OUR HERO IS SPRAWLED ON HIS SOFA, HEAD RESTING ON PILLOWS, HAND AND FOREARM LAID DRAMATICALLY ACROSS HIS FOREHEAD

I am heartbroken.

I am saddened.

I am forlorn.

But I am closer to being debt-free and buying a house.

I have sold more than 400 CDs and DVDs to SecondSpin.com. Once I decided to bite the bullet and actually DO it, it came quite easily. First, some background. Between my insatiable lust for new music and several DJ and radio-related jobs over the years, I have amassed more than 2,500 CDs, mostly alternative and dance-oriented rock from the birth of the medium circa 1985 to the present day. Many of these are rare, long out-of-print titles I would never part with.

Or so I thought.

I decided that at age thirty-mumble that it was time to become a real adult, get out of debt, COMPLETELY, and buy a house. Doing this called for sacrifice. True sacrifice. Lo, I was not a child no mo', so them damn childish thangs should be put the fuck away. That meant selling comic books, various collectibles and...yes...CDs.

Most of the comics and collectibles were easy to part with. My truly impressive collection of silver age Marvels bit the dust way back in 1995 when I bought my first brand new vehicle, a 1995 Ford Ranger XLT in Sapphire Blue. A Sapphire Blue that everyone insisted on calling my "purple truck", no matter how much I protested that it wasn't purple, but FUCKING SAPPHIRE BLUE. The "Grape" was Ford's purple. But no one was biting. Oh, well. The comics paid for the truck, pretty much. Sweet.

But the CDs...the CDs...they were a different story. I could tell you the track listing of just about each one, in order, where I bought it, when, who produced it, a litany of Rain Man-esque ramblings of each one. Parting with these would be like chipping away at my soul...my SOUL, I TELL YOU!

There had to be some ground rules. I couldn't just grab titles at random and fling them into boxes, never to be seen again. So I came up with some parameters, and looking back, I think I made the right choices. So, here for your benefit, are Johnny's Rules for Selling Your CD and DVD Collection for Cash.

1. No trade. Trade is for cunts. You are selling these for CASH. Trade only results in new titles to clutter your life and you lose in sheer numbers.

2. Anything you have not played in the last five years is gone. No debate. No "well, I may want to listen to it sometime in the future" bullshit. Five Years or GONE. That means farewell Ned's Atomic Dustbin's catalog (they had FOUR fucking albums?!? Sweet Chocolately Jesus.) Goodbye, My Life With the Thrill Kill Kult's "Sexplosion" (thank God I still listen to "A Daisy Chain for Satan". Thanks, God!). Sayonora, EMF's "Stigma" (their superior second album after the one with "Unbelieveable"...of course, "superior" for EMF still means "shit" compared to just about anything else). Five Years or GONE.

3. Put your Five Years or GONE selections in a box. Close the box. Do not open this box ever again. FOR ANYTHING.

4. Go back to your collection and stare your favorite artists' catalog down, hard. Gaze deeply at their entire output. Begin with ABBA -- no, wait, everything they've ever done is fucking brilliant, skip them. Those you keep. Begin with ABC. "Lexicon of Love"? Keep. "Beauty Stab"? Lost classic, keep. "How to be a Zillionaire"? Need you ask? KEEP. "Alphabet City"? Toss. "Up"? Toss. You get the idea. Be cruel, be heartless. Even your heroes fuck up. Make them pay the ultimate price for hurting you when they do.

5. David Bowie is not subject to rule number 4. Bowie's fuck-ups are other's masterpieces.

6. Morrissey and the Smiths are not subject to rule 4, either.

7. Oh wait, except for "Rank". Yeah, toss that.

8. Tape the boxes shut. They are now Pandora's Boxes, filled with ill-chosen memories, lost years and dusty mistakes. View them not again, lest you place yourself in peril.

9. DVDs and VHS are a breeze. Do they feature naked guys having sex? No? Then toss 'em. Except for "Showgirls".

10. Take the boxes to your local used media store that PAYS CASH (trade is for cunts, remember), or ship 'em to SecondSpin.com.

11. Lie on couch with arm draped dramatically over forehead. Moan a bit. Write in blog about experience.

John Fucking Waters is back, and this time he's NC-17, motherfuckers.

Go watch the trailer for his new movie "A Dirty Shame" and bask. I'm just glad someone else besides me has noticed this trend and commented on it.

• "Napoleon Dynamite" - very good, tender, funny, reminds me of growing up in rural Grafton, Ohio. Stellar performance from the star who talks like every kid in high school, with that instantly familiar candence of defiant confusion. Plus, Alphaville is on the soundtrack and there are two hot cholos.

HOT cholos.



• "Showgirls" Limited Edition VIP DVD box set - came out today, grabbed mine during lunch. Comes with two shotglasses, lame party games, including a "Pin the Pasties on Nomi" game (seriously), and an expanded DVD with hilarious commentary from some catty queen.

I know it's probably a lame cliche to sit back and abuse this movie, but dear lord, it's just staring back at you defiantly ASKING for it like some Brazilian porn actress in a "Buttman" film. If you've never seen this movie, I hate you. Quit reading my blog.

Not really.

But see it, with me for maximum effect and enjoyment. I'll point out how the overarcing manicure subplot is actually an allegory for class structures and power among females and how Agent Cooper's hair is the real reason this movie tanked.

Plus, boobies.



• "My Obssession" by Icehouse - Ira Davies does his best late-Roxy Music approximation on this, the ill-fated third single from the U.S. breakthru album "Man of Colours" (oooh, foreign-y spelling!).

This was the follow-up to the more successful follow-up ("Electric Blue") to a lesser, but still successful hit single ("Crazy") but this one flopped, so of course, I loved it. No one else did. Out of print on CD, but I have one, so nyah.