I made a radical decision a few weeks ago and then went through with it: I sold my record collection. Living in a one-bedroom apartment and co-habitating with 1,500 records, many of which had spent the better part of their lives in someone's dank and smelly basement was getting a little out of control. Apart from taking up so much space, the ever impending prospect of respiratory failure brought upon by ten tons of moldy vinyl made the decision much easier than I thought it would be. That and my friend John e-mailing me articles about the Collyer Brothers and their obsessive collecting habits, prompted me to make the move. As much as I love music, I didn't want to be found by the authorities crushed to death under boxes of vinyl records. Reading Jeffrey Deaver's new novel Broken Window a few weeks ago stuck in my mind too... an obsessive collector and hoarder kills to protect his collection. Could that be my fate? No! So braving hernia and heat stroke (there's nothing like a New Jersey summer for the paralyzing combination of air pollution, heat and humidity) I packed up the vinyl and took it to the Princeton Record Exchange, who promised me a sizable check in return for finding the records a good home. So while I miss some of the music I parted with (why is Ornette Coleman's Crisis still not available digitally?) I can now move around my apartment and breathe with some degree of alacrity. I still have all of my CD's (in vinyl sleeves to save space) and a good chunk of digital music from emusic and itunes. Parting is such sweet sorrow.
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