I went with Thairin Smothers and (real girl) Eva Thorne to the Long Beach swap meet at Veterans Stadium, where I found this fantastic picture of Scary Vintage Santa allegedly taking a crap. YES, MAKING A YULE LOG. Well, that’s what the vendor told me. Notice the furrowed brow, he said, the stall-like background. Whatever. It’s now my favorite Christmas decoration OF ALL TIME.
The flea market is located on 22 acres – you heard right, friend – 22 acres of glittering garbage and second-hand treasures. It’s all here, from manhole covers to Nazi storm trooper helmets, everything you didn’t know you couldn’t live without.
Thairin and I fought bitterly over some super-fetch vintage fishing tackle, yes, marvelous wooden fish on a rusty chain. I won. I was in heaven. I never realized that a simple chain of tackle would complete my home decorating scheme and give me such inner peace.
I also found this lovely canister of Beauty Contest Talcum Powder (for when I get moist during competition). Lucky, since I had just run out of my last can. In case you don’t remember, it’s Nigerian and from the ’60s. Ah, remember Nigeria in the ’60s? Good times.
I saw: pig-shaped footstools, a giant portrait of ’80s New York club legend Sally Randall (!!!), lots of what’s labeled “Negro Nostalgia” – mammy dolls and such – (which begs the question: Who, pray, is nostalgic for this?), some really sexy 19th-century surgical equipment (HOT primitive needles, mmm…), 57 attachable speakers from an abandoned drive-in movie theater. . . .
It was all too much, too much, I tell you, too fabulous, too easy, too cheap, too confusing, too heavy to carry around. I’m just one man, for Christ’s sake. I can’t own EVERYTHING. I can’t fit 22 acres into my snug studio apartment. I fell into a spinning cartoon vortex.
Oh, oh, I also found a little three-legged gilt night stand that is just elegant, piss-elegant, and exactly what I went there for. It now sits at the foot of my bed, next to the antique needlepoint bench I bought in Palm Springs last week – AND IT’S SO SOPHITCATED I COULD DIE! SQUEAL! Why, it makes me want to just throw on a ballgown and gavotte the night away – and that’s exactly what I did.
The decorating theme of my apartment is, of course, Early Dowager chic, or what I call retro-Biddyism. It’s all subversively cliché and radically fussy. Well, you’ll just have to come over some time and see. I’ll show you my tackle.