Pack rats come in all variations. The reasons they cannot part with items are as varied as the reasons we acquire them.I myself find no attachment to items that are collectable or fiscally valuable.
Like many others, I hesitate at the trashcan, overwhelmed by memories, afraid to toss an old ticket stub or receipt away, fearing that the moments that they revive will fall into the bin with them. Tonight, while reorganizing the makeshift closet space in my one room apartment, I piled various items of clothing on the kitchen floor, intending to part with them forever, but knowing that I still had an opportunity to gather them up and safely stow them away.
As I completed the reordering, it became time to tackle the mess on the kitchen, and I paused. It occurred to me that this website is partially my effort to record my life as it moves from present to past, storing the friends and memories in a neat stackable fashion, able to be recalled at any moment. I chose to, in my very small way, immortalize these garments as a Pic of the Day so that I could unremorsefully send them to the magic landfill beyond the rivers.
Examining the clothes, I start with the Urban Fetch t-shirt and work my way around. That shirt is a true souvenir for someone who saw the beginning and end of Silicon Alley, New York’s contribution to the Internet boom. When I look at it, I remember when we sincerely thought we would all be rich and Urban Fetch would deliver our dreams to us at any hour–if your dreams were movies, snacks, or condoms. They gave away thousands of these shirts with their deliveries and I went an entire summer without failing to see one daily on some young urbanite. The day I had a tube of Pringles and a DVD brought to my office and the order didn’t include the customary free pack of cookies, I had a hint that those cyber Gal Fridays were not long for this world. Their closing was a URL that said thanks, forwarded to me by the same coworker that had sent me the original link. I have two, so this one can go.
At the top, a t-shirt bears my older brother Jerry’s mug and a thus ironic tagline. The logo says “Angst” which was a brand name for a t-shirt company that I wanted to create. Other than this shirt, it never made it beyond bar conversation.
Beneath Big Brother is a Hebrew Budweiser shirt, purchased in Israel for me by a former friend. We fought over a car ride once and have never spoken since. I love Bud and live in New York which has a very large Jewish population so it served as a conversation piece on multiple levels. Its stretched collar flagged it for the heap.
The faded shirt to the upper right did have an iron-on Star Wars logo, identical to what we wore in second grade. I’m more than willing to discard my retro phase, but the shirt was purchased on impulse for me by my parents at the Nittany Mall in State College, PA, and this had saved it before. The pit stains are what dooms it tonight.
Speaking of pit stains, “Party ’til You Puke” has them aplenty as does the man pictured. A college friend had fifty of these made for his, Butch Gaffney’s, surprise birthday party back in ’94. Someone told me deodorant causes pit stains. I must embarrassedly admit I get them in my t-shirts and I’d love to prevent them. Maybe they are caused by eight years of alcoholic sweat. I have one more of these, less tarnished, so this one can go.
Sky blue Old Navy with the contrasting cuffs and collar; this was destined for disposal at the moment of purchase. It does look very contrived slovenly over a long underwear top, but it is cut to show the belly button and I prefer to hide mine. Plus, pit stains.
“Coronary Artery Bypass” was a gag gift for my great uncle after he had his. A normally agreeable man, he found the joke in poor taste and gave the shirt to me. Later, I told him that all my friends thought “Coronary Artery Bypass” was an obscure punk band and he appreciated the good from the bad and the change of meaning. I think he hoped that the gifter would see me in the shirt and be properly affronted. My hair was a different color at the time.
Not to be missed is the pile of pleated Gap khakis that have undeservingly hogged drawer space since ’96. I kept them around in case I changed the oil of my car, painted my room, or attended any 80’s parties. I hate 80’s parties and have plenty of other clothes that could handle some paint or oil, so the pleats go back to the hell from whence they came. Still, no other item could bring back 9th grade quite as clearly as these did.
Finishing off the pile are two identical pairs of ratty boxers. I have no idea where these came from, but I know where they are going. Take note that nice boxers are always a useful gift as I wear underwear on most weekdays.
It’s hard to get rid of such quality items. Growing up, my family had the “rag bag” for these things to retire in, later to be used for changing the oil or painting. Living in an apartment, I can’s spare the space, so away with these antiquated trappings. I couldn’t make their memories follow them, even if I tried.
Pack rats come in all variations. The reasons they cannot part with items are as varied as the reasons we acquire them.I myself find no attachment to items that are collectable or fiscally valuable.
Like many others, I hesitate at the trashcan, overwhelmed by memories, afraid to toss an old ticket stub or receipt away, fearing that the moments that they revive will fall into the bin with them. Tonight, while reorganizing the makeshift closet space in my one room apartment, I piled various items of clothing on the kitchen floor, intending to part with them forever, but knowing that I still had an opportunity to gather them up and safely stow them away.
As I completed the reordering, it became time to tackle the mess on the kitchen, and I paused. It occurred to me that this website is partially my effort to record my life as it moves from present to past, storing the friends and memories in a neat stackable fashion, able to be recalled at any moment. I chose to, in my very small way, immortalize these garments as a Pic of the Day so that I could unremorsefully send them to the magic landfill beyond the rivers.
Examining the clothes, I start with the Urban Fetch t-shirt and work my way around. That shirt is a true souvenir for someone who saw the beginning and end of Silicon Alley, New York’s contribution to the Internet boom. When I look at it, I remember when we sincerely thought we would all be rich and Urban Fetch would deliver our dreams to us at any hour–if your dreams were movies, snacks, or condoms. They gave away thousands of these shirts with their deliveries and I went an entire summer without failing to see one daily on some young urbanite. The day I had a tube of Pringles and a DVD brought to my office and the order didn’t include the customary free pack of cookies, I had a hint that those cyber Gal Fridays were not long for this world. Their closing was a URL that said thanks, forwarded to me by the same coworker that had sent me the original link. I have two, so this one can go.
At the top, a t-shirt bears my older brother Jerry’s mug and a thus ironic tagline. The logo says “Angst” which was a brand name for a t-shirt company that I wanted to create. Other than this shirt, it never made it beyond bar conversation.
Beneath Big Brother is a Hebrew Budweiser shirt, purchased in Israel for me by a former friend. We fought over a car ride once and have never spoken since. I love Bud and live in New York which has a very large Jewish population so it served as a conversation piece on multiple levels. Its stretched collar flagged it for the heap.
The faded shirt to the upper right did have an iron-on Star Wars logo, identical to what we wore in second grade. I’m more than willing to discard my retro phase, but the shirt was purchased on impulse for me by my parents at the Nittany Mall in State College, PA, and this had saved it before. The pit stains are what dooms it tonight.
Speaking of pit stains, “Party ’til You Puke” has them aplenty as does the man pictured. A college friend had fifty of these made for his, Butch Gaffney’s, surprise birthday party back in ’94. Someone told me deodorant causes pit stains. I must embarrassedly admit I get them in my t-shirts and I’d love to prevent them. Maybe they are caused by eight years of alcoholic sweat. I have one more of these, less tarnished, so this one can go.
Sky blue Old Navy with the contrasting cuffs and collar; this was destined for disposal at the moment of purchase. It does look very contrived slovenly over a long underwear top, but it is cut to show the belly button and I prefer to hide mine. Plus, pit stains.
“Coronary Artery Bypass” was a gag gift for my great uncle after he had his. A normally agreeable man, he found the joke in poor taste and gave the shirt to me. Later, I told him that all my friends thought “Coronary Artery Bypass” was an obscure punk band and he appreciated the good from the bad and the change of meaning. I think he hoped that the gifter would see me in the shirt and be properly affronted. My hair was a different color at the time.
Not to be missed is the pile of pleated Gap khakis that have undeservingly hogged drawer space since ’96. I kept them around in case I changed the oil of my car, painted my room, or attended any 80’s parties. I hate 80’s parties and have plenty of other clothes that could handle some paint or oil, so the pleats go back to the hell from whence they came. Still, no other item could bring back 9th grade quite as clearly as these did.
Finishing off the pile are two identical pairs of ratty boxers. I have no idea where these came from, but I know where they are going. Take note that nice boxers are always a useful gift as I wear underwear on most weekdays.
It’s hard to get rid of such quality items. Growing up, my family had the “rag bag” for these things to retire in, later to be used for changing the oil or painting. Living in an apartment, I can’s spare the space, so away with these antiquated trappings. I couldn’t make their memories follow them, even if I tried.
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