
This morning marked the beginning of my working life based from quarters in Ocean Beach. I got up extra early, made coffee with Kim's new French press (another Bed, Bath & Beyond purchase) and then headed out. Every detail in the ride seemed to come up faster than I'd expected them to. Soon enough I'd left the hectic commuter street traffic of Ocean Beach behind and was all alone on the paved bike path that runs along the south shore of the San Diego River. I'd never had a chance before to appreciate the lower stretches of the river at such a leisurely pace. I was astounded by the numbers and diversity of birdlife down in the small salt water pools amongst the hummocks of reeds, sedges and grasses. There were tall white egrets, tiny ruddy ducks, mallards, mergansers, oceanic ducks, a tawny western variety of goose, herons, grebes, coots, ospreys, and pelicans. They were acting cool and casual, playing, flirting, fighting, eating, and resting, as if I wasn't whizzing by on my way to earn an honest buck.
As I entered the backbone of the coastal transportations network, a narrow corridor dominated by I-5, the Pacific Coast Highway and the Coaster railroad, my bikepath suddenly ended and I found myself without any roads heading east. I pedaled down to the nearby Old Town transportation hub, locked up my bike, and hopped the next bright red trolley headed for Mission Valley Center.
Everything was going fine until Linda Vista, when a faire enforcement officer boarded and started going down the aisle asking for tickets. I didn't have one of course, since I'd figured this was California and I'd be able to get away with a free ride on their neglected public transportation system. I was wrong. The weakly-acted search through my wallet looking for a ticket didn't fool the officer one bit; and he led me off the trolley at the next stop (Fashion Valley). Then, very slowly and with plenty of unnecessary friendly banter, he took down all my information and announced that I'd get a $25 fine, but that it might be waved. That was all well and good, but I just wanted to get the hell out of there because I was already late for work.
I ran from Fashion Valley all the way to my place of employment on Mission Center Road, two trolley stops away.
That wasn't drama enough for the day, however. When I arrived late at work my late entrance wasn't even noticed. Almost all of my co-workers, you see, were herded together in the central room participating in a Human Development session. This entailed listening to the tapes of late night infomercial motivational guru Tony Robbins, whose ranting motivational voice did nothing for the morning ambiance. The Grand Pooh Bah of my company follows Tony Robbins as a personal guru and he evidently expects all his employees to join the cult. Having made the decision not to participate no matter the consequences, I could feel tension developing in my body. I was on a collision trajectory, and the excitement made it difficult to accomplish any work.
Sometime during the morning, one of the "operations" girls (a Grand Pooh Bah henchwoman, if you will) sent out an email saying that there would be another Human Development session at lunch today for those who had missed the morning session. When I read this, I was enraged. Not only did they want me to get up a half hour earlier every morning, but they expected me to forego my basic nutritional requirements as well. I shot back the following email, forwarding it to my team coach as well:

Just so you know, I have no intention of participating in any scheduled or unscheduled or quasi-scheduled HD sessions whatsoever. I am a big boy now and am fully able to make up my mind about what makes sense to me. And to me, the assumptions underlying human development (especially as exemplified by the tapes of late night motivational guru Tony Robbins) are bad science (pseudoscience) and a complete waste of my time. If I'm not using all 100% of my brain power, where is the other 97% and why did nature put it in my head? Think about it.

And I've walked on fire. It's not as scary as it looks.

If others wish to participate in HD, that is fine for them, but I do not appreciate feeling pressured into doing something that I absolutely do not believe in. Just so you know, I have a lot of experience with resisting coercision. When I was in public elementary school, there was organized school prayer, completely illegal, but it was done anyway. By refusing to pray (yes, I'm an atheist), I suffered ostracism and other bad things, but I am strong and I survived. If these HD sessions are mandatory, please let me know at the earliest possible time so I can act accordingly.

It saddens me to have to waste so much of my time being stressed out about this ridiculous issue, especially given the fact that up until this time, I have greatly enjoyed working here at XXX XXX.

Furthermore, I know there are others here at XXX XXX who feel exactly the way I do. You do them no service with by twisting their arms in this way.

--gus

I got an email back from my team coach saying that I didn't have to go to human development and that there would be no repercussions. He actually seemed kind of sympathetic to my plight, especially given my admission to being an atheist, which he is as well.
This email wasn't enough to release my considerable anger. As I was leaving with some of my chums for lunch, I heard a fellow co-worker complaining about being pressured into attending the HD sessions, and I suddenly wanted to start a cause, form a union, right here, to demand our rights against an oppressive leadership that would dare patronize and humiliate us. I spoke up suddenly, saying exactly what I thought of Human Development and the Grand Pooh Bah. I came on strong; there was a wavering to my voice that left little doubt about my strong feelings on this issue. The two editor boys were clearly shocked by the things I was saying.
During lunch, I talked extensively about this issue with two of my co-workers. They were understanding and supportive, but they were still following the party line, saying I should talk to the Grand Pooh Bah directly and follow the company policy of open communication. In my rage, I didn't see the point in such pleasantries. I wanted revolution. I wanted rights for me and my fellow slaves of the information age. Why were we allowing ourselves to be worked so hard while being denied basic biologic requirements? If we went on strike, maybe then we'd actually get somewhere.
By the time I headed home in the evening, I was feeling satisfied and content with my decision to be outspoken on this critical issue of personal freedom. A coward dies a thousand deaths, but when you're brave, you tap into a powerful source of energy.
In the evening as I was headed home, I made the mistake of buying two round trip trolley tickets for the trolley ride back to Old Town. Not only do such tickets expire and become as worthless as Cinderella's fancy gowns at midnight, but no one bothers to check whether anyone actually has tickets at that hour of the evening.
Over a dinner of curried rice and chicken (and lots of red wine), Kim and I discussed the exciting show-down between myself and the robotic mind-control forces of HD. I told her that if I didn't think I was an exceptional worker and if Kim didn't have such a good job for us to fall back on, I'd be forced to do as most people do in my workplace: I'd have to go along just to get along. I'd have to swallow this crack pot Tony Robbins stuff and suck up to the Grand Pooh Bah or else risk finding myself in bad fiscal state. No matter how good it makes you feel, how many deaths it leads you around, idealism doesn't pay the rent.

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http://asecular.com/blog.php?981116

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