Would you pay $20 for a set of small intestines cleverly woven into a very small clown? Yes, please!

I really wanted to post this to crow about a completely awesome new crapeterium that opened on Lamar and Manchacha, what a magical wonderland of crazy stuff it was, just next door to Far Out Furnishings. I did. It was a cottage crammed full of peculiarities, including this little guy here, who obviously reigned supreme over everything he saw. I would recommend that you drop everything, including your job if need be, to run down there, but they closed. So you could go there and beat on the windows, howl at the dusty piles of amazement that are still inside, just out of reach. But I wouldn’t recommend it, because they are ever so quick with a restraining order.

You’ve heard the old saw, “laughing on the outside, crying on the inside?” This is kind of like that, but no-one’s laughing, and his insides seem to be on the outside, so he’s kind of crying and laughing at the same time, only he’s screaming. Which is a response that I endorse. I’m not sure what he’s wearing on his head, though. Possibly a cheerful yellow squid. I don’t know.

Someone’s grandmother probably made this for her grandson or granddaughter, with her own, loving hands. And maybe the child said “thank you,” or maybe started to cry, until Mom made him or her say “thank you,” but in that terrified voice that says “please save me” in addition to whatever the words might actually express. And dad, dad said, “Yes. It is a good thing that she is in the home, and they lock the door and keep her inside when we leave. Worth…every…penny.”

Brought to you by the tragedy of Far Out, formerly of Manchacha and Lamar :(

Mixed media is SUPPOSED to look like that.

Not too many people are bold enough to work in tinfoil, chewing gum, snot and industrial springs this decade. I understand gum and hardware was a major art movement in France in the 1940s, before the abstract expressionists ruined it by throwing great buckets of paint all over everything. It really destroyed the subtlety of the mucus. Tragic, really.

I understand this was loosely based on the artist’s relationship with his mother, and loosely based on Chernobyl, with just a little bit of inspiration from the amazing Lithuanian gold-medal discus throw at the Athens Olympics. Just look at that strong sense of motion. The athlete’s muscles bunching and coiling like…oh, never mind.

We are not ruling out the possibility that this is a deeply errant attempt to raise awareness for National Breast Cancer Prevention month, but we would ask that the artist strictly limit himself to little pink ribbons in the future.

The camera pauses for a moment, and zooms back to reveal the grandeur of…hmm. I think we’re back to Chernobyl again, or some other blasted, hellish wasteland, the conceptual opposite of a treasure map, roads that lead only to…pink.

Traveler, find another road.

Goodwill on 2222 and Lamar, Austin

First a refreshing breath of copyright infringement.

Obviously, it doesn’t count as flagrant trademark violation if you mold the entire thing out of chewing gum, right? Right. This blobby little pustule of a bear seems to have been carved out of a solid, massive mountain of raw “Wrigley’s Chew” ore, and left to stand in his best “Lo, I am Ozymandius, and I love you” pose over the nearby village of lower Crapton. He may not make the town feel any safer, he’s unlikely to come to life when the neighboring countryside is threatened, but he does make your self-esteem a little stronger. Go, you.

Just hang in there, guy! You’ve got so much to live for!

Well, maybe not.

Once again, someone didn’t enjoy their crafts hour, and is going to have to sit in their room while the rest of the group gets to watch “Pleasant Bill and the Theraputic Riders.”

I’m imagining the artist–and I’m giggling a bit as I imagine him–stabbing at the creature’s eyes with a blue-stained, thumb-thick brush, screaming “Stare no more, ursine menace! Your sight I take from thee!!” Paint splatters the wall as the guy’s handlers drag him carefully from the room, hoping to debrush him before he defiles another piece of sculpture.

I’m glad the artist gave him fangs. They’re kind of a nice touch, a bit of menace just in case the bright blue alien face paint job didn’t creep you out enough. At least he could have cared enough to give the poor little guy differentiated toes.

“Charles, are you finished painting your bear?”

“Md’n.”

“What did you say, Charles?”

“I’m d’n.”

“Did you want to finish painting the rest of your bear, Charles? You didn’t finish painting all of him. Do you want to finish painting your bear, Charles?”

*splash*

“Okay, Charles, I guess it’s time to put the paints away.”

Not-so-Tenderheart from the Goodwill on 290 near Goodwill Computers, Old Blue-Eyes from the Salvation Army on 183 near Anderson Mill, Austin

The sad thing about this first guy is not so much that it’s a teddy bear made out of shells…now, that in itself is sad, because teddy bears are by their nature cute and cuddly, and making one out of cold, sharp-edged crunchy things that, when they break, become even sharper is a bit of a cruel joke. No, the sad thing is that I’ve had him sitting for years in my photo slushpile because someone else made a post about him. This means that, in this increasingly harsh and unfair universe, there’s two of these things.

Much about this guy reminds me of a picture collection done by the deeply disturbed. The way his eyes sit in nests of jagged concentric spikes speak volumes, or at least chapters, of A Book of Crafts for the Obsessive-Compulsive. The googly eyes seem a little bit of a cheat, though, as if they really wanted to be made of tinier shells, or little periwinkles leading you ever deeper into the bear’s gaze, coiling tighter and tighter into twin spires of madness. Or some such.

Next guy…not really a “horror,” but I can’t feel that somehow he’s…not like all the other bears. Although he seems intensely eager to come home with you.

Although I guess that depends on how you define “bears.” Certainly, there are a number of entities called “bears” that may wear fetching, and fairly snug, black vests. Though in Austin they tend to wear bright Hawaiian shirts. So, perhaps he is like some of the bears. Certainly, some of the lavender bears. I’m not judging, here.

Though I will judge “sugarloaf.” It seems more “inanimate and prostrate” than “cute and cuddly.” Maybe that’s just me.

Shellbear from the Savers on South Lamar, “Sugarloaf” from the Goodwill near Anderson Mill, Austin

Because sometimes the lions of the savannah have a morbid sense of humor.

Many dancers would be amazed at the sheer amount of poise and self-control this zebra has. Not just anyone has the willpower to remain en pointe after having one’s legs, and, more importantly, head removed. That takes dedication.

Of course he’s cheating a bit, using that old stump as a brace, but it’s still an impressive trick.

One of the great “chicken and the egg” questions about Goodwill is, is the truly shameful amount of broken, totally unsellable junk on the shelves collateral damage from careless shoppers, or were these things donated like that? If it’s the latter, I want to see the pricing guide for “Zebra, Maimed.” Maybe it’s 60% off if 70% is missing?

I have my eye on a set of coffee mugs at Parmer and I35–it’s listed as $15/Set, and every week it comes closer to “$15/mug.” Maybe there’ll be a small fanfare when they reprice the silly things.

Anyway, maimed zebras.

Savannah legend held many strange tales. Like the story of the hyena that invested large amounts of its personal fortune to a venture capital firm and made a modest income off a small software startup in Senegal. But when the sun set, the old men told of the dark night when fear galloped with a clip…clip…clip… and a conspicuous absence of a whinny. No-one who saw Striped Midnight could ever be the same.

Goodwill on Metric and 183, Austin

Behold. Behold the myconid horror that is craft.

The last time I saw something like that, I was a fourth-level barbarian and it wiped out the entire party. We were giggling the entire time, it was like Hunter S. Thompson’s “The Hobbit,” but we never forgot that game. Particularly the way the bard’s head, like, separated from his body and floated above the battle field, and the way his music looked. So beautiful.

Anyway. Mushroom people.

Here we see Mycki the mushroom going through magical leaf mulch forest, past the discounted gray woods, and through the enchanted snailgate. Where does the snailgate take Mycki, you might ask? No-where good. Probably some place with more mushrooms.

Mycki was a very happy mushroom. Or, maybe he was a sad mushroom. Or possibly deeply ambivalent. Or fraught with an overwhelming sense of his own mortality. We don’t know. Maybe you know? You mustn’t get it wrong, though, because when Mycki is an angry mushroom, he will beat you with his very large, crushing fists, and drag you away to his mushroom lair for his dark mushroom lust. And that is, really, a different picture book, with different pictures.

I’m not even sure what I’m looking at anymore. But if it was in my fridge, I’d probably have to buy a new fridge and get Montgomery Wards to cart off the old one.

Oh craft, what hast thou wrought?

Goodwill on Metric and 183, Austin

But I am tending toward the latter.

This may be one of those strange pictures where you spend four or five minutes looking at it, and then suddenly you see that it’s actually a negative space image of talk show host Jimmy Fallon interviewing  a late Victorian era pants press, and you have an almost transcendent moment of not really caring

In fact, I hope that’s what it is. Otherwise, I have to assume that it’s a quick picture of Anubis, the jackal-headed Egyptian god of mummification, experiencing a painful, yet strangely contemplative, bowel movement. And I’m pretty sure I can’t handle that right now.

With a tricky color scheme like this, black, red halos, hovering in a minty-green void, the silvery dribbles could mean, well, anything. In this case, I believe they represent an abundance of icing drizzled forth upon this god of the underworld by a benevolent, if somewhat arbitrary, Horus. I want to think this because I’ve read Egyptian creation stories, and a generous helping of icing is better than any possible alternative.

Interpretation #2: A still from the opening credits of the new James Bond film, “Live and Let Shed,” where MI6 tells 007 that the nuclear weapon plans were stolen by a tribe of dog-headed people hiding in the far corners of the 1980′s. When thrift stores get all abstract-expressionist, it’s hard to tell exactly.

Goodwill on 2222 and Lamar, Austin

Jog to the world, and all that! It’s time to clean house, take down the lights, and get to the crucial business of 2012!

I think I’ve mentioned this before, but I have a weak spot for Balthazar. Traditionally, since he’s from Africa, he’s the only black member of the nativity. And therefore, the only one that I can put a name to.

So, I like it when he dresses up a bit.

Yes, this particular Balthazaar has weird little chicken feet, or possibly stiletto heels, and possibly has a parrot balancing precariously on top of his head, but he is, self-evidently, fabulous.

Not everybody can wear Aqua, red, purple, gold, and a parrot and have it come off right. But as a Wise Man, Balthazaar has clearly had special training in fashion, or watched a LOT of “Queer Eye for the Magi.” “Frankincense, darling. It’s the gift of AD1. You want to avoid regifts? Give frankincense. Not as tawdry and showy as gold, and myrrh is strictly for funerals.”

“Does this nativity scene have valet parking? Because you don’t want this elephant standing on the curb unless one of the shepherds brought a push-broom.”

Sticking with the “probably gay Balthazaar” just a bit longer–

Not only does this one seem a bit swishy, and it’s probably just the pink lining of the robe that does it…wherefore the pink feet? He looks a little puzzled by them too. Maybe Melchoir or Caspar wandered off with his body and he had to get a replacement, and they didn’t have it in his color…which is really, really dark. “Don’t judge me because someone painted my head after the fact. I’m still a magi. Aren’t we all magi, really?”

“It’s the most beautiful candy cane in the world, Santa.”

“But I was really hoping to have eyes for Christmas.”

Mrs. Claus, tired of being a Christmas Eve Widow for the last 2000 years, finally had Santa’s head scooped out, lined with holly, and turned into a decorative bowl. Frankly, looking at Santa, I’m not sure it was that big a change, he may have been mostly stuffed with holly anyway.

And now, getting ready to finally put Christmas behind us, we wrap it up with the big musical number:

All of Jesus’s friends turned up for his 15th birthday. The Magi were a bit surprised, but they’d learned not to judge a long time ago. Really, with that absentee father and all those crazy high expectations, and having been literally born in a barn, they were glad he turned out as normally as he did.

Happy new year, and thank you all for a lovely 2011!

Nativity Quinceañera from Goodwill near Stassney and Manchaca, Holly Cup from Goodwill on 2222 and Lamar, Giant Cane Angel from Savers on South Lamar, Fey Balthazaar from Goodwill on Metric and 183, Mismatched Balthazaar from Goodwill near Anderson Mill and 183.

Yet another Christmas decapitation. This is probably a DIRECT consequence of having the entire Yuletide police force made out of elves.

Friends don’t let friends be resin-cast. When you get into a car this Christmas, make sure you’re ceramic.

“Giant festive cookie-man” is actually a new category for me. I don’t think I’ll set up a tag for it, as this is the first one to grace my pages. But I think it’s highlighted my single biggest holiday regret this year:

I regret that I don’t travel with a fistful of fresh double-A batteries, because whatever little dance this fellow does, it would have been absolute magic on toast.

I’m thinking this next one is only funny in my head.

In part, it’s funny because I have never seen such a perfect, minimalist expression of a garden gnome. It transcends concerns of form and representation and goes straight to the essential gnomishness of the thing, the quiddity of lawn art, the basic gnomon.

But mostly it’s funny because I found a second-hand pyrex butt plug in this section once, and I’m having flashbacks. I don’t think the application that springs to mind was covered in “101 uses for a gnome.” Nor should it have been.

This shot represents one of a vast panorama of tiny figurines that magically appeared one morning at the Goodwill on Parmer. I took photos of all of them, but can’t for the life of me remember why, it seemed funny at the time…this one, though, seemed like a keeper.

“Forensic analysis showed the victim to be a blond girl, possibly in her early teens, possibly younger. A detailed examination showed no evidence of Hummel collectability. The press has already listed her as another victim of the snow-angel killer.”

Does YOUR Santa have a…problem moustache?

If your answer is “Yes,” or “God Yes,” consider having all his facial hair replaced with a thick layer of caulking! It’s durable, washable, and best of all, no cookie crumbs!

Once in a while, Santa likes to escape from Mrs. Claus, go up to the northern lakes in Canada, take the fishing pole, and go a little feral. It’s in his nature. He comes back home with a half-pound of bracken stuck in his hair and smelling of caribou, but once he gets that out of his system, it’s back to the toymill.

…on the matter of elf rights. A lot of people say Santa’s abusing the elves, that he uses his status and reputation to get away with something that’s nearly slavery, paying his workers with no more than a fistful of cranberries and maybe some hot chocolate in return for over 64,200 tons of toys every year. And there’s some truth in that. But, really, have you ever actually looked at an elf?

Seriously, better that they stay at the north pole and as far away from civilization as possible. Anything that voluntarily wears those booties is NOT fit for life outside Santa’s Workshop.

Angel decapitation and “Death in the Snow” from Goodwill near Parmer and I35, Giant Festive Cookie Man from Savers on South Lamar, Insertable glass gnome and Frizzy Santa from Goodwill on 183 and Metric, Creepy Elf turned up on January 8 at the Goodwill on 2222. Seriously, January 8. Like I had a camera with me that day. Stupid elves.

“Kid, I have been doing this for, like, 1900 years. Frankly, I don’t care if you’ve been naughty, or nice, or if Livejournal shut down your page because of their new obscenity laws. I’m dumping this crap here, and you’re going to get it. Whatever the hell it is, you better hope it’s one size fits all and unisex.”

“You wanted a conch, right? What kid doesn’t want a conch. The elves…the damned elves made 740,000 conchs this year, so you’re getting one. Oh, and a ‘betsy-no-face,’ very popular doll in 1893. Wouldn’t want to have any nonconformity, right? There’s your doll. Don’t bother opening the box, it’s empty, just wanted to have something there with some sparkle on it. Now, unless you have the REST of this sherry, get the hell upstairs and think about sugarplums or whatever.”

Sometimes, sometimes Christmas makes people do some crazy things. Particularly elves. “Don’t come any closer, Santa! Don’t do it, or I will fucking CUT this doll!”

“Don’t do it, Santa, he means it!”

“Now, just put down the lists, and tell the reindeer and all the little children that we are taking a BREAK this year, and that we do NOT make Nintendo DSs. Seriously, the other elves are going blind and not in a happy way. So…two weeks of vacation, and nobody gets hurt.”

Needless to say, when Santa’s union-busters came in, this particular elf was never seen again, except possibly as another half-inch of rustic on the reindeer’s stable floor.

I worked in a Christian bookshop for five or ten years, give or take. I don’t particularly like angels. The cute ones are insipid, the majestic ones are tedious. But no-one, not even a plump little angel in a tartan wrap holding a fluffy heart, deserved this.  “I just…I just wanted to give you my heart. I can handle rejection, but my hair was so beautiful…why?”

Yeesh. Poor thing! It set out to be a messenger of Christmas goodwill, and ended up looking like George Costanza. Really, how’s that fair? What about Christmas is fair? But to come down to earth from your fluffy pink cloud and then face off with a three-year-old with his mommy’s Fiskars? That’s beyond the pale.

We could wish that, in Heaven at least, there is no male pattern baldness.

From the “Angel Seconds” bin, a “Precious Moments” angel sheds a single tear, and takes off his halo.

The demotion from “Angel” to “Choirboy” must have stung a little bit, but probably not as much as when they yanked his wings off. Poor thing–if it weren’t a “precious moments” figurine, I might feel something for you. Besides a certain dark glee.

I think this deserves a wry grin. Schadenfreude pumpkin, will you help me on this one?

Thank you, pumpkin.

So…on this one, I’m left with a few options–assuming that the brick-a-brak shelf at Savers is factually and hagiographically accurate, which I always assume–one is that Santa was originally a pair of conjoined twins, and either had some very clever operation or else the mall Santas are deceptively non-conjoined and a conspiracy has lied to us for over a hundred years to keep us from the TRUTH. Another: that Santa reproduces by budding, or that he’s attempting to clone himself, and the results of this blasphemous nativity are of mixed success. Regardless…behold the truth of Santa

On the plus side, he still seems jolly, and that’s important when you’re a mockery of the human form and a sign that God has largely left humanity and its genetics to sort it out on their own.

What I wonder is…how does he fit through the chimney?

Before you settle in for a left-over turkey sandwich and maybe some nearly-expired eggnog, think about the people that don’t have what you have. This christmas…think about people without heads.

Another senseless nutcracker tragedy. Nutcracking must be hazardous work!

The tragedy of angel pattern baldness from Goodwill near Anderson Mill and 183, Conjoined Twin Santa, “…or I’ll kill this doll,” and “Bitter Santa Empties his Sack” from Savers on North Loop and Burnet, Tragic Nutcracker Killing from Goodwill on 2222 and Lamar, Finally, Justice comes to Precious Moments Angels from Goodwill on Metric and 183 and I do thank you Goodwill on Metric, come over for some wassail tonight..