Check out this foolishness:
That, dear readers, is a portion of mine and Gill’s CD collection. A portion. Behind those stacks of CD’s is my laptop, quivering in fear. See what it’s doing there? It’s pretending to be asleep. Nice try, laptop. I’m gonna jam each one of these bad boys inside you and buuurrrn them onto your brrraaainnn!!! And you’re gonna take it, laptop! Take it, and like it!
I guess I should tell you what inspired this little…project. There’s a closet in my house. You probably have one, too. This closet is jammed full of stuff that won’t fit elsewhere in my house. There are two full boxes of CD’s like this half empty one:
There are also several boxes of books that I have no room to display. I have no room to display them because I have a room. What? Lemme ‘splain. I have a room, but that room is filled with more stuff, namely, Gill’s stuff. And Gill, bless his heart, has a lot of stuff. Music stuff, computer stuff, tool stuff. Stuff, stuff, stuff.
I hate stuff. You know what I like? The absence of stuff. I like empty countertops, empty closets, alphabetization, organization, no extraneousness. You know how in Sleeping with the Enemy Julia Roberts had to line up all the cans and towels and shit or her husband with his crazy self would hack her into tiny pieces? We were supposed to be horrified by that. I kinda liked the idea. Not the hacking, part, though. No. The lining up part. Just to be clear.
Anyway. So I’m constantly weeding through all our stuff to find what we haven’t used in a long time. Well, not our stuff. I’m not allowed near Gill’s stuff. (But that drawer full of cables, wires, chargers and possibly an entire colony of snakes will be mine one day, husband. Sleep with one eye open, sir.) I love to get rid of. I love empty spaces. Uncluttered surfaces. Clean shelves. I guess I’m saying my ideal living situation would include me, Gill, Eve, a table and three chairs. As long as we have each other, right?
The CD’s are my next victim. There is not enough space in that closet for my liking, and guess what, CD’s? J’accuse, bitches. You’re all gettin’ loaded onto my laptop and then sold to a slightly sketchy online company who will probably only give me a fraction of what they’re worth if I ever get anything at all. And I don’t care. As long as all y’all are outta my house. (Watch Gill set up a dummy company, buy the CD’s and hide them in his trunk. Well played, sir. Well played.)
Meantime, I’ve been having just a fine ol’ time walking down my own musical memory lane:
Soundgarden. How the hell you guys been? My goodness, what times we used to have. ‘Member when I used to do a completely serious impression of Chris Cornell in my bedroom mirror while listening to this album and sporting some tight-rolled jeans and Sebagoes? Yeah…good times.
Alaaaanis. Girl. You have helped me express so much white-girl angst and also saw me through a pretty embarrassing breakup in college. Thanks, man. But, by the way, none of that is ironic. I love you, but no. No, it’s not, Alanis! And it got waaay too much radio time.
If you never bought this album, please do so immediately. Then put it on in your car at night, turn the volume all way up to 11 and drive down the freeway really fast. Trust me. You will never feel cooler.
So that’s what I’m doing this coming week. Me and my CD’s. Burn, baby, burn! CD inferno!
P.S. If anyone can remind me of the reason why there’s a Faith Hill CD in my collection, I’d be ever so grateful. Thanks.