One of the pieces of furniture I have owned the longest is a skinny stack of wooden drawers that looks like it could have come from a library’s card catalog section. I use the cabinet to store my CDs, almost all of which I acquired during the 1990s.
Basically, the whole setup is a Russian nesting doll of obsolescence, with several layers of outmoded stuff—card catalogs, CDs, my musical tastes—encasing one another.
I know everybody else got rid of their CDs long ago, but I have kept this remnant. Well, okay, and I also have a selection of Americana and indie albums gathered in a wire basket sitting on a small bookcase in the bedroom. But that’s it.
The card-catalog thing, which I believe came from the Pottery Barn, houses my original cast recordings and other Broadway-adjacent works. There’s quite a bit of Streisand.
Since I still listen to my CDs on a regular basis, I don’t see why I should give them up. Several people I know evidently consider this position laughable, but isn’t derision toward older technology just a sign that you’ve fallen for the capitalist conspiracy to keep us buying new products?
I’m reminded of the time during college when I felt a hot burst of shame upon hearing this guy Jeff describe the size of my cell phone. He was speaking to a third party, and his tone was mocking, for it was an era of tiny devices and I still used a clunky Nokia. Heaven knows why I cared what Jeff thought.
On a later occasion, I ran into Jeff’s best friend at a party, and I told her—I had been drinking—that she was okay except for one big flaw: Jeff. But looking back, I really can’t recall anything he did to me that was so objectionable, except for making that cell-phone remark. Probably doesn’t justify my being rude to his friend.
I mean, yes, Jeff’s overall demeanor was snotty, but that’s not an unpardonable sin. In fact, some gay gays have a certain brand of snottiness—the pouty and petulant sort—that I actually find sexy.
Wait a second. Did I have a thing for Jeff all along?
Not that it would have worked out between us, mind you. He would have long ago made me get rid of my outdated CDs, and such demands would have eventually bred resentment and discord.
Fortunately, I ended up with a spouse who hesitates to throw out anything. Which also sometimes breeds resentment, to tell you the truth. Must we keep, for instance, our Golden Girls DVDs for all eternity? I love that show as much as the next queer, but we don’t even own a DVD player anymore.
And don’t try to tell me this is anything like my Streisand CDs, ‘cause I still listen to those. The Golden Girls DVDs are just, what, sentimental objets d’art at this point? After that clunky Nokia stopped working properly, I didn’t preserve it in order to display the item on a shelf. I disposed of the phone—as much as it pained me to lose forever my high score in Snake, the only video game I have ever been good at.
Far be it from me to be as ruthless as the sexy-snotty Jeffs of the world when it comes to jettisoning the past. But, on the other hand, there is something to be said for maintaining a relatively clutter-free living space.
Indirect Objects 