Adventures in thrift shopping...

[badatapologies]

I have a superpower. Just the one. I cannot leap tall buildings or make flames shoot out of my nipples* or do anything else that would get me on "Heroes". However, if you blindfold me and set me loose in a thrift store, I will find something rare and cool and possibly valuable for under a dollar in five minutes or less. It's a gift, but it's also a curse: I'll bet when you pack to move, you don't have multiple large boxes in categories like "telephones" or "toasters" or "bakelite radios" or "cameras" or "waffle irons" or "Star Wars toys". I have television sets from every decade since 1948. I own three Betamaxes. I've got a hundred four-track tapes. Do you even know what a four-track tape is? I have three 60-gallon tubs that are packed solid with Legos. I can't even lift 'em. Good news is maybe I could build a human-size house out of the legos?

The lesson here is that I don't thrift shop much these days. Cash flow is not ideal and object-containment capacity is not optimal. But I had some appointments today and I decided to reward myself by spending a couple of bucks.

Result? Three sealed Game Theory LPs (including Lolita Nation).

And?

A complete tabloid insert from the July 15, 1955 issue of the Los Angeles Times. Announcing the opening day at Disneyland. With original full-color concept art, ample written descriptions of rides, themed areas and attractions, and a personal message from ol' Walt himself. On fragile 52-year old newsprint, but intact. I can't even find a reference to its existence online, let alone any pictures.

Net total for the tabloid and the albums together? $3.75.

If I could only find things that were valuable that I didn't want to keep, I could make a fortune. But I suppose that would be wrong. With great thrift-shopping power comes great thrift-shopping responsibility.

I'll scan the Disneyland pages--carefully--as soon as technology permits. It definitely brightened my day.

____
*optional sport package. as shown, $32,500. your mileage may vary. professional blogger on closed course. do not attempt.

Comments

Re: Discredited Media

[collisionwork]

Wow. I got off lucky on only having a few 78s - my dad has quite a few, though, and a working windup Victrola, too, so someday I'll wind up schlepping all that around. I'm glad in retrospect that I wasn't able to convince my mom to get a CED player before the format vanished - I have a friend with an extensive collection of those things and a couple of working players. Those things are HEAVY.

But I have been lugging around my Colecovision for years, despite not having the little box that allows you to connect it to a TV set, as well as a load of Colecovision and Atari 2600 games, and the adapter that allows you to play Atari games on Colecovision (which I was lucky to get in that brief time before Atari forced them to get rid of it).

Why do we hold on to these things?

Re: Discredited Media

[mcbrennan.livejournal.com]

If I ever find an extra adapter box for the Colecovision, I'll send it to you. I used to have about a dozen of 'em but that number has seriously dwindled. I have a bunch of games for both.

The CED things are made of some kind of extremely dense Dark Matter. I deeply regret my decision to buy one. I regret even more my decision to buy about 200 of 'em. I have two players, too. Insanity.

I love the 78s, though. I was raised by my great-grandma, so I have a real affinity for older music.

Why do we hang on to these things? I wish I knew. A connection to the past? A fascination with history? Misplaced desire to have things now that we couldn't have then? Slobbering psychosis? I think I'll have some of each, thanks. :)