I’M GOING TO STRING TWO SHORT TOPICS TOGETHER. It’s either that or milk each one to death.

I attended the 19th annual Pin-A-Go-Go pinball convention at the Dixon Fairgrounds last weekend. Having grown up in a town awash in pinball machines, Pin-A-Go-Go is like a dream come true. Well over 100 games filling three cavernous halls are all set to free play. It brings out the child.

Pinball hobbyists from around the country come to this event, which is the longest-running pinball show west of the Mississippi. Most of the machines come from big collectors and vendors trying to make sales, but lots of little guys bring their own machines. I haven’t done that yet, but I may in the future. I’ve learned the trick for moving them and can load mine into my truck singlehandedly.

On Friday I drove up and stopped at the Vacaville In-N-Out for a quick burger. I got in line with an old guy wearing a pinball T-shirt. “So, I see someone else is headed to Pin-A-Go-Go,” I said.

He turned around. “That’s where I’m headed. You, too?” I nodded. “Hi. I’m Mike,” he said, “from Boise.”

“Boise? You drove from Idaho to play pinball? Wow. Did you bring machines?”

“Nope. No machines. Just me and my family, my wife and grandkids. We’ve got a hotel on the edge of town. We come every year.”

“Are you a repairman? A collector? Are you here to buy or swap?”

“Nope. I’m just here to play pinball — I’ll have a number one with grilled onions — I love the game. You want to grab a table together?”

“Sure — I’ll have the same.”

We had a nice talk about our love of pinball. We shared favorite games. The talk was brief, however, because we were both in a hurry. “OK, see you at the show,” we both said, our mouths still full.

At the show more friends appeared. A former student, Jaysin, now age 40, and his wife, Sara, drove down from Wilseyville. Talk of dedication, Jaysin’s father, Steve, came as well, pushing a walker because he just got a bionic hip two weeks prior. “Doctor told me to keep moving, so here I am.”

Last year I bought a second pinball machine at the show, The Who’s Tommy. This year I was looking for a new machine to love. After playing hundreds of games from open until closing on Friday and Saturday, I settled on two machines and couldn’t make up my mind, so I came home emptyhanded. I liked the Sopranos by Stern (2005) because of the active, fluid playing field and Adult switch that activates the vulgar language setting. My other favorite, no surprise, is Stern’s Texas Holdem (2006). Of course the poker theme is attractive to me, but I also enjoy the ball play and score challenges. Both were priced at over $3,000 so I decided to wait.

On Sunday I did not return to Pin-A-Go-Go because I had another project that needed finished — gutting my den. I’m turning my favorite room, my den, from a teacher’s workplace into a retired man’s leisure lounge. I’ve made much progress since I first mentioned this.

Gone are all bookshelves and all books. Gone are all file cabinets and folders. Gone are all my ties. Gone is everything. I hollowed out the room, removing even the carpeted floor and puffy ceiling.

I painted the walls bright two-tone green and Gino laid a hardwood floor. Gone is the old, gigantic wraparound desk with its massive table space for grading papers. In its place is a slim desk with one drawer and just room enough for my monitor and mouse.

Instead of buying a pinball this year, I may spring for an Ekornes stressless chair. I found a used one for $850 on Craigslist. That’s a lot of chair. I need to think about it some more.

Funny thing: After practically living in that cluttered den for 30 years, purging its junk piles repeatedly every few years, I had convinced myself that every item still left in the room was of vital importance to me, as each had survived so many purges. However, when I decided to gut the room and start from scratch, I had to remove every single thing.

Guess what? I miss nothing.

The ceiling, floors, and walls are finished, and I’m sitting in an empty room at a bare desk with empty drawers and blank walls, and I don’t miss anything. What a surprise it was to me to discover that everything I own is unessential. To think of all the time, money, effort, and emotion I spent on collecting all that crap. Now it’s all boxed away in the garage, unneeded. I feel liberated.

Going forward, every individual item will have to earn its way back into my den. If I don’t have a bleeding need for it, it stays boxed in the garage. Besides, I need room for all the new crap I hope to collect in retirement.

Steve Gibbs teaches at Benicia High School and has written a column for The Herald since 1985.