GOOD LOOKING CORPSE

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?

Ground Control to Major Enik....

FOUND ON THE SIDEWALK...

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!"

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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!

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.