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10 Magnificent Movie Masks

Ah yes, the mask: a symbol of the Dramatic Arts, a valuable tool for the actor, a disguise to shield your identity from your victims/loved ones/law enforcement/Sally Field. In modern culture it feels most strongly associated to superheroes and weapon-wielding maniacs -- I got some of those here, but in choosing my absolute favorites masks it's made clear that everybody's got something to hide (up to and including who's really The Walrus). 

- Paul

Eyes Wide Shut

Just gonna go ahead and get this one right outta the way. I could do a book on these (I'm sure there are already several) and all the different styles and names they're given (The Picasso, The Jolly, The Plague Doctor, even The "Ryan O'Neal") but the one that stands out contextually is The Bauta, who nods at Bill and then later it's implied that he tattles on him. I have to go over there and show my face. 

3 Ninjas

We bring this movie up a lot on this site, usually to dump on it - even as a kid I found it embarrassing and rarely had a desire to revisit it. But what did stay with me, and still does, are these Oni masks worn by the 3 Ninjas. Like Eyes Wide Shut I think I was most attracted to the variety and how they all looked different. (I'd point out how each mask is best suited to each character's personality but you know I’d be making that up.) 

Dick Tracy

I'll always own up to my folly that I originally thought that The Blank's face was just his(?) face and not a mask; the movie is populated by gangsters with cartoonish facial deformities, so why not a character without any features at all? It was admittedly a letdown when it was revealed it was a mask, but then my life just became about wanting that damn mask (or at least the damn action figure). 

Nightbreed

Out of all the masked killers in Horror Cinema, leave it to Clive Barker to create the creepiest one, and leave it to David Cronenberg to wear it. It's funny that 80% of this movie is over the top far out fantasy, but the 20% Slasher portion with Dr. Decker is unsettlingly realistic. Dream Halloween costume (after The Blank)!

Demons

Clearly just for decorative purposes, and rightly so; this mask (which implicitly belonged to Nostradamus) causes a severe allergic reaction when it comes in contact with the bloodstream. So be careful because that shit is pointy!

Halloween III: Season of the Witch

Another choice that's as plain as the nose on your face, but today I'm here to pick a favorite of the three Silver Shamrock Halloween Masks. Honestly, each one is only as good as the costume that goes with it -- I've been a longtime fan of Dr. Challis's Skull/plaid/Members Only Jacket ensemble, but as my tastes have matured, the skateboarding ballerina with the Pumpkin mask goes too hard to ignore. 

Magical Mystery Tour

There were obviously no limits as to how many goofy costumes Paul could talk his bandmates into wearing. However, as weird as this choice was, they managed to make it weirder with various morbid and literary subtexts. (The Walrus is, in fact, not a symbol of death in any culture's folklore.) 

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

If we're gonna say Shredder wears a "helmet" (I would) then the "coolest mask" falls on Casey Jones. Looking nothing at all like the most famous Cinematic Hockey Mask of that moment, and only vaguely resembling its depiction in the comics, it sorta looks like The Punisher logo (which was once intimidating before it became misappropriated by a decidedly unintimidating demographic).

Point Break

Every once in a while I'm reminded that they remade this movie in the past 10 years or so. I'll never see it, but learning that the Ex Presidents masks don't make an appearance is probably what helps me disregard its existence entirely. There was nothing that wasn't cool about the 1991 original, but these masks made the whole thing next level. 

Mrs. Doubtfire

Never mind that Robin Williams was probably my favorite actor/comedian/person in 1993, the most exciting thing in this movie for me (and for every other kid who was obsessed with makeup effects) was the whole latex mask business. The fact that they took the time to share the step by step makeup chair process with the audience made this otherwise not-believable movie that much more believable. 

5 Gift Ideas from PLAYBOY Magazine, December 1993

Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome back to the site Miss July 1989!

Wait a minute! Wait a minute! No, no, no, that's not Miss July...

That's famed Movie and TV star Erika Eleniak, fresh off her successful turns in Under Siege and The Beverly Hillbillies, and currently (as of then) working on the Dennis Hopper film Chasers (which will prove to be decidedly less successful). Surprisingly, she's not the reason we're here today, because today we've set our sights on last minute Christmas shopping and we mustn't get distracted by other earthly delights and sins of the flesh and all that. So to guide us I've scoured the pages of this 32 year old magazine that's just as well known for shining a light on the hip trends in fashion and electronics as it is for nakedity. They've even set aside a few features and columns solely dedicated to shopping and gift giving, but I've gone beyond that and took notice of the dozens of ads throughout this issue that are desperately trying to sell us anything and everything. And since I'm sure you're already familiar with cigarettes and whiskey, that made it easier to narrow it down to these 5 unique treasures from the year that brought us Sleepless in Seattle and NAFTA. Just go ahead now! 

- Paul 

The RCA 35" Home Theatre

This is actually the back cover, which, to a magazine connoisseur like myself, is just as exciting as the front (even when it's Erika). 35 inches - that's your big boy. Am I the only one who not only misses but prefers the old CRT televisions? And it's not a nostalgia thing; "standard definition" or not, the brightness and contrast seemed to really pop when it played through that thick glass. This was the last decade to be dominated by this kind of TV so this was nearing the height of its technology. 

Picasso Watch

This is the first (and best) item in the otherwise uninspired "Playboy Christmas Gift Collection" ($1500 Dom Pérignon? A Yamaha Motorcycle? A Fender Stratocaster with an airbrushed picture of Marilyn Monroe on it? Maybe those could get you laid in '93 but I found them to be pretty gaudy). This watch, on the other hand, is much more my speed; you'd think a Swiss-quartz wristwatch from the 1990s with a Pablo Picasso artwork on the face might come off as bold or loud, but I find it elegantly understated (and more within my budget). 

Playboy Centerfold Collector Cards

When I was a kid I was only ever under the impression that pornography was classy, tasteful, clean. Nylons and high heels. Champagne glasses and fireplaces. That's because my gateway to smut was trading cards much like the ones advertised here, and you can see what a fancy spectacle they've made out of collecting pictures of naked boobs -- I mean it comes with a sleek binder adorned with an embossed Playboy logo accented in gold. I don't remember what I got for Christmas in 1993 but I'm sure I would've traded all of it for this extravagant tome of T&A. 

Beatles CDs

First a quick shoutout to that Bose radio on the top right - you couldn't get through a single episode of Beavis and Butt-head without witnessing ten commercials for this ugly ass electronic. But more exciting are those bulky CD releases of 62-66 and 67-70, which I eventually owned - possibly even got them for Christmas four or five years later. Though I'm sure at the time of this particular release it ended up being a popular gift with the Boomer crowd because, as I have attested, 90s kids wanted absolutely nothing to do with Oldies music. 

Joop! For Men

Of all the fragrance ads throughout this issue, this one is easily the most boring - frankly the Kate Moss Obsession page would've been more provocative (and indicative of 1993). But this one isn't about looks - I chose it because it's one of those "sample" ads that allows you to peel away a portion of the page and smell what they're selling. My nose is otherwise unfamiliar with Joop!, but based on this free ride it seems to smell like 32 year old magazine paper with notes of mold and just a hint of must. Delicious. To be sure, I went ahead and bought myself a bottle, unencumbered by the added scents of aged ephemera. 

Does it smell like an early 90s Playboy? Maybe not literally, but intellectually yes. More importantly is the probability that I myself now smell like an old men's magazine, which will no doubt be the gift that keeps on giving the whole year. 

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays from Bennett Media. Here's Kate. 

"The White Album"

This month marks the 30th Anniversary of The Beatles Anthology documentary airing on ABC - which simultaneously (and logically) marks the 30th Anniversary of me becoming a Beatles fan (which just means I actively began learning about them and discovering their music). It's particularly cool to me to have such a definitive mile marker - not too dissimilar from a child watching them perform on The Ed Sullivan Show in '64. But the really great joy of uncovering an artist's (or artists') body of work is that it's continual; there are many starting points throughout the journey - especially if the book is closed on their oeuvre. Fortunately for me, between my two parents I had the band's entire catalog on vinyl at my disposal: my mother had all their early albums, and my father had the later stuff. Combine that with the family turntable/tape deck stereo, and within weeks I had my own curated collection of Beatles mixes - pulled largely from their Greatest Hits albums, 1962-1966 and 1967-1970. 

I was 12 years old - the band wasn't entirely new to me, but that small amount of added exposure caused that thing that clicks to finally click. If you're a fan of anything you know what I'm talking about, and if you're a fan of The Beatles then you really know what I'm talking about; not only is there a lotta content from this band to absorb, but it's a variety, complete with various subtexts and nuances and phases and even clues(!). But obviously I familiarized myself with all the popular stuff first (and they had a bunch) and then only very gradually did I begin to venture out into the "very slightly less popular" stuff, which is such a delicate margin that it no doubt raises its pinky as it sips its tea. For album cuts I was naturally drawn to the busyness of the art work on the Revolver and Sgt. Pepper covers, as well as the general familiarity of the Abbey Road image. But even still, I was skipping around to song titles that I thought might sound cool, and literally skipping over others. "Lovely Rita"? "I Want You"? Those sound like they're probably boring. So it should come as no surprise that I consistently flipped past the dirty yellowed album with no pictures on it.

For a couple of Beatles fans, my parents were good about never forcing their interests on me; they had their own shit, and if I wanted to participate or showed interest then they were happy to include me. So when I organically found the band I had two bonafide mystery tour guides to not only provide me with the music, but also the knowledge and wisdom. When my mother was a teenager each of the four walls of her bedroom were dedicated to a different Beatle. She showed me the Hard Day's Night and Help! movies and she knew them by heart. Her beat-up and incredibly crackly copy of their first U.S. album Introducing... The Beatles was like a visual and auditory time machine that helped me ignore the fact that I was stuck in the mid 1990s. She gave me a good sense of the fab world of Beatlemania, and I lived it. Privately. In my room. 

My father, who's eight years younger than my mom, educated me more on "later" Beatles: the music, the fashion, the drugs, the death hoax, India, Manson, details about the breakup, and even some solo years stuff. Suffice to say a lotta this material brought everything to a higher level of adoration and fascination as the whole thing started to become more of an intellectual journey. And again, while my guardians let me digest and interpret Pop Culture on my own terms, my dad couldn't help but strongly suggest that I allow myself to experience "The White Album". 

"Rocky Raccoon"? "Julia"? "Savoy Truffle"? I'd never heard of any of these songs - the whole album gave the impression of some niche novelty of dull throwaways that weren't good enough to be a part of any Greatest Hits compilations. An then I listened to it. And I wish I could remember more details about exactly when it happened or where I was or even how I felt when I heard it, but I can't, and that may be due in part to some weird Shining connection I had to it, as though I'd always been familiar the album. (In all honesty, George's "Long, Long, Long" still makes me nostalgic for a moment that I may not have experienced in my lifetime.) What I do remember is no longer feeling like I was catching up on some Oldies music, but instead I was experiencing a prologue to a future that had not yet arrived; the album isn't "ahead of its time", it's adjacent to it. 

I can't say too much about the impact the album had upon its release; these songs (for the most part) didn't necessarily reinvent the wheel, but the band did (for the second time) reinvent the concept of "the album". Their talent only ever transcended the trappings of "A-sides" nestled into "filler" to fill out a standard LP; many if not most of their "lesser" efforts could've passed as successful singles for any lesser band. With Sgt. Pepper they attempted to present an entire record as one unified work of art - with not quite as much consistency (in my opinion) as the bands that followed in its footsteps (The Who, Pink Floyd, Bowie, et al.). "The White Album" is such a dramatic antithesis of unification that it becomes, in itself, a monumental whole. Organized chaos. A dizzying wealth of craftsmanship and imagination swirling around inside a plain white package. 

It was exceptionally exciting, and really kinda serendipitous, that in 1999 Paul Thomas Anderson cited "The White Album" as his favorite album, and that he drew some abstract inspiration from it in creating Magnolia. But it's hardly coincidental: my favorite album by my favorite band has psychic ties to my favorite movie, so clearly whatever they're putting out, I'm picking up with a heightened sensitivity to that power. On the surface, both are rooted in an almost reckless stream of consciousness that blow past the average running time. Aesthetically, they're both a collage of sorts, with pieces that fit together primarily because they occupy the same space. All of that is just a fancy way of saying what everyone's ever said when describing this album: of the 30 songs that appear on the record, no 2 are truly alike. Some people actually dismiss the album because of this - I can't explain why (and typically neither can they). Not only is it the truest testament to the talent of The Beatles, but it lines up with something I seem to value most in art: diversity. In its entirety it's an exploration of the history of Pop Music, up to and including their own contributions to it, as well as the experimentation of that very minute. And while it's best represented by its blank canvas cover, it's more literally translated in (and contrasted by) its accompanying mashup poster by Richard Hamilton. 

I gush about this collage more than I do about the album for which it was created - partly because it's harder to write or talk about music, but also because the poster is a totally accurate depiction of what the album offers: jagged snippets, candid glimpses, nostalgic time capsules, polished showmanship, private moments, tongue in cheek witticisms, all juxtaposed with a jarring asymmetry, grounded by the familiarity of the act you've known for all these years. Without any tangible cover imagery to mentally link our minds to the music, this fractured jumble of snapshots, negatives, drawings, and other ephemera carries that weight with perhaps the most logical effort in the whole box. The poster peels back some of the mystery, while also definitively mirroring it, and whatever style or technique you'd call this, it's the one I look for and respond to most in art -- regardless of how abstract it is, it's how I attempt to decorate my home, how I decorate my body, and perhaps even how I choose to structure my life. So no, it wouldn't be too dramatic to say that I live and breathe this album (along with the prizes inside). 

Standing rigidly in clown suits holding Classical Music instruments in easily the best visual depiction of what Pepper is. Same as how the blank white cardboard with The Beatles crookedly embossed just off center is the best representation of what can be heard here. I do remember watching the brief "White Album" segment of the televised Anthology documentary, during which they recycled a lotta footage from the "Hey Jude" recording session, as well as a few studio still photos from 1968, and my father's immediate reaction was "Nooo, I don't wanna see them making 'The White Album', it ruins the illusion!" I obviously didn't understand what he meant at the time (having not yet heard the album) but boy I sure get it now. Thankfully (and appropriately) the photography that does exist from them making this record is consistently in black & white, and only ever depicts a shadowy/otherworldly atmosphere that seems sometimes soulful, sometimes menacing, and often collaborative. Mad scientists in the lab.

Pepper was witty, campy, melodramatic, and overproduced. "The White Album", for the most part, feels intimately lo-fi; in the early days I often experienced it through headphones and I truly felt like I was in that ghostly Abbey Road studio as it was being recorded. But this isn't about comparing it to Sgt. Pepper - to be fair, I should be comparing "The White Album" to the entire Beatle catalog because it very much stands out as its own thing. And that thing, to me, could be summed up by a handful of descriptors: kinky, enthusiastic, melancholic. All the music seems to be mired in one or two or all of these things, and while those are some primal moods when you're 13 years old, I've found that the effect never seems to age. Regardless of whether it's Acoustic Folk, Honky-tonk Country, nonsensical ad-lib, faux Blues, Heavy Metal, British Music Hall, or Avantgarde Soundscape, the creativity and commitment never waivers - up to and including the spontaneous scraps and off the cuff jams.

Simply (and fittingly) titled The Beatles, "The White Album" was released in the UK on November 22, 1968 - just in time for the Holiday shopping season at the end of one of the most violently tumultuous years of the decade; a little over a year since Sgt. Pepper and the Summer of Love, and only 10 months before John left the band for good. Critics of this album will dismiss it for its supposed lack of teamwork, and that it felt more like four solo artists merely operating as coworkers (as though this somehow diminishes the quality). John perpetuated this observation later on, reiterating that exact sentiment of the singular Beatle with a "backing band". The other members, as well as the engineers who worked on the album, admit to tensions but suggest a much more cooperative atmosphere - moving away from "meddling" in others' work and leaning more on support. (All the unearthed demos and outtakes further illustrate an air of camaraderie.) If there actually is a discernible division while listening, I only ever interpreted it as the frenzy of inspiration and ingenuity that it is - that excitement when the words come faster than you can move the pen. It's all treated in typical Beatle fashion - if Paul wants to bang out a song about his dog then it's time to bring in an orchestra, or if John wants to sing a children's singalong about lions and tigers then Yoko can sing backup, or if George wants to do a song about guitars then let Eric Clapton do a solo. Each song dictated its own production value, and by this point the band had the experience and the intuition to know when they needed flugelhorns and sleigh bells, or when a simple tambourine would do. 

Puberty was bad to me. By the time Eighth Grade began I was short, overweight, and sad, all while trying to grow my curly, wavy hair to match John's "White Album" portrait. At school, I was slowly and painfully realizing that it was best to be ignored, but as my once-outgoing personality clung on for dear life, I couldn't help but represent, as my wardrobe now consisted almost entirely of Beatles t-shirts that I shamelessly wore eight days a week. If you're into anything in Junior High your peers will mock you for it, but I decided to make it be well known that I liked "Oldies" music (before it became the more respectable "Classic Rock"). Nothing in the mid 1990s was uncooler than old music - except maybe the fat kid who openly adored it. I took a lot from The Beatles, and one thing was the realization that I couldn't help but be me; in the face of constant ridicule I never backpedaled or broke my allegiance to what gave me joy, and I continued to consciously choose to openly express it, despite the "Blubber Soul" and "Flabby Road" jokes. That, plus the mental conviction that I knew I was right, and that there was no doubt that my XL "White Album" shirt was way cooler than all the Bush and Marilyn Manson and NIN shirts around me. I maybe walked the line between "punchline" and "pushed aside", but I knew I was the only kid in school who could effortlessly sing along to "Revolution 9". 

Decades go by and I meet more people and the Internet opens a larger world and I begin to learn that the fandom is far-reaching. Magazines and TV Specials and online listicles always manage to shine a light on "The White Album" (though Revolver suddenly gets the most attention and I honestly don't understand why), and once we did reach the era of "Classic Rock" appreciation I began to see that much of the world is likeminded in regards to my favorite record. And it's usually for a lotta the same reasons - mostly focusing on the range of musical styles and the proficiency with which they were executed. But like any album or song or movie or painting or book, a piece of art's true power is best measured by how it affects The Individual. Music (even Pop Music) is one of the more abstract art forms and it can work on us like strong scents or bright lights, so whenever we revisit a collection of specific songs in a specific order, it can create a whole illustrated timeline in our minds. "The White Album" helped to get me through some times of trouble, but it's also sparked inspiration, accentuated better times, and mystified me with its layers and puzzles. I'd never put it on the playlist that is the "soundtrack of my life" because it never played the role of "background music" - it's always been an experience that demanded my full attention; a blissfully schizophrenic 93 minutes that ranges from funny to scary to gentle, packaged with a promise that it would eventually take me back where I came from. 

- Paul

12 Treasures from The Hollis Flea Market

I don't know how familiar you are with flea markets - whether or not you've ever been to one, or casually visited a few to get the idea, or if you're legitimately under the impression that they have fleas there. Or, maybe you're like me and spend every Sunday morning of the warm weather season snapping into boiled wieners while wading through broken bowling trophies and flipping through faded Linda Ronstadt records. And if you're even further like me still, you had your 'usual' flea market, the one you visited most and simply became known as The Flea Market. For me, that's The Hollis Flea Market in Hollis, New Hampshire. And in February of 2024 during the off season, they quietly announced on social media that they were closed forever. 

 

In my lifetime I've witnessed the collapse of retail outlets, restaurants, mom & pop stores, entire malls, movie theaters, drive-in theaters, hotels, amusement parks, even playgrounds, but a flea market - as in The Flea Market - seemed too abstract to ever be in any real danger from the nondescript bureaucracy that's gradually been boarding up the windows of my life. But, it happened, and even though I've yet to fully confront the pain of this loss, it still hurts far worse than the absence of all the other aforementioned places (which is probably why my subconscious has yet to allow me to deal with it as a reality). I'm not being cute or dramatic, this was like the death of a loved one; I'd been attending The Hollis Flea Market since before I can remember and it came with only good experiences and happy memories. (How many things in your life can you say that about?) During whatever was going on in my life, whatever problems I was dealing with, whatever phase of interests I was going through, that real estate remained the same; despite the timeliness of the junk upon the tables and the tarps, it never felt like any specific year - there was no architecture or technology to indicate anything other than postwar Americana, and all the hubcaps and broken blenders and Stephen King paperbacks and Darth Maul headphones and Tickle Me Elmos congealed into a dusty mosaic that was always in motion yet remained a constant. Like that giant storm on Jupiter.

 

I can't get too specific about my experiences there or how it's left me feeling, because one, as cathartic as writing this is, the wound hasn't even become a scar yet and I'm not fully braced for the impact, and two, as I've asserted time and time again: nostalgia is nontransferable (and the same goes for grief actually). So instead of boring you with my woes any further, let's look at some shit. 

Below are 12 items I rescued from The Hollis Flea Market over the course of nearly 40 years. Not all of them are the best of even the most important purchases I made there but each one provides a chapter in a much larger story that will serve as a sentimental journey for myself, and also illustrate the more universal experience of walking up & down dirty aisles in the blazing sun, looking for gold (and broken Happy Meal toys). 

- Paul

California Raisins AM/FM Radio

I bought this just in the past few years, and I point that out not to call attention to a grown-ass man owning a novelty radio with bendy arms from 1988, but to say that even through the lens of adult eyes I wasn't able to talk myself out of getting it. I'm a lot more practical and a lot less impulsive as a grownup, but I experienced only a brief moment of indecision before I consciously admitted I couldn't live without this maroon plastic idol. I don't even think the radio part is functional, but unless it solely plays Motown songs I ain't interested. 

Biker Babe Wooden Plaque

This could've come from so many damn places: a carnival, a head shop, an auto garage -- and what life did it lead in whatever dorm room or bar or basement in which it lived? At any rate it found its way to the flea market (big surprise) and its smutty kitschiness caught my eye and tickled a chuckle out of me. It would've ended there but I was faced with two aggressive salesmen who sensed my mild merriment and decided to shoot their shot. My polite response was "Oh I'm sure my wife would be mad if I came home with that!" which was a lie on several levels. They backed off with a level of condescension that shouted "Guess we know who wears the pants in that relationship." Looks like I showed them. 

Batman Returns Movie Storybook

Scanning and scouring and digging is often how you find the best stuff - sometimes the only stuff. But there are those cases where every item on a table seems to speak directly to you. This instance wasn't that far-fetched, it was a youngish hipster couple unloading a bunch of their childhood and so our nostalgias lined up a bit. Trouble with that is when people have to part with stuff they're probably still attached to, the prices go up. I don't recall missing out on anything that made me feel deprived, and this maybe had partially been a pity purchase. Still, I'm always intrigued to find different perspectives on the evolution of Selena Kyle into Catwoman. (Unlike a lot of the more juvenile adaptations, this one actually does make mention of getting pushed out of a window by Chris Walken.)

Judy Collins CDs

Do you ever plan your nostalgia? I do. I revel and explore and swim around in it enough that I know how to make today a precious memory at some point in the future. A good way to do that is to embrace and saturate yourself in something new - like, say, a deep dive into the song catalog of Judy Collins. I purposefully bought this CD set as a means to always remember that summer whenever I'd hear any of the songs -- not for any specific reason, it's just good to leave breadcrumbs for yourself throughout the course of your existence. And now here we are, and incidentally a Judy Collins song will forever remind me of this now-defunct flea market. 

Screamin' Jason Model Kit

Around the time I was 9 or 10 years old is when I started getting big into Fangoria Magazine, and within those gruesome pages there would always be at least one full page ad for Screamin' Model Kits featuring stylized photography of Freddy, Jason, Pinhead, et al. as fully assembled and painted finished products. And as beautiful as they were there were two big turnoffs: I'd no interest in model building, and I don't think I could've handled an 18'' Cenobite looming over me as I slept. Nevertheless, during the first summer of my big Fango phase there was a vendor in Hollis selling his fully finished Screamin' Jason Voorhees model: the legs and torso were not attached, the strap on the mask was broken, and the cardboard machete was no longer a threat to anybody. Even after supergluing the two halves together he still struggled to stand on his own power; he certainly wasn't scary and he was tough to love, but it felt so cool and grown-up having him in my room. Today all that's left is this instruction manual for this model I didn't build. 

Fangoria #110

Speaking of! Flea markets are usually synonymous with nice weather (there are indoor options but that's an entirely different animal), but if you start too early or go too late in the season, the mood (and the weather) can be very different. I recall one very grey, sorta chilly, sorta damp Sunday in the middle of October in the early 2000s, which was most likely their last day of the business season and frankly I wasn't feeling it - my mentality had already moved onto Fall/October things and this predominately Summertime activity didn't fit in with that. And then like the segments of the Lament Configuration, everything aligned as I happened upon this seasonally appropriate periodical. It doubles as one of my favorite flea market memories and Halloween Season memories. 

Gremlins 2 Topps Trading Cards

While on the subject of favorite memories, there are few that are as magical as this. Someone, for some reason, was selling an entire box of unopened Gremlins 2 trading cards -- that's 36 packs of cards, folks. This was probably a little over a year after the movie's 1990 release and miraculously (or maybe understandably) someone was dumping these cards at a price that was cheap enough to meet my allotted spending money. A whole box of packs? I felt rich; each pack was like a bar of gold. At that point I was only mildly into the Gremlins scene but I did have a taped VCR-to-VCR copy that I borrowed from my cousin, and so the rest of that afternoon was spent opening packs while Gremlins 2 played on the TV. I amassed the entire set from that box and by the end of the day I was a fan for life.

Hopalong Cassidy Cereal Spoon

This was actually a purchase made for my son who had graduated to big boy silverware but our regular teaspoons were still too heavy and cumbersome. Frankly they're too heavy and cumbersome for me also - conquering a bowl of Coco Krispies doesn't require a utensil that could summon the power of Greyskull. So if there's a situation where we both need a spoon I will be the adult and concede - ultimately we'll both ingest the same amount of mercury or lead or whatever the hell this Baby Boomer relic is made out of. 

Pewter Figurines

When I was 11 or 12 (probably both) my biggest (if not singular) hobby was collecting these little bejeweled pewter statues. Any money I could accumulate went towards these, and the rest of the time was spent begging my parents to financially support this habit. These could sometimes be found in greeting card stores or fancy gift shops in malls, but during the brief period of my life that I dedicated to these trinkets, there was a table - a display - consistently set up at Hollis every Sunday morning. The little statues were arranged on shelves that ascended like stairs and draped in a fancy teal linen that made it look like a carpeted entrance to a castle. The price range was a slippery slope - smallish ones could be around $10 while a slightly larger one could be $40, so there were many variables when it came to choosing. I acquired so many little dragons and wizards and sword-wielding skeletons in that short span of time -- and roughly ten years later I set up my own table at The Hollis Flea Market and sold a large portion of my collection. The regret of that impulse decision haunts me more with each passing year. 

Beethoven and Chopin Busts

I'd wanted a heavy duty bust of Beethoven ever since I was a kid and noticed one prominently featured in A Clockwork Orange as well as in Hershey's 5th Avenue commercials. The closest I got was when I was a teenager I had a rubber one that sang "Roll Over Beethoven" when you pressed a button. Cut to decades later when I finally find one that appears to be made of stronger stuff - ignoring the fact that it's roughly 5'' tall I still consider it to be pretty perfect. It was also one of those situations where the seller didn't wanna break up the "set" so I got stuck with a Chopin too. I used to feel like it compromised the purity of the single Beethoven statue, but now clearly they both have significance. 

Schaefer Beer Sign

There's a feeling you get when you've reached that point where you've seen just about everything and it's almost time to go and couldn't find anything to your liking. In that situation it's not uncommon to panic and buy the last object you spot before you leave and so you end up driving home with a pair of rusty gardening shears with only one blade or a novelty shot glass from Atlantic City. I found myself in one such instance where I'd given up and accepted defeat, and when I did walk past this beer sign it certainly did pique my interest, and had I just arrived there or had I found a buncha neat stuff already then that interest would've faded by the time I got to the car. But instead it ended up being my trophy for the day and has lived in my bathroom ever since. 

The Beatles White Album Poster

Yes I've discussed it several times before, and consider this a guarantee (or threat) that I can't stop/won't stop. It was June of 1997 and I had like a week of 8th Grade left so I was in a fairly decent mood that Sunday. It could've possibly been the first Hollis trip of the season, and just like the summer before, I was on the hunt for Beatles stuff! In the days before online shopping it was tough to come by memorabilia for a Rock Group from the 60s; the vinyl industry had only just collapsed so finding records was like discovering The Pyramids, and at any flea market that was always my safest bet in finding anything Beatle-related. But this was way better than some moldy, sun-bleached Sgt. Pepper -- a poster that I was intellectually familiar with from books I'd read, and portions of it were included in my compact disc version of "The White Album" but truly I wanted the real thing: to own it, to experience it. And I guess I just inherently knew the imagery well enough to spot it out of the corner of my eye from several aisles over, held up on the side of a van with some fridge magnets. I don't know what the cost was or what my financial situation was in the moment - all I knew is that I'd just spent two months building a research paper on the Lincoln Assassination that was just a few days away from its due date and I consciously had the thought that I would've set that paper on fire if it meant I could have this poster. It didn't come to that (I don't know who would've benefited from such a transaction) but it was no fleeting fancy; it's still one of my most precious physical possessions.