Wednesday, June 10, 2009


Welcome old friends and old readers. Welcome perfect strangers. It's the beginning of summer and I'm in the back stretch of life. On the inside pole, gaining on the nags, perspiring mightily, my lungs close to bursting, spewing  the accumulated noxious solid phlegm shot of epic proportions. 

"Out! Damn Snot!"  William Shakespeare

Right -well I need to make changes in my life. I need to simplify. I need to get rid of things. Material possessions that are chocking me. Death by Knick Knack. Cause of Death: Colorful Vacation Thimbles. ( Ski Famous Death Valley Amusement Park )

I have already culled my book collection twice. I have brought donkey cart loads to the local 1/2 Price Used Book Store. ( I can buy $473.00 of used paperback novels. But Not If The Cover Has Been Removed.)

I have a complete Black and White Photographic Lab in my basement. Thirty-five years ago, I decided I wanted to be an Artist. I figured paint was messy. Film almost never tries to kill you. So I learned how to do it with Single Lens Reflex Cameras. And one day I stopped. The laundry room fuzz bunnies mutated and claim the Enlarger. I gathered it all up and placed it gently in a trash bag and put that on the work bench and there it waits.

I've been into guns for maybe 50 years. Any shooter knows you need to reload if you are serious about getting accurate. Just Google Reloading and check out the 600 pounds of gear that is absolutely necessary to begin this hobby/vocation. Find out why old wheel weights are worth their weight in, well, wheel weights. Guess where this stuff is stored.

Vinyl. A word that stirs something deep in all old hippy hearts. Records. Long Players. As in, boxes and boxes of Records. From the Beatles to the Grateful Dead and Glen Campbell. Stacks of them covering 20 feet by 20 feet of valuable basement floor space.

Dead lamps, horribly Carradine corded into uselessness. Christmas gift boxes and coal fired Christmas Tree Lights twisted into impossible contours. Bike parts and mildewed Mouse nest material, still clinging to the false promise of one more camping trip.

All this and more is complicating my life. I am the King of Rejectamenta.

No more, I swear as God is my witness, i'll never be storage deprived again!

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