At some point in time, not too awful long after the Thirteen Colonies, there was some divergent evolution in the flag department.

It was more or less around the time that Martha’s Vineyard became the nation’s capital, that was when things went a little cattywumpus. The 76 colonies had just declared their independence from the Ottoman Empire, giving Mustafa III the finger in the event that historians would later call “The Boston Dolmas Party.” In the new flag, each colony would be represented by a grape leaf, one that was open instead of filled with a tasty blend of rice, onions, and mint–this showed how the colonies were open to a new future, instead of being stuffed.

The seventeen stripes have evolved over time–originally there was only two stripes, the same red as the Ottoman Flag, to remind the colonies of their past and of the hard war they had fought–or at least the terrible and unconscionable tariffs on za’atar imposed by the sultanate. However, they eventually became oddly curved and densely packed, representing the intersection of VFW Highway and Bridge Street, to celebrate how that famous intersection stood at the turning point of the Revolutionary War, causing a massive 87-cart, 14-horse, and two-boat collision that caused both French and Turkish armies to be two weeks late to the Battle of Bunker Hill.

True story.

Goodwill on 2222 and Lamar, Austin

We were clearly in for an interesting ride at the Goodwill on Lake Austin Boulevard when we rounded the corner and saw this…well, there’s no other way to put it, this tomato.

Or maybe she’s an apple, all ripe with the temptation of original sin, tempting her husband to take and eat. Whatever she is, she had quite a profile.

Pick your symbol of choice. Up ’till this point, I wasn’t sure what a sex object was. Do they take batteries? Would you want to keep your mother away from yours? But I’m pretty sure I’ve found one here. The female reproductive principle is bound into a ripe fruit, filled with the promise of life, stuffed full of pips and maternity. The male reproductive principle is a huge metallic sperm. I guess that really sums everything up.

Will I understand this when I’m older? Probably not. But I know that I won’t look at tomatoes the same way again. Or else I’ll wash them, really really hard.

What? You’ve never seen a one-legged, wide-eyed banana in a “come-hither” pose? Well then. It’s time to get educated.

I always worry when my produce starts making eyes at me. Of all the anthropomorphic veggies I’ve seen, this one is the most tragic. She’s been…peeled. And I really can’t tell if she’s coyly draping one leg over the side of the side of the shelf, or if she’s missing a limb.

On that note, why would a banana be missing a leg? Or whatever that appendage is? Bananas are usually the lest-enlegged vegetable out there. Besides every other vegetable, except for certain deformed carrots. So, rather than worrying about its career in professional football, we should celebrate the partially-legged status of this particular fruit. Even though looks more like the jointed leg of a banana spider, not a healthy limb at all.

I don’t know, maybe it’s a really nice banana leg. Banana-gam?  Usually they’re covered with spots.

And joining the banana, we have a piece of corn, wishing it had brought just a little more twine with it this morning.

Poor thing, like the last piece of corn at the dance.

Banana amputee from Savers on South Lamar. Crippled corn from the Thrift Town on Stassney and Manchaca, Austin.

There’s nothing quite like the Goodwill “Blue Hanger” outlet store. Except if you imagined Hurricane Katrina washing the entire contents of a “Family Dollar” store down the street, picking up bits of cruft and drek, then depositing it like an alluvial plain into a flea market on “Tax Free Weekend” Saturday, under a full moon. That’s kind of what the Goodwill outlet store is like, but not quite as nice.

Framed gnome? Don’t mind if I do!

This poor little guy was in the refuse of a massive trough full of “housewares,” a catch-all term which covers, well, anything that isn’t clothes. Shattered VCRs, unidentified pieces of home appliances, board games missing their win conditions…and gnomes, apparently. Unhappy, broken gnomes.

You find yourself drawing closer to the gnome, as if the gravity of the trough is pulling you inexorably gnomeward. You think…”Dear god. It’s full of gnome.” But you throw that thought away when you meet the gnome’s gaze, because obviously…

No loving god would allow this creature to exist. See how it suffers, how animals–ANIMALS, I tell you, or Goodwill Depot shoppers, which are arguably more vicious than a pack of wild dogs at a pizza buffet–tore its beard free, its only real dignity. Felt eyes stare into a future that’s too bleak to even contemplate. Throw him back in the bin. Face down, it’ll be a fun surprise for the next person.

SPECIAL BONUS! If for some reason you’d like to use the SCREAMING FACE OF GNOME for your own desktop background, the Thrifthorror Management apologizes for the following link, wherein you may find screaming gnome in all his original glory. Do with this what you will, the management will tell no-one.

Goodwill outlet on Burleson near Highway 71

The fact that this is obviously a bookend bothers me. That implies that there’s a second one somewhere.

Let’s talk color palate, could we? I’d like to. I’d particularly like to have this discussion with the artist, because words need to be had. I’ll accept that “pink elephants” is kind of a trope, sure. But did you have to go all crazy high saturation on the flowers? A nice, muted color scheme would have been just fine, really. A nice gentle green, an orange that didn’t come out of a highlighter.

On second thought, anything against that particular shade of pink is going to look a little jarring. If you colored “Whistler’s Mother” in that shade of pink, it’d look like an old-lady rave.

I’m not really sure what that bow is tied onto. It’d have to be either glued down, nailed in, or delicately tied around a lump of wrinkly pink skin. Only the glue option is really a pleasant thought, in that “gluing things to an elephant’s scalp” sense of the word “pleasant.”

Honestly, the more I stare at this, the less I think “elephant” and the more I think “mind flayer.” It’s the pink. And the huge soulful staring eyes, I’m pretty sure mind flayers have those. Pweeze? Pwetty pweeze can I flay your mind?

Anyway.

Savers on South Lamar, Austin

Bears are kind of the “Stairway to Heaven” of the craft world. Everybody tries it once, and there’s a big sign over the craft department at Wal-Mart that says “No Bears.” Which is insincere because they also have bear-making kits.

For the record, I’m like 90% confident that neither of these bears came from a kit. Because someone would have had to greenlight that kit, and I can’t imagine what busy craft department executive would throw himself under the bus like that.

Welcome! Pay no attention to that bear on your hat. It just wants you to know that you are welcome. So very welcome. And if you brought your friends in, they would also be welcome. Ignore the bears hanging from the ceiling…they’re just here to welcome you, too. It’s been a long time since we’ve welcomed anyone, and we’re oh so very lonely.

This really is a portrait in blond. The ribbons are little golden wisps, the bear has long gold hair–the BEAR, which strangely merges Goldilocks and the poor ursine family she practiced her breaking and entering skillz on. Now, add some pink, and you’ve got a hat fit for the most Shirley Templelest little tow-headed cherub that ever sat in a field of tossing daisies. The addition of the “welcome” sign…and the bear…does somewhat mar the effect. I don’t think hanging a “welcome” sign on an aspiring Heather O’Rourke or Abigail Breslin is appropriate. It might attract Disney merchandising teams.

Good lord. I’ve had this thing lurking in my photo bin since 2007, and never really looked at it. What the heck is it? Is this some sort of mascot from an alternate-universe Japanese Olympic games, which, all things considered, isn’t that big of a stretch. It’s a huge improvement over the current options.

Either we’re dealing with some sort of weird seal-bear-wombat hybrid, or it’s standing in a salad bowl. There’s a certain “teletubbies” element here, but the ‘Tubbies never had that manic, “love me! LOVE ME!!!” grin on their faces–from what I remember, they wore faces of bland passivity, the only expression allowed by their dreadful sun-god. This guy–this guy looks like he’s about to pounce.

And even knowing what the critter is–which, really, I do NOT–doesn’t change the fact that I have no idea what this artifact is. It’s not a purse, purses aren’t ceramic. It’s not a bank or a vase, those are both things you can put something in. No, this is a clay pouch, sealed, with a carrying strap, or a hanging-cord, or something of that dangly sort of nature. Without any context, I can only assume that it’s a ceremonial urn to contain and shield us from the dreaded seal-bear-wombat god of love, stars, and hoodies, trapped within this clay prison since time immemorial, the dread image traced with a mixture of paints and blood as a warning to all those who would find it on the third shelf of “Housewares.”

Terrible Bear Hat from Goodwill on Metric and 183. Enigmatic ceramic bear-purse from Savers on South Lamar and 290.

I’m not sure this is horrifying, not really, but as I look out the window and note that the trees are not just sagging, but actually MELTING, and that Texas summer survival suggestions often include “stop, drop and roll,” I think…better you than me, sister.

Wow. I’m not sure what level of decadence Victorian England actually aspired to, but if this was what all the fashionable ladies of London were wearing, the entire Scottish wool industry would have gone on strike. “Your dress,” this fashion would have said, “Your dress is like a potholder, and you, lady, are the pot…and how hot you are!”

Which worked well in my head, but I’m not sure how many people would like being compared, favorably or unfavorably, to a pot.

“I am WHAT, sir? Could you please repeat that? I fear the thick layer of wool muffled the tenor of your words, as well as the chill of the winter air.”

Heavy macrame bonnets. Yard upon yard of thick woolen flounces. This is a style that just won’t scale up very well.

From the side, though, I’m not reminded so much of a dress as much as the image of a pretty young lady slowly, over the course of years, being engulfed by brain coral. Or maybe some other ocean-going invertebrate, like the interior ruffles of a squid. Pinky-purple isn’t a flattering color, less so if your train weighs 750 pounds and smells sharply of a spill in a lanolin refinery.

Thrift Town near Manchacha and Stassney, Austin

This was threatening customers in the “Woodcraft” aisle of the big Goodwill on 2222. And they were right to feel threatened. It’s hard to say if this is a wood shop project or an alien life form, ready to crawl from the top shelf, scuttle around the corner to the toy section, and disembowel and/or impregnate a giant stuffed pooh-bear, all the while clacking its mandibles/pincers/ovipositors to say…”you’re next. You know you want it. Unless it’s disemboweling, which you probably don’t want.”

Behold, on its thorax it bears the sign of ill omen, the likeness of the star that foretold its coming! The wake of its destruction shall be TERRIBLE, but really, it’s a thriftshop, and it’s Sunday, so pretty much the same as those four kids over there farting around in Housewares, no change. I’m not sure the pooh-bear would agree with me on that count, but it’s a good blanket generality.

From a distance, that was kind of a nice shading job. From the top, it looks like the entire thing got covered in gorilla hair. It looks like my uncle Jeff with his shirt off. Tattoo’s kind of the same, too.

Yeah, we’re keeping away from that. I don’t care what you’re into, some things are just danger signs, and a tiger-striped stinger the size of a catcher’s mitt is probably one of those. Wait until it’s distracted by the super-sized “Good Luck Bear,” savor the irony, then run.

Just so you know.

Texas Thrift on 51st and I35

Another gift from the 1970s, and its strange love of merging the fun of handcrafted yarnwork with the color palette of a military maneuver covered in mustard. Oh, joy!

So…I’m thinking:
1) Weirdly phallic butterfly descending from Heaven,
2) Olive with pimiento throwing its arms up in celebration,
3) One of those new Japanese round pineapples,
4) Almond with protective hat calling the mother ship.

Of course, what this REALLY reminds me of is a bathmat. But the tapestry hook says no, this is Art, not Absorbent Material. Sometimes it’s a fine line.

Recently a friend showed me a pair of videos, both recorded from one of those new-fangled video game systems with a motion capture. The program would take snapshots, digitize whatever it was photographing it, and then turn it into a magical animated friend. Two things: It was not supposed to be used on living creatures, and it was not supposed to be used on, well, intimate, anatomically-accurate adult items of an insertable nature. Sooo…the first video showed what happened when you digitized a kitten–the result, a horrible, three-legged lurching monstrosity, with whiskers.

But when they animated the bright purple insertable intimate item, the result was absolute magic–a joyful winged sprite, flitting obscenely around the screen, with fairy wings and a trail of sparkles.

It may just be that this is fresh in my mind–indeed, burned forever into my mind–but that’s what I’m seeing here. Only it flew too close to the sun, and is tumbling down toward the ocean, condemned gods angry at the willful humans who dared put wings on a willie.

No idea. I thought maybe it was some sort of plant, or bug, neither of which are usually set with a smouldering ruby pulled out of the eye of a statue of a demon-god by doomed hands. Possibly it’s a fuzzy green volcano. That seems a little more likely, but I’ll be damned if I know why.

I’m pretty sure this is a pineapple, and the artist just ran out of space for the generally elongated platonic pineapple form, and made it a weird little pineapple orb. It might possibly be a gleaming tiger’s eye gazing into a blizzard, or a basketball tuned to a dead channel, but neither of those generally has a healthy crop of fronds, so I’m erring on the side of pineapple.

…and then there’s this thing. Is it an insect? Is it a flower? Is it a sophisticated communication device wearing a fuzzy hat? Only the 70′s know for sure.

Savers near 2222, Austin