timberland boots brown A Stalinesque purge
I’ve moved seven times in the last 10 years.
This week, I’ll be moving from Boulder to Arvada, where I will immediately set out to discover why they sell Polish donuts (and what lovely donuts they are) and whether that has anything to do with the nearby Polish restaurants.
In an effort to make things easier on myself and whoever is unfortunate enough to help me, usually my mom, I conduct a Stalinesque purge of my belongings. At least usually one box of belongings falls prey to crackheads, but since crackheads were priced out of Boulder in the 1990s, that hasn’t been a problem so far.
Sometimes I lose cool stuff like all of my hats (thanks, ex girlfriend No. 3) or my grandfather’s Japanese artillery shell ashtray from WWII. He would have been OK with it as he was an MD with an almost preternatural hatred of smokers.
When I told my girlfriend I was writing an in memoriam column about my belongings that didn’t make it, she said she was ditching the sweat shirt she wore while a resident of an Indiana mental hospital. That seemed like a good idea. I’ve never even been to Indiana and I want to forget it.
You can hum awards show music if you like. A gift from a coworker who was himself moving. As someone who is prone to fainting spells, I was advised by everyone I know to ditch the table. I named it William Holden because I was probably going to crash through it and die.
130 pounds of red bricks I used to build a shelf for the hundreds of DVDs I acquired while lonely in the Redneck Wasteland where I worked most the past decade.
A substantial slice of aforementioned DVDs. I applied the following philosophy when thinning out the herd: You own a copy of “Manhunter,” John. Therefore, you don’t need to own a copy of “Red Dragon.” Furthermore, “Red Dragon” sucks.
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