I am surrounded by junk. Like most men, it's not so much that I collect things, it is that I decline to show due diligence in their timely disposal.
It has gotten so bad that when I see a sign for a Garage Sale, I am tempted to buy it, meaning the garage. I could use another one for storage space.
My wife has more things around than I do, but they are things with a purpose. Her tons of books and magazines can be reread, artwork and homework from the kids has sentimental value, and the sundry bags of fabric and other raw materials I trip over occasionally are intended for various crafts and projects. This is "stuff" rather than true "junk."
Why do men keep junk? I have several theories. First, our frugal (read cheap) instinct tells us that just about anything might be worth something or at least come in handy some day. This fallacy is given further credence by televised antique appraisal shows that give the impression that all of us are sitting on a gold mine that just has to be discovered and properly appreciated.
Well sir. Constance here has been begging me to throw out this old beer stein for many a year. What's it worth, son?
Well Merle. This appears to be the mug that George Washington drank from when he said goodbye to his troops. It even still has a few wood chips in it from his teeth. Looks like you're a rich man, Merle.
Yee ha1x
In the real world, of course, it's tough enough to get fifty cents for something when you try to sell it at a yard sale. So, forget the money part. As for coming in handy, men don't appreciate the concept of obsolescence. In his shed, my father has spare tires for cars that are no longer on the road, any road. I have a friend who still has 8-track tapes with no means of playing them. As for me, in a world in which my son's generation finds last season's video games passé, I have boxes full of hideously graphics-challenged games from the seventies. (Donkey Kong anyone?)
Another junk-keeping rationalization is that we men have our own sentimental streak for certain keepsakes, although a highly personalized one, not easily appreciated by our intimates, including other men. Though I still cherish a picture with a paw print from Lady Greyhound and other souvenirs from the 1964 New York World's Fair, I sense my descendants will not. I might as well bury it all in the backyard, a booby prize for future treasure hunters with homage paid to the Time Capsule tradition.
Lastly, there are those things that we are given as presents which we don't like that get put up in the attic for aging until they are safely out of style or warp from the heat and can now be thrown out with less guilt. This delay tactic is also employed for shorter-term goals such as getting rid of lousy tasting food:
Phew1x This has been in the refrigerator for quite a while. Better throw it out1x
Let's reminisce, guys. We can learn more about the history of
