eric nuzum dot com

The purge

Stacked
Originally uploaded by lazy butterfly

There was a time when I had a plastic CD tower that held 209 CDs, so I owned exactly 209 CDs. I figured that would be enough. If I wanted a new CD, that meant I had to get rid of an old one. I functioned under this system for years, but decided sometime in the early 90s that it was, as you would guess, nonsense. That's when I started to really accumulate CDs.

After a variety of failing CD storage ideas and systems, when we moved in Washington, we bought some seriously industrial strength CD cabinets. They were even rated for use in earthquake areas. Two of these units held about 2500 CDs--and a few years ago we actually managed to fill them. I was doing everything I could to save space--replacing CD boxes with sleeves, thinning out a handful of CDs here and there.

A few weeks ago I stood in our garage and looked at the two monster CD cabinets.

"Why do I keep all of these?" I asked myself.

I listen to hours of music a day--but to be honest, I cannot name the last time I picked up a physical CD and put it in a player to listen to it. Since I started listening mostly to electronic files eight years ago, the only time I handle a CD is to burn the songs on to my computer the day I purchase it, then immediately the disc goes to the storage cabinet never to see the light of day again.

So I started looking through. And I started to pull out CDs. A lot of CDs.

Over the past few years, my wife and I have been having a lot of discussions about "stuff": things we keep and why. After watching my grandparents struggle to let go of their home, filled with such "stuff" (most of which they didn't know or forgot that they had) we started asking ourselves about why we accumulate things. We've come to the conclusion that probably 85% of the "stuff" we have is just that--"stuff." We have no emotional connection to it, we just keep it because we think we should or might need it...someday. We've been doing a lot of purging trying to live a better, simpler life--and it works. 

But music has always been hard.

When I was a teen and in my 20s, I treated my album bin and cassette case as if they were bricks of gold. At the time, I surrounded myself with trappings I considered absolutely essential to the life I led: books, magazines, tapes, albums, clothes, etc… They defined me. The funny thing is that I'm not sure I could put my hands on any given possession I owned twenty-five years ago. That is completely weird to me. I probably couldn't fill a shoe box with the things that have stayed in my life since then. Tapes and albums were replaced by CDs, which, in turn, were replaced with binary computer files. Clothes were worn out or became dated. Books were loaned, stolen, lost, forgotten, or sold for rent money. I guess they were, in hindsight, the most meaningless parts of me.

Another example of this is when we bought our house. I have always been a huge Charles Bukowski fan and have bought, read, and kept all of his several dozen non-poetry books. Well, when we moved, the box of Bukowski books must have been put in the wrong pile and disappeared--off to the garbage or Goodwill. I have never replaced any of them.

Do I still love Bukowski? Sure. Will I ever read any of them again? Maybe, but probably not. So, while I'm sad that it didn't happen on my terms--I'm not all that upset about it anymore.

I don't want to think of all the times I've put all these CDs in cardboard boxes and moved them around from place to place, or worse, paid someone else to move them from place to place. I did this all those times because I always felt tethered to them.

Knowing that I can (and do) keep digital copies of everything on hard drives, I decided it was time to let them go. Standing in the garage looking at them, I asked myself, "If this place burned down today, would I ever buy this again?"

If the answer was "no," I pulled it.

Even though I love the music they contain, it was surprising how few CDs that I have a true emotional connection to their physical form.

Katherine saw me doing this and recently has been going through the CDs as well, doing the same thing.

We're listing them on Amazon to sell used (though burning another back-up copy before they head out the door, just in case). Our original goal was to cut the collection down by a third. As we are working, I'm thinking it is going to be more than three-quarters. We'll only have a few hundred left--but will have an authentic reason to keep those that are left. Some were gifts, some were exceptionally hard to find, some were witness to important moments in our lives. But each will have a purpose.

We'll take all the money we get from selling these (it won't be that much money--if you are still thinking that the music industry isn't in complete free fall, try selling a used CD) and hopefully put it to better use.

Hopefully we won't spend it on something we won't remember having, or won't want, in a few years.

Right to lunch

What would abortion opponents eat for lunch?

That's the question I found myself thinking earlier today.

More specifically, I wondered what abortion opponents would not eat for lunch--because that is where I wanted to eat lunch.

But it has nothing to do with ideology.

I should have put two and two together because of all the sirens throughout the morning. But it wasn't until I headed out for lunch that it all came together.

Cross and Sign
Originally uploaded by sirchuckles

As I walked down the street to find something to eat, I kept noticing things like weird police escorts (I saw a black SUV surrounded by eight DC cops on bicycles) and groups of school-aged kids, all wearing plaid pants, following priests holding umbrellas above their heads.

Ah, it's January 22nd, which is some kind of abortion-related anniversary or something. This happens ever January 22nd. However this year they have decided to close off sections of 7th Street (near where I work) for the protests. I find this confusing because 7th Street is not near the Supreme Court, the Capital, nor the White House. Unless the Smithsonian Portrait Gallery has some kind of link to abortion history, I think the location is fairly unrelated.

Anyhow...

Today is a perfect example of something I tell people about living in Washington, DC, that they often have trouble accepting. The most profound influence Washington has had on me, personally, is it has made me almost apolitical. While I spent my youth as a passioned advocate for many causes, living in DC has turned me in a completely opposite direction. I just don't care.

When I encounter protesters on the street like today, all they want to do is change the world--and all I do is want to get some lunch. But I can't--because they are everywhere. And they stand in the middle of the sidewalk. And are so happy and enthusiastic...and they tend to yell a lot.

You see, I don't care about anything as much as these people annoy me. And it doesn't even really matter which side they are on, I am equally annoyed by people of many ideological and political persuasions. It's just a trade-off for living and working in this city. But it makes lunch challenging. Instead of thinking "what would be good" you end up thinking "what won't be packed full of protesters."

Oh, and the answer to my question?

Apparently, the protesters are fans of any chain restaurant known for its meat-based sandwiches. Burmese food and custom-made salads? Not quite as popular.

Ode to solitaire

I just bought an Xbox.

It cost about $250 bucks.

What was the first game I bought for it?

Solitaire.

Solitaire
Originally uploaded by mrclean

For me, that really isn't that unusual. When I bought my iPhone, the first thing I did was buy a solitaire game. I keep a shortcut on my computer's desktop to the solitaire game. In fact, I have bought/acquired a solitaire game for every game system, computer, and piece of electronics I have ever owned where it would even remotely be possible to play a game of solitaire--including at least one watch.

There is one simple reason for this: I really like playing solitaire.

I've been a big solitaire fan since I was a little kid. And it is nothing tragic like saying that I learned to love solitaire because I grew up living in a remote hut, had no friends, and the only form of entertainment I had was a worn-out deck of playing cards missing the 3 of spades, 6 of hearts, and all the Jacks.

No, there has just always been a fundamental connection between me and the game of solitaire.

When I was a kid, I used to fantasize that I would sign up for a national solitaire tournament, which would, of course, be televised. When my turn came up, I would blow the judges and commentators away with my card flipping and laying skills. Crowds would gather to watch me. All activity would stop in bars so the drunks could gather around the fuzzy TV to watch the kid from Ohio wow the world with his black/red/black numerical combinations.

I imagined a TV commentator would remark on how quickly I spotted the 7 of hearts that could host the run of 6 thru 2 I'd just put together two moves earlier. I had all four aces and two kings exposed--this kid from Ohio was going all the way!

Then, of course, I would make some tragic mistake. I would fail to notice the 8 of clubs that could connect two runs, uncovering that elusive 3 of hearts that was slowing everything down. People in the crowd would gasp. The TV commentator would start to get frantic.

Then, just by mad luck, the 8 of clubs would come up again in my Klondike pile. I spotted it this time! The connection is made! The 3 of hearts is flipped over, goes up in the aces row, and with every card I slam up top, the assembled crowd, television hosts, and bar crowds across America--all cheer the kid from Ohio who came out of nowhere to win the national (televised) solitaire championship tournament.

And there would be some large cash prize for winning the tournament--enough that lots of reporters would swarm me afterwards to ask what I'd do with all that money.

I bet my reply would have been that I was going to go out to buy another solitaire game. Because that is probably what I would do.

Welcome to my 4th

Petworth 4th of July
Originally uploaded by Wayan Vota

Ah, the 4th of July. Always a celebrated holiday in my life.

Later tonight we're expecting some friends over for a little celebration Petworth-style. For those unaware, Petworth turns into Kabul on July 4th, with explosions and amateur displays that beat most small town fireworks. I wrote about last year's here.

On several past 4ths, I've re-posted/linked to a series of blog entries I wrote in 2003--the summer after I started this blog--about another memorable July 4th, in 1991 when I was living in Put-in-Bay, Ohio. It is a tale that goes from bad to awful to worse. It is chronicled in four parts over four days (part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4)--and worth every second it takes to read it if you haven't read it before.

Also, it was on a 4th of July many years ago, during a college summer, that my roommates and I accidentally re-invented Harry Buffalo and got our entire block drunk. We called it Yak water. It was delicious, though I've never been able to look at a Kiwi the same way again.

Oh, sweet Independence, how we make a mockery of you.

Winter in a summer place

Put-in-Bay July 2007
Originally uploaded by Andy Wendt

I just happened across an article I wrote in 2003 about winter life in my former home, Put-in-Bay, Ohio. I had no idea this was available online--it certainly wasn't when I wrote it.

As the article illustrates, Put-in-Bay is an odd place (in many ways). There are no roads or bridges there, so everything (and that means everything) has to come in by boat or airplane.

I lived there on and off for three years, though I never stayed through the entire winter (reading the article will give an indication why). The unusual steps required to get almost anything from "normal" life while on Put-in-Bay had the exact opposite effect than you would assume. Instead of everything feeling like a pain in the ass--it actually made you appreciate things more.

I often refer to myself as somewhere between an interloper and sojourner--I never really have felt like I fit in or belong anywhere. Though it was a long time ago and I was too young to fully appreciate it at the time, I probably felt more at home on Put-in-Bay, and more like I "belonged" there, than any other place I've ever lived.

Here is a snippet:

Put-in-Bay is a place of contradictory extremes. Its well-known both as a family tourist destination of arresting beauty and as a mecca for beer-swilling weekend warriors for whom the word party is frequently a verb. During the summer months, Put-in-Bay is a destination for hundreds of thousands of visitors. But during winter, only a few hundred locals live on the island. Most of the summer visitors arriving by private boat and ferry have little idea how complicated that passage can be during winter and how the resulting isolation affects life in the off season.

[Link] to the whole thing.

Deep thoughts with Matt and Eric

Our friend Matt is staying with us for a few weeks while he is working here in DC. He is a great houseguest: very low maintenance, easy going, doesn't expect to be entertained, etc.

Having a good friend around all the time is great, infusing even more fun into our house. Other times things are shockingly...well, I made a movie of our first words to each other this morning. Enjoy.

New year = no pencils

Pencils - the Last One ;~))
Originally uploaded by steph.A

I bore easily. I think that's why I do these things to myself.

About a week ago, I had a random realization float into my head: "Gee, I don't think I've used a pencil so far this year."

Most people would note that observation and move on.

I, however, took it as a sign: I would make a resolution not to use pencils in 2009.

Over the next day or two, I slowly discarded/gave away all my pencils. No. 2, mechanical...all gone. The only one I kept was one my father hand-made for me. I'll save that for 2010.

Like most grand pronouncements, reality often gets in the way of big thinking. I have successfully cleansed my life of pencils, at least for the next 49 weeks, except for one: my carpenter's pencil. A true essential for any home improver/tinkerer.

At first I just thought I could start calling it something else, like a carpenter's "marker" or something. I googled and googled. It seems that a carpenter's pencil is only referred to as a carpenter's pencil.

But I've found an alternative: a china marker (aka grease pencil). Note I called it a "china marker"--which is its actual title. I spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to determine which was the original title (china marker vs grease pencil) and came up with nothing. So I've decided that "china marker" is the original name--since most things originated in China are very, very old. Older than pencils, I guess.

Wind up my vote

vote
Originally uploaded by melfeasance

Even though I live in a predominantly African American neighborhood, I don't think I fully grasped what today meant to my neighbors until I was standing in the queue line this morning to vote. It was a true and powerful sight.

The line at our polling place wrapped through the school playground, and out along the fence, around the corner, then down the street again.

I didn't even know this many people lived in our neighborhood, let alone would show up before the polls had even opened.

Now, no one is sweating the race for DC's 3 electoral votes (the District voted 92% for Kerry in 2004--yup, you read that right). However, it didn't matter.

Right as the polls opened, they invited all the senior citizens to come out of the line and vote first. Most all of them were dressed in their Sunday best. They regally walked into the school to vote, with their heads very deliberately high. I heard one woman say she'd been waiting for this day her entire life and felt blessed that she had lived to see today. Everyone there understood. Many were taking pictures and video of the line and all the people who were so quietly excited to be there.

A set of grandparents stood behind me in line with their two grandsons. While we were chatting, the grandmother was telling the boys to pay attention to everything they saw.

"Y'all need to remember this," she said. "This is why I've been saving all the newspaper articles for you. Someday you will tell your grandchildren about today. You will remember this day for the rest of your life."

After getting the full lecture from his grandma, the youngest boy looked up at me.

"Who are YOU gonna vote for?" he asked me.

"Well, who do you think I should vote for?" I replied.

He wrinkled up his nose and cocked his head back.

"Barack," he replied, his look suggesting that he would've added a "dumbass" to the end of that one word answer if his grandparents weren't around.

That's the power of today. Seeing the pride in the older folks, who probably thought today would never come, and then matching that with the faux shock on this kid's face, as if to wonder how there could ever be any doubt.

New guest post at PoP: Help! I have an ethical dilemma!

Keys I found
Originally uploaded by ericandkatherine

I have a new guest post at Prince of Petworth today, asking for help dealing with a dilemma that's dropped in my life over the past few weeks: what to do with a found set of keys.

Quote:

When I’ve asked others about what I should do, everyone first scolds me for picking them up in the first place. They say I should have just left them there, which is also no good. I mean, who is to say that the next person to happen across them would be so honest and neighborly. Who is to say they wouldn’t go around the neighborhood trying to stick the keys in every lock…and then steal the contents…and then spray paint a big “fuck you” on whatever they unlocked…and then it would all be my fault because I hadn’t picked up the stray keys.

Feel free to add in your 2 cents--or 2 keys--or whatever.

Here's the link to the full thing.

My latest (not so great) idea

No Facebook - Blessington St, St Kilda
Originally uploaded by avlxyz

Sometimes I get ideas in my head. Occasionally, I write them down.

Sometimes when the idea is half-baked, I work on it and flesh it out over time. Other times when it is half-baked, I publish it in book form.

Awhile back I'd been having some thoughts about something I witnessed on Facebook. So I started to write a piece that would express my thoughts about this incident.

I didn't finish it because I felt it was an interesting story, but was totally lacking in context and depth. (Which is an odd criticism for me to give myself, judging by the other things I have no problem publishing).

Then, a few weeks later, the New York Times magazine published a very similar story, complete with the depth and context that I never had time to put into my idea. Oh well.

My half-baked idea is below. The New York Times piece can be found here.

Unintended intimacies

I just found out that my friend Micki and her husband James are getting divorced. Micki and James aren't their real names--I'm trying to protect their identities. Micki and James don't seem nearly as concerned about this, as I read the news of their marriage's demise on Facebook.

It was a simple statement, sandwiched between headlines from other friends like "Peter just bought a car" and "Kalia is surburnt." It read: "Micki and James have ended their relationship" next to a small icon of a broken heart.

My question is--how do I deal with this?

Do I respond? Ignore it entirely? Should I write an email or is this something that merits a stop by her office for a chat? I'm at a total loss.

There is no clearer sign that you've grown distant from someone than if you have to start a conversation by asking what they've been up to. Friends are supposed to know these things or at least check in often enough to grab the important headlines. You try to care about the little things that make up their lives. Unfortunately, for me this is complicated by the fact that I'm a terrible friend. I forget birthdays. I can’t remember kids’ names. I don’t remember where they just went on vacation or what my friends’ husbands/wives/lovers do for a living. It isn’t that I don’t care, I just, well…I guess I'm just not good at it.