Spring Break

I'm busy decanting my CD collection. To be more specific, I am taking all the compact discs out of their jewel cases and putting them along with their booklets and tray cards into thin plastic sleeves. Where there used to be ten I can now fit thirty. It's proving to be a great way to refamiliarize myself with the music that I already own, as well as the obvious feeling of accomplishment for saving all that space. It connects me to the mountain of music that I have acquired since the time that I chose to stop spending a large portion of my monthly paycheck on Lite beer from Miller. That great big pile of plastic is a monument to sobriety.
Or so I like to think. These days I don't feel the need to keep housing a tribute to what was essentially a life choice. I can't give them up though. I'm far too fond of at least one song on every single one of them to part with any part of the collection. So, I'm stuck with a rather dreary task that reminds me of music that I will never have enough time to fully enjoy, but knowing that they are there still provides me with great solace.
There are worse household projects to be mired in. I have spent entire spring breaks remodeling our kitchen. One year we did all the lower cabinets and installed a new sink, and last year we removed a thick layer of paint (as well as a layer of skin from my hands) from the doors of the upper cabinets, then covered them in wood veneer. Taking CDs out of their cases seems like a pretty refreshing way to go, by contrast.
Spring break was never a big deal for me anyway. For the most part, I used the opportunity to pick up more shifts at Arby's - or at the video store. Back in those days it seemed a little ridiculous to leave the state to go someplace else to get face-down when I could use the money I would spend on a plane ticket to buy more drugs and beer. Then one year I sobered up, and to celebrate that anniversary, I made a plan to meet a couple friends in Key West. When we arrived at our hotel after a beautifully relaxing drive in the moonlight through the upper Keys, the dazed manager looked at us with hollow eyes. "You're not spring breakers, are you?"
We assured him that we were all in fact college graduates, or something like that, to which he replied, "Well, good then. I won't have to charge you the extra two hundred dollar deposit on the room."
As the night turned to day, it became apparent why the manager had the look of a Viet Nam veteran. The couch in our room was supposed to be a pull out bed for one of us, but when we took off the couch, we found the message "Broken, Do Not Use!" scrawled in magic marker across the back of the mattress. When we went out to find some breakfast, we discovered a pair of high-top sneakers that had been burned down to the soles on the mat in front of the room next to ours. We were in the middle of the party zone. We did our best to fit in, having brought our designated drinker. Since we had rented a convertible, we agreed that no one was allowed to get in or out of the car via the doors. We saw some amazing sunsets and witnessed the phenomenon that would later spawn "Girls Gone Wild." We didn't go wild, we just took it all in. We were there because of a youthful fascination with the music and lifestyle of Jimmy Buffett. That would be the stack in drawer number two.