WEIRD STUFF :: The Making of SUPERNOVA (2000)

It's been almost two years since my last WEIRD STUFF entry -- I guess things have just been too normal around here. But there's something that's been on my mind for a while now - actually since late 2024, around the time Megalopolis began its limited theatrical run on limited screens and everyone began to revisit (and sometimes reevaluate) Francis Ford Coppola's filmography. I admit I took a glance at the master filmmaker's lineup; intellectually I already knew where the strong points were as well as the weaker areas (at least by my measure) and so I sorta shamelessly (but privately) tried to weigh his worth with movies of his I liked vs. movies I didn't. And in scrolling through his resume I found something of an anomaly - at least to me. 

When I bring you "weird stuff", sometimes it's personal information that you otherwise wouldn't have known. And sometimes it's information that's already public record but is entirely new to me... Like the fact that the 2000 Science Fiction farce Supernova is credited with three different directors: Walter Hill, Jack Sholder, and Francis Ford Coppola. 

If you're already aware of this, sorry to hit you with old news, but you could've alerted me to this bizarre factoid and all its sordid details. The script was reworked and built up and torn down and molested by a parade of screenwriters before it ended up in the hands of a reluctant Jack Sholder, who was immediately replaced by Walter Hill at the insistence of star James Spader. Hill shot the entire movie and previewed a final cut (minus FX shots) to a test audience - who hated it. Based on that, MGM then rehired Jack Sholder to do the whole reshoot and recut thing, which included adding new scenes, cutting old scenes, and replacing the music score entirely. 

By the time Sholder's polish was complete, MGM was under new management, and the new bosses didn't like Sholder's version either and so they pleaded with Walter Hill to return. Hill told them he'd need $5 million to make enough changes to salvage the film, and so they declined. Instead, they brought on Francis Ford Coppola who required only $1 million to perform yet another re-edit -- one that would include a truly bizarre and ambitious change to the movie, but ultimately made no difference whatsoever. It's tough to determine who had the idea or why it needed attention, but this final edit took an existing sex scene between Peter Facinelli and Robin Tunney and CGI'd it into a sex scene between James Spader and Angela Bassett - digitally swapping out the actors' faces and, of course, skin color. 

Honestly the only reason I ever took a mild interest in this movie was the potential possibility of an exposed Robin Tunney - which, in fact, there is, both in and out of the guise of Ms. Bassett. But that doesn't save the film. Its stellar cast, which also includes Lou Diamond Phillips and Robert Forster, can't even generate enough magic to make it excusable; if anything it makes it that much more embarrassing. I'm being more than fair by pointing out that I'm not really into this genre or subject matter even when it's at its best, but I'm perceptive enough to look past the silly spaceship premise and recognize it as the truly bad movie it is; not even really "so bad it's funny" but more like "so bad it's sad". 

The final directing credit landed on Walter Hill, under the pseudonym of Thomas Lee. And it was partly because of that pseudonym that I never gave the movie much more thought beyond the goofy garbage that it is, but now with all this added context and perspective I can't help but be a little curious to revisit it, and see if I can't recognize any shades of Freddy's Revenge, Southern Comfort, or The Conversation. Maybe if I reset my standards to be as high as possible then I can prompt some sorta physiological rush as my expectations plummet back to Earth. 

- Paul

WEIRD STUFF :: Goodnight, Mr. Walters

This series has primarily explored stories of coincidence and chance, of intersections and strange things told, and which is which and who only knows. But Saved by the Bell and Bugs Bunny's dick aside, sometimes the Weird Stuff is merely just a feeling, a mood. Something inside ourselves that either can or cannot be explained. These instances can derive from dreams or feelings of déjà vu or whatever mild helping of Extra Sensory Perception with which we've been blessed. And sometimes (maybe most times) they come from some external stimuli to which we react in abstract ways. One stimulus in particular for me came from Nick at Nite. 

Spending this Summer revisiting the reruns of the reruns, I became constantly and aggressively reminded of the closing credits to Taxi. Following the credit roll is the show's production title A JOHN CHARLES WALTERS PRODUCTION over a brief shot of the enigmatic John Charles Walters himself, walking away from the camera with his back to us. We know this figure is the namesake because an off camera female voice exclaims, "Goodnight, Mr. Walters!" to which this character gives an unintelligible grumble of an acknowledgment. And, scene.

   

So I suppose the first big question is, "Who's John Charles Walters?" (distantly followed by the second, less pertinent question, "Who gives a shit?" but we'll get to that). JCW was, indeed, a television production company founded by David Davis, Stan Daniels, Ed. Weinberger, and James L. Brooks (all formerly producers of The Mary Tyler Moore Show) and ran under its parent company, Paramount. Taxi was their only hit series during their existence and the two became synonymous, as though Mr. Walters was like a regular cast member on the show. The truth is "Charles Walters" was the name of a local bar and the producers repurposed it as their title - though not to be confused with movie director Charles Walters (Please Don't Eat the Daisies, The Unsinkable Molly Brown) they added the forename "John." The idea was to have a "venerable Protestant name" that felt more accessible than its parts. (Weinberger plays the on camera Mr. Walters.) 

And there it is: John Charles Walters never existed. ::lightning flash/thunder clap:: I suppose you could digest this paltry Hollywood backstory as some Weird Stuff but that's never where I was going with this. The truly weird thing for me was and continues to be the brief vignette depicting Mr. Walters leaving his office. 

As a child, I was under the impression that he had just arrived home in this shot, walking down the hallway to his apartment and the disembodied interjection "Goodnight, Mr. Walters!" was the voice of a nosey neighbor in the vein of Louis Tully in Ghostbusters (which probably helped warp this scenario in my head). In my mind, the nighttime taxicab ride immediately preceding this scene was a depiction of Mr. Walters's journey home, followed by a brief interruption of the brightly lit corridors of his late 70s apartment building, and then predictably into his dark dwelling. And that's when I would always become filled with a mix of mild anxiety and pure melancholy. 

The closing credits to a lotta shows (particularly All in the Family, Cheers, M*A*S*H, Dragnet, and of course Taxi) projected a desolate, spooky vibe that I was never able to shake, due (in part, I'm sure) to that it's always sad when something ends, especially right before bedtime. But they all carried different music that was separate from their opening theme songs, often played over eerie B-roll that was empty of people. It was in this otherworldly realm through which John Charles Walters would make his way to his lonely home, despite the chipper disposition of the unseen woman who wished him well. And I'd picture him entering his place, no one to greet him, the dim twinkle of neighboring skyscrapers filling the window, just a lonely and sad and scary space that left me feeling uneasy but with a side of coziness; a real monster-under-the-bed mood to help me fall asleep. My greatest sadness came from his apathetic response to the lone friendly voice who was clearly trying to connect - I felt this woman's disappointment in her unrequited salutation, but just witnessing this failed connection as an objective thing was heartbreaking. 

It wasn't until very recently that I deduced that John Charles Walters isn't in an apartment building, he's in an office building, and the woman calling to him isn't a neighbor but a coworker, most likely a secretary. And so while I really should make the necessary adjustments in my mind, it's really not that difficult (or necessary); most of what I said can be salvaged: the time of day, the dynamic between the two players, the solitary lingering notes of Bob James's "Angela," the existential foreboding of the architecture and fluorescent lighting that leads into darkness. For all we know he's gonna go out and get in the back of Marilu Henner's cab and be driven home to his apartment and then the proposed scenario still stands. There's all this framing around it and the scene itself is just under 3 seconds, but in that short time they establish context - a context I got wrong and so I subconsciously created a subtext to support it. And while that may very well be a trait of human nature, it's still the Weird Stuff: not only our ability but our compulsion (and sometimes obligation) to ponder and intellectualize the gaps in the genetic code of existence; that place where dreams and ideas live and all the other things David Lynch could better explain. Revisiting Taxi (or any other nostalgic endeavor) reminds me of a substantial time and place in my life; evoking memories of a physical location and an approximate calendar date. But this company callsign is more intuitive than simply reminiscing about school nights in 1993 - it forces me to revisit a state of mind which is something we keep with us in a dormant state until the appropriate trigger is pulled. They make movies and books about this phenomenon and they're typically labeled as "weird" so I feel certified in my inclusion of this "stuff." 

Goodnight, Mr. Walters, wherever you are. 

- Paul

WEIRD STUFF :: Intruder (1989)

Intruder is an ultra low budget Slasher movie from 1989 written and directed by Scott Spiegel and produced by Lawrence Bender (who also received a "story by" credit). It takes places in a supermarket as the overnight crew is stalked and slashed one by one by an unseen assailant.

Based on this synopsis alone I'm not impressed -- the idea of "supermarket" stands out to me as the greatest appeal as I love Horror (or any genre) confined to or even briefly frequenting a retail space (Chopping Mall, Phantom of the Mall, The Initiation, Manhunter, Dawn of the Dead) if only to witness old store names and brand labels. (Dinosaur Dracula did his own very specific analysis of this movie.) But otherwise I've often campaigned publicly about my unrestrained boredom regarding the Slasher genre. Nevertheless, Intruder stays afloat for a long list of reasons. 

Apart from old soda cans and TV Guides, the characters and dialogue are actually kind of engrossing - way higher quality than the hundreds of cheap snoozers that came out that decade (it's got most Friday the 13s beat). And when there actually is violence, it's violent: creative, realistic, disgusting - the things I blindly assume I'll find in this market and usually have to end up getting myself off. Instead, KNB were utilized to the bloody best of their abilities, thus creating imagery we intellectually link to the genre but in reality rarely see. 

So it's one of the better Slasher flicks, that's easy. But what hooked me in and kept me seated was the cast & crew promised to me by the opening credits. Lawrence Bender? Seriously? The Raimi Brothers and Bruce Campbell? I mean, really it's no big deal: an early effort from a young producer and some winky cameos from the Evil Dead dudes; it's cute and gives it flavor and that's fine. What really had me intrigued was a "Special Appearance by Emil Sitka."

Emil Sitka is best known for appearing in dozens of Three Stooges shorts (almost as soon as Shemp replaced Curly). Out of all of them, his most notable appearance alongside the Stooges was in the short Brideless Groom in which he plays a justice of the peace and utters his famous line "Hold hands you lovebirds!" Apparently due to some public domain bureaucracy, this short had more TV airtime over the past 75 years than all the others, making it one of the more popular ones. (It's one of my personal favorites regardless.) Adding to its popularity is its prominent appearance in Pulp Fiction. 

I'd make an educated guess and say that most people know it from that movie, and that's the only part they know; Emil's even credited at the end of Pulp as "Hold Hands You Lovebirds." The clip works with the scene as a frenetic ambient noise underscoring the tense onscreen action; a great piece of filmmaking. But now I question its actual inception; this very specific Stooges clip is actually written into the Pulp Fiction shooting script so it couldn't have been too much of an afterthought. At the same time, it seems too coincidental that Lawrence Bender's incredibly short resume included two Emil Sitka cameos.

In his quick but prominent Intruder scene, he of course is forced into reciting that famous line from that singular role from 1947. Did Quentin and Lawrence just happen to share the same fascination with this particular Shemp short? It's a quirky consistency that delighted me, but the details starting mounting into a perplexing conundrum.

Like I said, the biggest joy of this movie is the endless parade of product labels - it doesn't even require any pausing and probing, they're just a constant environment. And yet as pronounced as these packages are, one of the more purposeful hero shots features a box of Fruit Brute - the lesser known Monster Cereal featuring a werewolf as its mascot. Lesser known because they stopped making it at the beginning of the 80s, long before they shot Intruder, which means there was nothing incidental about its appearance here.

It's also no accident that Officer Freddie Newendyke keeps a box in his apartment in the 1992 Bender-produced Reservoir Dogs. But the real sorta zenith of this sight gag/tribute is Fruit Brute's Pulp Fiction appearance, which can be seen in the reverse shot of Emil Sitka's televised cameo.

In the script, Quentin takes the time to point out that Lance is eating Cap'n Crunch with Crunch Berries - as black and white as every other set dress and wardrobe detail he intentionally includes. I'd always wondered why the change occurred - I thought perhaps Quaker Oates wasn't too keen on such a prominent plug in the new movie from the guy who cuts people's ears off. But after Intruder I'm starting to think Lawrence Bender brings his own box of cereal to each production. 

However it made its way into these movies, I nominate Intruder into the Tarantino-verse for all of these reasons - up to and including (and maybe especially) Lawrence Bender's cameo as a cop that mirrors his equally brief role in Reservoir Dogs.

Even director Scott Spiegel went on to helm From Dusk Till Dawn 2 and Hostel III - both sort of hopscotch connections to Quentin. KNB EFX Group got their start on Intruder and shortly thereafter assisted in cutting off Marvin Nash's previously mentioned ear. I don't know how "weird" any of this is or how much of it is already common knowledge, or maybe even a firsthand explanation is out there from the filmmakers regarding all these fun connections (which I'm sure would be largely unsatisfactory), but I was pleased and proud to connect these dots - on the spot and on my own - and I was excited to share it with you lovebirds. 

- Paul

WEIRD STUFF :: Rasputin and My Mom

When I was like 8 or 9, I got real big into paranormal literature. I don't mean like Goosebumps - I'd go to the library and check out all kindsa textbooks and glossaries and collected essays dealing with real life weird stuff: ghosts, aliens, monsters, folklore, et al. The ratio of probability from leprechauns to Loch Ness, the difference between trolls and goblins, the myths and facts of Vlad the Impaler - this was all more intellectually stimulating than whatever school was feeding me at the time, and has proven to be entirely more useful in my adult life. 

It was rare that I could actually find one of these books for purchase. And of the few I acquired, I thankfully (and purposefully) managed to hang onto this one: Mysterious Powers, a first edition from 1975.

Dealing largely with ESP, telekinesis, and mind powers in general, it's really an area in which I've never had a ton of interest. But I've hung onto it for however many decades, specifically for the short passage concerning Rasputin. 

In a chapter titled "Three Modern Magicians" we get brief summary of the life (and totally awesome death) of Grigori Rasputin and his powers as a fortuneteller and healer, which made him extremely popular with Russian royalty. But more than that, the author is most excited to drive home the details of Rasputin's debaucherous lifestyle - deliberately incorporating this photo of the holy man surrounded by some female comrades. 

Seated immediately to his right is his daughter, Maria, but it's seriously implied that Rasputin probably nailed all these broads at some point. And under normal circumstances I'd say good for him and his 13 inches of mysticism, except there's something specifically and thoroughly off-putting about this picture, and it stood out to me immediately. 

This photo was taken at my grandmother's apartment in 1981. My mother is seated second from the left. I chose this picture because of the angle and the lighting and her age at the time to help better illustrate what I think is an arresting and mysterious physical similarity...

This example cannot truly do justice to this weirdness. You sorta had to've known her and been aware of her facial expressions to appreciate the full impact of the plain truth that the woman in the Rasputin photograph looks exactly like my mom. I showed the book to family members, neighborhood kids, even to her, just to get the same reaction of shock & awe and to confirm what was obvious to me.

I've seen things like this before: old black & white photos of people that vaguely resemble current celebrities and it's good for a giggle. Except 1. this is hardly a vague resemblance - this is doppelgänger shit, and so 2. it wouldn't be as alarming were it not tied into some sinister soothsayer from a century ago. 

I can't really assign any kinda meaning to it. Rasputin could predict the future with great accuracy and he was able to heal the infirm simply through the power of suggestion - but I'm not sure how any of that amalgamates with the theory of reincarnation or whatever it is that's going on here. Astral projection? Time travel? Mom didn't have any answers; no past life recognition or any incarnation awareness. Though she herself seemed to have a second sight in certain situations, and she certainly could act as a healer as any competent mother could. But if we're acting under the assumption that this isn't some incidental graphic illusion and that there actually is some sorta metaphysical wizardry going on here, I've certainly never been able to decipher the signs - particularly the happenstance that this weird ass book published in the U.K. found its way to me over 30 years ago and doesn't seem to wanna die. There's been adequate balance in my life, thus I can discredit any potential blessing or curse, and if it were ever any kinda omen or message, I can't hear it. So for now, its sole purpose is that which befalls all things that exist or have ever existed throughout the history of the entire universe: it's on the internet.

- Paul

WEIRD STUFF :: Your Complete Guide to Tori Scott

We started the Weird Stuff series about a year ago, and since then, we've investigated ghosts, the afterlife, numerology, pop culture cover-ups, historical landmarks, and cartoon pornography. Until now, it's all been a bit of fun, and we've had a jolly good laugh. But now, it's time to get serious. Today, we're gonna look into one of the more arresting phenomena that creeped into our lives nearly 30 years ago and has weighed heavy on our hearts and minds ever since.
I'm, of course, talking about the "Tori" episodes of Saved By the Bell.

If you're not super-familiar with SBTB, I can do my best to give you some kinda overview to give you an idea of what I'm talking about, but this is truly one of those "you had to be there" things -- those who were there can attest to this.

In September of 1992, NBC aired an episode titled "The New Girl" close to the beginning of the fourth and final season of the original show. The episode introduced a new student to Bayside High named Tori Scott (Leanna Creel), a leather-clad biker chick with a wit and charm that would eventually catch the eye of both Zack and Slater. The two guys compete for her attention and in the end she wisely chooses neither.

This wasn't exactly a fresh premise for Saved By the Bell; Zack and Slater (and even Screech) had quarrels over girls in other episodes, forcing somebody or everybody to learn lessons in life and love. It was also common for characters to pop up as romantic interests and then never show up to school again, and this seemed to be the case with Tori, as she did not appear in the following episode, titled "The Bayside Triangle," which finds Screech out for blood when he learns that Zack has eyes for Lisa. Of course, even that premise indicates bizarre shifts ahead; Zack and Lisa? Screech gets mad?

The next episode to air was "Teen-Line" in which Zack asks a girl out on a blind date, but is taken aback when he finds that she's in a wheelchair (indicated to us when Zack exclaims, "You're in a wheelchair!"). This scenario enables Zack to embrace his 'acceptance' of someone who's 'different,' and immediately becomes overprotective of her and has to come to terms with his own sense of proportion. And who else but Tori is there to set him straight and tell him, "Maybe she'd rather be your friend than your cause." It's this brand of articulate, even-tempered advice that only Tori could provide - less self-serving and emotionally-driven than, say, Kelly or Jessie. Which brings us to one of the more notable points of this puzzle: there is no Kelly or Jessie.

Whenever Tori is around, Kelly Kapowski and Jessie Spano don't exist - and not just in a scene-by-scene ratio - they're absent for entire episodes. These episodes are known as the "Tori Episodes," where the original nucleus of six has subtracted two and added one.

Typically, it'd be an all-around bum-out to lose two beloved main characters on a show you've been watching for four years, but this was far from being that simple. Tori would stick around for a few more shows and a romantic relationship with Zack would sorta blossom... and then she'd be gone, and Kelly and Jessie would be back. Then they'd be gone, and Tori would be back, and on and on and so forth for the duration of the season, causing myself and anyone else I've ever talked to about it to ask, "What in the hell was going on there?"

Saved By the Bell wasn't, for the most part, a continuing narrative, but the fragility of the familiarity became achingly apparent when it was compromised in such a deceptive way. And so, I felt it was time to unravel this folk tale that's vexed me for far too long, and hopefully bring the truth to the others who have so desperately craved it as much as I.

I must be spoiled by the times, because the answers I sought were not as easy or immediate as I had anticipated - which was kinda okay because it created more of a sleuthing vibe for me. Incidentally, the facts of this story are vaguely illusive because they're buried under piles of fan theories and 'what-ifs,' each more obnoxious and distracting than the next. But it does make some sense: when people witness a freak occurrence unfold before their eyes, they tend to assign their own explanations to it - however outlandish. Still though, red herrings aside, the explanation presented itself to me pretty quickly, and of course, like any mystery, the resolution was 5% satisfaction and 95% melancholy, and in the case of the Tori episodes, 100% anticlimactic. We all pretended like we didn't know what was going on, but deep down, I think we did.

Saved By the Bell ended on paper after three seasons. In a last minute-type deal, NBC renewed the show for a fourth season, but Tiffani-Amber Thiessen and Elizabeth Berkley opted out of renewing their contracts. As a result, a new character was written into the season to semi-balance out the group dynamic.
Leanna Creel played Tori for 10 episodes, and the rest of the season was padded out with clip shows and a handful of episodes that had been previously shot but inexplicably never aired.

And that's it, really - minus the major details, I think it's more or less what we all assumed. But really, it answers the biggest question: no, there was nothing weird going on in the overly-analytical sense. Kelly and Jessie weren't dead or kidnapped, Tori wasn't a demon or a secret agent, and no other ludicrous fan fiction lent any credence to the truth. Personally, I can say that anyone who applies a clinical, ironic, or "woke" approach to innocuous pop art doesn't smoke the same cigarettes as me. In other words, don't make it more than it is.

So, what is it?

The show's writers and/or producers explained away the inconsistencies with the notion that Kelly & Jessie simply weren't in the same classes as Tori, and so storylines could germinate without them. That's fine, I'll take it. But while that scenario may've come across as too cryptic or lazy for some folks (even though it's just a fucking kids' TV show), I would assert that the invention and execution of the idea of "Tori" was less "open to interpretation" and more clearly defined to a keen eye. Like mine! I, for one, openly celebrate the Tori episodes as some of my favorites, and applaud the writers for not only pressing on with the tone that the show had so wonderfully established, but for creating a new, likable character that gelled in an organic way. And that's the key word: likable. For people who were upset that the integrity of the original structure had been compromised slightly probably don't realize how much worse it could've been. Besides, the #1 attribute of intelligence is the ability to adapt to change -- the students of Bayside did it, and so can you.

In Tori's first episode, there is conflict between her and Zack, which was already infinitely more interesting than if they had written her as just a rainbows-and-sunshine replacement for Kelly. But therein lies the brilliance of the character; not only was she less ditzy and aloof than Kelly, less manic and stuck-up than Jessie, and less self-centered and materialistic than Lisa, Tori was the most level-headed member of the whole group. She managed to retain Kelly's sensitivity and Jessie's strength, and was better at both. She was the friend the rest of them needed but didn't deserve. She was the group's conscience (especially in the "Drinking and Driving" episode) and on some levels, she was the subconscious. (No, not like a Tyler Durden-type thing - we're not gonna get stupid about it.) Without Kelly, Zack became the true star of the show more than ever before, and Tori, perhaps, represented the exact type of person he needed in his life - let alone desired. She knew how to humble his ego and alleviate his insecurities, all while maintaining her own balance of femininity and dominance. This kind of independence was foreign to Zack, and it turned him on.

But, to reiterate, he didn't deserve Tori. Eventually, when reality shifted again, Zack would attend college with Kelly, and they'd eventually marry - because that's what the audience deserved.

I'm not sure if the show is available via any streaming services (I have to assume it's somewhere), but it is on DVD (though for some reason they're spread out in such a way that 'Season Four' is labeled as the otherwise-nonexistent 'Season Five'). Point being that if one were so inclined, they could initiate their own Tori Marathon, binging all 10 Tori Episodes into one satisfying story arch, like a compilation of deep cuts and B-sides. (Trust me, they work best this way.) In fact, even though there's not a list yet, I nominate this stretch of shows as an Honorable Mention for this year's Summer Starter Pack. By the end, you'll be ready to go back to school (whenever the hell that will be) with more confidence and a killer fashion sense.

- Paul

WEIRD STUFF :: 'Round the House

We got a lotta stuff. I mean, not as much as we used to -- not all of it survived the crash. But still, we got a lotta stuff. Cool stuff too! And I'll bet you got some as well - but I'm not here for the 'cool stuff' today, so you can just save it for a clown who gives a damn. What's that? You've got an autographed poster? An out-of-print DVD? A Hot Topic Exclusive Pop! Funko? Your trivial possessions mean nothing to me, because today, it's all about the weird stuff - as in, 'stuff that is weird.'

What exactly makes this stuff 'weird' (or any stuff, really)? Well, I don't think there's any rigid criteria - at least not on this list. They certainly don't have any notable monetary value - heck, they don't entirely have sentimental value (which is good because that would make this one boring read). What I'm getting at is that they're all weird for different, weird reasons, and instead of building it up & explaining the hell out of it, let's just take a look...

- Paul

"Trivial Pursuit" Game Card

In and of itself, the card isn't particularly weird; it was pulled from the original release of the game from the early 80s that I inherited from my folks. At some point, many years ago, Jess & I were deep into a game, and she lands on brown: Arts & Leisure. I pull a card - this card - and read the question:

"What Russian novel embracing more than 500 characters was set in the Napoleonic Wars?"

For a moment I thought my psychic energy had kicked on to its fullest extent; not only did I know the answer, but I knew each word of the question even before I read it aloud. It only took a few seconds to fully realize why this set of words in this particular order were already tattooed in my brain...

More than any plastic katana blade or my black 'Foot Clan' pajamas, this "Trivial Pursuit" card is the most true-to-life Ninja Turtles 'prop' I'd ever laid my hands on. So until society will allow me to wear a shimmery purple cape and a steel helmet covered in knives, I keep this card in my wallet.

The Little Kangaroo

Finding your treasure at a flea market requires a mix of patience and diligence - all while remaining cool and enjoying it for the pleasant experience that it is. Though sometimes intuition comes into play, and that special something manages to find you. Some of my most excellent discoveries were actually found peripherally, from 50 yards away, several aisles over, through crowds of people and piles of pipe fittings and paperbacks.
This ceramic "caddy valet" was one such discovery.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted this all-too-familiar ceramic kangaroo, and even before I consciously made the connection, I ran to it with the understanding that this item had a major relevance in my life.

Incidentally, another movie prop, yeah? And its function actually is meant for a bedside table: there's a front pouch for change or mints or other pants pocket accumulation, a slot in the back for a wallet or sunglasses etc., and a long slender tail for rings or bracelets or wristwatches.

The Official John Travolta Picture/Postcard Book

Well hell, we coulda done one of these that was just odd books & magazines. Not that there's anything so weird about pinup magazines of hot young celebrities - I mean, they're always kinda funny nonetheless, no matter who they're focused on. This particular one was too fun not to take a look at.

I pulled this from my Great Aunt's house, whose living quarters, porch, garage, and attic was a luscious organized chaos of trophies such as this (and by "such as this," I mean that no two things were similar in any way - you'd find Neil Sedaka albums and all the patrons of the Mos Eisley cantina atop an ancient sewing machine). She knew the value of her junk, but she'd let you take what you want - within reason. Clearly, I saw much more value in beefcake glossies of Vinnie Barbarino than she ever could.

It's like looking in a mirror, only not.

QUEEN Official International Fan Club card
Aside from being a part of the "WLVI Kids Club" (which basically entitled you to a quarterly newsletter from the local Boston TV station letting you know what time Tiny Toon Adventures was gonna air), I was never really aware of the existence or accessibility of "fan clubs."

If there were many (or any) to choose from, I blame the hypothetical "they" for not making their presence known well enough to me. In fact, it was only through a mountain of documentaries and albums and posters did the existence of the Queen Fan Club become evident to me -- and an obvious enterprise that I needed to be a part of. So at some point in the mid 90s I joined. (I assume it had some price tag that my mom covered.) And, wouldn't you know it, all I got out of it was a quarterly newsletter. Sure, there were fun things like quizzes and contests, and various vague updates about what the band was up to (though, if you know any history, they weren't doing a whole lot post-1991). But man, that membership card was aces.

This isn't some laminated piece of paper; it has the weight and thickness of a credit card, complete with embossed gold typography.
Let's see Paul Allen's card...

A piece of the Whalom Park Roller Coaster

Throughout my childhood, there was a full-blown, fully-functional Amusement Park on the edge of my town. I stress full-blown because it was the real deal and it had everything you think of when you think "amusement park." And I stress throughout my childhood because the park was operational for over 100 years, and was finally torn down in 2000.

Collectors and dealers managed to grab all the fancy stuff and antiques, while locals and scavengers sorta circumnavigated the kosher etiquette and picked through the dregs -- which is fair; every square inch was history in some respect.

Their standard-size "Flyer Comet" wooden roller coaster was turned into a pile of weathered sticks, and somehow a relative of mine (I can't remember who) gave me a precious piece. So yes, in this instance, there is certainly some sentimental value - but that's not what's fascinating to me.

The coaster was erected in 1940, so, for 60 years, there it stood. It survived New England winters, blizzards, and hurricanes. Think of the latter half of the 20th century, the events that took place, the changes that occurred - the Flyer Comet was just there. More than anything, it survived six decades of use - it was a giant wooden skeleton that shook loudly whether you were on it, or a mile away. Every time I took a ride, newspaper clippings of my obituary would flash in my head; as scary as roller coasters are, the Comet came with a true fear of a violent death. I loved it.

Now, today, here it is (sorta), and I can hold it in my hands. The terror, the vibrations, the history, the weather - all radiating strong with metaphysical footprints. And those're just the vague intellectual certainties that I groove on; I also love to take into account that it's an old piece of wood. It became a part of an amusement park ride 80 years ago, but before that, it was a tree - probably a full-grown tree, standing in the wilderness for hundreds of years, both absorbing and indifferent to even more events and changes on the planet.
And what of the person who chopped it down - what was their life like? Hell, what was their day like when they took it down? What time did they wake up that day? What was their morning routine? Did they come home to a family after a day of chopping down trees? Would they ever think that a photograph of the wood from this tree would appear on an electronic computer screen?
Isn't that neat? I like that kinda stuff.