I have been wrangled into a new production that includes a talking head trying to explain something that no one understands. All this without benefit of special effects or music. The subject is so serious; he insists that I have a whole wall of matching books behind him at all times. So guess what I’ve been doing for the last three weeks? Trying to locate an entire set of Encyclopedia Britannica. I originally wanted two sets, but I would be overjoyed just to find one. This is the one item that EVERY thrift store refuses to take. Garage sales have been known to pay you to take them away. With Google, who needs it? So these dusty vestiges of our past --are my ambition.
I spent four hours today in thrift stores, bought myself a beautiful hand made pot, my husband a camel hair jacket, my employee a pink matching storage units, the dog a new toy (he loves to rip the eyes out of stuffed animals and then take out all the stuffing. He loves it even more when it cries while he does it). No books, but lots of laughs when I asked the staff if they had encyclopedias, but no Britannica’s for my o’ so anal obsessive client.
My best friend and I entered a contest once to buy each other the tackiest thing we could find for under a dollar at a thrift store. She clearly won with her “Pancreatic Coffee Mug.” This ugly vessel was shaped like a pancreas and lemon yellow. It even came with a tag telling the virtues of the pancreas. I got her a corncob dressed like a cowboy. She even found a mate that was a pituitary gland. I was impressed and am still trying to out do her.
This weekend, I am up at the crack of dawn and off to every garage sale within 50 miles, because the client wants it, I love a good treasure hunt and Britannic deserves it. Fuck Google!