The Luck Diet

"I am going to lose weight," she said.  "I'm not following a plan.  It's luck."

"I smell," she said.

I doubt that, I told her.  Let me see. 

She lifted her shirt.

Hmmm, I said.  Smells like vacation Bible school to me.

She laughed.

A lot of things remind me of vacation Bible school, I said.

I should tell the Crockhead about the article on copyright in the new issue of The New Yorker, how the grandson of James Joyce is ruining scholarship with his use of revised copyright laws.  It quotes my hero, Lawrence Lessig.

When you don't care to be a profiteer, copyright is a questionable benefit for an artist.

The novels have jammed up in loci in the skull, claiming corners for themselves and sucking in new references and directions with Hooveresque power, although not J.Edgar or Herbert-like.  (When you've been through Herbert and J. Edgar..., as the song goes).

Mark Mothersbaugh did the soundtrack for The Ringer.  He was, of course, of the new wave band Devo, which of course had a hit with "Mongoloid."  The mentally challenged are telepathic.  Telepathy is a vestige of an earlier mental state in human evolution.  To be telepathic is not to be wiser, but actually more primitive a development.  This is not an original thought.

And then there is the scene in The Ringer in which Johnny Knoxville returns to help his fallen rival in the race.  What could be more Mennonite/Amish than this act, lifted directly from the Martyr's Mirror All-Star Winner's (or Loser's) Rankings.

Once again, he said, it reminds me of vacation Bible school.

"What does?"  she asks.

Writing these notes in a public place.  Testimony given in public, hoping no one notices.  Standing on a soapbox for posterity and hoping to be invisible at the same time.