I agree with you, Jack. I consider it a pain in the ass maintaining and keeping track of all the stuff I NEED, I can’t imagine acquiring a whole bunch of more stuff I don’t need. Like you said, art is used if hanging on the wall. I guess I have about 4 masks from various parts of the world that are hanging in my son’s room. And I have a friend who collects old signs - his rec room looks like a Bennigan’s. Kinda neat, if you like that sort of thing. And books (comic or otherwise) can be read.
A few knicknacks in a curio cabinet are one thing. But I don’t understand why people collect things that they don’t even display. I remember hearing about people who actually collect cereal boxes. WTF!
Or you hear about people who collect something that takes over their whole house, or they have to have a room dedicated to it.
And then you hear about people who collect something really wierd, like not just any old household irons, but a special brand of old household irons made at a certain time. Just a completely different way of thinking than mine.
I guess serious coin and stamp collectors enjoy maintaining their collections. Is there something different about a person’s personality that makes them enjoy that?
Also, the idea of a toy having more value if it has never been unpacked just seems to kind of contradict the very essence of the item. What is a toy? Something a kid should play with.
Finally, I liked it better when we traded sports cards based on our sense of their value, and used them in our bike wheels, instead of because a books said they were worth a certain amount. JMO.
Disclaimer, part of my present attitude may be due to the fact that Mrs D’s dad is the ULTIMATE pack rat. He has a property in Michigan on which he has built several large barns/garages for the sole purpose of holding all of his crap. He is in the real estate business and he, as his dad before him, never throws anything away. You will look in these barns and find some neat stuff. Say some old jugs/crocks. And then you’ll see one of those old floating lounge chairs, with the styrofoam arms and webbed seat and back. The webbing is ripped, the frame is bent, and one of the arms is cracked. What the hell is he keeping THAT for? Does he think that will be of value someday? A running gag in the family is to estimate how many dumpsters it will take to haul away all the trash after he passes.
Final story. Mrs D’s grandfather owned a vacant theater and a bowling alley. He sold the bowling alley, but the purchaser did not want the several hundred bowling balls. So, the old man and his 2 boys hauled all of these bowling balls to the theater, where they placed one in each seat. They tossed a couple of dobermans in there as guard dogs, and did little other than hurl food through the door for them. A considerable time later, he sold the theater. Guess what? This guy didn’t want the bowling balls either! So my father-in-law, his brother, and his dad had to move them again. Except this time they had to shovel out several inches of dogshit to get at them. As my enlightened father-in-law put it, “It was so bad, you couldn’t even hire a Mexican to do it.” We fear the bowling balls still exist, and that after he dies, the estate will be dispersed, and we will open the doors to a building somewhere, to find it filled with bowling balls.