Panopticon

          I was in a black mood on the way to work, reflecting on Bradley Manning and Edward Snowden. Chief among my thoughts were someone's words: "When exposing a crime becomes a crime, you are ruled by criminals." I'm amazed that people aren't outraged about the fact that our federal government has entirely and deliberately disregarded the 4th Amendment, which I consider to be of near-equal importance to the 1st. Further, I'm shocked that so many seem to weigh in on the side of the government, condemning whistleblowers as if they were terrorists or murderers. Bradley Manning did not endanger U.S. troops, but the U.S. government has certainly endangered our rights. I can't decide if I'm more or less upset that there was little to no oversight over the NSA's activities -- is it preferable that it wasn't a completely honed machine of surveillance, despite all its power? Or is it even more terrible that individual agents had carte blanche to pry into the lives of anyone they chose, such as romantic interests, and this is only known because many of them actually ended up reporting on themselves? I have this feeling in my gut like we are on the precipice of something massive, but so few seem to notice.
          At work, I made another attempt to call the IRS and, once again, spent an hour listening to a robot tell me I was important and not to leave the queue before hanging up. The third time naturally being the charm, this was when I knew I had to ride out and do battle with the IRS in person. Five minutes' walk away, I entered the JFK Federal Building and was forced to remove my belt and glasses for the metal detector, which have never been an issue at the courts. I hopped an elevator to the seventh floor, which moved so quickly that I actually felt nauseous for a moment. I spoke briefly to an extremely curt receptionist, who considered what I had to say and instructed me to take a number. I sat among a throng of supplicants and passed the time by watching a TV installed for this purpose. It was tuned to the news (I can't remember which channel, but thankfully it wasn't Fox) and Obama was discussing the value of education, how schools should modernize and lower costs through innovations like churning students out faster (which completely fails to address the issue of why tuition is so inflated to begin with and only advises paying those outlandish rates for a lower number of semesters), and how colleges should be value-ranked. All of a sudden, I was seized with the overwhelming desire to scream and tear my hair out, and a sickness rose in my stomach for a moment that seemed to go on forever. How ironic that after Key & Peele's lighthearted "Never sleep on Barry O," Barry O caught us sleeping. I realized that my hands were trembling more than usual, probably because I'd eaten nothing that day. The moment passed and I composed myself, but not before watching an item on the crawl with a mixture of wonder and utter disgust: "NSA MISREPRESENTED SCOPE OF SURVEILLANCE TO SECRET COURT, NEW DOCUMENTS SHOW". My first reaction is this: no shit, sherlock! Of course the Frankenstein's monster of government overreach and secrecy isn't going to spill the beans for some toothless court. And my second reaction is this: Why is the NSA being investigated by a secret court to begin with? Make the process transparent, and let the American media and public tear into its belly like they should. As I see it, secret investigations exacerbate the problem at best and are a mark of corruption at worst, given that we know the NSA director gets to choose who's auditing the agency. Follow? More on this later if I can bring myself to write about it.
          My number came up in time, and I met with a frustratingly circumspect IRS agent who refused to answer my questions directly. I would ask if we were subject to any fees or fines if we submitted our papers and a check by such-and-such a date, and he would respond with a question nearly mirroring mine. After some trial and error I got the information I needed and happily returned to work, where Jeremy asked me for advice on how to remove a bat from his home. Apparently everyone in our office has had some experience with bats, and the mailman had a particularly engaging story about finding one under his child's crib, throwing a blanket over it and crushing it to death. My recommendation was more mild: open the windows, turn off the lights and let it find its way out. Aside: We have one high-activity client that consistently calls me "boss" every time we speak, and against my better judgment, I love it.
          Having not heard from anyone regarding the Comcast gear and only having one day left to bring it back, I took a detour near the Common to buy an adjustable wrench at a hardware store. I took an unusual route home, walking all the way down gorgeous Commonwealth Avenue until it sort of disappeared as a road, then cutting across to Columbus. (There are four proper nouns in this paragraph starting with "Co"...what's up with that?) I marched into Davenport B and asked to be let into Douglass Park, and the same RD who had signed me out brought me over there. She was elusive about why I hadn't heard from them, but no matter; in the face of my wrench, the coax cable offered no resistance and I got everything out of there. I'll return the stuff tomorrow, and this dickery can finally end. Walking to IV with my hands full of electronics and a standing fan I picked up off the curb, a cheap plastic plate with no apparent purpose on the back of the cable box semi-broke (the little nub holding it on chipped off), so hopefully the people at the service center don't point that out. I also bumped into Lena in the lobby, always a pleasant experience (not sarcasm!)
          In the evening, Iris and I took the Red Line to Cambridge for a Restaurant Week excursion. We traveled to a restaurant called Upstairs On the Square, the decor of which can only be described as eclectic. It's a multi-floor restaurant with varying mixtures of decorative styles on each floor and even separate menus, which caused some confusion when we were initially seated on the wrong floor. I enjoyed a hearty clam chowder, some tasty lobster ravioli for the entree, and grape gelato with crushed peanuts and peanut drizzle for dessert, which tasted exactly like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Iris had beef and some kind of marshmallowy dessert served in a glass jar. Verdict: good, but not great; would frequent again if it wasn't prohibitively expensive and unconscionably chic.
          Quotes of the day:
"Your weapon of choice." - a federal cop, handing a body scanner to another cop
"Oh my god, my stomach! Andy, am I pregnant?" - Iris

Upstairs On the Square. Behind the camera is a bar with bright pink chairs.