It's time to dejunk the house.
First on this dejunking agenda is the CD collection. This collection, my fine blogging brood, is my only collection. Well... besides shoes. And coats. And yarn. And canned beans. And dust bunnies. And wheat.
It has taken many years and thousands of dollars to form this hold-it-in-your-paws CD collection. This collection is housed in fancy matching towers handcrafted from the finest wood found in China. Being as tunes are no longer held in the paws, it's time to import them all into the Library of Brutus (that's the mePod's mothership) and pack the plastic cases away. Fer good.
Trouble is, I'm have trouble. Double trouble.
I am looking at some of these dinosaur CDs and wondering, Should I? I mean, is it worth the space on the hard drive? Will I listen to it? Worse, will I cower in shame should someone see that I wasted valuable seconds RIPing that baby onto this Brutus, this 21st century listening device of choice?
The first of many Should Is is this one:
I'm feeling like I shan't. Prolly go in the garbage with the Foreigner and the Kansas and the REO Speedwagon. Those early 80s booger soled rock stars are just blah.
Kiss on the other hand? Oh yeah. We will have Kiss. Except for that Beth I Hear You Calling song. Reminds me of the Older Bro's Prom. Ick.
(I also have a vinyl collection. But that is for another day. Or year. Whatever. On second thought, maybe never. It's quite the Jim Morrison, Robert Plant, Ian Anderson, Bon Jovi Shrine. Yes. I have Bon Jovi on the vinyl media. Don't tell anyone.)