So I finally finished cleaning out my closet yesterday. Here are some more things taking up space:
This Louisiana inspection sticker from 1991 (the "92" is when it expired) is the last remnant of one of my childhood sideline hobbies: collecting inspection stickers. Thus one came off a 1981 Buick Century that my mom drove for one year. I never had many of these, but my cousin did all our car inspections, and whenever I'd come along, he'd give them to me. I had a few from the 1980s, all of which got thrown away at some point. You can't even find images of them on Google. I wonder if anybody ever kept track of these, and who's responsible for the aesthetic vomit that was this sticker from 1989-91.
Another medical bracelet, this one from my back surgery. When I met the surgeon beforehand, he told me the operation was so simple that he often did it without looking at the monitor. He's apparently one of the best in the nation, though, so I trusted him. They gave me a mixture of valium and morphine to trip out on...before anesthesia. Having your first surgery at 21 years old tends to make you nervous. Happily, the surgery corrected the bulging disk, putting a permanent end to the pain for seven years. In 2008, I would need another MRI and physical therapy. I found the bracelets from those visits too, but this is already getting depressing.
This was a cartoon I drew for my high school newspaper. I had done one before this, and allegedly no one got it. It involved a kid's dad being happy about being selected for something in the mail, but then discovering that the mail was addressed to "occupant." The editors told me they toured campus with that one, asking friends if they understood it, and allegedly no one did. So I gave them this one instead. Make no mistake: this did not accurately reflect my sense of humor, which would not likely have even been considered for campus-wide dissemination. And even though my teacher wrote on the back that this was "cute," she suggested I draw it larger so that it could be scanned. Ah, 1997. Such a primitive time.
I went to see Cowboy Mouth on Oct. 29, 1999. But I'm guessing you figured that out. They played the Plaza in Lafayette, a club known for being closed as often as it was open.
My ex and I worked our way directly under center stage, right in the sweat trajectory of the drummer. At some point in the show, he tossed me his drumstick. Also, I had to literally pry a married woman in her 40s off of me. But you'll just have to take my word on that.
After the concert, I joined some friends playing midnight Q-Zar across the street. Note my dismal score. Yes, I was totally sober. But to be fair, the last time I'd played, I didn't even know how, and got -6,000. So, you know, getting better.
Don't know why I have these; probably got them from a Young Republicans table on campus during the election. I probably intended to deface them, like when I made a DOLE-KEMP bumper sticker spell KOLD PEE back in high school.
This is a self-portrait. I'm a Saints fan. Get it?