Greetings from Corporate America

I send this muse out to you in the shape of a postcard:
On the front of the card is a panoramic expanse of miles of little grey boxes. Looking closer, you might see, peeping out from the otherwise indistinguishable mass, a few decorations of small newspaper clippings, stuffed animals, pictures, and other paraphenalia reminding of the existence of life outside the box: an attempt to stem a tugging undertow of quiet desperation.

Tho' I can't tell you exactly by name where the machete-hacked trail before me has opened into (hint: It starts with an "Int" and rhymes, coincidentally, with "hell") , I will say that it's big and puts the 'silly-con' into the Silicon Forest. I'm in Portland, Oregon...Any guesses, class? Anyone...anyone? ...Bueller?

Across this vista is splashed: "Greetings From Cubical Farms of America!" Scrawled across the back, bringing to mind the old joke: "The scenery is here; wish you were beautiful."

Yes, my latest chapter of swings and arrows in the jungle is a foray into that special place where that which isn't mind numbing is de-humanizing and that which isn't dehumanizing is soul destroying and for all these experiences -- along with everything else here -- we have an acronym for that.

The name of this place doesn't really matter. The point is that, while hacking my way through the Jungle, I have stumbled suddenly into a much wilder and woolier neck o' the woods: Corporate America.

More to come....