Unpatriotic

9/14/09 2008 & 2009 Portland Sea Dogs game programs, recycled

Got home after a long day and was ready to just mail it in, so to speak. With the graduate class I'm teaching scheduled for Monday nights, it's likely that my early week downsizes will be a bit lame from time to time.

I hadn't decided what to get rid of when I turned on Monday Night Football to watch the New England Patriots' season opener. I admit I have way too much sports memorabilia, much of it in the form of newspaper clippings and random articles. Thus, I thought I'd found the solution when I said to myself, "I'll go dig out some old Kennebec Journal with the Patriots on page 3 and toss it."

After fifteen minutes of searching, I am embarrassed at my utter disrespect for the Pats. Apparently, I have somehow been terribly lax in collecting Patriots news. Oh, I have several Sports Illustrated magazines with Patriot stories, but that's about it. Where are the papers from all those Super Bowls? Where's the love, Reed? Where's the love?

My head is hanging right now. I had to resort to tossing two Sea Dog yearbooks, a terribly weak substitute.

I would like to now use this platform to issue a public apology to owner Robert Kraft, all-around stud Tom Brady, and the entire Patriots organization. Just say the word, and I shall abandon the Downsizing Challenge and immediately set the new goal of acquiring one piece of Patriots paraphernalia every day for the next year.

But, you've got to break the news to Joanna.

When I'm not home.

Footloose

9/13/09 Pair of L.L. Bean hiking shoes, trashed

Editor's Note: This is the third and final installment of my "Appalachian Trail Thru-Hike 10-Year Anniversary" trilogy.

Hiking gear is paradoxical. On the one hand, I consider myself a total gear-hound. I love cool backpacking gadgets and new, high-tech solutions to the challenges man has faced in the outdoors for hundreds of thousands of years. Set me loose in any outfitter, and I can kill hours examining the capacity/weight ratio of packs or comparing the merits of water purifiers.

On the other hand, there's nothing like well-worn, wilderness-tested gear. My MSR WhisperLite stove is seventeen years old and works as well as it did the day I bought it. If necessary, I can field-strip the entire contraption, fix any problem, and reassemble it in the pouring rain in plenty of time to boil Ramen for dinner. New is cool, but old is even better as long as it still serves its purpose.

Today I finally had to admit that my most recent hiking shoes could no longer serve their purpose. They were ready for retirement. In the trash can. Those shoes got me up and down Mt. Katahdin yesterday (here's the Downsizing post, in case you missed it), but they are ripped, worn, and seriously stinky.

The trouble is, I'm notoriously bad about throwing away old hiking shoes, and terribly reluctant to spend more money on new ones. I long ago realized that I preferred lightweight, low ankle hiking shoes to traditional hiking boots. They are lighter, more comfortable, more versatile, and - yeah - cheaper. But, while a solid pair of hiking boots can last a decade or more, hiking shoes give up the ghost much quicker.

Yesterday's hike was an appropriate and glorious final act for my current pair of shoes, so I took them to the dump with me this morning. This has left me completely without a set of hiking shoes - a situation which would have totally prevented me from throwing them out in the days before this challenge.

However, I can now see that one great advantage of the Downsizing Challenge is that it brings needs clearly into focus. While I've needed new hiking shoes for over a year, I didn't come to grips with that fact because I could see my old pair sitting at the foot of the stairs, available for use. Now, that floor-space is empty, and my need is as obvious and ugly as my bare feet.

Ooohhh, I'm going to have some fun next time I go into L.L. Bean...

The Peaceful Warrior, ten years on

9/12/09 Two Nalgene water bottles, recycled

In 1999, a twenty-seven year old single guy quit his job, moved out of his Jersey apartment, and struck out to hike the Appalachian Trail, calling himself The Peaceful Warrior. The journey took four months and twenty-eight days, covered 2,156 miles, and ended on September 12 on top of Maine's highest peak, Mt. Katahdin. That journey is chronicled on a web page my late friend Vance created: Reed's AT Adventure.

Over the last ten years, a lot has changed. That guy has worked in three different schools, married a beautiful woman, bought a house, and relocated back to Maine. I'm him, of course, and I decided to mark this ten-year anniversary with a return hike up Mt. Katahdin.

In those ten years, some things have stayed the same. The mountain is still as big and tough to summit as ever. Without a doubt it's the hardest climb on the entire A.T. I also still have a great hiking buddy in the person of my Uncle Steve, who not only dusted off his hiking knees but also his trailname, Anchovy, for the trip. And, among the gear that again came along up the trail were my fleece shirt, trusty gaiters, and two old Nalgene bottles.

I'll return to the mountain again - hopefully not after another 10-year hiatus - but those bottles won't. They're full of all that lovely Bisphenol A (BPA) we've been warned about, and, more and more, I'm generally happy to get rid of anything that is contributing to the plastic-ization of our planet.

And, besides, the little plastic tab that kept the lids attached to the bottles had long ago broken on both of them. About the sixth time that Anchovy dropped the lid on the ground, he told me he was in "full support" of the bottles being downsized. I think well-worn, old hiking equipment is cool. But malfunctioning equipment that might give you cancer? Those bottles helped us through 10 hours of rugged trekking today, but now it's into the recycling bin for them.

As for the hike, it was unbelievable. I'd bet that there aren't a dozen days per year when the weather on Katahdin is as perfect as it was today. Sunny, mild, no breeze, and a view that was spectacular to the fifth power.

The Peaceful Warrior and Anchovy still have a little kick left in 'em. With any luck, that won't change for quite some time.

Redemption

9/11/09 Ten-year old Samuel Adams beer bottle, redeemed for 5 cents

What kind of a man keeps an empty beer bottle for ten years?

On the afternoon of September 12, 1999, I completed a 2,156 mile hike from Georgia to Maine along the Appalachian Trail. The sky was crystal clear and the view from Mt. Katahdin was, to sound cliche, breathtaking. With my parents and sister cheering me on, I reached the summit of the mountain, took the obligatory pictures, and then sat down for a well-deserved beer.

I have many mementos of that thru-hike, but that beer bottle has probably been the most visible. While most things are stuffed away in boxes, the bottle has resided on the corner of my desk in our guest room since we moved to Maine. It's unremarkable, of course, but stood as a quiet marker to an accomplishment of which I remain very proud.

An incredible stroke of luck placed the ten-year anniversary of the completion of my hike on a Saturday, so after school today I hopped into the car and headed north to Baxter State Park. I met up with my uncle and dedicated hiking partner Steve - Trail Name: Anchovy - at the Best Value Motor Inn in Millinocket, and tomorrow we shall climb Maine's highest peak.

I decided it would be appropriate to finally bid farewell to the Sam Adams bottle on the eve of my anniversary hike. And, the name of the redemption center where I relinquished the token? Payne's Redemption. I'm not with Joanna tonight, but I know she's laughing. Her last name is Payne, and, one could say, the Downsizing Challenge has largely been inspired by her example. My own redemption through Payne. And, just a little pain.

I told my story, handed over the bottle, and the guy at the shop laughed as he dropped a nickle in my hand.

"So, now you gonna put the nickle on your desk?" he said. "You gave up the bottle but now you've got the nickle."

No, I won't fall into that trap. I already spent the nickle, deliberately using it when I bought dinner on the drive north.

Does the Downsizing Challenge lead to some form of redemption? In small ways, there are moments when it feels like it does. On this date, eight years after the World Trade Center came crashing down as I taught kindergarteners a subway-ride away, it's worth pondering how we can find redemption for that which is not yet right.

Getting rid of a memento won't do that, but taking on a year-long challenge, climbing a mountain, or facing our most troubling national tragedy might be steps in the right direction.

Tape delayed

9/10/09 Four blank videocassettes, donated to Guy E. Rowe Elementary School

Today I did something utterly radical and terrifying.

At least for me.

I took every single blank VHS tape I owned (turns out there were four), trucked them to school, and donated them to the shelf where our AV equipment is housed. (In public education, such antiques are not only still used, but often in short supply.)

Giving away these tapes was not emotionally easy. What if I need to tape a TV show? We don't have TiVo, folks. We ain't got no DVR. This is the Great White North. If I don't catch a show live, there's a chance my window of opportunity has closed forever.

Well, as they sing in old movies, "Que Sera, Sera."

Actually, I see it as an interesting moment in the history of technology. In my lifetime, VHS overtook Betamax, became the entertainment centerpiece of every American household, and then slowly slid into obsolescence. Oh, how the mighty fall. (By the way, check out this cool Visual History of Video Recorders. Makes me long for the good ol' days.)

My camcorder records on HD tapes and my computer burns DVDs, so I must admit that the recordable VHS cassettes really serve no purpose. I haven't taped a show since I was really into My Name is Earl over a year ago, so these are just plastic paperweights, taking up valuable oxygen space.

And so, I'm letting go. It's not without trepidation that I shall try to live without this little safety-net, forever in fear that some important TV event will happen when I can't be there to see it live.

But, please understand, that if I can't be home for some serious Must-See TV, I'm calling you up, and you better TiVo it for me.

The colonization of my mind

9/9/09 Two bootleg videotapes, trashed

In college, my senior thesis was entitled The Ideology of Colonialism. It was an analysis of three movies and three texts, and how they all portrayed colonization as, primarily, an act of mental subjugation. In other words, if you want to colonize an area, the most important thing to do is convince whoever is already there that you're the boss.

Yeah, it's a real page-turner. I have one of two existing copies if you'd like to read it.

Pondering this weighty, intellectual idea (as I so often do as I sip sherry while lounging in my smoking jacket), I can see links to the Downsizing Challenge. The reason we hang onto 99% of the stuff we've got isn't because we truly need it, use it, or even gain some measurable benefit from it. The reason we hang onto most stuff is that we've attached some high mental value to it. All these possessions have colonized our minds, convincing us that they're indispensable.

One of the main goals of this year is to learn how to throw off the shackles and toss out the oppressors.

Power to the people!

Which brings me to two videotapes that I've been hauling around for fifteen years: Apocalypse Now and Blade Runner. First, let's take a moment to celebrate how totally awesome both of those flicks are.

Here's your Blade Runner moment: CLICK HERE

Here's your Apocalypse Now moment:CLICK HERE

They were two of the three cinematic masterpieces I used in my thesis. (The other was Gandhi. Here's your Gandhi moment: CLICK HERE.) I watched these particular VHS copies dozens of times back in 1993-94. I don't know how I didn't wear them out fast-forwarding, rewinding, and watching scenes over and over, transcribing every word. Wow, if DVDs had been around back then, my life would have been a lot simpler.

Of course, DVDs are around now, and, unbelievably, I've had both of those movies on DVD for many years. Why, then, am I holding onto these old VHS copies?!? (Please note they they were copies, not even factory-produced movies!)

Clearly, I've been brainwashed.

However, like Captain Williard and Rick Deckard before me, I'm not going down without a fight. Those two tapes are now at the bottom of my trash can, and I'm feeling just a little bit freer.

Or, maybe that's a figment of my imagination...

Sub-scribing, part two

9/8/09 Two issues of Sports Illustrated, sent to Boston for autographs (hopefully!)

As mentioned on Sunday, I have quite a collection of Beantown-themed Sports Illustrated back-issues. The idea, of course, is that I shall spend my golden years thumbing through these historical documents, reminiscing about the grand achievements of my favorite teams. Long live vicarious victories!

Then it occurred to me that it would be even cooler if I could get my athletic heroes to sign the covers on which they are pictured. How likely is it that a professional athlete will sign a magazine that I send to them? A question worth exploring.

Honestly, I've been reluctant to send off any of the mags precisely because I figured it was unlikely I'd ever get them back. However, the Downsizing Challenge is all about embracing my fear of letting go.

Today, I let go of two magazines I've had since 2007. I mailed them off to the Boston Red Sox, care of Beckett and Dice-K. Will they return signed? My fingers are crossed.

Now, for those of you who are about to protest that if they come back I will not have truly downsized them, I beg to differ. Today, I got rid of two old copies of a popular magazine. If they do come back signed, they will be something totally different: One-of-a-kind sports memorabilia. Those would be worth saving.