I’ve gone a little nuts with the Ebay thing.

My auction insanity has deepened along two separate vectors: the madness of buying and a deep addiction to selling. Both activities keep me consistently logged in to the service, checking and rechecking MyEbay for any action, any infinitesimal shift in the bidding price of items.

The buying is easy to explain. There are any number of great deals you can finagle if you sweep in to the right auction at the right time, but there is more at work than mere frugality. The strength of Ebay lies in man’s greed and avarice. There is something tremendously satisfying of feeling like you are taking advantage of some poor sap who put his treasure out into the stream of commerce without a reserve and with free shipping. I enjoy the notion that I am swindling some sucker from Palookaville out of his hard-earned trade paperbacks. At the same time, the nature of the auction format ensures that I nearly always end up paying just slightly more than I wanted to but still less than the items would retail for. I work hard to restrain my competitive impulses and for the most part I am successful. But not always.

And the selling aspect of my addiction funnels into the buying. The items that I sell (primarily my comic books) go for less than I paid for them, but the income feels like found money. When a buyer pays me, the money sits in my paypal account. The convenience of using those funds to  pay for my next purchase is too tempting to ignore. The proceeds of my sales rarely make the transfer to my bank account.

Selling my possessions feels good. There is something liberating about shedding the barnacles that attach as I age and getting rid of my worldly goods. The feeling is addictive. The more I think about the unlikelihood of rereading my Eternal Champion novels, replaying Doom 3, or rewatching my Sopranos dvds the greater the pointlessness in leaving them sitting on my shelf. I have been a student for far too long to amass any serious material wealth but my geekier tendencies has filled my bookshelves with all manner of books, comics, games, and knickknacks. All of which I have enjoyed, none of which will ever serve me again in the future. So I commit them to the internet, letting Ebay find them an appropriate home. It feels better than simply dropping them off in a box at Goodwill, and offers some monetary compensation for my years of rampant consumerism.

I wouldn’t say this urge to purge has reached the level of compulsion, but it could progress that far. As it is, I now frequently buy book lots, read them, and then almost immediately post them for resale. Generally, I break even or lose money on the deal. I just chalk it up to the pleasure of reading the books and consider it a rental fee, which is a bargain for the hours of entertainment I get. Occasionally I  make a profit.

But I’m not accruing anything, no tangible objects of my culture. In my younger days I would look at my sprawling stacks of comics and books with a sense of pride. I would even sort of show them off when people came in my room. Although, I did make an effort to hide my comics when I thought I might be bringing a ladyfriend back to the boudoir. Ah, the insecurity of youth. At any rate, even as I enjoy clearing space and ensuring that my next move will involve carrying fewer boxes I feel a tinge of regret, an inescable shudder of loss. It makes me think about the nature of media, and how it is changing. It also makes me want a Kindle, under the theory that if I am not keeping the physical objects I might as well not even bother buying them and make the shift to digital media. But that feels like something that smarter men than I are already thinking about. But that is a post for another day. For now, I need to check on my auctions to see if there’s been any action since I last refreshed ten minutes ago.

1. Play More Video Games

Last year I sold my X-Box 360 because I was short on cash and couldn’t bring it with me to Australia since the power supply was incompatible with Australian sockets, which run directly off power generated from kangaroos jumping on trampolines and are shaped like jars of Vegemite. My reasoning was that I wouldn’t be able to play video games for over half the year anyway, and I could just buy it back when the urge to rain hot-lasered death on my pixellated enemies became unbearable. I spent a good chunk of last Christmas playing Fallout 3 and Dead Space on my brother’s PS3, and although that video game binge allowed me to get it out of my system for a while I knew that there would come a time when I once again had to buy myself a video game console. That time is now. The problem is that I kind of liked the PS3 experience and Infamous looks bad-ass. But bad-ass enough to make the switch back to Sony after so many years canoodling with Microsoft? Are there likely to more exclusive titles that will once again chain me to brand loyalty? Hard to say. The X-Box 360 had some great exclusives as well…

2. Get to Book-Stack Zero

I periodically tell myself that I can’t buy any more books until I finish reading the backlog that threatens the structural integrity of my nightstand. I take a solemn vow that I will in no way purchase another book, swearing that this time I will have the discipline to follow through. It usually lasts until the next Borders 40% off coupon arrives in my inbox or I pass the Books, Inc. on a Sunday morning stroll with nothing better to do than browse around until I inevitably buy something. (There is never anything better to do). My rate of reading is relatively swift, and will likely increase now that I am using Muni to get to work instead of walking to school. Reading on the bus is one of my favorite activities. Since I buy and read at roughly the same rate the stack of unread books tends to stay at a stable height, usually about four deep. Not huge (especially compared to The Girlfriend’s stack, which could take up an entire wing of the Library of Congress) but this summer, I aim to read every last book on the list. That means finally polishing off the Borges collection I’ve been savoring for the better part of a year by reading a few stories at a time. It also means choking down 1776 by David McCollum. I bought this last year when I watched John Adams and contemplated a career as colonial American lawyer. I always THINK I want to read about history, but the experience proves tough to get through. No matter how skillful the historian, I still need a little fictionalization.

3. Shape Up

Finals are a dangerous time for my waistline and I’m starting the summer off with the telltale snugness of my pants that always signal that I’ve tilted away from stout and toward chubby. Who would have thought that sitting motionless for eleven hours a day while reading hornbooks and constantly stress-eating would be bad for me? I haven’t exercised in forever, and my constantly expanding ass shows it. You know what that means: bootcamp! I can just work out on my own, but I find the collective experience of forcing myself to wake up early and endure an ordeal for a fixed block of time is a big help. I always lose weight and feel better when I participate in one of these things, so I plan on starting one soon. In the past, I have taken a pugilistic approach to getting in shape. Now I’m contemplating something a little less focused on boxing and more of a general fitness experience. San Francisco has many bootcamps to choose from, and even now I’m deciding which one suits me. Military? Fish-based? General Purpose? Whichever one I go with, I’m sure that it will help me get back on the right track.

4. Ship Out

I want to travel some. The work week will keep me in San Francisco from Monday to Friday, but each weekend is a new opportunity to get out. I’m not sure what my plans are post-graduation. This could very well be beginning of the end of my west coast tenure and I will make sure to hit up as many spots out here as I can while I still have the chance. I’m taking a trip to Portland, as I do from time to time. And after work finishes, I will hit up Vancouver before making a likely ill-advised return to Las Vegas before classes resume for the fall semester. Before then, I’m going to try to take as many day/weekend trips as possible and explore North California. So far, I’ve barely been out of San Francisco, and not really very far out of the Bay Area at all.

I realize that some of these goals don’t fit very well together, if not totally mutually exclusive. Sitting on a couch playing video games will definitely eat up hours I could spend traveling, and it’s not the best activity when you’re goal is to get in shape. Likewise travel isn’t the best way for me to get in shape, since I generally eat out and drink more than I should. Nevertheless, a summer that satisfies all these goals will be an awesome one indeed.

Also, wherever possible I plan to integrate beer into the aforementioned activities.

The summer of Sean begins.

For this reason, I have long been a proponent of doing away with antiquated traditions like the wedding ring. Why should I be forced to wear decorative frill just because I’ve gotten married. I concede the importance of a symbol of everlasting love, so I therefore propose the “Wedding Belt.” It’s circular like a ring and won’t annoy me like other jewelry

The reverse is also true; I push desks and tables away from me instead of sliding my chair away from them. (Often with greater force than is strictly necessary).

This wasn’t my first time boxing, but I’m still pretty green. This match-up was much closer than the last time I gloved up. That time I was boxing a man who does this whole “punching hard” thing for a living, and while I think I did all right, it was clear that he was pacing me. Not so, this time. My opponent was more my equal in both size and skill level. I had a few pounds on him but he was quicker and slightly more agile. Our experience levels seemed about the same, so when we entered the fray it was a full-on battle royale. I will never be known for my finesse, either in the ring or in everyday life. I’m more inclined to stand and trade blows like a drunken 19th century Irishman or a Rock ‘em Sock ‘em Robot than to float like a butterfly. I was also slow to respond to the idea that I should actually be throwing punches. I had to eat one or ten jabs to the jaw before I settled down enough to start putting the things I learned to work for me. I may have even remembered to bob, though I almost certainly forgot to weave.

I landed a number of good solid rights, and worked his body at the start of every clinch. If there were judges, they probably would have awarded the first round to the other guy, but it would have been close. But after conferring with my cornerman and having some water poured on my head, I entered the second round with a little more strategy. I started working serious combos and probing for weaknesses in my opponents defense. I probably still looked a little sloppy, but I was thinking more like a sweet scientist than a back-alley brawler. I was landing serious blows, and I could see they were taking their toll on my foe. He was slowing down and his jabs were less controlled. He started clinching more.

Then, about halfway through the second round, it happened. On the advice of my corner, I threw a low jab at his solar plexus. He rolled his front guard down to cover just a little too late. I followed up with a big right hook aimed right at the side of his head. Time slowed down. The lights got just a little bit brighter. I couldn’t say for sure, but I’m pretty sure reality actually shifted into slow motion. When the punch landed, the thump of leather meeting leather and fist meeting skull echoed through the room. I’m told everyone in the crowd heard the hit, and I could hear their collective intake of breath as my hook hit home. My opponent buckled just a little, swaying woozily as the referee started a standing eight count. He didn’t get very far before waving his hands to signal the end of the fight.

My second foray into the world of boxing ended in a knockout, albeit one of the technical variety. That was something new for me, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel good. It was a good thing it came when it did, though, because I was seriously losing gas and I don’t know if I had the legs for another round. Fighter safety is a big concern so everyone made sure he was okay before we hugged it out. There were no hard feelings, and I think he is a consummate sportsman. He’s also a practicing attorney here in San Francisco, so I’m sure I’ll be pestering him for a job when summer rolls around.

But it isn’t helping. I still can’t run. Lacking an adrenaline surge from mortal danger, I just can’t pump my legs for any length of time. without panting and slowing to a walk. Its a good thing bears are so few and far between in San Francisco, or I would surely have been eaten by now. I know part if it is psychological. I don’t think I should have to run, for I am large and strong.

I know that boxers, indeed fighters of all disciplines, need the conditioning. I’m not arguing that Road Work isn’t a vital key to success in the ring. I’m just bitching about it because I am so bad it. I try to control my breathing and just focus on moving forward, and that has helped me make improvements. Today, I ran most of the way without retreating to my customary hands-on-hips walking breath-catch. Sure, I was panting. But I did it. Then, we ran some sprints and did some calisthenics. Okay. Then we ran some more, this time in the topographically ridiculous Potrero Hill neighborhood (photo by Toby Silver).

It’ has the word “Hill” in the title, fer crying out loud. I was doomed. I was reared in the wilds of Florida, a state perfectly sensible in its level uniformity. That is how God intended for us to move about the earth, on a flat plane. None of this ridiculous incline business. I got to the bottom of the first hill, and with all that sideways sidewalk staring back at me, I knew I was doomed. I tried to start running. I really did.

It was like when I was a kid. I remember watching The Empire Strikes Back about a million times. Specifically, the scene where Luke Skywalker is hanging upside down in the snow-beast’s cave. His lightsaber was just out of reach, and the creature was fast approaching. Using his Jedi mind powers, he was able to telekinetically summon it to his outstretched hand. You know the scene. After watching it, I just sort of naturally assumed I could do the same thing if I could juts concentrate hard enough. I used to spend hours (and I mean long hours) staring at objects and trying to move them with my mind. I would stare, squint and hold my breath, but unsurprisingly, the objects wouldn’t move no matter how red my face got.

That’s how I felt trying to run those hills this morning. I wanted to move my legs as bad as I wanted to levitate my childhood matchbox cars, but I was just as unsuccessful. There was no juice. At least not enough to run up the hills. I walked. Again. I guess the force (of running) is just not strong with this one.