Thrift Store Adventures

MOST DISGUSTING THRIFT STORE FIND OF 2009

2009-12-31T18:19:00.000-08:00

Maybe even the most disturbing of the decade (though there were plenty of bloody/ pooped-on/ peed-on articles of clothing)

And even more disturbing than these "art" pieces I saw at the community college library last October. This one would look lovely over the couch.

Nancy was never lovelier...

Because, seriously, a box of freaking hands and ears and other body parts? You know, for kids!

Making them "stretchy" doesn't make them any less morbid -- this is like Vietnam War, too-long-in-the-freaking-bush, Apocalypse Now, Charlie Manson crazy shit, if you ask me.

I'd ask New Wave Cool Clinton what he thinks, but he's too busy being cool

Well, this square's gotta ramble. Happy New Decade, Yo.

DECEMBER

2009-12-24T21:20:00.000-08:00

Well December's here and almost gone already... Thanks to everyone still sticking with this blog. Hope it's still fun. Here's a few recent thrift store moments to share.

Jesus is the reason for the season...

And I wanna grow up to be this man. Too late!

This photo makes me feel oddly. I like old technology and stuff, but it has that creepy basement vibe, no?

Plot twist from the third season of Mad Men?

Is this reminds me of my ex. Don't ask me why.

Nothing quite sums up two hundred years of America like a dude with a gun and another dude in a space suit.

By the way, had the artist ever seen an astronaut? Looks more like a welder in fishing gaiters that dropped a load in his pants, but that's just me.

Ladies and gentleworms, the world's creepiest painting.

Dead guy in the laps of a bunch of women....

Painted in 1969 by "Hatty Hatch" -- part of the Manson Family, no doubt....

Apt, creepy title too.

What better way to say Happy Holidays than Mr. T reminding us all to be somebody. Fool.

POST TURKEY DAY THRIFTING

2009-12-02T20:58:00.000-08:00

So it's been a long time since an update. But I thought Id share some Thanksgiving thrifty moments with the 1.5 people out there who still stop by.

Happy time reading. Ah, the 70s.

Even happier. Ah, the late 70s.

We have a happy winner! Ah, the 1470s.

Holy smokes, look at the size of Dolly Parton's ENORMOUS BULGING pant cuffs. Huge. How was she able to walk right?

Scary faceless doll.

Scary anti-communist Iron Curtain speech liquor decanter. How wonderfully history nerdy, though.

Slight scary/ slightly jaunty drinking glasses.

The most perfect-ess drinking chair I did not buy for $20 ($20 freaking dollars!!!). Even my significant other thinks that was a brain-addled error.

Wish I could have a tiki drink here...

And a burger or better yet a meatloaf here...

Maybe I'll just get blotto at the lamp post...

And then stumble across the street to see... Good LORD, WHAT the HECK is THAT!?!

I'm going to be sick...

This may be the tiki drinks talking, but she's kind of cute, huh?

I wish I lived here so I could go lay down...

Or maybe here, cuz the green is greener. Although the back seat of my car seems bigger...

And just when you thought this post-turkey day thrifting adventure couldn't get any more heaven sent... a magnificent DOUBLE rainbow appears!

How lucky that one end sets at the Salvation Army in the distance, and the other end...

...over Goodwill. Hope your holiday thrifting is just as fortuitous!

SPOOKTACULAR GOODWILL POSTER

2009-10-26T22:18:00.000-07:00

I just had to share this awesome Goodwill Halloween poster -- wish I had a real copy to cherish. Here's hoping your thrift scores and Halloween scores are equally creepy.

DEAD, AND LOVING IT

2009-10-21T20:35:00.000-07:00

Hey out there. Still on my extended fatigue-fueled break, but I just had to share this in case any of you are still looking for that perfect Halloween costume. There's definitely something existential about this counterfeit school bag.

Why not take a cue from this accidentally profound knock-off. This October 31st, suit up in the cape, strap on the pointy-eared mask, grab your utility belt, and just go as yourself? Now that would be heroic.

GOOD LOOKING CORPSE

2009-08-22T22:55:00.000-07:00

Not hardly dead yet, just a moving a little slower lately. Actually, I'm going through a phase where I'm trying to get real world stuff done...

If my loyal readers can live with less witty commentary and just weirdo pics then maybe I can keep the bloggy woggy on life support until the real world recedes into the background again and I can devote more attention to the thrift store universe...

a place that is just as real but not as brightly lit to steal from an old, bad 80s TV show.

By the way, this was my favorite page of the "Read All About Dead 60s Rock Stars":

Keep on truckin'

IS THERE LIFE ON THIS BLOG?

2009-08-04T18:05:00.001-07:00

Ground Control to Major Enik....

FOUND ON THE SIDEWALK...

2009-06-28T20:51:00.000-07:00

I had time to snap this picture of a picture but not to flip it over and see who she is/was. Who throws out childhood pictures?

"KLAXON, KLAXON!"

2009-06-17T18:58:00.000-07:00

My father, who was a Cold Warrior, told me never to utter those words out loud in front of fliers on an airbase. Apparently their training impelled them scramble to the bombers whenever they heard these magic words, no matter if it was a nine year-old snot nose puke saying them. Imagine the awesome inner turmoil within me as I struggled to hold my tongue. What nine year-old wouldn't be tempted to send the adult world into an instant tizzy with a few banned words?

So those were the forbidden words that popped into my head when I saw this big beautiful Cold War sentinel rusting in the sun last month. I was on my way to Goodwill, so of course I pulled the car over and had to go check it out.

50 years ago it was the latest in technology, and the last line of Civil Defense in the event of a nuclear showdown...

And now it's little more than a perch for wild birds. Who like the rest of the squares, probably mistake it for an ugly cell phone tower.

My nine year-old self really wanted to scale that pole to see what was in the box -- likely just ancient leaky dry cell batteries, but think like gradeschooler -- it's probably got gold coins, hidden gangster loot, radiation badges, or at least an old air raid helmet inside.

But as I didn't fancy the idea of falling to my death when the rotted wood gave way or being arrested for terrorism/being a 30-something public jackass, I confined my curiosity the control panel on the ground floor.

Amazingly, most of the relays and transistors were left alone. Someone had stolen the cover panel long ago.

I wonder what the "blower" and "rotator" were for? Of course I flicked the toggles but there was no siren -- those Evereadys are long since dead.

Okay, who's the engineering geek out there who can tell me what this schemata means?

So I wonder if when the Berlin Wall came down back in 1989 the CEOs of the "Federal Sign and Signal Corporation" were all, "That's just F-ing wonderful! Now what do we do? What catastrophic and paralyzing fear can we make money off now?"

At some point it got a little hot and I slowly realized that, standing there in my summer shorts and socks full of burrs and barbs, I had wandered into a waist high field of wild grass smack dab in the middle of rattlesnake country.

Yeah, my inner 9 year old is pretty much in charge. I hope my Mom isn't reading.

SEXY SEVENTIES DIMNESS

2009-06-08T23:00:00.000-07:00

You all know that I love the 70s thisssss much. More reinforcement: even their room dimmers were funky nasty masterpieces.

"Shot in the Dark," eh? Who or what is being shot by who or what? I'm pretty sure this is a classic porn title.

You just know that there's going to be some getting-it-on as soon as sunglasses dude space-age dims those lights. And his foxy lady there can't wait to peel off his barber shop quartet shirt...

I could of course be reading this all wrong. Sunglasses dude may just be hyper-sensitive to light and his harried wife clings to the single thread of hope that the "Shot in the Dark" might allow him to finally have a normal life. Maybe he'll even be able to see his children for the first time. Dear lord, just for once let push-button technology give us peace in this world (Sob).

I like the dirty version better myself. At the touch of a finger tip, indeed.

SIGN OF THE HARD TIMES

2009-05-27T20:55:00.000-07:00

Desperate times, my thrifty friends, when the local second hand haven has to advertise that it is, indeed, still in business and the rumors of its demise are greatly exaggerated.

Soldier on, thrift store warriors.

TAFT ATE HERE

2009-05-18T23:36:00.000-07:00

1908 called. They want their president back. What better way for our stoutest president to campaign than via dinner plate?

Poor Taft, never wanted the job of President. You can see it in his eyes. "Please let me be Chief Justice of the Supreme Court instead of crummy old President. Leave me alone with my smelly old law books. Pleeeeease."

But when your best friend is Teddy Roosevelt and wants you to be president, you'll quit your belly aching and suck it up.

Now if only I could find a Theodore Roosevelt for President Plate. Now there's a mug that looks good on your fine china.

DARK DAYS & THE THRIFTY LIFE

2009-05-07T20:50:00.000-07:00

So Santa Barbara is on fire...again. The hills in the background are burning. Ash is raining down. There's an emergency helicopter pad set up across the street from the local Salvation Army now.

Standing inside, with the kitchen wares and bric-a-brac rattling as the choppers swooped over made it feel like I was thrifting in 'Nam.

Earlier this week it was a whole different disaster. Here's the notice posted at the St. Vincent De Paul's as I pulled open the door...

Yep, killer pig influenza. Ah, fond memories of thrifting during SARS.

Those paper masks won't save you, people. The bugs get right through... you can tell by the eyes, they get all glassy.

Heck most thrift stores are full of germs and dust. I for one am more scared of toxic cultural artifacts than tiny spores and embers.

Take this winner. This sounds like such a great date film. Some day you can tell your kids that your first film was super aggro, equally moronic (IMDB says: it's about a lost engagemnet ring. Huh?) and had crappy poster art that ripped off Reservoir Dogs.

This looks a smidge better. The tag line is so uber-meaningless as to be sublime.

Why watch terrible action flicks when you can view a dolled-up and glammed-out song-belting, 13 year-old Jodie Foster as a 1930s gun moll... in Chinese?

Bored by movies. There's always dangerous eggs to fear. Hideous eggy monstrosities. "The egg shaped thing" was my nickname in high school.

Why not just put on a good album. One question: if they love Jesus so much why are they shooting nuclear missiles at him? Some sort of atomic tough love?

You can always go play with your (ahem) Morph-O-Droids. Really. Morph-O-Droids? Were you guys even trying? And gee, they bear no resemblance whatsoever to Transformers. Especially the fun part.

Speaking of comic books and the 'Nam... Somehow I missed this crossover...

If Iron Man, Thor, and Cap' can bring the Vietnam War to a peaceful conclusion (by cracking skulls, of course) surely they can do something simple like putting out the flames that are currently ringing my town.

Tonight there are some real heroes doing heroic things out there. If you see a firefighter anywhere, anytime tell 'em enik said thanks.

THRIFT STORE CAVALCADE

2009-04-22T23:46:00.000-07:00

More pretty colors, bizarre ideas, and true wisdom from the thrifts. Better that Barnum's American Museum.

I would have totally checked out this book on "library day" back in grade school. Thrilling to the adventures of rock-em-sock-em paleontologists who spared no expense in finding the fabled coelacanth. Goosebumps. I was, and still am, a nerd.

My new catch phrase: dog plate. As in, Dude, that's so dog plate.

Vintage balls. Soooooo dog plate.

Game night, 1973 style. And you thought the seventies were all about boring coke snorting and wife swaps. Screw that, we're rocking the backgammon, mo-fo!

I smell a lawsuit. Which came first, the DC Cab or this LP? And if I'm not mistaken...

You can totally see Conway's Twitty. "Mr. T" indeed!

pretty. Looks like a crystal matrix table to me.

The bubonic plague never looked so jaunty. Why am I thinking Chuckles ?

Either it's the greatest most mind-blowing paradigm shifting book ever written or it isn't.

Wild horses in love. The painting. You can now die happy. Dog plate.

WHO WOULD WATCH THAT?

2009-04-06T11:12:00.000-07:00

An AV representation of cause and effect? Why is it the British have their own version of irritable bowels? Kinda nationalistic, no? And who would film it?

Nice cover image. Ruins the tension. No mystery whatsoever. Do I really need to watch the video now? I know that tree stands (whatever the hell those are) can likely lead to extreme death. By the way, who would film this guy falling off his birch perch? I wonder if they followed him all the way down.

Never trust a grinning American child with a shotgun. 'nuff said.

Special bonus video! Magic Trolls and the Troll Warriors?! Yay! 62 minutes of sickeningly sweet toy/candy/ game prommotional dreck! Woo-hoo! Quick, where's that irritable bowels video?

SPACE 2000!

2009-03-26T19:40:00.000-07:00

Like most people my age, I have fond memories of the summer of 1977. That was of course the year that all the great Star Wars knock-off toys came out.

Don't get me wrong, I am a big enough fan of the real Star Wars movies that I managed to hold on to most of my toy collection for more than 20 years... until last Summer's financial woes impelled a sell off : <

But there's something truly endearing about the bootlegs and knock-off merchandise that flooded the stores alongside and before the real stuff, and which, in my innocence, I happily collected and played with in conjunction with the genuine toys. It didn't make any difference that the colors were all wrong or the scale was out of whack. I have a particularly distinct and happy childhood memory of a Halloween spent in a fake Stormtrooper mask, which I still swear was way better than a licensed product.

Want more proof? If you haven't heard of the Turkish bootleg "Uzay" action figures, then you really should visit this site for a good laugh. Or go check out the Star Raiders line. This site has even more.
That's why I was so happy to recently spy these great SPACE 2000 bed sheets, which highlight the awesome silliness that most of the Star Wars knockoffs exhibited.

First and foremost you've got to have an R2D2 wanna-be. I love this guy's TV antenna head and submarine periscope face. "Awwwww...he's so ugly it's cute."

Then you also have to have a massively-improbable Death Star-ish piece of space machinery. Of course there's a little nod to 2001: A Space Odyssey thrown in there too.

Finally for good measure you have to have bunches of weirdo space ships and planets and space clouds (or whatever the hell those black things are) all jumbled and flying around in a visual cacophony. What self-respecting 8 year-old wouldn't want to sleep on these?

You also have to love how certain items of the real Star Wars universe are stolen, warped, and repurposed for the knock-off maker's own needs. Take this lightsaber married to an automobile battery and then refigured into a laser-blasting space ship. Genius, I say.

Bonus for parent: all the motley craziness also helps hides signs of junior's nocturnal incontinence. You know, from when Dracula and Sasquatch happen to peek into his window at night. It totally happened.
Well, I hope you enjoyed your visit to a long ago and far away galaxy that's not quite the one your remember. We can only hope that when the year 2000 roles around it will be this gaudy and chaotic, and this much of a ripoff.

XL-5000, I think I'll miss you most of all.

MARCH IS HARD

2009-03-15T01:53:00.000-07:00

It's been kicking my butt. But I'll be back to posting when it gets less hard. And less lethal. Promise.

WRITE YOUR OWN CAPTION

2009-02-27T18:13:00.000-08:00

CAN I BORROW $7500?

2009-02-15T00:16:00.001-08:00

I have a new love. It's a beat-up, gloriously oxidized 1971 Toyota Land Cruiser. Just look at that face. Can you blame me?

Oh, the chunky, solid, tank-like design. Even that pseudo-Afrika Korps/ Desert rats Tunisia-cum-Tuscon khaki tan paint makes me swoon. Pure 1971 magic. And thanks to the detailed specification plate welded to the door we know it was assembled in March of 1971 (a temporal moment near and dear to my heart).

Truth be told I don't even drive stick and I have no idea if this thing even runs without spewing blue smoke or blowing a gasket. Probably doesn't even go more than 44 mph.

But you're looking at this all wrong. That rust? It's character. The gasoline smell? Heady perfume. Even the ripped up seats look like they'll last through a nuclear winter. My actual ride, a more current late model Japanese-built auto, probably won't last another 5 years.

And correct me if I'm wrong: This is the perfect thrift scoring vehicle. And all I need is $7500 and change. That's a 15% discount off the sticker -- a bargain

You totally have to wear a Gilligan's Island sailor's bucket hat and cargo shorts to drive this thing -- maybe even goggles. Mmm-aviator shades. With a cooler of Fresca and Mr. Pibb on the floor.

Damn, that door could stop a bullet. A grenade. I have no idea why a steel "X" is fastened on there but I can't believe that up to now I've allowed myself to drive a car without one.

And hey I can learn to drive stick -- it comes with welded-on instructions... And it's not a foofy glove box -- an outmoded euphamism if ever I've heard one. It's a pocket. And couldn't we all use more pockets? Resovled: from this moment on I will refer to the golve box as "the pocket."

How can you look cross-eyed at vehicle with Dualmatic Selective Drive Hubs?

If this 4 Wheel Drive embossed emblem doesn't make you a little randy, well... I can't be the only one into midcentury automotive signage graphic design p0rn, can I?

Doesn't this window crank handle make you long for the days before wimpy power windows? When rolling down your windows while driving on the freeway was a challenge, like you felt like you accomplished something? Like fresh air was the reward for hard work?

So how about that loan? I'm good for it. And you can drive it on the weekends, promise. Otherwise this gem's just going to languish in a thrift store parking lot for months. Don't turn your back on the old girl. Do it for 1971.

OH GOD...IT TALKS

2009-02-02T21:29:00.000-08:00

Sticking with my latest theme of disturbing thrift store finds I bring you the hideous '"Blabber-Mouth Talking AM-FM Radio." Behold its 80s disquieting splendor.

Only two possible mid-80s venues where this thing was sold. Either Spencers in the mall or that adult book store in old downtown... you know by the bus station... behind Del Taco? Okay, sure, I'm the only one who knows where the adult book store is.

Vaguely (or not so vaguely) sexual, definitely disturbing. Was this for kids? Why does it remind me of Videodrome? Or maybe the Mac Tonight McDonalds guy?

Am I the sickest sort of person on earth (apparently, since only I know where the adult book store is) for envisioning this device being employed inappropriately by a prepubescent youth whenever Kim Carnes, Joan Jett, or Toni Basil came on the radio? (ouch!) And yes, that double entendre was most intended.

Even if it was used "normally" -- ahem -- about how long do you think it would take before a pair of plastic lips and teeth gnashing in robotic sync to talk radio or Kacey Kasem's top 40 became incredibly tedious? Wrong. 4 minutes, 12 seconds. Which is probably how long it takes for the heavy duty C-Cells to run out of juice or for the plastic gears to star screeching horribly.

Too bad the adult bookstore doesn't accept returns. I learned that the hard way, if you know what I mean.

So the colors, packaging, and general vibe all cry petroleum-based sex toy, but "Nasta Blabber" really clinches (or clenches) the deal. "Right of Nasta Ind. Inc"? That has some cult-ish pretensions, no? Did we narrowly avert some sort of mass mind-control conspiracy in 1985 when the Blabber Mouth radio failed to get on the shelves by Christmas. We can only hope.

Ooh, I gotta go now, Deborah Harry is on the radio... (ouch!)

THE 1970s: WHEN ROBOTS WORE UGLY JEANS

2009-01-20T00:42:00.000-08:00

I've commented a few times before about the sartorial splendors of the Seventies, but the thrift stores never fail to amaze and awe me by spitting up ever-more-funky cultural remnants of the the nuttiest decade ever.

Case in point: last week I came upon a mini cache of deadstock boys jeans from the era of Evel Knievel. Until then I had forgotten (willfully unremembered) the sheer ugliness and total uncomfortability of Toughskins. Fortunately my parents never forced me to wear forest green or cardinal red pants, but I've since had a flashback of wearing a pair of stiff denim monstrosities with reinforced knees and all the comfort of spun steel wool on the playground. That was right before I accidentally fell on piece of glass, ripped a hole in them, and rendered them thankfully ineligible for school wear. And that is the story I will swear to my grave. Ah, childhood.

What really caught my eye about these warehouse finds (other than their hilarious colors) was the original tags. "Husky" sizing (that can't still be the preferred term, can it?), the laundry-list claims about their indestructibility, bell-bottomed boys in innocent and yet slightly dangerous neighborhood hijinks -- that kid looks like he 20 feet in the air -- is he falling down or bouncing up?

But my absolute favorite tag was on this plaid nightmare. From a distance it seems like it just makes the same claims about wear and tear -- with a 70s kind doing the very 70s (pre-iPod, pre-Playstation, pre-fun) act of climbing a tree.

But look closer my friends. Past the claims of you-can-not-f**k-up-these-pants-even-if-a-nuclear-bomb-goes-off (by the way, what the hell was it about the 70s that was so damn dangerous to boy jeans? Other than random pieces of glass flying up out of nowhere to ruin a brand new pair of pants. I was there, it happened)

Anyhoo, that's not just a kid with a bullet shaped head and shiny silver sneakers.

It's a damn, dirty robot! Climbing a tree! With its cold steel claws and its beeping computer brain, scanning the landscape for humans to kill. Oh, and it's wearing rainbow stripe Brady Bunch bell-bottom trousers. Okay, I willing to concede that maybe he's a cyborg, but still: striped bell-bottoms?

How did this advertising campaign sell boys pants? "Hey, Moms! Your son, like this sterile iron machine, will never be able to destroy our pants!" "Does your boy remind you of the Tin Man? Now he can dress like him too!" "Robby the Robot says: Stylish jeans? That does not compute!"

It certainly doesn't promise comfort. "The Softest Jeans Your Shiny Metal Android Ass Can Buy!"

Maybe it's just a dumb kid in his Halloween costume -- right before he runs out of air and falls 3 stories to his death. At least JCPenny guarantees his 10 oz. denim pants will be ok.

Was JCPenny's hoping that 7-year-olds would select their pants based on whatever monster was illustrated wearing them? "Mom, I want the Frankenstein Flares!" The mind reels with possibilities.

Perhaps we'll never know. But one thing's for sure: these pants will outlive us all. Run for your lives! [Cue Terminator music -- or the theme to Forbidden Planet, if you prefer]

TOTALLY INAPPROPRIATE TOY THEATER

2009-01-14T17:28:00.000-08:00

Well, thrift store lovers, beings-as (a colloquialism from my Midwestern past) it's already 2009 and I haven't posted in a while, I just have to share two horrible toys I saw today.

Exhibit A: what can you really say about the ethnic and racial stereotypes and egregious cultural misconceptions that naked dolls in bags labeled "Indian Chief" and "Indian Princess" toys perpetuate? Maybe the less said the better.

Exhibit B: Not sure if this is worse, but it's pretty awful. Awful funny, that is.

Now when I was a lad "water worm" had a totally different meaning. I'm wholly sure the toy company isn't intentionally going down that path.

Then again what else could "Squirts up to 25 feet" and "Continuous stream" imply?

And what of "No pumping required?" Uh, at least the box art clearly doesn't really look like a, ah, you lad's worm... they wouldn't go that far.

Oh. Okay. Imagine that illustration outside of its context. Like a health ed textbook. Even in this context, "Tail will squirt water indicating when worm is full" is pretty hard to read in any other way.

By the way, for all the boys and men out there, I think that your doctor would agree that the advice "Do not overfill worm!!!" is quite intelligent, especially if you want to avoid any prostate issues in your later years. So my father tells me. When we talk about water worms. Which is not very often.

Okay, okay. This is a family website. I'm not a prude, but I don't think it's my job to teach young boys (with apparently fat, fleshy palms) how to shoot water out of their worms. And if you don't know that you need to "hold neck firmly and pull worm head back" to squirt it up to 25 feet well you're really coming to the wrong internet site. Seriously, there's a WHOLE world of water worms out there that would make your head spin.

Gross I know but I felt like sharing. Happy new year? :{

I RESOLVE...

2008-12-31T17:22:00.000-08:00

So another year in thrifting comes to a close. And while it was swell in many regards, there were a lot of things I just never got around to accomplishing. Because I've been horsing around like a circus boy on the Mississippi (that's an expression, right?), my posts to this blog have kind of slackened in the past few months.

Well, now's as good a time as any I assume to lay out some resolutions for the coming year:

Next year, i resolve to make some new friends. Preferably snappy dressers with plates of food.

I will travel as much as possible and see more people. And awesome bridges too, while I'm at it.

I will bear in mind that violets grow in secret places. Which I believe is a reference to thrift store mining. That or runaway prostitution. (Looks like she's at a thrift store to me, though.)

I will definitely turn down into up. And I'll start by tying all my sweaters around my neck instead of wearing them normally. Then I will seek out the see-saw.

I resolve to read more trashy novels. How about this: Marcus Welby, MD, hit TV shows, love in crisis, acid... it all floats my boat.

I promise to pay closer attention to the around me. And then read them like a book. And con them out of their life savings. Well, maybe not the last part so much, but watch yourself just the same.

I plan to tell 1000 giant jokes, gags, and cartoons.

And most of my jokes will involve women being peed on at 50s costume parties.

I resolve to learn the secret language of wolf dogs of the north, so that I might better understand my dog's sometimes strange behavior. It probably just his inner wolf coming out.

I also resolve to learn more about monkeys. And then regale complete strangers with tales of their daring-do.

Maybe I'll pick up a new hobby, like learning more about contemporary art. Especially art that involves living rooms of the 1970s.

Or maybe finally learning how to cook a decent meal. Especially meals that involve delicious and colorful 1970s cuisine. (Okay, I'll stop now).

Perhaps I'll adopt a new pet. And then let the dog, cat, and bull snake sort out which is alpha through blood sports. For entertainment. Instead of watching so much TV.

I resolve to call more people more often. Especially if the calls are toll free and involve a big yellow telephone.

I resolve to have some deep meaningful thoughts and write them down. But not here. This blog is strictly for my unintelligent ramblings on stupid crap that no one really cares about. Therefore, I resolve also to have a secret smarty blog.

And on that new secret blog I resolve to travel through time as much a possible. Or at least act more like Einstein.

Finally, I resolve to recommit myself to my solemn task of saving junk, lurking through thrift stores, and to keep bringing you guys the visual goods from my thrift store adventures.

Thanks for a great year, see you on the flipside!

THOTH, JUDGE OF THE DEAD SAYS...

2008-12-19T22:54:00.000-08:00

Don't judge me. This blog will soon return. I swear to Ra... or Ma'at at least.

RIP 4SJ

2008-12-06T00:03:00.001-08:00

1916-2008

Aw, hell. Sad news today, sci-fi and horror fans. Forrest J. Ackerman is no longer among the living. I was lucky enough to visit the Ackermansion and meet Forry about ten years ago. Not only was Uncle Forry the first fanboy, he was the first collector, and maybe even oe of the first dumpster divers. His house was a shrine of saved stuff -- like digging the original Creature From the Black Lagoon monster suit out of a studio garbage can. Maybe that where a lot of my thrift store passion came from. His Famous Monsters of Filmland will remain my favorite magazine ever. Consider yourself lucky if you every thrift a copy.

Thanks for the childhood memories, Dr. Acula. Tell Bela and Boris I said hello.