One Man’s Trash

One Man’s Trash, originally uploaded by jonl.

The Tutor will go nuts. Keeping up with the Joneses arrives on the dumpster scene.

American madrassa…

Hey Mister Tangerine Man…

David Weinberger has opened a “markets are metaphors” contest, offering readers a chance to provide him with one liners in Maastricht where he’s offering the keynote speech at a conference called “Markets are conversations.”

Nothing will top Chris Locke’s “Markets are misheard lyrics,” but it’s a fun game to play anyway.

Yo-yo across America…

Check out the itinerary Amanda posted! Memphis to St. Louis to Kansas City and back to Louisville? A few hundred miles this way and a few hundred miles back! I’m happy they’re coming through Madison. I’ll try to get my fat face in a few shots, ever angling for another 15 pico-seconds of fame. Better, I’ll try to get a few pictures of Amanda and her entourage. She’s doing good work, you gotta admit it.


Here’s a hypothesis based on two data points. I left it as a comment at Loose Poodle and I re-present it here:

During drive time I had an insight that I’d like to share. I think those of us who don’t believe in god have a higher likelihood of believing in conspiracy theories. It would be interesting to rake together the data around this theory, to prove it or disprove it. I know I am quite likely to identify connections here in this life, and I think it might have something to do with not having that metaphysical stuff tying things together in a different way.

The data:

  1. In one brief conversation a brilliant friend revealed both that he is “born again,” which is to say he experienced a life changing conversion experience; and, that he doesn’t have much time for conspiracy theories.
  2. I have never had a conversion experience nor do I expect to have one; and, my world view is framed by a sensitivity to the dynamics of power relationships in society and how those relationships support a structure of social classes.

My friend is carefree, neither seeing nor crediting “the doomsday stuff,” as tristero calls it.

…the very thought that the US government is seriously broken – that the Executive is beyond the control of anyone and everyone in the world – is such a truly awesome and terrifying thought that it can never be publicly acknowledged. If ever it is, if the American crisis gets outed and Congress and the Supremes openly assert that the Executive has run completely amok and is beyond control, the world consequences are staggering. It is the stuff of doomsday novels.

Juke Moran says, “Moral centers, in a Velikovskian geometric, have Onanist characteristics.” I wouldn’t know about that of course, because my nose is stuck so deep in my own navel that I’m suffocating. But I like my little social science thought experiment:

Answer these two questions, and please don’t mess with me, just tell the truth…

  1. Do you believe in god and how would you qualify that belief?
  2. Do you see conspiracies where the media and others around you see none, and give an example please?

Sat Nam

In our dreamsI’m old. Most of my exercise comes from bending over to pull my socks on in the morning and off at night. Of course, you could say I have to be strong to carry that fifty pound bag of excess fat around with me wherever I go. Yet, for all the physical deterioration, buried somewhere beneath the crust of my dimming consciousness there remain the good intentions. Someday I could get in shape. Someday I could break free of my bad habits.

I’m gullible. Maybe short-sighted is a better word. In early August, when Beth suggested we sign up for the partner yoga class, it seemed far enough away that I could hope maybe I’d die before the first class. I’m averse to conflict. I agreed to go because it was easier to assent than to fight it out.

Last week was the first class. Beth bought us matching yoga mats, smelly rolls of soft foam outgassing carcinogens. No way could it be healthy to lie about on these mats. I had a conflict. We missed the first class. All week the mats have been in my office, sort of a stealth oncology marketing gimmick if you ask me.

Last night was the second class. I couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse to avoid it. There we were, with half a dozen other couples. Guess who was the oldest fat guy in the room. Hint: me.

This morning I feel surprisingly good.