I Own a Ton of Crap

I think whenever you do something that changes the basic paradigm of your life -- like, say, leave your job of seven years to start a business -- you should do two things:

a) Reconnect with the things that you consider your core.

b) Take stock of everything else.

To the end of (a), I've reached back to '80s metal and punk. Megadeth, Suicidal Tendencies, AC/DC, Metallica, Motorhead, Minor Threat, DK... Since hanging this shingle, I've been non-stop spinning shit that I've been listening to for so long it's sunken into my DNA.

When was the last time you listened to "Peace Sells... But Who's Buying?" Damn, if that isn't one of the best songs ever written.

With (b), I've been going through my stuff in what little time I have between setting up this company, doing the work of a manager/producer, and rolling the gigs that keep the lights on in the meanwhile.

There was a point of time in my life when I had just a ton of stuff. I owned a lot. I had a house, and it was full of stuff. I had three dinette sets in the basement. I had mountains of books and games. Furniture, electronics, pots and pans. Just a massive pile of... stuff.

In 2001 I decided I was moving to LA. I began the long process of getting rid of everything I owned. I had a yard sale. It was loathsome, but led to me eventually writing FRANKENSTEIN'S MONSTER, again proving that no experience is without value.

I donated stuff. I gave away stuff. I sold stuff. I threw out stuff. But I always had more stuff. Luckily, as I was getting ready to leave, Chicago got hit with a huge storm and my basement flooded. The water was halfway up the stairs leading down to it. Ordinarily, this would have been a disaster. But it forced me to just throw out everything that had been in the basement, instead of spending a month going through it all and deciding what to do with every little thing. Out it went, in massive piles of trash. The garbage men were pissed. I had to go to the alderman and get a license to dump all the crap.

I loaded up my van and headed west. The van was full of more stuff. I had to jettison a bunch of it when the van bit the dust 300 miles south of Chicago. But I still ending up in LA with a bunch of stuff. I gave some of it away. I still had stuff.

I bounced from one apartment to the next, looking for a place to live that didn't include insane people. At every turn, I lost more of the stuff that I was lugging around.

By the time I landed at the lair, I had .0001 percent of the stuff I'd started with in Chicago, way back in '01. I tried to strip myself down even further.

But in the past week, I've been delving into my stuff, shaking up the paradigm, looking to lighten my load... and I'm STILL faced with a ton of crap I didn't even know I had. Bedspreads. Paper reams. Alarm clocks. A dozen binders. A mini-fridge. Ties I've never worn. Shit, I found a set of three crescent wrenches still in the plastic. Who knew what was lurking in the back of my closet?

I can't have too little. Everything I own feels like a burden.

I have dozens and dozens and dozens of books. I'm going to keep the core titles - per (a) above - and give the rest to the library. The rest of the shit is going up on ebay and craigslist. If I don't use something at least once within a year, it's gone.

George Carlin was right: at a certain point, you stop owning your stuff, and your stuff starts owning you. I refuse to spend one second on my stuff. I'd rather spend the time on work and ideas. Very few things are of real value to me, and then for specific reasons. My motorcycle, because it gets me around town. My laptop, because it lets me work. My cell phone, which lets me communicate. My Xbox 360, because it spins music, movies and games, etc... My dream house would have very little in it.

I've left my job behind. Now it's time to leave my stuff behind.