After dinner I borrowed my mom's car and drove down town. It was the second part of my three part shopping expedition in Madison. The first part consisted of going to Capital City Comics where I browsed around and asked about a comic named "Y: the last man", but was also there to ask if they wanted to buy my old Transformer comic books, that I figured had high resale value due to the Transformers movie. The man, a white haired man who seemed kind said he might be if they were in good condition, that people who played with Transformers as kids might be interested in them. I asked how much he would give me for them and he handed me a comic price guide. After looking at the guide and handing it back the man asked me if I got what I was looking for.

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This seemed like strange question until now that I write it out it makes me think of the antique road home show or whatever it's called and some article I read about "value porn", where you start with a dusty old item, listen to the expert talk about its history maybe how special it is building to the climax of assigning a dollar amount how much its worth, being disappointed or surprised, and then you start again with the old dusty thing, build to the pay off, etc. Over and over. Like looking up old things on Ebay, a short high preceded by research. Raising worth through things you mostly forget about, as if some mysterious force is taking care of us, lucky, or lottery winners our virtue comes naturally. After sharing his excitement about Y: the last man, the store keep seemed disappointed that my real reason for being there wasn't about comics.

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After that I went to the CD store next door. Flipped through some used CDs and listened to the new M.I.A. Huh, so that's what she sounds like. Made a note to find the first M.I.A. at a used store. But I want to go back to the Transformer comic story: I don't need a bunch of old comic books that I won't read. Regardless of the time I put into collecting them as a kid, the only reason I can think of not to sell them is sentimental, or, their value as proof that I was a kid. I would like to think that past attachments can and should be thrown away when they are no longer useful. That a build up of junk to be hauled around and taken care of, limits our possibilities. Then again maybe this idea is an example of junk that I haul around. I decided not to sell them but only because I couldn't come to a decision. I'll put them back in my mother's basement.