Tuesday, Jun. 17, 2003 - 1:50 a.m.

Holy Diver

If America could be summed up in one word, that word would be, “garbage.” For all the rampant consumption would not be possible if there were not a way for Americans to get rid off the slightly old stuff in order to make way for the brand new stuff. And the lifestyle of the American college student is even less sustainable than that of the mainstream family, because when summer break (or worse, graduation) rolls around, and they have to leave in a hurry. If they have a car, or someone picks them up in one, they can pack what fits, and whatever does not must be left behind, no matter how useful or valuable it is. If their home is in Honolulu, Boston, or Kyoto, they’re going to be flying home which means they must abandon nearly everything. Where does it go? Into the dumpster.

That’s where I come in, retrieving worthwhile stuff from the clutches of the landfill. I pull up quick to get wit’ ‘em. At Twin Oaks Commmunity, they annually take two vans and a team of 4-6 people to dive the dumpsters at the University of Virgina, and then bring it all back to the commune for the rest of the members to sort through. It’s a big party in the parking lot. Finders keepers, and people make piles of their private stashes. The professional dumpster diver who wrote Evasion had this to say about the University of Oregon at the end of the school year: “Holy Mother of God.” They throw out things you would not believe. My Very Busy Friend even got working computers out of dumpsters last year. I went last year too with the goal of finding sellable electronics. Got two monitors that made a popping sound and a smoky smell when I plugged them in. I got plates and a wardrobe worth of clothes hangers. Got lots more useless crap that I ended up throwing out again.

Swearing not to repeat the excess of last year’s harvest, I swore this year to only collect stuff I had a use for. In my little house, the last thing I need is more crap. Last year I had a friend with a car and was tempted to take too much, but this year I was limited to what I could take on the back of my bike. My main goal was shoes. I wanted newish shoes that fit. I knew I could accomplish this because I acquired my last two pairs of shoes from dumpsters as well (both were evil Nike’s, and looked like new.) In the first dumpster I perused, lie two pairs of shoes, but too big. Then I found a pair the perfect size that had been carefully laid on the ground near the garbage, but the soles were nearly as worn as the sneakers I was wearing (funny, you don’t look newish.) I pity the student who’s so impoverished that they actually wait until their shoes are worn out before throwing them away.

Last year I got bodily into the dumpster that had the computer monitors hoping to find more booty of the like. . I got a video game joystick that I still haven’t tested. This year, with so many dumpsters to choose from, I resolved beforehand not to get too dirty. I rummaged through the top few layers and then moved on. Sometimes I climbed up the side so I could reach in deeper. Too much smelly, rotting food would drive me away, but the beauty of the end of semester is that there’s relatively little biodegradable matter in the trash. Sometimes I opened up bags if I suspected something good inside. I was a good citizen and did not fling stuff out of the dumpster as I dug, unless the dumpster was already overflowing.

I was not the only one out diving. I saw the same two guys with a truck and trailer to load goods onto who I met last year at this time. I greeted a toothless homeless guy whose bike was laden with huge bags of recyclable cans and bottles. He was on a different mission, so we were not competitors.

At one dumpster, a guy in a third-story window of the adjacent building leaned out and admonished, “don’t you know what you’re doing is trespassing?” I remembered my Nonviolent Communication. He was saying that because he was feeling an emotion due to some underlying universal human need. First I needed clarity. “Do you really care?” I asked. “Yeah,” he replied. “Why?” I asked. “Because we’re trying to show the house and there’s been 15 different people here today picking through the garbage.” Ah, I thought, he’s worried that he won’t be able to sell or sublet his house, and there’s money at stake, and indirectly, his survival. No wonder he’s angry. And he’s requesting, in his suicidally inept jackal language, that I move away from his dumpster and leave. “Alright, no problem,” I said as I departed. There are lots more dumpsters just like that one.

As I rummaged, I began to formulate the prose I would later put down in this diary post. I planned to write, “well, I didn’t find diamonds or gold…” A few moments later, what did I spy but…gold? I grew excited and dug feverishly. Yes! Gold coins!!! And lots of them!!! Right here in the dumpster! And all mine!! Well, they were chocolate-filled gold coins, but they were still a great find. Come over to my apartment and have some.

The afternoon was wearing on, and I was ready to call it a day. This last dumpster better have some good sneakers in it. It did! Gleaming white puffy ones with some logo that was not Nike’s embroidered on the side with silver thread. I retrieved the Grail and headed for home.

I think even if I had lots of money, I’d still come out to pick through the students’ detritus. For the principle of the thing. My sacred quest.

Damn, the Booty Don’t Stop

Avast, ye landlubbers, here’s a rundown of the booty I pillaged (with cat-like tread):

I could always use a few more of these thick, plastic hangers. I will have to wash these.

Ketchup,. Bugles, and Newman’s Own caesar salad dressing.
Of course, the first thing that pops into my middle-class mind is, “what if the food is poisoned?” I reassure myself that the food is not poisoned. “What if it’s laced with LSD?” From what I’ve read, LSD runs about five bucks a hit, which is cheap, but not so cheap that college students in a hurry to leave for the summer would put it in food in the dumpster in hopes that someone would come along and eat it. The Bugles were really, really good. I had only had the low-fat baked kind before, and these were the kind with 50% fat calories, and I gotta say, they were kickin’ with the flavor. I ate the whole bag that night.

This is “Duckeroni”, a right rectangular prism of yellow foam intended to be waved at sporting events to show support for the school team, the Ducks, so named because it rains for most of the school year, and ducks love the rain. I only picked this up in order to show you folks a new low in mass stupidity. I hear that in Nippon (Japan), fans wave large dicon radishes at baseball games. At least theirs are dual-purpose and biodegradable.

A tupperware thingy.
This was full of sugar cookies when I found it. They were probably fine. I summarily dumped out the cookies only because I don’t fancy that kind.

Cafeteria tray and placemats.
Not having a proper table in my apartment, I thought the tray might be of use. I have no use for placemats, but I just couldn’t bear to see them go into a landfill. They were brand new, in a big stack. I only took four. This was still foolish.

Bad photo of shade/blind thingy. I might use this.

Corporate rock magazine and notebooks with a lot of blank paper still in them.

2 meters of category 5 ethernet cable. Useful? Maybe. Broken? Maybe.

A sturdy steel milk crate and burned CD's of MP3's that might work.

Gold!!!

Mission accomplished. Aren’t they beautiful?
Guilt over contributing to sweatshop labor, unsustainablility, and corporate globalization: none, not applicable.
Price: free as the butterfly, free as the bee.

Last Thursday, Devon Sproule came to town to do a show. She used to live at Twin Oaks Community, so we got together a mini-Twin Oaks reunion at her gig. I gave Devon a Deception Dollar, and she gave me a free copy of her new (third!!) CD. It was weird talking to her because although I've seen her around since 1992, and though I was her webmaster for 2 years, I really barely know her. She still has a mesmerizing stage presence, and her new songs have surreal melodies that are much more complex than the stuff I usually listen to. She’s gone back to her angelic boy’s-choir-style soprano, which really suits her and makes her music otherworldly. Her vocal control is amazing. Now that she sings perfectly on pitch, she’s an unstoppable force.

Opening for her was this writer who makes Found Magazine, a zine comprised of notes people find on the ground. One of the funniest said: “If you took my detergent, I’m sure it was a mistake, so I’m not mad YET, but you’re pushing me, and I push back, so it better be back F-ing soon.” [F-ing in the original] Some of the notes were also very touching. The writer’s brother, a sensitive folk singer who performed that night, wrote a song based on this hilarious found tape. The song was entitled, “Damn, Your Booty Don’t Stop, Girl”. I was impressed that an otherwise very serious musician could feel secure enough to play this very funny song featuring lines like, “I wanna warm that ass up and tap it like a phone.”

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