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The Honolulu Advertiser
Posted on: Monday, February 24, 2003

ABOUT MEN
When you're a guy, you know how to tell 'stuff' from 'junk'

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By Mike Gordon
Advertiser Staff Writer

The other day I rebuilt an old plastic storage shed for my garage. I bored out the holes where the hinge pins are placed and then made larger pins from sprinkler pipe.

It was the kind of salvage job I love to do, turning something battered into something of use, and the bonus was that I now had a place to hide away Mrs. G's towering shrine to house painting.

I've never been accused of being a neat-freak. But after walking past that stack of paint cans, thinner, tarps and roller pans for more than a year — and calling it an eyesore for roughly the same time — the ability to finally conceal it left me giddy.

The laughter quickly died in my throat.

I was putting away my tools, each one in its place in the storage closet, when I noticed something.

I had a lot of stuff in there. I don't think I had thrown anything away for years.

The variety was impressive, though.

An old garden hose. A bucket filled with scrap lumber and sprinkler pipe. A few bicycle rims, one of them with a tire and tube. A vise.

There were peanut-butter jars filled with nuts and bolts, screws, nails, wall fasteners, picture hangers, the extra stuff I used to build the gate, colored electrical wire caps, and an old combination lock — and I'm sure I will remember the combination if I ever need to use it.

Some of the stuff was new, but a lot of it had come off old things I had dismantled. In my mind, I envisoned using it on some far off day, a day when some extra part or screw or whatever would turn a failing repair job into victory.

It's often said that acknowledging the problem is the first step to recovery — "Hello, my name is Mike and I am a pack rat" — but I don't want to recover.

I like my stuff. I like all of it. And it's all my stuff.

Maybe this is a man thing. We hunt, gather, salvage — and then cling to every scrap. But lots of women hang on to things, too.

My father-in-law used to say — and if you can imagine pidgin with a New Jersey accent, you'll get the idea — that "a garage is a place for a man to keep his stuffs."

He called his stuffs "the archives." His wife called it something else.

Mrs. G. doesn't live like this. A fairly organized woman, she has a simple stuff-management philosophy: If you use it, keep it handy. If you don't use it, throw it away.

My habits have always challenged this credo. She can't understand why I keep old magazines on my dresser. She has an even harder time with the items in my "junk drawer," except for the piece of concrete from Route 66 and the only first-place ribbon I won in high school track.

I am a pack rat, and proud of it.

Maybe I grew up starved for possessions. Maybe I didn't get enough toy soldiers for Christmas (or maybe Mrs. G. got too many Barbies). Maybe I had so many things that I got used to that lifestyle and can't let go.

Who cares, really? I like it. Besides, all this stuff isn't a bad thing. It's just junk.

My junk.

Reach Mike Gordon at mgordon@honoluluadvertiser.com or 525-8012.