For those of you who have been staying abreast of the cubicle drone story, there is some news. It has been a very busy week, and there hasn’t been much time to post. But do not worry: During my silence in this forum, many data have successfully been analyzed. I have found the outliers and I have banished them. I have successfully determined the accuracy rates and the data coverage. I have irrefutably and with much gusto kicked the data’s ass.

But there’s far more than mere data domination to report: I have finally left my diapers and training wheels behind in the intern room, the one I mentioned previously, the one with the fifth floor view of the tree-lined streets of our fair nation’s capital. I traded them for a nice cubicle of my own, one with bare and barren walls that just beg for Aerosmith posters or soft-focus photos of Venice in spring. But I may instead decide to line the walls with motivational posters of poignant golf course scenes or air-brushed waterfalls above business-inspirational slogans.

“Attitude: What happens to a man is less significant than what happens within him.”

Such posters remind me of my favorite Miller ad of all time, a foot-stomping anthem with a chest-heaving chorus:

What do you say to a man
Who walks head-first into the wind?
What do you say to a man
Who never turns his back on a friend?
You buy that man a Miller beer.
Nothing but the best will do.
You buy that man a Miller beer.
The best comes shining through.

The hair on my back stands up on end just humming it. One well-versed in the art of poetics might also be able to deduce the accent in which the song is to be sung, given that the author rhymes wind and friend.

“Perseverance: Keep your face to the sunshine and you can not see the shadows.”

I have, nonetheless, begun to suspect that, even with the people whom I know best, the best expression of my sense of humor is often a subtle issue of which jokes not to make. I used to claim that, under certain circumstances, certain jokes demand to be uttered, that the joke is somehow inherent in the nature of the moment, and that, furthermore, it is simply inevitable that the humor will come to light and some responsible citizen will uphold the duty of making the necessary comment. Yet many times I have found that no one takes the initiative. No one steps up to the plate. No one takes the lead in giving voice to the spirit of the moment, to lift it up on eagle’s wings and allow it to soar. And so that responsibility falls on my humble shoulders. I have often been faulted for this, but what is one to do? The joke has to be said, and if no one else is going to say it, then I have very little choice.

As I said, I used to claim that. It has been suggested that a little restraint goes a long way. And so I suspect that it may be best to conceal my sense of humor from my cubicle neighbors, who can’t be faulted for not knowing any better. My training wheels are gone now, and I am no longer insulated from the real cubicle drones by the other interns, many of whom are young and straight from college. They are still fun, enthusiastic, and sarcastic. They make unprofessional jokes and use profanity. They make me laugh out loud, and make conversation about things other than the content of the latest memo or the newest version of the database software. They occasionally show up later than they should because they were out having a good time the night before.

“Opportunity: The pessimist sees difficulty in every opportunity, the optmist [sic] sees opportunity in every difficulty.”

My cubicle neighbors probably wouldn’t see the humor in these posters, and I don’t know what I'd say if someone walked past and gestured to my nicely framed ‘Attitude’ poster and said, for instance, “Ain’t it the truth?” What’s worse, I imagine myself, say, lining every inch of my cubicle walls with photographs cut out of Cat Fancy magazine—cats draped over each other in baskets, sleeping kittens in vaguely anthropomorphic poses, slightly cross-eyed kittens nuzzling ducklings—you know the ones. I imagine someone walking past and saying, “You must really like cats, huh?” And I wouldn’t be able to explain without sounding condescending, and even if I did explain, that poor person would just walk back to his or her cubicle and perhaps toss in a comment at the coffee machine or waiting for the elevator about that new weird guy down the aisle in cubicle 1024-B.

In order to be in my finest data-kicking form tomorrow, I must leave you to ponder the state of your own cubicle. Is it tidy? Is it conducive to efficiency? Does it stimulate the imagination? Does it inspire greatness in others? While you’re thinking about that, you might also want to spend a moment thinking about fascism.

my dear man, if there's one thing i miss about you, it's my regular access to your ability to Let The Eagle Soar.

may i suggest despair, inc:
http://www.despair.com/

this one in particular is just the cubicle enhancement i think you need:
http://www.despair.com/demotivators/teamwork.html

let the eagle soar. hmm. you had to get it in there, didn't you?

also, because you know i show my love with the movie quotes:

"in what....waaaay.... does the author's use... of the prison [/////] symbolize the protagonist's struggle? and how does this relate to our discussion of the uses of IRONY?"

see. it works, doesn't it?

Let’s all give Anne a big round of applause for singlehandedly keeping the dialogue alive, shall we?

Is there an insinuation in the air that this entry makes use of irony for its humor? ’Cuz I don’t even know what that word means, even after writing an essay about the uses of irony for my high school English class. Or that perhaps my attitude toward my workplace is ironic? It hardly compares to some. I have been humbled by another intern, who thought it might be funny to walk around with one’s fly down all day long just to see who notices and whether or not anyone says anything. I lack the necessary cajones for such maneuvers.

But don’t suspect for a moment that I have an ironic attitude toward my work, because anyone can attest to my seriousness re: kicking the data’s ass. It’s just corporate culture that invites my scorn and laughter, and certainly I’m not alone in that.

Anne, you're on a roll. First, for supplying the despair.com reference. I have kept one of their print brochures for years. Their products really capture the essence of Corporate America. [And, for the record, I have no affiliation with Despair, Inc.] Second, for the obscure reference to one of the best movies of the 1980s...

"Um, he's sick. My best friend's sister's boyfriend's brother's girlfriend heard from this guy who knows this kid who's going with the girl who saw ______ pass out at 31 Flavors last night. I guess it's prety serious."
"Thank you Simone."
"No problem whatsoever."

Though we didn't actually cause the misfortune, we once had a good laugh (and some philosophical discussions about human nature and about gender differences) when a colleague came out of the bathroom with a long string of toilet tissue hanging out of the back of his pants.

OK, the time delays from this mediated comment board are really stifling conversation...

re: Joe Everyman... Listen to it at http://www.idiotsavant.com/ftp/sounds/bueller.wav

i guess it would be really showing my true colors to say that kristy swanson (aka simone, who saw FERRIS pass out at 31 flavors) went on to do some other teen movies, most notably buffy the vampire slayer, which she played bubbly, not all fashionable and tough chick. it's cause she only had two names. poor kristy. i'm sorry, paul, were you talking about something?

Oh, I'm sure Paul doesn't mind. He's just happy that he has so many readers now and that we're all so constructively involved in this venture.