Scratched but Scratched In: On Nostalgia and the Weight of a Plastic Past
So, you've moved. Congratulations! You've traded cardboard boxes for unpacked potential, traded bubble wrap for the fresh, heady scent of "new beginnings. " But amidst the unpacking frenzy, amidst the triumphant shouts of "found the stapler! " and the existential moans of "where did I put the life manual? ", there lies a lurking shadow, a plastic purgatory in the form of... your CD and DVD collection. Hundreds of them, I bet. Gleaming plastic rectangles, whispering promises of long-forgotten movie nights and questionable musical choices. Each one is a portal to a specific era of your life, a time capsule crafted from celluloid and polycarbonate. Remember that Meatloaf CD you wore out until it skipped on "Bat of Hell"? Or the pirated copy of Fight Club you watched so many times you could recite every line with Tyler Durden? These aren't just discs, my friend, they are time machines fueled by nostalgia. But now, here they sit, ...