I Own Two Identical Copies of Molly's Game (And Other Things I'm Not Proud Of)

I have 884 physical media copies in my collection. Blu-rays, 4K UHDs, DVDs, a handful of Steelbooks, and even some VHS tapes. 884 is the number my Arkiv account gives me when I open it. I trust it because I entered every one of them myself.

I own two copies of Molly's Game.

Not a format upgrade. Not a limited edition I tracked down later. I pre-ordered it from Amazon, forgot I'd done it, and pre-ordered it again one week later. Same edition. Same retailer. Both confirmation emails are in my inbox. I could look at them right now.

This would be more embarrassing if it were the only time. I also own two copies of the Alien Covenant Steelbook: pre-ordered from Amazon, spotted it at Best Buy on release day, and bought it there too, because I'm a big Alien fan and apparently that counted as a separate decision. The Amazon copy arrived that same day. The Steelbook on my shelf gives me no indication which is which. Then there are the two copies of The Wizard of Oz Steelbook, origin genuinely unclear.

The Alien Covenant situation I understand. The Molly's Game situation I am still sitting with.

Part of the problem is that my collection isn't exactly organized. My shelf isn't large enough to hold everything, so the overflow (DVDs and Blu-rays that didn't make the cut) is stacked on the floor next to it. During a period when my dog was working through her opinions about plastic, this gave her easy access to a meaningful portion of my collection. Several cases now have chewed corners. The discs inside are usually fine. The cases are simply a record of her interests at a particular point in her development. She appears to have grown past it.

There are also boxes. DVDs and Blu-rays from an earlier reorganization that went into storage and never came back out. I'm not certain which room. Arkiv tells me I have 884 copies; somewhere between those boxes and my current shelves is a number I haven't fully reconciled.

Here is the most embarrassing thing I will admit in this post.

When I want to watch something on a given evening, I look at the stack. The collection has never been alphabetized: without a proper shelving unit, it never seemed realistic to start, so finding anything means working through the pile until I locate it or give up. Sometimes I give up. When I do, I check whether it's on a streaming service. If it is, I watch the stream.

I own the disc. I paid for it. It is somewhere in this house. And I watch the stream, because I can find it in thirty seconds and I cannot find the disc.

I'm aware of how this sounds. My first post on this blog was about why I still buy Blu-rays instead of relying on streaming.

When I built out my Arkiv account, I decided to enter what I'd paid for each item wherever I had the information, which meant going through my Amazon order history. It goes back further than I'd have preferred. The process was a slog, and the number I arrived at when it was done was not a comfortable one, though it did explain, among other things, how I'd managed to pre-order the same film twice.

I won't share the total here. If you've spent years building a collection and you're curious about your own math, Arkiv will do it for you. I'd pick a day when you don't have anything else unsettling planned.

The disc is still the thing I actually own. Nothing from the first post needs walking back. But there is a gap in ownership: between the disc arriving and the disc being findable, between knowing you have something and being able to put your hands on it in the five minutes before everyone settles on something else. Arkiv doesn't fix the floor stack or the boxes or the cases my dog improved. What it does is close the gap between owning 884 discs and knowing what those 884 discs actually are.

The Molly's Game situation is just part of my story now.

What's the most embarrassing truth about your collection? Duplicates, unwatched stacks, formats you've triple-dipped on, cases your dog got to first: I can't be the only one.