The following container turned up during a kitchen organizing session in Medford.
Just to keep you on your toes….
I’m all for reusing containers; an old prescription bottle in our car holds quarters for parking meters. As long as reused containers are labeled or transparent, it’s great. But the label really needs to have at least a passing connection to the items in the container. So this was a prescription bottle, labeled “Weird Screws,” that contained…. Oh, foreign currency! Of course.
It’s been a while, but as I recall, the client decided to keep the coins in there because it was so amusing. They were about as likely to need the money as the weird screws, anyway.
I have many clients who are geeks. They self-identify this way. I have been called a geek, too, and that may be true. I do go to science-fiction conventions, and can quote many Monty Python sketches by heart. So it’s with nothing but affection that I present to you, this, the geekiest donation box ever.
When geeks downsize.
Included in this box from Arlington were the following objects:
- An animatronic Furby-like Yoda that was sort of working until it inexplicably stopped. And I’d wanted to post a video, too!
- An R2D2 desktop supply holder (it had little drawers for paper clips and stuff)
- A toy light saber
- A bust of William Shakespeare
- Several comic books
- A crushed velvet box (for keeping one’s roleplaying miniatures in, perhaps)
- Maybe more things that my feeble mind can’t recall (it was a few months ago)
Everything got donated except for the broken Yoda, who went to the trash compactor on the Death Star, and the R2D2 who went to my ex-husband because my eleven-year-old thought that would make an awesome gift.
Posted in Art, Collectibles, Comics, Home furnishings, Office Supplies, Toys
Tagged alien, art, box, ceramic, chatchke, Comics, Light Saber, Shakespeare, Star Wars, toy, Yoda
I noticed this little guy when I went to use the bathroom at a client’s house in Jamaica Plain. He’s about two, two and a half inches tall. For scale, note the dog hair surrounding him. (No finger-pointing here; I probably have about 30 cat hairs sticking to my clothing as I type this.)
Watch your aim, dude.
The “pee” is a length of what looks like fishing line. I think he’s meant to be in his pajamas with a nightcap on. Notice the absence of any external genitalia, because peeing is cute and charming, but penises are not. No one wants to see any penises on your bathroom chatchkes.
Peeing Guy was given to my client as a gift, and she is SO keeping him.
“Maybe if I put them behind the oven, no one will notice.”
Aha, but my client noticed, and so did I. The bricks looked like they were meant for a crappy playhouse for a child. What’s wrong with the usual crummy paneling or linoleum, I ask you?
Cheap-ass Cambridge landlord, you know who you are. The Internet wags its collective finger at you.
This is a coin purse that turned up in a junk drawer in Watertown, MA.
Put your coin inside the monkey head.
When you squeeze the monkey’s cheeks, its mouth opens, revealing your change. While I think it could be cute to “feed” the monkey a coin, there’s something not quite as appealing about shoving your fingers deep into its mouth and digging around to find the right combination of change. Still, it amuses me. My client kept it, of course!
I’m sure James Beard was a lovely fellow and a great chef. So I can’t understand why the people of Cuisinart would choose to use this bone-chilling photo of him as a cover for their 1976 cookbook.
He chose this blood-red apron especially for you.
I realize they didn’t have Photoshop in 1976, but surely they had makeup and airbrushing. Is this photo supposed to terrify you into eating your vegetables?
In case you aren’t sufficiently creeped out, here’s a close-up:
Would you like some coleslaw, little girl?
James Beard did not actually look like Uncle Fester in real life. There’s a charming photo of him here on Relish.com, in which he looks like a jolly European toymaker.
This book left a home in Natick, and is on its way to the Medford Public Library for their book sale, where I hope it won’t startle any children.
This ceramic shoe came from a client’s home in Watertown. She said it’s meant to hold a floral arrangement.
Mom, you can stop bronzing my shoes now.
Everyone who has seen the shoe since it came home with me (well, that is, myself and my daughter) was inexplicably overcome with the urge to try it on, but alas, the open part doesn’t extend into the body of the shoe. Just as well; it probably wouldn’t be good for my bunions.
Is there anyone who would consider an old shoe to be desirable decor, even if it were filled with flowers? I guess it could be a fun present to give to your cousin the podiatrist. But he’d hate it and then he’d keep it for years just in case you came over.
This bewildering item is still here in my house, in case anyone would like it.