I’m a pack rat, through and through. I cannot throw anything away. Ask my mom. It took me like 15 years to finally part ways with my Goosebumps series. That included the “Choose Your Own Adventure!!” ones. Those were boss. I still have a stuffed panda bear that I was given at the age of two days. I have reminders of my college years littered around my room. I save stupid shit. I yearn for the ability to just say, “Screw this. Why do I need a copy of Madden 2006 for Gamecube? First of all, it’s a dead system. Second, I don’t even have my Gamecube hooked up to the TV. Why do I need a Gamecube?!” [toss GC out window, hits possum]
My best friends are mostly pack rats. In fact, the Power Rangers poster in my room is the product of years of self-inflicted cluttering by my friend Tim. I think it was the summer of ’06 when I snatched that from his dad’s apartment, which during the week-long moving ordeal looked like a scene from a poorly funded horror film. Intense. Nevertheless, you can find some pretty bitchin’ shit when going back through your crap from years ago. Tim and I found some pretty interesting stuff that day. In fact, with this sentence right here, I know he’ll know exactly what I’m talking about. It was VERY interesting.
I want to raid my closet in Houston so bad right now.
I’m also a digital pack rat. I have music on my computer I would never honestly admit to listening to, like Decemberunderground by AFI. Oops.You never know, though. Maybe, one day, I will want to hear an epic 60 minute “Oh”-fest coupled with shitty songwriting. You NEVER KNOW.
I pack things away because I love that feeling one gets from finding something completely randomly a closet. I want my box full of wires to come in handy some day. I want my spindle full of CDs to save me in from a non-musical situation. I still have all my training material from Starbucks and Barnes & Noble. God knows, that shit will be useful for a lifetime.
It’s silly how incomplete the lack of petty things like media and print can make me feel. I would feel stupid if I didn’t have all these books laying around. I can’t explain why. I am aware of how dumb that is. Honestly, who am I trying to impress with my the volumes on Michel Foucault or my Marx-Engels Reader? I guess I feel safe knowing that I have these reference materials at the ready. But, that’s what the Internet is for.
Why do I need four guitars? Shouldn’t one be enough? Why do I need the entire Hall & Oates discography? I don’t know, but I’m getting my fucking hands on that right away.
These private eyes are watching you,