[...] Alan at Burbanked can really tell a story, and in the spirit of the Dark Knight, he tells a darned good one: Part 1, Part 2. [...]

–Yeah, but only until in your absence Sonny or Michael or Tom Hagen found the box…

But no kidding, Mark – thanks for your very kind words.

In my line of work, you pretty much read blogs – and these days twitter – to get the latest techie flash or else to schmooze and be schmoozed. But at Burbanked I find posts I actually want to read again for enjoyment. Imagine that! Even your replies to the comments are droll. You bastard!

I love the fact that Mrs. B stars in the epilogue.

When I lived in the San Fernando Valley in ‘83-’84, I managed a few apartment buildings. One was a set of 12 bachelor apartments with Murphy beds and hotplates. You could have done Raymond Carver-esque short stories on every tenant, but in the nut-job vein there was a guy whose whole apartment was filled with newspapers stacked to the ceiling. There was a path from his front door to the bathroom. Along that path was a couch where he slept. At the very top of the piles of newspaper there were two or three large trash bins – empty. There was a desk completely covered with a whole bunch of other junk such that the desk served no other purpose but to hold it all. It was all in -neat- piles.

I know this because I took my boss in there once when the guy was away – to show my boss the kind of tenant I had inherited. Can’t recall the guy’s name, but he worked at the now defunct GM plant. Paid his rent on time like clockwork. I don’t think he read the newspapers.

It’s just very cool that there’s guys out there like you, Burbanked, who have the gift and can bring these folks to life – no embellishment necessary. They are worthy of the tribute, for sure.

The difference is, I’d put the damn things away when I was done playing instead of leaving them out on display like I was in junior high school.

It’s a great story and thanks for sharing it. I could be Bruce. Probably not as geeky, but I could see myself filling a room with toys. The only reason I don’t do it is the absurdity of it because I would just have those toys to look at them and because I had spent money on them, I wouldn’t allow my son or daughter to play with them. Doesn’t make sense to me. And as you can see, I have spent a lot of time thinking about this.

Ya kinda wonder what eventually happens to someone like that. Do they end up marrying and dismissing their former obsessions? Do they kidnap little kids and molest them in the basement? Do they start a movie blog?

For me, it was the last one … but it could have very easily have been the second.