Discipline and Plumpish

Bentham/Foucalt had it wrong.

My apartment complex is folded tight like origami. Now, this is no Jimmy Stewart manned Panopticon; instead, each window is within the eye-line of at least a dozen other tenets, who may be - and since they are shut-in graduate students, probably are - watching.

Yet this mutual threat of constant surveillance seems to have merely liberated everyone. They cast aside their superegos as well as their pants.

The same set of bulging love handles greets me every morning as I wake.