As a point of reference, this entire thing is about three inches tall and has a hole in it. So, any question of “why was this made” or “what is it for” should be framed with that in mind. On the plus side, “where do we keep it?” isn’t an issue.

Theory #1: Birdbath, 1/50 scale.
Probably not. You could of course have water bubbling merrily out the top, and then it would fill the basin with water and the tiny, tiny birds could splash about if they really wanted to (and a magnifying glass helps here). But then you have to make sense of the GIANT GAPING HOLE in the side. Also, the entire thing is apparently covered with a slime of radioactive glow-mold.

Theory #2: A very small Mayan god.

Well, possibly.

Or maybe a tiny devotional object from some culture that venerates elephants. If by venerates you mean “dumps paint on their head and staples their tails to their feet.” So a very specific sort of veneration (again, if there are elephants, and that really is the universal question. Ask it before a date. Or at a job interview. “Are there elephants? Because I have this tiny pot.”)

Theory #3: Seagull by-product containment vessel
Maybe we could phrase this differently. This implies that there is either a seagull product, or that seagulls are themselves products, both of which are false. And while the delicate patina of…something, kind of pale, a bit too runny…does have a festive “avian on a low-fiber diet” thing happening, it is, obviously, far, far too small for that purpose.

Theory #4: High school ceramics project.
There we go. We broadly assume the class was taken pass/fail.

Goodwill near 620 and 183, Austin

I do like a critter that can clash with itself.

There’s a lot to be said for freedom of expression, for leaving the constraints of the real world behind and committing art for the sake of art. But this guy does kind of resemble an acid flashback during a gay pride march (we suppose.)

We also do not have the foggiest idea what it is, even if was painted with fewer than ten colors. It may be a frog. Very froggy eyes, certainly. A wide, froggy mouth. We understand that there are certain frogs that look quite like this, after one licks them. The legs, though, are distinctly un-froggy, quite unfroggy indeed, entirely unamphibious. They rather more resemble a guinea pig or gerbil, both of which have no exciting side-effects when you lick them, except for a vague cottony sensation and a taste rather like cedar shavings (again, we suppose.)

But really, it looks more like Pac-Man than either one of these things. Or Mr. Potatohead’s odd and limited-release animal sidekick, Mr. Eggdog. All the kids in my neighborhood wanted Mr. Eggdog, they really didn’t make enough to keep up with the demand. The whole thing worked better if you boiled the eggs, of course, but wasn’t that part of the fun?

Once again, I’m pretty sure this is from the genre of “Generic white plaster thing that the whole family can paint together as part of a bonding experience.” And normally the teenage son just doesn’t get into the moment, paints everything in a bitterly ironic shade of radioactive blue, or invents a surprising new eighth dwarf that wasn’t in the original Snow White cartoon. But this looks like an entirely sincere piece of work, from someone that was totally engrossed in the project.

I do wonder though–why wasn’t it finished? Did the fire of inspiration gutter out after the aquamarine layer? Or was the special gold paint an extra $6? Did gentle hands carry the…frog thing…away, or was the artist triumphantly finished?

Much like the ancient statues of Easter Island, we may never know its meaning.

Goodwill near Manchaca and Stassney, Austin

“Morning, Clem.”
“Morning, Dale.”
“Gotta say, Clem, the pond’s looking a touch strange this morning.”
“How’d you mean, strange, Dale?”
“I’d say its looking a little hellish, actually.”
“Hellish, you say, Dale?”
“I do say, Clem, I do say. A bit like the fires of hell come bubbling up, Clem. It’s giving the pigeons quite a fright.”

“They could do with a little bit of scaring, Dale. They’ve become complacent.”
“Oh, aye, that they have, but I’m a little bit frightened myself, Clem.”
“You needn’t have nothing to fear, Dale. As long as the concrete wall holds. And the barricade made of shells.”
“Shells, Clem?”
“Aye. Big shells, Dale. Very big. Some wooden pilons, too, but mostly shells, yes.”
“Maybe you had something a little more durable around the yard? Bricks, perhaps?”
“You’ve got to really believe in the shells, Dale. It helps. Belief is stronger than caulk.”

“I suppose, Clem, I suppose. I can’t say I like the way the pond water glows, though, and the dancing flame over it, well, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad in the winter, I dare say the cows might like the heat. But just at the moment, I can’t help wondering if it’s natural.”
“It’s no earthly pond, Dale. It’s bubbled up from the bowels of the earth, to spill forth in a torrent and destroy the works of man.”
“Oh…aye?”
“Yes, Dale. I’ve put in a birdbath. For the pigeons.”

“Of course, you’d think it foolish to put in a birdbath right next to a lake of fire, you’d think the birds would fly away. And you’d be right. So I had them glued down.”
“That’s very foresighted of you, Clem.”
“Yes, Dale. Yes, it is.”

Savers on South Lamar near 290, Austin

There’s a lot to be said for reality TV. Or at least you could spend a lot of time trying to list all the programs. I’m not sure why you would want to do this, it’d be a bit like rolling a boulder up a hill while roller skating, but maybe you’ve got your own thing going on, everybody needs hobbies.

But I do like Gordon Ramsay. He’s charmingly hostile, has a puckish exterior, and probably knows his way around a spaghetti alla puttanesca, for example. But do I like him this much?

Is he really all this? Is Ramsay “Damsels with floral wreaths following behind him, singing his praises and scattering flowers in his wake, while cherubim and seraphim in constant chorus endlessly repeat ‘Hosanna in the highest, blessed is he who comes after local news on Wednesdays’” great?

Yeah, probably.

Here’s the sad part. I came in next week on my usual pilgrimage, and that same parade of vestal virgins, angels, and possibly a creepy little lawn gnome were prancing about, beatifying a resin-cast frog in a bikini top. So, I have to say, they’re either fickle, or easily impressed.

Most Holy Bobble-Headed Ramsay’s miraculous apparition seen by this lowly mortal at Savers near 2222, Austin.

Gaze into the face of pure, undiluted handicraft.

Note how you can see the texture of the artist’s cruel hands as s/he/it moulded this thing into bleating, shambling life–you could almost identify them by thumbprint in the FBI’s national database of ceramics offenders. Possibly by the tiny smudges of nail polish, too, I’m not sure where that comes from. This is the artist that gave us the cow bell.

It looks a little surprised. Sort of like a centaur or minotaur, but half-cow, half-handbell. I didn’t actually ring it–I was afraid it might moo, or possibly start crying. It might, possibly, be a horse-bell, but that just doesn’t make any sense at all.

It was nice that the artist gave it a scarf. At least it gets some dignity.

I was most immediately reminded of the mayor of Halloweentown from Nightmare Before Christmas, who was a strange, pinch-lipped and rather bovine creature on his own. But Cowbell has a slightly better hairpiece. His earthenware toupee was shaped by some massive, crude hand with a well-placed fork, an eternally brittle ceramic coiffe. How much of the poor creature’s features can be blamed on kitchenware? His eye seems to be scooped out with a toothpick–probably the nose, too, but one badly-timed sneeze gave the beast a flared nostril that would give W.C. Fields a run for his money.

But I can’t imagine that everything about this is the fault of using cutlery to sculpt the poor creature. There must have been some level of malign intent. The face is that of a terorrized ungulate trying to escape…what? By his scarf, and the fact that he stands vertically, we might guess that he’s an intelligent creature–was he once a human? Is this beast like the story of Diana turning the huntsman Acteon into a stag–but better dressed, maybe from New England instead of Greece? Perhaps this is what happens to someone who accidentally catches a glimpse of Martha Stewart bathing.

No, strike that. He’d have better hair.

At any rate, gaze upon what your junior high art class has wrought, and despair, ye mortals.

It’s almost a given that this came from the Goodwill on Metric and 183, Austin. That’s how it shows it cares.

All good things, and all! After two solid days of thrifting across San Antonio, we were wearing down, and it felt a bit like even Texas Thrift was running out of steam, as well. Not too many gems at the Congress location, it was small, a little more like a neighborhood nonprofit second-hand store instead of a five-and-dime mall like the other locations. That being said, there were a few treasures. Take these lovely ladies (they’re cheap.)

Really, both of these I want to hold onto for some holiday or another. This fetching woman is straight out of a valentine’s day card…from Neptune.

Do not be intimidated by my beauty. Give yourself over to the full power of Valentine’s Day. Let it consume you, burn you up, so that the pure white light of romance shines gloriously from your eyes, in the Hallmark Moment to end all Hallmark Moments…forever.. It’s slightly better than chocolate.

And, well, she’s not quite a horror, not really, but definitely fabulous. But she needs to do something about that skin condition.

Goddess? Strangely androgyne divinity of the sun, or possibly the queen of overripe bananas? You be the judge. But she is clearly in charge of this shelf. There’s probably massive piles of precious moments figurines in broken shards on the floor, and no fewer than three “I Love You THIS Much” statues have met their demise on one dainty, gold-shod slipper. She’s just that awesome. Bobble-headed celebs? Bring it. Kissing ceramic angels? They’re going down.

As long as she can find her calamine lotion. That gilding itches.

Next week–back to your regularly scheduled crapola, as we return to Austin. Thank you, Maus, Tenar, and Josef for your patience and/or hospitality, and thank you Texas Thrift :)

Space Valentine from Texas Thrift on Congress, Golden Banana Goddess from Texas Thrift on Nacogdoches, San Antonio

Oh, DP, what will we learn at your feet? Quite a bit, actually. We understand DP’s been studying basic forces.

Firktion stops ears. Stackfirk!

Not to pick apart a second-grader’s science homework, really, that’s almost cheating. But for the low price of 45 (cents? I hope so) you can have a piece of America’s political history.

Meet Borko Boma.

Borko has MY vote. A Democrat with fists like that? Crappers! He’s the Mexican Masked Wrestler of Pennsylvania Avenue! And check out that shiny, shiny dome. For people that want their nation AND their president indivisible, Borko’s one smooth unit.

And the capri pants really work for him!

The tie AND the little carnation is a nice touch, but I don’t think I’ve seen the president in a cute little short sleeve body-and-head stocking. It’s kind of scary–like he’s going to crush you with his mighty Right Fist, and then possibly noogie you to death. I’ve had dreams like that.

Opinion–is that a big happy smile, or a “Kilroy Was Here” style hanging nose? You be the judge.

And as long as we’re overanalyzing–fetching designer necktie, or infinity sign? Do people look eastward and point, and say “Look! It’s a flash of lightning from the left! Stronger than an economic crash, within acceptably broad parameters defining recovery! It is…Borko Boma!!!”

I think if the Dems floated someone in a head-concealing unitard with a lump of chewing gum on his chest, spinning around swinging his fists, they may actually finally win the overwhelming “crazy Americans” vote. That’d be a fun election.

“Mr. Boma, There are new economic realities out there that everyone in this hall and across this country understands that there are going to have to be some choices made. Health policies, energy policies, and entitlement reform, what are going to be your priorities in what order?”

“WHEEEEeeeee!!!!” *wooshwooshwooshCRASH (tinkle)*

“Dammit, somebody catch him before he scares the caterers…”

Texas Thrift on Nacogdoches, San Antonio

Update! Check out this Borko Boma sighting!

Deep in the heart of San Antonio, there is a Goodwill. It’s as polished as a downtown department store, and even has a coffee bar built in. We swore we’d find that Goodwill and we would shop at that Goodwill. And we did. But they actually had standards, so we went off to go to every damned Texas Thrift in the city instead. I’ve never seen a nicer Goodwill, but honestly, in this blog, quality is something of a downside.

Everything I see sparkles. My dress sparkles. The flowers, they sparkle too. Even my dog sparkles. Ever since the operation, I don’t have to see…ugly things. Only beautiful things. So beautiful.

…please, help me…I’m not even white, they painted me this color. The last thing I ever saw was a bucket of whitewash and two inch-wide rhinestones. Help me, or kill me, either way. You want money? I got two diamonds, baby, you can HAVE ‘em! Seriously! Just send help! I’m not even a cat, or a dog, or whatever, I’m an effing RACCOON! If I could see ANYTHING I would so give you rabies…

I could sparkle too, if you’d just give me a chance, really, I promise I’d be quiet, and…sparkly…

Texas Thrift, I35, North San Antonio

So…it’s come to this. Tossed aside, locked behind glass, hair shaved off. We’ve all been there. This is rock bottom.

Actually, if you’re discarded, shaved, encased, and a clown, that’s just slightly worse.

I think this might be the most depressing creature I’ve ever encountered in a thrift store, she most have been pretty in her day. Probably tried out for a part in “Cats,” or its less successful (but more danceable) off-off-Broadway counterpart, “Mimes.” Her entire career brought to a tragic end by a three-year-old with a pair of scissors.

Kids today. No respect for maribou.

The shop actually gave her some token of respect, a mourning note–they put her on a black bed, picked a price tag that actually went with her costume and it is HARD to coordinate with silver lamé.  And yet it all just seems to illustrate life’s great punchline…you’re born, you live a good life, manage not to get broken, even get a couple of parts in an Italian opera, then bam, a pair of bright yellow plastic safety scissors with your name on it.  Or maybe “JOEY”‘s name on it, in red sharpie.

Schadenfreude pumpkin raises a delicate lip to savor the moment. Oh yes.

Which wrapped up day one of Thrift Tour of San Antonio. We had a delicious dinner with our Thrifting Buddies, Maus and Tenar, at nearby Bombay Hall. After a busy day of bopping from shop to shop, sitting down with three different curries was bliss, and their Kashmiri naan–grilled naan bread stuffed with sweet cherry pistachio paste–was a perfect capper to a great day.

From the Loop 410 Goodwill, San Antonio

The question is not “why are these children crying in pain on a block of wood,” but “why did someone feel the need to SCULPT them?” What artist was driven, on seeing five anguished moppets, to craft them out of plaster painted to look like sandstone?

Was it something that they did? “You there, climb up on that pedestal and wail piteously until you’re sorry. Or until we’re sorry. The important thing is that someone, somewhere is sorry. So, check that off the list.”

Or maybe it’s a memorial to the children of a whooping cough epidemic. Hard to say.

On the other extreme, this little androgyne looks happy!

Really not so horrifying, except that it’s kind of fun to see another version of this guy, but with both hands intact. I’m not sure my understanding is enhanced–we still have that mysterious neck goiter, enigmatic chalices filled with some mysterious, exotic substance that will change our lives, cure cancer, or spill forth plague upon the world. Or maybe it’s hot chocolate.

The big difference is that, unlike the Infant of Prague from a few months ago, instead of gazing out through sightless eyes, this little…thing…had his/her eyes tattooed into a permanent expression of mild, pleasant surprise. It’s as if, for years beyond knowing, and looking forward into the infinite future, she’ll be puzzling out a response to a clever, but off-color, joke.

More tea, sir?

Somewhere between the anguished wailing of the Littlest Chorus of the Damned and the cheerfully lobotomized “Return of One Girl, Two Cups,” we have…her. I’m prety sure she’s getting ready to pour water onto her dog, maybe into its ear. But she’s not too worried about it, it’s nothing to get worked up about. We’ve been pouring water on the dog so long the dog’s color washed away. Like the ancient statues of the Buddha, my nose has been worn off by wind and sand, or maybe it was shot off by French revolutionaries. I no longer know what is in this pitcher, which I do in fact intend to pour into or onto my dog. Is it water? Probably. Orange juice? Maybe. The Milk of Human Kindness? Possibly. Do I care? Not a fig.

Oh great. Here comes the pitcher again. Bad enough that I have to wear Cherries Jubilee lipstick, here’s the drencher. There’s got to be more to life.

Goodwill on North Loop 410, San Antonio, Texas