Stuff

I tend to be generally fastidious. I like the idea of a place for everything and everything in its place. Even for someone like myself, who is an unabashed bibliophile, despite the fact that my books are all in boxes in the garage, they are still separated by genre and labeled on the outside of the box for easy access. I don't like to look around and see clutter everywhere. However, I have one little problem: I have more crap than I could possibly imagine. Even worse, that "more crap than I could possibly imagine" doesn't really include books or musical gear.

"So, Bill," you ask "what brings this sudden realization on?" It's simple really. As my time of suckling at the teat of post-graduate education begins to wind down, and another year will be added onto my cumulative age, I am feeling an increased pull to vacate my basement hovel in favor of greener, or at least more spacious, pastures. Alas, the way things appear with my current state of finances, my best bet is to buy a good sleeping bag, cot, and hotplate, and move into a rent-a-space unit. Then I can at least rent the space next door to put the mountains of stuff I see around me. For those of you who have spent time with me, dwelling in my basement, you might say "But Bill, your little monastic chamber is ever so tiny. How can you stand there and claim that you have all sorts of stuff?"

Thanks for asking, friend. Here's the issue: I am very clever in my use of space, and I'm able to cram things into all edges of my confined quarters. You might not see them, but they're there. For instance, all you visitors to my humble abode, did you realize that I have a reel-to-reel tape player/recorder AND seven canisters of reel-to-reel tape conspicuously out of view? No? Yeah, I do. Disregarding the garage, I have, by my count, nine guitars, four amplifiers, a keyboard, a ukulele, and probably over a thousand CDs IN my dwelling. Tack on another dozen guitars, a few more amps, and a BUNCH of other assorted musical gear (including Taylor's drum set) from the garage, and you have enough to open up a start-up music consignment shop.

At this point you're probably thinking "Now Bill," you say "you probably will NEVER be able to afford the mansion you'd need to comfortably store all of this stuff." Thanks for pointing that out. In all honesty, I eagerly await the time of my relocation, because I will be able to discover once and for all just HOW MUCH stuff I have floating around this house. I know that a great deal of my stuff is smaller, and I will arguably have one of the most wonderful collections of shelves of random kitsch items in wherever I end up. My Curious George Bath Set, Dr. Zaius action figure (still in original packaging), my Lite Brite, the large assortment of Pez dispensers, and the wooden duck I'm sneaking out with me will all show how "hip" I am, especially once I let my creative mind wander in setting them all up. But this leaves me yet another issue: if I have cool shit all over shelves in my new place, where can I put my art? Where can I hang the hand-drawn Fender Jaguar picture with the guitar-pick matting? How about my amazing photo of Stonehenge? What about my four-foot by three-foot poster of Jack Nicholson busting through the door in The Shining? That can't go BEHIND kitschy items. They might eventually mate and produce an offspring that might resemble "Child's Play Eight: Seed of the seed of Chucky's uncle, Johnny".

God help me. One day I fear I will awaken, covered in a fine layer of dust (as EVERYTHING in here is) up on a shelf myself; and do you know what I will say????

"Wow, I didn't realize I still had space up here."