My name is Liz. I need direction. I overuse commas, my house is a mess, my hair needs a trim and I have no marketable skills: It's fun here, you'll see!

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August 23rd, 2011

The Great Room Purge of 2011 (Part 3)

It’s baaaack! Inspired by a Sunday full of cleaning, I’ve decided to continue purging the room in my parents house that my stuff has been occupying. This time, it’s the Odd N’ Ends Edition!

Whatever you call them — Odds, Ends, Trinkets, Cherished Mementos, Flotsam or Crap — I’ve got loads. And loads. And I can’t seem to part with everything because it was, at one point, like totally important to me and my image.

For instance:

Yes. Two postcards, one of which is a penis joke. As you can tell by the holes, I hung these proudly in my room, as if to say, “This is me. This is who I am. Lover of fine acting and fine wee wee humor.”

Confession: I think I’d watched about 90 total minutes of Al Pacino doing anything at that point in my life. I bought the postcard along with several others from a gift shop on Hollywood Boulevard. (Incidentally, that was the last time I ever went to Hollywood Boulevard willingly.) I believe the collection also included a still of Bruce Willis in “Last Man Standing,” which I watched for the first time in my life last June.

What we learned here is that I was a humungous idiot in high school. Who was I trying to impress? Only about five people ever came over, and they already knew who I was. I wasn’t a film buff! I liked explosions and people falling down. Al Pacino isn’t known for his pratfalls, guys.

So that was the “me” I tried to market to my public. The real me was hidden away in drawers.

Drawers full of stationary “gems” that I found at a Korean school supply store.

I don’t know what failed cartoon series “Bobdog” is from, but I have five of these. And, when you open them, they play “Happy Birthday” in six keys at once. I remember buying them, thinking, “I’ll save one for me and give the rest to my most special friends!” But, when an occasion that might have called for giving a special friend a card arose, I couldn’t bare to part with them. Even though there are, remember, five of them. Now they’re all back at my apartment, sitting in a box with the rest of my unfortunately translated paper goods. I feel much calmer knowing they’re near me.

I never said I was healthy.

Underneath those, I found this, stuck to the inside of the drawer.


I can’t explain that one. But I think we all know the answer to the question.

I can also barely explain this:

For those of you who don’t know, Pala is an Indian Casino. I went there once in college and ended up signing up for the “Privileges” card. I think that just meant I could use it in the machines instead of actual money. But it felt fancy, particularly because it came with a lanyard. Nothing says “class” like using a card that you carry around your neck to play nickle slots.

I also found a pile of my old computer games from the mid-90’s. I lovingly picked up the box for The Secret of Monkey Island, and opened it to find this:

I wasn’t there for this, but I know exactly how it happened. My mom began writing a list of things she needed at the store, but realized that she also needed to take the garbage out, start the dishwasher and take something out of the oven. “Louis,” she asked my brother, “will you finish writing this list with me?” She handed him the piece of paper, and went about her business, spouting off additional grocery items. When she was finished, she wiped her hands on her apron and went to examine the list. Eggs, bread, and dinner.

And a motorcyclist being attacked by a killer steamroller being attacked by a robot being attacked by a UFO being attacked by a fighter jet. A Louis Cole Original.

So I hope you see that it’s not what you hang on your wall that defines you, but the shit you cram into boxes and drawers. Thank you.

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