I have accumulated a lot of things over the decades, it’s all pretty far away, all of nine time zones right at this moment. I’m kind of a pack-rat, the fact that a thing becomes mine impresses me sufficiently that I can’t seem to part with anything. I still have my forty-five RPM record of “Thumbelina,” I was probably five when I got that, I think that I was actually four but I don’t like to exaggerate. I have all of the rock ‘n roll records that I began to accumulate several years later. Good stuff, some nice picture covers too, Elvis EP’s. LP records, I’ve got about three thousand of those, that’s over thirty thousand songs. A lot of great tunes that you’ve never heard; honestly there’s a good few that I’ve never heard either. But it’s all mine.
I have always loved magazines, they are a perfect fit for my limited attention span. I have more magazines than any but the largest magazine stands. Boxes of Silver Age Marvel comics, lots of 1950’s Mad magazines. There was more, lots more. Almost all, almost every piece, of my car magazines are lost to me, I remember them longingly, the early days of drag racing, Bonneville speedsters made from old war-surplus external fuel tanks, ratty looking hot-rods and “No Go Showboats.” They, along with a large number of good, collectible comics, motorcycle magazines, some magazine miscellany, my stamp collection, my baseball glove and my bicycle, mysteriously disappeared some time between when I left for Navy boot camp and when I came home on leave ten weeks later. Thanks, mom.
My things are important to me. One theory is that I have a weak self-image and need to be surrounded by things that are mine to keep track of who I am. Some would attribute it to poor toilet training, but I think that’s simple minded conclusion jumping. Let’s see your license, pal.
I consciously try to keep the amount of stuff in my possession down these days, and I resist any temptation to have any of my stuff shipped to me. No room, no desire to lug stuff around, no wish to ship anything back when the time comes to return to America, it might come, I’m not sure it’s up to me, I don’t like to rub myself in people’s faces. I feel like a juggler, all of the balls are in the air, I’ll let you know how it turns out.