There are few things in life that leave a person more sad than going through the stuff of someone who has recently passed away. I realize this after salvaging a dead man's computer. Someone will be there when I die to go through my shit and probably judge every little thing that was in my possession. That gives me an idea, put some crazy shit on my computer in the event that I bite the dust. The sad sap that boots the machine up might find dated pictures of every bowel movement I made since 1999 along with a short menu of what I ate the preceding day. Or maybe a collection of unsent love letters to Wembley from Fraggle Rock. Remixes of Pointer Sister songs (that might be pretty awesome, actually), and the entire videography of Frankie Goes to Hollywood. Napster. WAV files of the Doodletown Pipers. Pics of dogs chewing on dildo's. Serial killer biographies.
The computer I went through had the following things:
1. A handful of short porn clips. Sometimes you kinda wonder if porn loses it's thrill when you get old; not for this dude.
2. What seemed to be Clay Aiken's entire discography; this would make some sense if those clips were gay porn, but instead I was left flummoxed.
3. No less than 10 programs about how to get somewhere; microsoft streets and tricks, google maps, microsoft chicks with dicks, google earth, streetfinder, etc. Maybe it was a sign of dementia.
4. A Dummy's Guide to Will's and Estates. Family Tree Maker. 5 or more programs that have to do with income taxes.
About 6 years ago, I helped a friend who managed some apartment buildings clean out the apartment of a lady who had just died. She lived across the way from another tenant I knew and she spent most of her nights in a pitch-black apartment smoking cigarettes. She died, and had no one to claim or clean up her stuff. She had many books; some good stuff too, like Burroughs, Sartre, Hemingway, etc. Yet, all those good books didn't mean one ounce of happiness for her. No doubt she was miserable. I spent most of my last 2 years as an undergrad reading good books and smoking cigarettes by myself. I wasn't miserable (probably not happy either) and I wouldn't trade that experience for anything, but at a certain point one welcomes the company of others
