Amvets

This picture should tell you everything you need to know about my trip to the Amvets store on Elvis Presley Blvd. They finally fixed the sign, which is encouraging, but it was still bleak, overall. Very bleak indeed.

A little (brief) background. I’ve always had a soft spot for Amvets, when I first came to town and started this misguided voyage into destiny, Amvets was the place that jumped out at me as being maybe the best combination of funky charm, reasonable prices, and that intangible grit that I feel a real thrift store has to have, that feeling of knowing that you’re probably going to have to get your hands dirty but at the end of the day you’re going to take home a lot of gems. And as almost all the stores within the city limits that I visited and loved (RIP Salvation Army Danny Thomas and Goodwill Chelsea) closed up shop to be replaced with sterile, charmless suburban equivalents (cough cough Salvo Kirby Whitten cough), Amvets still hung on. I still went, I still found great shit, and I still talked it up to whoever’d listen. After today, maybe not so much. Don’t get me wrong, I still had a good time, but the “funky charm” has just given way to funk, the “reasonable prices” in many instances have been replaced with inexplicable guesses, and the “intangible grit” that I’ve always loved so much has become tangible. Way tangible. Evinced:

Amvets has always had a lot of furniture. Most of it would be “worn” to varying degrees, but you could usually count on stumbling across at least one or two genuinely quality finds. Not so much now. You’re going to think I’m exaggerating, but almost without exception, all of this furniture was stained or scuffed or mangled beyond repair, when it wasn’t just flat out broken to the point of being useless to anyone. Bear in mind who’s saying this, by the way. I’m in no way unable to see the value in what most other people would probably find disposable, but a coffee table with two legs ripped off is asking a lot, and a couch with over half the cushions missing is just… come on. What are we doing here?

I really didn’t want to waste my time and energy going through and photographing every inch of their “electronics department” but take it from me when I say it all looked like this. I’m not sure I saw more than one or two things that even looked like they might remotely work, let along were from this century. Am I bumming you out yet? Well don’t worry because

Then there’s just the laughably inexplicable, like this fucking toilet WITH NO TANK that someone was ballsy enough to slap a 24 dollar price on. This is where I just started cracking up. 25 bucks for a used toilet. Tank sold separately. Amazing.

And a bed pan, because of course there’s a bed pan. Why wouldn’t there be a bed pan. There always needs to be a bed pan. Bed pan. Also one wonders why one would shell out 25 bucks for the nonfunctional toilet when you could get the presumably functional (I don’t know for sure, I didn’t check) bed pan for a mere three dollars? That’s some homespun country wisdom, right there.

It wasn’t all bad. There were actually more than a few objects of interest, or at least amusement. Like this vintage “Electric Chord Organ,” which is basically an accordion with less buttons and a fan in it that runs on AC power. They’re kind of cute and kitsch and you can usually get them for hells cheap, but they’re missing one crucial element. A volume control. Considering the internal fan basically just comes ON and starts blowing air AS HARD AS IT CAN as soon as you flip the switch, these innocuous looking things are actually pants-shittingly loud, and there’s really no way to address that. So unless you have excellent soundproofing, and/or very understanding neighbors or domestic partners, buy at your own risk. This has been a public service message from your friends at Secondhand Underground, Inc.

The monitor itself, not very remarkable, but does anyone else remember this exact screensaver? I want to say ALL the computers in my middle school (all five of them) had this exact screensaver set as their default, and I remember very clearly in my later, more “experimental” years, turning this on my own computer at home, turning off all the lights in my bedroom, getting VERY VERY, VERY baked, and watching this for what could only be described as an amount of time. Hadn’t thought about that in 15 years. Amazing, what comes flooding back to you out of nowhere.

This is a travel mug from a small regional chain of restaurants called Lambert’s Cafe, where their entire gimmick is apparently that they throw bread at you while you’re trying to eat. I’ve had occasion to drive past the location in Sikeston, MO several times (exactly why I don’t recall), and every time I do, I cannot for the life of me fathom who would find that to be an appealing idea. The parking lot’s always full, so clearly there is a type of person to whom the notion of getting assaulted with one particular type of food while you’re trying to eat presumably perhaps even that same type of food is just the cat’s proverbial ass, but I just don’t get it. The only thing I can imagine is this, and bear with me here…

I know a guy who somehow stumbled upon a wonderful game to play with his cats. How exactly he came up with this I’ve never thought to ask. Anyway, the entire game consists of him taking uncooked hot dogs, and attempting to beat his cats (gently, mind) about the head and face with said hot dogs, while the cats, sensing the presence of food but ALSO sensing a potential beef-bludgeoning threat, simultaneously attempt to eat the hot dogs AND avoid being struck by them. Try to picture this in your head, for a moment. I apologize if it breaks your brain.

…so my only thought is that perhaps the people at Lambert’s are trying to tap into this primal juxtaposition, this duality of fight AND flight wrapped up in the same moment, that you WANT the rolls but you want to AVOID the rolls but they smell so good that you HAVE to have them but they’re coming RIGHT at your head so duck! But eat! But duck!

Perhaps I’m overthinking this a little.

This microwave(?) has more wood paneling than a 1976 Chevy Caprice

Lest you think a trip to Amvets would be a total loss, they do have one ace in the hole. The clothes. They have an absolute deluge of cool clothes. Granted, like the furniture used to be, some of it is going to be stained or smelly or otherwise undesirable, but if you dig you can find things like

This REALLY swank fur-lined brown suede coat, looked to be in fine shape and going for about 8.98, if memory serves. A find like this alone would render an entire trip down to the Amvets worthwhile.

And then sometimes you just find hilarious things like this giant sized pair of shorts. 54 waist. Wider than they are long.

And they DO have quite a lot of books, and although they’re mostly disposable they ARE super cheap, and something like this

Might be worth picking up for around a dollar, just to cut out this image and frame it above your bed

I never said you wouldn’t have to think creatively.

Speaking of which, I actually had occasion to recommend Amvets to a friend who was looking for vinyl records to “upcycle” into chip bowls to sell on etsy, and so in that instance it didn’t matter that a good majority of these records were/are scratched, missing sleeves, or otherwise probably not suited for addition to anyone’s collection. They’re cheap and they’ll suit her purposes perfectly.

Plus this is just fun to look at, I don’t care who you are. Speaking of music, check out these tapes I found:

OH SNAP

I don’t know how well the picture shows it but this is a game called “Heaven’s Trail.” The side of the box reads “Answer These Questions While Traveling On And You’ll See The Light Leading To Eternal Life.” Well, ok. Seems like an unusual back door into the kingdom of heaven, but what do I know? Just looking at the outside of the box, you’d think this was some sort of weird, Christian-themed ripoff of Trivial Pursuit, and guess what…

IT IS! It fucking is! I could not BELIEVE it when I opened the box and saw this! Like some of you, my first thought was “perhaps choosing concentric pentagrams for the board layout was somewhat counterintuitive…” but I guess they were trying to avoid getting sued because they basically lifted the entire game from Trivial Pursuit, check out a sample question card

And because I know you won’t be able to live without the answers…

There. You learned something today. I can now officially refer to my blog as “edutainment.” Also, I find a deep and wonderful irony in the fact that someone chose to completely rip off a game called “Trivial Pursuit” in service of the least “Trivial” of all “Pursuits”…

Eternal Salvation. Here endeth the lesson.

Ok time to wrap these junts up. Box of hair? Check.

INSANE amount of crutches (lotta legless folks around Elvis Presley Blvd apparently)? Check.

And of course what trip to Amvets would be complete without a stop in at the Snack Area/Arcade. I bought a can of Pepsi and left.

All in all not a COMPLETE waste of time, although I only walked out with a can of soda to show for my efforts, but I got to listen to “Rump Shaker” again for the first time in oh, maybe 16, 17 years. So that’s something. Although I didn’t find jack shit at Amvets and was kind of let down, I can still see the right person with the right set of needs walking in on the right day, and leaving with some truly exceptional finds. It’s tempting to say the place has “gone downhill” or whatever, but it’s a hardscrabble thrift store in the middle of a genuinely hairy neighborhood, so what would that even mean, really? Stores just change, times change, and either you can do the work and still find what’s worthwhile in the midst of a bunch of crap, or you can’t, and in that case maybe it’s not the STORE that’s lost something special, intangible, and important. Just a thought. Talk to you next time, dearies.

love

d

Goodwill Stage Rd

Live to thrift.

Thrift to live.

Ladies and gentlemen it’s good to be back. Copious apologies for the prolonged absence but I had oh wait that’s right you don’t give a fuck and neither do I. Let’s get down to business. This gloomy Sunday found your humble narrator lost in the wilderness of the greater Bartlett, TN area (because you have to drive that god damn far out just to touch someone else’s discarded pants in this town any more… what the hell) and perusing the wares of the recently renovated Goodwill at the corner of Stage and Summer.

They really fancied the place up nice style, with walls and a ceiling and everything, which, while perhaps more aesthetically pleasing, lacks the airplane-hangar-esque charm of the previous setup, with the vaulted ceiling and pegboard walls that you could peek over and see giant bales of compacted clothing waiting to be unpacked and sorted in the back. Observe:

Ah, well. Time marches on. The renovated store is not without its charms.

Like this adorable miniature Vespa, perfect for… well actually I have no idea who the fuck would need this, but it is kind of cute. Some old lady threw it in her cart about 4 seconds after I took this picture, which leads me to the inevitable conclusion that she was following me, and may still be at this very moment. Wait, what was that noise? OH GOD SHE’S HERE

I really think this guy might be dead. It was all I could do not to poke him with a stick. Of course it’s usually all I can do to not poke most people with sticks, so perhaps that’s not saying quite so much, after all.

I found this thing, which aside from its cryptic exhortation to “PEEL OFF LABEL BEFORE USE” provided no indication as to its actual function or content. This is what I like to refer to as a “mystery item,” and I think the crafty bastards in the back room at the Goodwill only slapped the 4 dollar price tag on it because they knew some dumb sap like me wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to plunk down his hard earned currency just to take it home and determine what in the name of sweet stinking Jesus it actually did. But alas and fuck, I was too clever this time out, and passed on it. Obvious ruse is obvious.

I will say the revelation that “This device complies with Part 15 of the FCC rules” did give me pause to reconsider. Again, if only to find out what Part 15 of the FCC rules actually commands. Am I in compliance? Are you, dear reader? These are questions we all have to live with. Also, here is the video for “99 Red Balloons” by Nena:

English version.

Okay, so while I won’t go so far as to say that EVERY children’s toy I come across at thrift stores these days is universally terrifying and not fit for human consumption, I’ll definitely avow that the overwhelming majority of them disturb even me, an ostensibly grown adult (burly) man. It’s little wonder that we seem to be raising generation upon generation of twisted, broken, principal-murdering freaks when these are the kind of “fun objects” we leave them alone with for hours on end. We seem so hell-bent as a society on “protecting” our young with cabinet locks and foam padded playground equipment, yet no one raises even the slightest fraction of a stink when someone manufactures, distributes, and charges honest to goodness money for a god damn PSYCHOTICALLY MURDEROUS PIANO FROM THE NINTH CIRCLE OF HELL.

On behalf of the entire Secondhand Underground organization I ask you, I urge you, I implore you… think of the children. Kill this thing. Kill it with fire. Kill it before it kills you. Kill it before someone’s kid kills you before you can kill it. Wait, I lost track of what I was saying.

In other “I am an old man” news, when in the hell did super soakers get so complicated? My memories from childhood are relatively distant and obscure by this point, but I seem to remember these squirt cannons (calling them “guns” would be a blatant insult) being fairly simple operations. Tank + pump = fun, no? Hell, I had one with a double sized tank you could strap to your back like a god damned Ghostbuster and annihilate your neighbors without even leaving your own back yard. This thing, on the other hand, looks like it fell out of the movie “Skyline”‘s butt. It looks like it could do your taxes. And tweet about it while it was doing so. And probably Sudoku factors in somehow.

What I’m saying is it’s complicated looking.

From the “still kicking myself” department, when am I going to bite the bullet and just buy one of these swank-ass valet chairs already? I love them, I want them, I’ve seen them in every possible configuration (low set, high back) construction (wood, metal, plastic) and finish (this one appears to be suede? “Pimp-ass motherfucker, party of one…”) and yet I still haven’t made the investment. I suppose that means I am not yet a man. Does this mean my bar mitzvah was a sham? Only my rabbi will know for sure.

I am not immune to the charms of a relic from a different era, and this TV stand is, to me, like catnip in that regard. I can’t help but look at it and wonder whose home it lived in, and try to picture the massive, spine crushing television that probably stood upon it. Was it one of those ancient ones that had the push-button channel switcher that was connected to the damn cable box with a long crusty cord? I briefly became enraptured with this outdated piece of home furnishing, and even considered bringing it home with me, until I read this dispiriting disclaimer:

And so considering I possessed neither models EU391, EU392EN, EU396, EU396R, EA391, EA393, EA395, EA398R, EB393, EB395, EB398R, EB391, FU443, FU441, FX465, FX430, FA433, FA441, FU445, FU446EN, FU450, FU450R, FU425EN, FU454, FU458, FA445, FA450, FU476EN, FU475, FU478R, FA465, FA472EN, FA475, FA478R, FX466, FU490, FU492EN, FU498DA, FA482EN, FA485, FA488R, FA492EN, FA495, FA498DA, FX485, FX495, FB443, FB445, FB442, FB441, FU505, FU510EN, FA505, nor FA510EN, and I did not want to create a situation that could lead to instability causing possible injury, I was forced to pass on it. Safety first.

Okay seriously, I think this guy is dead. He isn’t moving.

Ah, you can always count on Cameo for comic relief. And for the three of you who aren’t familiar with their brilliance, I simultaneously feel bad for you, and am jealous of you, because you are about to have your brains blown out of your socks, ground into a fine paste and poured into your eyeballs. Check it:

Don’t forget to move.

I’ve seen a billion copies of this record in stores over the years, and it strikes me as the most depressing fucking cover art imaginable. But I thought maybe I was the only one who looked at it that way. Apparently not:

“High Priestess of Agony.” Who knew Edith Piaf was so METAL? She was troo klvt before there WAS a kvlt.

Sometimes I think my critical faculties have been worn down through years of secondhand abuse to the point where I can’t discern whether or not something is adorably kitsch, hopelessly tacky, vintage, priceless, fun, or just fucking stupid. This is a perfect example. Are these cool or dumb? I don’t even know anymore, people. Someone please help me.

All right, lightning round time. THIS is the only acceptable way to organize books any more: by size. And thank god the good people at Goodwill recognize that.

May seem innocuous, but you want to know what the first thing I thought of was?…

ROLL FIZZLEBEEF

Sometimes editorializing these pictures seems redundant. That says “Chateau T-Shirt” btw

Oh god Zach it’s SCIENCE IN A BOX!

Christ, science is expensive.

Wow, thank god someone had the wherewithal to narrow down Michelangelo’s bloated vision to its bare essentials. Really saves time. I picture this visual abortion hanging next to a cropped version of the Mona Lisa that just has the fucking smile, or a copy of Magritte’s “Treachery of Images” with everything cropped out but the fucking pipe. Sometimes I think most people don’t even deserve eyeballs.

Hilarious cover illustration? Check.

Seemingly impossible product guarantee on the side of the box? Check and check. Doesn’t smoke, drip, or smell? Guess what, it’s not a candle.

Pausing for a brief moment here to comment on a phenomenon that I think is somewhat unique: over the years, I’ve become so desensitized to the overwhelming barrage of irrelevant garbage that most thrift stores throw out there for people to peruse that I honestly barely even see it any more. I wish I could explain what it was like… you remember in Robocop where they switch to his point of view for a second and his eyes are just narrowing in on relevant data in his field of vision and cross referencing it against his internal database and processing conclusions based on that information faster than the words can even scroll on the screen? That’s what it’s like for me when I walk into a thrift store. Some of it is intuition, some of it is magic, but most of it is just “I’ve seen this a billion times and it has no relevance or interest, moving on” a hundred times a second until I bump into something that actually catches my attention. This “City Walks!” guide to Boston actually gave me pause just because of how worthless it seemed (who in god’s name is going to buy this, except the most hopeless of hoarders?) but more interestingly than that, made me realize that I didn’t even SEE the entirety of the rest of the contents of that rack. It just wasn’t there. Not relevant. Searching… no results found. Moving on.

What is it?

IT’S IT.

No, really, what is it? It only has a damn on/off switch, and a “LO” and “HI” setting. Lo and hi what?

And then you stumble across a gem like this. The only thing I actually ended up buying and taking home with me. Ballantine’s, Black and White, something called “VAT 69,” and “Queen Anne.” I will only drink scotch out of this glass. That is my vow.

Haven’t seen a fake produce section in a while.

This book cover broke my brain. I still can’t decide what the funniest two-word combination is on the damn thing. “Zion Covenant”, “Prague Counterpoint”, or “Bodie Thoene.” I defy you to pronounce that name.

Thone. Thow-een. Thoine. Thoweeny.

My god, did Tim LaHaye ever do anything OTHER than write these damn books? Oh yeah that’s right he wrote a Christian sex manual too. Hilarity ensues.

GOD DAMMIT SOMEONE BOUGHT MY DEAD GUY! My Weekend At Bernie’s remake is shot to hell! Lesson learned, kids: always jump on a dead guy. FUCK!

As usual I didn’t look at many clothes (the more things change, the more they stay the same) but I did see this “Head” brand jacket which I found truly frightening. I usually leave the clothes horsing to whichever member of the fairer gender makes the mistake of accompanying me on these doomed voyages. Ladies, represent plz.

Is ANYTHING spelled right on this bag?

Why are they selling one single game piece from a giant sized Monopoly set

SOMEONE MADE A FUCKING BAG HUTCH

No shit…

And with that, my lovelies, I’ll wrap up this particular installment. I am actually quite sorry for falling off the map for so long, and all I can promise you is that I’ll do my best to get back on this secondhand horse and ride it to glory, with all of you by my side, Satan willing. If you’re new to our little operation, please feel free to start from the beginning and catch up, and in the meantime, I hope to check in with you again soon. Until then…

love

d

City Thrift

Longtime readers of this internet blogging writing spacing thing (or anyone who has a special affinity for inconsequential bullshit I wrote several months ago) may remember that I had, in the midst of mourning the loss of Thrift Town on Winchester (my personal favorite store), noted its transformation into something called “City Thrift” way out on Summer Ave, by I-240. I mentioned wanting to go out there and do a proper report on my findings. This is how long it’s taken me. Please, please… hold your applause.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t come into this whole thing with something of a chip on my shoulder. I genuinely loved Thrift Town – it had a near perfect mix of eclectic merchandise, shoddy charm, and unpretentious affordability that is becoming progressively rarer in recent days – and I resented seeing it shoehorned into the lineup of the rest of the “Thrift Stores” that are all on “Summer Avenue” in “Memphis,” as if that’s all there is to say on the subject any more. Unfortunately, that’s becoming truer and truer every time I drive through a back neighborhood and find the local secondhand shop shuttered, even the Goodwills and the Salvation Army stores, all caught up in this mad rush east towards the suburbs that’s been going on since long before I ever thought about setting foot in Memphis and will presumably continue into the indefinite future…

But I digress.

“WHAT’S THE STORE LIKE FOR CHRIST’S SAKE” I hear you asking, dear readers, and again am compelled to wonder why you always insist on talking in all caps. Truth is? They still bring the quality merch, prices are still solid (if not exceptional), and the intangibles… well, they’re mostly still there.

What are the intangibles, you may wonder? Well, it’s things like this. This stereophonic test record (which tantalizingly advertises the “Phantom 3rd Channel!”), while maybe not most people’s FIRST choice for “secondhand find of the day,” still effectively establishes a mood for the store and tells shoppers what they might encounter… It’s kitsch, it’s cute, it’s fun and it’s cheap and if you felt like picking it up on a lark you could and if you didn’t, no great loss. Plus, how do you fashion a record “in fine furniture,” exactly?

And really, it just went from there. This may sound like I’m phoning it in but I’ve been doing this for such a long time that some of the jokes just write themselves now. Por exemplo, this Dean Martin record, “Welcome To My World,” which I liked a lot better with its initial, longer title… “Welcome To My World, You’d Better Put Your Name On The Liver Transplant List Now Because Take It From Me It’s A Very Long Wait.”

A little light reading, perfect for leaving casually strewn around your loft apartment or piled up in the bathroom, just to confirm to all your guests that you’re actually the pretentious fuckwad that they’d begun to suspect you are.

I don’t know much about “art,” but I know what I like. This falls into neither of those categories

This, on the other hand, I actually kind of liked. I would have bought it but as I reached for it a falcon swooped down from the heavens and snatched it up in its talons and absconded with it into the aether. I could only stand by in slack-jawed astonishment at the magnificent splendor of nature’s finest hunter at the peak of its prowess.

I don’t know what my weird attraction to the “Flour/Sugar/Coffee/Tea” Matryoshka Doll nesting sets is, I just feel compelled to look at them and want them and touch them and photograph them every time I see them at a thrift store which is every time that I GO to a thrift store, and I’ll never buy a damn one of them because I already have professional-grade food storage containers from the awesome restaurant supply store chain in town but I still have to get all up close and personal with them anyway, I think it scratches some kind of weird OCD itch in my head to think that not only is there a place for everything and everything in its place, but that those places can take the shape of attractive, stylishly designed containers that you can arrange in sequential order by size on your kitchen counter and give off the illusion that you have your shit together even when maybe you don’t. Just a thought.

Or, if you find “Flour/Sugar/Etc” too constraining, there’s always the time-honored Arabic Numeral System to fall back on… although I’d constantly be expecting to open up each respective jar and find a big pile of 1s and 2s and 3s in each of them, but I guess that’s a little too literal

This, I had fun with. What’s that, you say? “Est So?” But, that doesn’t make any sense! It’s cryptic Latin gibberish! Someone call Dan Brown!

Ahhhhh, okay. Well then here’s my question – if you were, just for the sake of argument, the Single Greatest Father In The Entire World, do you really think this would be a fitting tribute? It almost seems a little insulting. Like, “here, Dad. You’ve done a really great job and this is what I think you’re worth. Digest that for a while.” No wonder it ended up in…

THE SECONDHAND UNDERGROUND.

Zone.

Moving on. Purses! Lots and lots of purses! Seriously, this is way more purses than I usually see, anywhere, even at the Purse Store (not actually sure if that exists)! I want to come up with something else to say about all these purses because there are so many purses but I don’t know what else to say about purses because I don’t wear purses!

PURSES!!!

Ah, the early 90′s. Before we’d all come to an agreement on exactly how to spell “cyber.” In case you were wondering what kind of white-knuckle excitement you were missing…

Welcome to the wonderful world of early 90′s PC gaming. If I hadn’t been there, I’d love to pretend it hadn’t happened too.

I BOUGHT THIS! Not because I find it amusing in the slightest even for ironic value but because I seem to remember a local fried seafood restaurant of some repute having a standing offer where if you brought one in they’d hook you up with lunch! Unfortunately I never go downtown for lunch any more so it’s just gathering dust in my closet.

But someday… Big Mouth Billy Bass will have his revenge. His sweet, breaded, deep fried revenge. Which is then dipped in tartar sauce. God, I’m hungry. What time is it?

TIME FOR THE LIGHTNING ROUND! Okay, most commonly encountered appliance in The Secondhand Underground Zone… The Bread Maker! Least commonly encountered appliance…

Uhhh, this thing. What is it? Harmless grey box, you think? Or…

VIBRATOR CONVERTER!

…wait, WHAT?

Okay, most commonly encountered home therapy item… The Handheld Shiatsu! Least common usage for said home therapy item…

Impromptu impersonation of a prostitute robot from the future!

Here are two out of context pictures of my good friend Zach looking like a complete knob:

To be fair, I urged him to touch the fake fur on the lamp. Because, lamps should not have fur. And as such, that makes it a bad idea. And if there’s one thing that dear Zachary and I can always go in for, it’s a bad idea.

How to even describe how this sounded. The look on Zach’s face probably says it all. I sorely regret not shooting a little video, because the sound of these two clanging discordant reverberating bells, right in your ears… Well, look at him. How do YOU think it sounds?

No comment. Moving on…

This couldn’t possibly be as sinister as it looked at first glance, could it? Or as sinister as it looked at second glance? Or as it looks now? I mean it’s just a padded adult highchair, on wheels, right?

What could go wrong with that?

More often than I’d care to recount, I come across musical instruments at secondhand stores that are just things of beauty, once in a decade steals that practically DEMAND to be taken home, regardless of logic or logistics or finances or anything. And one of the skill sets that the hardened thrifter (another word I invented that I’m just going to pretend is acceptable) has to develop is the ability to say “I love you, you’re great, but I can’t pay 70 dollars for you and tie you to the roof of my car and drive you back to my apartment where I have no room to put you.” Easy to say in the abstract, but…

Look at this thing. I could be playing it, right now, like some secondhand phantom of the opera. But, it’s a slippery slope from there to next thing you know the nice camera crew from A&E is knocking on your door asking you if you’d like to be on the next episode of “Hoarders.” This is a fear we in the secondhand world have to manage. And so, we walk away from truly beautiful creatures like The Entertainer III.

Or, the complete set of “The Ocean World of Jacques Cousteau.” Because there just isn’t room. There might be room in our hearts, but there’s no damn room on our book shelves.

Not even for this.

And so, we live to thrift another day. Are we better off for the whole experience, or worse? Only time will tell, but we’ll be too busy to listen because

LOOK AT THAT PENGUIN WEARING THE LITTLE CLOTHES AAAAAAAGH SO CUTE

love

d