So part of my little hoarding problem has been that I had nowhere to put anything. Whenever I tried to unpack a box of my stuff, Sluggo would throw it all back into a pile and take the shelf space for more of his millions of little vinyl toys or his vast collection of Japanese catalogs of little vinyl toys. One time he decided he didn’t like the little chest of drawers I got for free from a guy who was moving out of his apartment, and he insisted I throw it out and put all my clothes into bags under the bed. (I still have the chest, although it is really ugly. But it’s the only place I have to keep my many pairs of broken sunglasses.) Anyway, what with Sluggo’s talent for acquiring, and my pathological inability to throw anything away, we’ve been in hoarder hell for a while now. That’s why it was such a shock when he sold his entire record collection on Saturday. An old friend of his, who also happens to be a vinyl dealer, came over to give him some advice on his extensive collection of vintage hardcore and punk albums, and ended up buying the whole thing. I know I should be pleased to see it go—especially the Rush LPs—and now there’s two whole shelves empty where I can put my things. But for some reason it made me very sad. Sluggo’s music always seemed like such a big part of his life, and now it’s all gone. I know it’s just things and stuff, and it’s not really him … but still … I guess I can go visit the collection when it shows up at the next WFMU Record Fair, before you Collectors show up and buy it. But it just seems weird.
Thanks for reading my blogpost this time, and may God bless.