I’ve moved seven times in the last 10 years. As a reporter, it’s usually because the local authorities have declared a fatwa against me or I’m having a blood feud with an editor, but usually I just need a change of scenery.

This week, I’ll be moving from Boulder to Arvada, where I will immediately set out to discover why they sell Polish donuts (and what lovely donuts they are) and whether that has anything to do with the nearby Polish restaurants.

In an effort to make things easier on myself and whoever is unfortunate enough to help me, usually my mom, I conduct a Stalinesque purge of my belongings. At least usually one box of belongings falls prey to crackheads, but since crackheads were priced out of Boulder in the 1990s, that hasn’t been a problem so far.

Sometimes I lose cool stuff like all of my hats (thanks, ex-girlfriend No. 3) or my grandfather’s Japanese artillery shell ashtray from WWII. He would have been OK with it as he was an MD with an almost preternatural hatred of smokers.

When I told my girlfriend I was writing an in memoriam column about my belongings that didn’t make it, she said she was ditching the sweat shirt she wore while a resident of an Indiana mental hospital. That seemed like a good idea. I’ve never even been to Indiana and I want to forget it.

You can hum awards show music if you like. These are the possessions that left us this year.

• My IKEA glass-topped coffee table. A gift from a coworker who was himself moving. As someone who is prone to fainting spells, I was advised by everyone I know to ditch the table. I named it William Holden because I was probably going to crash through it and die.

• 130 pounds of red bricks I used to build a shelf for the hundreds of DVDs I acquired while lonely in the Redneck Wasteland where I worked most the past decade.

• A substantial slice of aforementioned DVDs. I applied the following philosophy when thinning out the herd: You own a copy of “Manhunter,” John. Therefore, you don’t need to own a copy of “Red Dragon.” Furthermore, “Red Dragon” sucks.

• Medical bills from 2014.

• Medical bills from 2013.

• Copies of classic literature I bought to make myself look like less of a philistine. No, I have not read more than two pages of “Tender is the Night.” I bought all those Hemingway novels during my short-lived Hemingway phase, which ended abruptly after I read “For Whom the Bell Tolls.”

• Medical bills from 2012.

• A shoe box full of rocks.

• A handwritten lawsuit from that time I sued New Mexico.

Honorable mention from years past: My vinyl record collection. I’ll get grief about this from vinyl people, but as far as I’m concerned, vinyl records just make your music heavy. Sure, it sounds better, but it doesn’t sound 200 pounds better.

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