Shred this

Telecasters, gnarly waves and skateboards are just a few of things the word shred applies to. But this past weekend, I decided to finally get off my fat yet supple ass and go shred classic: documents.

The IRS, those friendly government folk who have their hands in your paycheck every two weeks, suggest keeping your tax returns forever, and the backup documents and receipts for seven years before getting rid of them.

Well, never let it be said I can’t take direction. In the cabinets above my son’s closet were accordian files and boxes filled with receipts for every year going back to 1995, and actual tax returns going back even further.

You do the math. Never mind, I’ll do it for you. That’s 26 years and then some.

It was a chore I’d been putting off, because frankly every time I’d look at my little personal shredder I could see it trying really hard not to make eye contact with me. It was like it was in the front row at an improv show when they were asking for volunteers.

Also, it never could’ve handled it. The motor overheats after about five minutes of straight shredding, and the tiny bin fills up fast and has to be emptied over and over and over.

After sorting out what I was going to keep—the most recent ten years worth—I decided to have the rest of it one and done by calling a professional shredding company. A quick search on Yelp, and I landed on PFS Shredding. In a word, they were awesome.

The truck you see above pulled up to the house. Immediately all the neighbors started wondering what secrets I had that were so important I had to hire a professional to do my shredding. I imagine the international spy theories were flying fast and furious—something I'm accustomed to given how similar Daniel Craig and I are built.

Or maybe they thought I was part of the last administration, just tiding up the paper trail before leaving the White House.

Anyway, my new best friend Mark, who owns PFS, rolled that trash bin up to my front door, and I emptied my boxes and folders full of papers into it. He rolled it back to the truck, where it was lifted and dumped into the shredder.

There’s a camera inside the truck, and I got to watch all my documents being shredded on that screen to the left of the bin elevator. I can’t adequately express the thrill of see decades of papers turned into confetti so fast. 26 years of documents were shredded in three minutes.

Also, PFS was out to my house within two hours of my call. So yes, the minute he left I wrote him a stellar Yelp review.

Now I’m on a complete tear. Every piece of paper and receipt I don’t need from now on is going into a box, and when I have enough I’m calling Mark again and having him bring his big old confetti making truck back.

It'll give the neighbors something to look forward to.

Boxing lessons

What you're looking at here isn't actually my garage. It's a representative picture, you know, to give you an idea of what my actual garage looks like. In the same way, for example, a picture of Chris Hemsworth would be a representative picture of me.

You know I can hear you laughing, right?

When we started our kitchen/bathroom/living room remodel almost a year ago, the first thing on our to-do list was pack up everything and get it out of the house before the contractors came in to demo the place. After several runs to Box Bros., daily struggles with the tape dispenser and inhaling more marker fumes than I care or can remember while we were labeling them, we finally got it done.

That was then, and this is now. The remodel is complete, and looks fabulous.

But while the remodel proper is finished, we still have sixteen boxes sitting in the garage that have yet to be unpacked and moved back into the new kitchen.

So what's in the boxes? Who the hell knows.

We labeled them with the main items (Did I mention the markers? I can't remember), but there are lots of little gems also packed into each one just waiting to be rediscovered. The box marked "Mixing bowls" might also have clay sculptures the kids made in second grade. The "dishtowels" box could also have a stack of unpaid bills from last January waiting for us. The "Cups and saucers" box is probably filled with....well, that one is likely cups and saucers.

The thinking is one thing at a time, and do everything in the right order. First, we have to clear some room in our new kitchen cabinets so we can put away whatever is hiding in those sixteen boxes. We have yet to do this. And with the holidays upon us, it's a safe bet the boxes in the garage holding Christmas decorations are going to be unpacked way before the remodel ones. Right after we clear some room for the Christmas tree. Don't get me started.

I imagine we'll hit the year mark—January 26 to be exact—before we even start on the remodel boxes. But we'll get to unpacking them just as soon as we're able. And who knows, once we get motivated and start ripping those suckers open, we may even decide to really surprise ourselves and tackle a box or two that's been there since we moved in.

Twenty years ago.

College boxing

I spent a lot of time today looking at stores with names like The Box Store, The Box Zone and The Box Spot.

As y'all may know, one week from today my son is shuffling off to a blue dot in a red state to attend film school.

So, completely counter-intuitively and not reflective at all of our track record, we decided not to wait until the last minute to get him packed and ready. Hence my shopping in the aforementioned stores.

The final take was five book boxes, and four flat wardrobe boxes. And I still think it's way too much. Our house has a large room in back that was added on - not by us - before we bought it. It's my son's bedroom, and he's used to having a lot of space for his stuff. He's also used to having a lot of stuff. So not surprisingly, he wants to take a lot of it with him.

We're trying to impress on him the fact that a) he won't have nearly the room he's used to when he gets to his dorm, b) whatever little space he has will be cut in half thanks to his roommate and whatever he's planning on bringing, and c) if he gets there and has room for more we can always send it to him later.

But for now it's a matter of culling the numbers, curating the items and thinning the herd. None of which is easy, for him or us.

Every object we pick up has a memory attached to it. That toy he played with as a kid. The picture of me holding him minutes after he was born. A book I made for him, filled with pictures of one of our many trips to Comic Con.

What am I saying? I'm saying there are two reasons he'll need to pack light. First is the small space he'll be working with when he gets there. And second is if he leaves most of his stuff here, I know he'll be back for it.

Until he is, those memories are mine to hold.