In Friedman chapter, please delete this:
I once lost my gig as a copywriter and found myself compelled to work six-day weeks as a furniture mover for a Pentecostal church. When companies relocated, they would donate their discarded desks and chairs and whatnot to this church, the employees of which would pick it all up and store it in a warehouse until such time as individual pieces could be refurbished and sold off.
    Each morning I would find myself sitting in the cab of an eighteen-wheeler with one of the ex-meth addicts with whom I was employed. On one occasion, we were joined by this doughy, bearded, bespectacled, middle-aged crackerjack who was technically employed by the church in maintaining its servers and websites and such things but who was on this day recruited to assist us in our grunt work, someone else having failed to show up that morning. The fellow's longterm plan was to start his own internet-based ministry. This, incidentally, is the longterm plan of about a sixth of all middle-aged Pentecostals.
    A song came on the radio and this doughy fellow asked me who it was. I informed him that this was Led Zeppelin, and a secret smile flitted across the fellow's bearded, doughy face.
"Rock stars," he said, shaking his head but still smiling. "I call them Prophets of Baal, because they preach another way."
    The doughy fellow was developing his own little terminological conventions in preparation for the ministry that he would someday found.

And change first sentence of following paragraph to just "Thomas Friedman is forever calling things things.