Behind the Ironic Column

According to Andy Warhol, we all get 15 minutes of fame.  I’m not sure that actually pencils out but it’s a nice generalization.  These days what I’m getting instead is 15 minutes of shredding.  Perhaps that’s a kind of fame but I really don’t think so.

As you already know, I’ve been sorting through boxes and bales of papers and files – doing my best to go ahead and remove those that have no reason for being.  Of course some of these things are indeed records of financial transactions and can’t just be tossed into the recycler without considering what could go wrong.  If I still lived in the country, I could burn them in the back yard.  I can even picture consigning them to the flames – much more evocative than feeding a little shredder machine.  I’m quickly growing to dislike the new one (having recklessly burned up the first one) – its sound is more annoying than the one I had originally.  Some of that could be just because I’m listening to it more often. 

I decided there was no way I could stand to go through these boxes and shred for hours at a time – so I’ve sorted out things that *don’t* need to be shredded and left the others in their boxes.  So every day I shred for at least 15 minutes.  You can get rid of an enormous amount in 15 minutes – so I can see a dent in the pile of shreddables.  Eventually this box will be empty and I can go on to one of the other hydra-heads.  Hindsight being ever so much better than any other form of wisdom, I can see that I should have paid somebody to torch the whole storage place (just kidding – arson is not on my agenda).  

I have found a few interesting things – and definitely reminders of people and places that were back in the dim recesses of memory.  I’m not sure if it helps me to be reminded or not – today there was a canceled check written to a woman who used to be my apartment building manager.  It was a Christmas gift in 1982 – and she’s been dead now for years.  She was only the manager there for a short while and, if I’d been asked, I probably wouldn’t have remembered that she worked there at all.  Still, I recognized the name when I saw it – so my memory isn’t completely gone.

And now that my shift is over, I can go on to pleasanter projects – like that new mystery I just bought.

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