There's some spring cleaning going on the Gramercy Bunker. I have some furniture coming in from a friend who has to turn her guest bedroom into...you guessed it...a nursery for her papoose. That said, I have a new bed, bookshelves and an armoire en route.
In order to welcome my new arrivals, I've been gutting the apartment. Like a liquidation sale at a sleazy electronics store, everything must go. The fake potted tree, the clothes that date back to 2001, the cheesey framed art whose origins I don't know. Even my lumpy mattresss...out the door.
My extensive collection of books is also being pruned, mostly because I woke up a few days ago and felt surrounded, outnumbered, if you will, by the written word. I packed up as many as I could and for the past few days I've been bringing sackfulls down to The Strand. I tried giving them to the local library, but they wouldn't take them. Something about not having enough space? So, off to The Strand they went, and in went money in my pocket. So far I've made $40 in pocket money, all for doing nothing. That's my kind of income.
The thing about getting rid of things, such as books, is that you remember where they came from. As I tossed a copy of James Joyce's Ulysses into the bag, I remembered when I bought it in 2000, thinking I would do something smart for my brain and actually read the thing. No such luck. I got rid of all the chick lit that was lingering, dusty, in the bookcases. There must someone who will appreciate them more than me.
Naturally, some books stayed. I kept all my books about diamonds, because I've been totally into them for the past year or so. (Le Doug knows all too well about this.) By diamonds, I don't mean what's new at Harry Winston, I mean the searching for and mining of diamonds. Blame Tom for this new interest. I kept all the media and news books, since I have to teach that subject. Any signed books also stayed, because they might be worth something someday.
One thing that is staying is my original A Chorus Line poster from the 1980s. You'll have to pry that my from cold, dead hands.
In case you'd like a video, and who wouldn't, here is selection of clips from one of my favorite shows, Clean House. It inspired me not to live, as Niecy Nash would say, in foolishness.
