Possessed By The God Of Throwing Crap Out

I spent the entire weekend preparing to move. I keep giving books away, either to Julie, or to the library for their book sale. I actually have shelves now that have nothing on them! Then yesterday, it occured to me that if I were to just throw out all the jewel cases for my CDs, that would be something like 3 less boxes I would have to move. So that's what I did. The recovering audiophile in me is absolutely horrified by that, but the much more pragmatic rest of me, the part of me that would actually have to carry the boxes, ignored it. My feeling is that any information that is provided by the CD booklet -- production notes, lyrics, track listing -- will be readily available online. And frankly, most CD art is just not that good. (The good CD art -- Roxy Music CDs, Pet Shop Boys orange lego jewel case version of Very, most of the boxed sets I have -- I didn't throw away.) So now I just have a giant binder full of CDs, and a whole lot less that I have to worry about moving. And I feel good about it. Still have not convinced myself that the DVDs should receive the same treatment, but give it time. I'll probably be culling through my comic books soon, too. I am currently possessed by the God of Throwing Crap Out: the time has come to divest myself of stuff.

My parents lowered the price of the house, and now they are showing the house a lot more, at really inconvienant times, like 9:00AM on Saturday, 7:30PM on a weekday, etick. This is very annoying, and does little to dispel my growing animosity towards realtors in general. Especially since our candy-a$$ed realtor suddenly is telling my mom to get rid of her potting bench, because it distracts from the view. I told her that if he wants it moved, he can come over and do it himself. Somehow, I think that a potting bench on the deck has very little to do with why the house hasn't sold yet.

I watched Elektra with Julie and Mike on Sunday. Now, I knew that it was going to be bad -- Daredevil was so bad, that even my mom was making fun of it. But the movie wasn't good-bad: there was nothing to make fun of, ala The Bat, or any movie starring the Rock. We just kept asking each other what the hell was going on in the movie, and lamenting that we weren't just watching Alias DVDs instead. Why did the ninjas turn to dust when defeated? How come nobody had a name? Are we to believe that you can commit suicide just by turning your head really fast and breaking your neck? Were the writers paid for this crap? This movie proves that nothing becomes Elektra.