Hoarder's Hordes

I Guess It's a Jesus Kind of Day

Illustrations of Survival

Cage Match

I left Greta and Bill's party at 10 PM which was probably an hour too late as I was so incredibly tired from working the sale at the greenhouse. Thankfully though, I left far more tired than intoxicated. I was too tired to drink, I guess. As I was driving home I was contemplating night lights and the pollution, noticing the row upon row of pot lights on the new houses beaming down from the eaves in the distance in the subdivision to the south of my home and thought it insane that these people find it necessary to make sure the world could see their glowing Potentilla borders around their newly constructed houses at night. I drove over the hill to our farm saw that there was yet another light on by the corn bins and I cursed my uncle for not realizing how ridiculous they are and not shutting them off. One yard light beams in my bedroom and I have to actually draw the shade every night to block out the cursed illumination.
 I pulled into my yard. Parking my car in the usual spot, I jumped out and headed to the back door of the house. I had completely forgotten that earlier in the day I had explicitly instructed Joe Anderson to place tomato cages he had so generously made for me, formed from concrete reinforcement fencing, "On the east side of the house, by the wood pile". I pancaked myself so hard, suddenly finding myself on the ground,  I didn't know what hit me and I was sort of in this disorienting tangle of sharp metal. Sharp,rusty metal that I felt collapse under the crush of my behemoth weight. I untangled myself from the mess of wire and stood up, shook it off and laughed at the karmic balance of cursing the light of night because I could have used some just then.
I got in the house and while readying the coffee maker for the morning I noticed sort of a stinging sensation from my right leg. I went into the bathroom and realized blood was flowing from about five puncture and scratch wounds around my knee area and then noticed a deeper gash around my ankle at which my sock was already tending to that wound soaking up copious amounts of blood. I got busy with the antibacterial soap and washed and washed the scrapes, frantically trying to remember the exact date of my last Tetanus shot. I remembered as a child, a cousin and I had a strange obsessive fear of blood poisoning and had many conversations about the red stripe of infection that creeps up your leg and if it gets to your heart, BANGO! you're dead!
I overly scrubbed the wounds, patted them dry, then applied hydrogen peroxide, smeared on triple antibiotic ointment and covered all the wounds with 6 extra large bandages, mainly to keep the blood off my sheets of my bed that I so yearned to crawl into, the bleeding wasn't stopping any too soon.

I got up this morning and went outside to survey the damage I had inflicted on the tomato cages and saw that I had flattened one nicely. I moved them up and closer to the wood pile, out of my way and as I did, one fell over and scratched me on the right ankle yet again! I am sort of feeling sorry for the tomatoes I will be placing in them later today.

Inside Pandora's Security Envelope

The inside of this security envelope has me in a tizzy. I have been studying it for days and have seen many things. What do you see?

1. an envelope
2.  panda bear
3. a rising Phoenix
4. a person seated at a piano
5. Aztec hieroglyphics
6. Mickey Mouse
7. camel
8. Sphinx moth
9. the 3rd horseman of the Apocalypse
10. octopus

The Ties That Opined

I decided it was such a nice day that I better get out and do something so a big day for me is a trip to Walmart. I didn't really need anything besides toilet paper and a new toothbrush but ended up spending $96.00 on various sundries. I ran into my old buddy from the Janitor days, Nancy, who now has worked at Walmart for 4 years. We chatted as she worked and then she filled me on her duties there as of late. She is in charge of aisle 11 (Paper) and 12 (Chem) in the grocery section of the store. Where from 7 AM to 4PM she walks the two aisles and checks inventory with the electronic device that tells her what is short where then goes and gets the stock that is needed. Aisle 11, the "Paper" aisle consists of paper towels, toilet paper, napkins. those types of things. Aisle 12 the "Chem" aisle consists of all the dishwashing soaps and laundry soap. I asked her if she is ever overcome by the smell of this aisle because my eyes burn hotter than a 3 peckered billy goat when I come within 50 feet of that aisle. It is really strong. She said that she likes to alternate between the aisles because, yes, the smell does get to her. She told me how fascinating she finds the toilet paper section sometimes. She is flabbergasted that on many occasions that children argue with their moms about what brand to buy. Yelling things like, "Don't buy that one, it scratches my butt!." We both agreed that we never gave a thought to what toilet paper our mothers bought when we were kids. Or having a woman inform her that she has to buy the extra soft for her and the husband must have the extra strong. Both of which are over $16.00 for a 12 pack. Can you imagine spending $32.00 just on toilet paper? Nancy also filled me in that just those 2 aisles make up over a million dollars a year in sales at just that store. Amazing. I guess we all gotta shit, huh? So why doesn't Obama put a mandatory tax hike on toilet paper like whats on cigarettes. More people shit than smoke. This country would turn around in no time.
I then wandered over to the Men's Clothing Department. I saw a product that has been there for a year or so now. I find them fascinating. Luckily, I remembered that I had my camera in my pocket and captured the following images of religious neckties available there. I find the cartoony stations of the cross tie really kinda cool and it almost had me buying it, but since I rarely wear a tie and they were kinda pricey, over ten bucks, I decided to hold back, but check out Jesus truckin' with the cross. I love that image. What a mix of ties! Books of the New Testament, Packers and Navy, John 3:16, Noah's Ark, Cartoon Jesus and to top it off "Fabulous Las Vegas". Collect them all!

YES!

SO beautiful.

It's All In A Days Work

There Used To Be A Time When This Meant Something

Icy Delicious

I still have mine!

Low Self-Esteem Christmas Update

So I was was showing my brother the post I did about his Christmas card he made for Ma and Pa (see below) and he set me straight. The use of the word "hopless" was not a misspelling but just that,  meaning he did not hop anymore due to the removal of his leg brace he had been wearing for 2 1/2 years because of his affliction of Legg-Calve-Perthes disease. I thought that was pretty funny when he told me he didn't misspell anything. 

(Note to self: Check with sources before going to print. The truth is always stranger than assumption.) 

Have A Low Self-Esteem Christmas

I was digging thru Christmas whatnot and found this Christmas card made by my brother, I would assume in grade school.

Looks as though in his youth Chipmunks and Triceratops roamed the landscape. I do like the snowy foliage very much. Looks like a real storm is a brewing.

The inside reads, "Merry Christmas to dear Ma and pa
From the hopless kid Jerry" . I think he meant "hopeless". Geez.


And then on the back he just used the card later to write a note to my Mom.

More Up-Close-ness

Plant parts at work.

Junky Saturday Afternoon

So Saturday I afforded myself some time to go and attend an auction at a local auction house. I made myself sit through 4 grueling hours and hundreds of wild life art prints with a smattering of junky junk in between all the ducks and pheasants and deers and bears and mountain men of print. I have had nothing but bad feelings about all that Ducks Unlimited feathers aflying stuff for the past 25 years. It really astounds me how people think they are buying art of any worth. Sure there is no accounting for taste. If you think it's a pretty picture or you get a certain buzz or fantasy boner for a big buck jumping over a stump that you would love to come across for real and plug with lead then so be it and so buy it, but the whole cult created for the purposes to make people like Terry Redlin or Les Kouba, to name just a couple and all the dealers millionaires is just horrible. It all stems from the fact that this country on a whole has forgone teaching the masses any type of art appreciation. Or am I just jealous? Sure but I still think that their art is really bad as far as paintings go. Really they are more conceptual than straight forward landscape painters, the concept being cash. They are in the same vein as Damien Hirst. Clever merchandisers. I can imagine that they spend more time signing these prints than painting. All these collectors should save up their money and just buy one actual painting by these guys if they like them so much. I suppose people think they could never afford a real painting but I saw people spend well over $2000.00 on a pile of prints they couldn't possibly have wall room for and are not worth much more than a scenic paper placemat picked off the table at a restaurant .

Ok, enuf of the anti-art rant. This is the bounty I came home with. I spent $12.00 and here are a sampling of the fine treasures I came home with. Lets talk more of my good taste shall we?

SO this little groovy thing is a CB lingo and code converter. You pull up the antenna and a line and the numbers on the left correspond with the definitions that appear in the slot at the top of the radio. On the back is a slang interpreter. It's life size to boot!





This strange little calling card or business card for CB sales. I'm thinking Witch Doctor was their handle. On the back is a number code interpreter.






Some dirty pink Poms with somebodies hair tangled in and a smaller clutch of Packer Poms.



Then I found these buried in a box of various sundries.
Man-Zan: Sample Rectal Itch medicine tins. Why, I ask, would anyone save these? They are old, but why even would an auctioneer offer them up for sale? I save a lot of things but I don't think I would save an empty tube of Preparation H. I suppose that depression era sort thought the tins would be handy for storage but Good God! They are slightly smaller than pictured maybe handy for storage of a snort of cocaine or one shiny penny. I hardly wanted to touch them. I think there is a pube stuck on the poopy looking one in the lower right. I couldn't get them open, not that I tried too hard to see if the sample was still in there, it wasn't like I was going to try it out. I will have you know I suffer no itching in that region. I am a fastidious wiper and do not suffer from hemorrhoids. I wash, I scrub it good. Praise be. I should offer them for sale on Ebay and see how much some crazy person would pay or maybe I will give them to my crazy friend Greta who would have no problem turning them into earrings.



"Put up"... PUT UP?...." with a collapsible tube with nozzle". Obviously that equipment didn't come in the tin. It sounds like an ordeal requiring mysterious devices. I just might PUT UP with the itch and scratch. Seems easier. Ish.

Self-Loathing Trivet Misogyny or Keeping It Real In The Kitchen

I was digging thru the dumpster at the local junk store the other day and came upon this aluminum trivet. No wonder it was thrown away.



When I was young my mother had a number of these types of trivets on the kitchen wall above the stove. The one I remember the most said, "The hurrier I go the behinder I get." I remember asking my mom what that meant and I distinctly remember her explaining it didn't matter how fast she moved or no matter how much housework she did, her butt just kept getting bigger. Really. That is what my mom said to me. That is how she understood it. The word hinder, as in ass, still sorta puts in me in giggle fits as it did when I was young so "behinder" was even funnier. This is the self image my mother had of herself. I have followed suit. I am not quite sure if that is what it means or not? Basically I think it means the more you do, the more there IS to do but the image on that trivet and the coy play of words easily convinced a generation of farmwives they never worked hard enough under the guise of the midwestern work ethic.

I was searching around the internet and did find a few more examples of these trivets. There is no manufacturing name on any that I have or have found. I searched the statement "The hurrier I go..." and came up with a lot of Pennsylvania Dutch or Amish connections which I have a hard time believing but I suppose in those communities a woman knows her place. Blah blah blah or ha ha ha for that matter.

My dumpster trivet above is no less offensive. I showed it to my mom when I came home and she sort of hrrumped, rolled her eyes and looked the other way like she was remembering something bad. I love the touch of the lazy hillbilly man too. They are so politically incorrect on so many levels, I must start collecting more of these as soon as possible. As we have never thrown anything away in this household I am sure I can find my mother's self image spoiling collection somewhere.

The one below I remembered was hanging in our basement stairs. Why? I guess because there was a nail in the wall. Not so degrading, just your typical barroom crassness. Har har har. The type of bar were lips are busted for lookin' funny at or to someone.



Anybody out there know the history of these bad trivets? Oh and by he way, I was thinking Trivet Misogyny would be a really good drag name.

Life of Late Worth Living in Pictures

I haven't had much exciting going on as of late and have found myself laying on my bed watching a lot of movies and TV. That is my ceiling light and a picture that hangs over my bed. The early darkness as winter sets in always makes me feel this way. I have seen some great movies lately including Billy the Kid, Young @ Heart, The Virgin Spring and Cleo From 5 To 7 which I am ranking as one of the best movies I have seen this year. I love finding movies that are as old as I am that can be so incredible. Made in 1962. A very simple story with an underlying thread of anxiety running through it that compels you to the end. Beautiful to look at, to feel and a gorgeous final shot. Yummy. Can't get any better.

I have been making myself read the instructions for my camera.


Every once in a while I tune into Lingo with Chuck Woolery and Shandi, Miss USA 2004 who cohosts the show. Seen here.


My friend Jeff shows off his new shoes, UrbanTimberland's. The Purple Reign collection. Walking in style and light in the hiking boots. They could make doves cry.

Nature Moves In From The Cold

Lonesome Highway

Driving down the highway I spotted a mud flap that tells all.

Old News

I bought an old cabinet whose shelves were lined with a few pages of newspaper. The St. Paul Pioneer Press, August 31, 1950. I might read the paper more if it was this interesting. It is filled with self-help jibberish and great illustrations and ads. The Pioneer Press of late is going down the shitter. It barely exists anymore as do most newspapers I hear tell. I suppose they will go the way of 8 tracks and cassette tapes due to internet domination. Too bad. I like the tactile quality and what will you line the bird cage with, or wrap your fish and chips in or wash windows with? (Remember: you can click on the photo to make it larger.)

Does this represent the 2 faces of Eve?



I like the quick poo pooing of suicide. Gosh, don't go there... "not completely, that might even be fatal..." like, jeepers, this is just a daily newspaper column I am writing here. I have my degree in journalism not psychology.
I really can't follow the rest of the reasoning, maybe because it is too close to home.

I would love to meet deluded people who brag about animals loving them so much. On the contrary it is usually poor souls who have too many animals because they can't love any humans and I believe that is called PETA envy.

Again I am confused about the nervous people. Who feels safer? The nervous people with the children or the children with the nervous people? The use of quotations is strange too. Good with children in quotes lends a creepy tone.


Cripes! Relax! It's just B.O. Talk about heavy handed advertising. It is sort of like any or all potlitical advertising of late.


Such a cheery ad. Good God! And it rhymes to boot! Here is a few more lines to round out the poem.

I am such a young lad
to have a dead dad,
I should be mad or sad.
but Mom has already met a new man with a groovy pad.
Sis and I think that is rad.
Is the stone leaning to the left a tad?


Hang in there people, Polio vaccine on it's way in 2 years!


Sorry about the poor quality of the picture of the picture here but the blurrinees lends itself to the state of mind of the girl involved.


I think the real story here is that poor dumpy teenage Joan was looking for a little attention on a Sunday morning after she wasn't asked to the homecoming dance. She spent her Saturday night at home with Auntie playing parcheesi. We got an old school cutter on our hands. Put the blame on Jesus. Or could she possibly have scratched her hands on some chicken wire while gathering eggs before going to the Sunday service? Maybe she was digging in Auntie's purse during the service and got ahold of her lip stick and started drawing? Who knows the mysteries of the passion that lie within the hearts of overweight teenage girls in the post war Truman era.


Thrills at the Minnesota State Fair.


Seems as if old Lydia E. Pinkham discovered what a nice sized cucumber or carrot could do for a woman. Vegetable compound indeed! The woman's friend! And in what year did a flush become a flash? Probably has something to do with the Woman's movement.


All that style for such a low price! Take that Manolo Blahnik!