Okay, kids. A joke’s a joke, but enough’s enough.
Somebody out there is making mock of old Uncle Blogsy. Or maybe Uncle Blogsy was correct when he stated that May was going to be a Smurf Singalong kind of month.
I can deal with boxes of old computer game discs. I can deal with computer game discs that are still shrinkwrapped into their container. And I can even deal with the discovery that someone has let these game discs sit around until they have become Valuable First Editions.
What I can’t really cope with is the knowledge that these vintage computer games, which are now in Revival Mode because they have been Rediscovered are all from AFTER MY TIME. Pong: that’s a collectible antique. Tetris is a new game, isn’t it? (Yes, I have an unopened copy of the original 1987 Tetris, and the 1989 Blockout, and even Shufflepuck Café, which I find is a game in which you play air hockey against aliens in an interstellar nightclub. But you knew that from reading Antiques magazine, right?)
Somebody has donated the family collection of records. It was a real family project, too. How long did it take you to make sure there were two discs in every jacket? Did it really save you that much space to throw away half the jackets? Was it that much more convenient to have all your Buck Owens discs in the same one? But I applaud your ingenuity in safeguarding your 12-inch 78s by putting them in other jackets from which you had discarded the 33s that came in them. That means I have roughly one-fourth of your records in the jackets they were meant to be in, and the other three-fourths jacketless save for these jackets that are missing their records. That’s a LOT of labor on your part. Don’t you think that earns them a permanent place in your home instead of being subjected to the kind of language Uncle Blogsy will use as he tries to sort it all out?
Did I mention the lady who ran out of bags to pack books in and, instead of running to the store for a banana box like any sensible person, decided she could do without a paisley pillowcase? I was wondering what I was going to do with a paisley pillowcase, but then someone brought me this huge box of books from the attic. It had to be huge because under all the books they had packed a pillow. I take this as a sign that I was meant to take more naps at work.
Oh sure, salmon shortbread, it was a coincidence. But later that day I had a call to come get a few things the library decided it didn’t need for the collection, and in THAT box, someone had packed a blanket. Now, Uncle Blogsy wants it plainly understood that the Book Fair does NOT accept donations of pajamas, and he doesn’t need any slippers (The concrete floor gets cold sometimes, but, as a matter of fact, there was a pair of moccasins in one of last week’s boxes.)
But if you want to donate a good, solid, industrial strength hammock, I’ll just have to bow to the inevitable and fix up a little book fair bedroom where I can sip Diet Dr. Nehi in the evenings as I play my Smurf albums and knit sweaters for all the records without jackets. I may even learn how to play Shuffelpuck Café.