A Dirty Shame
My all nighter actually ran for, count 'em, 31 strait hours of work. I finally left my office yesterday afternoon, when my ratio of hallucinations exceeded that of acts of productivity by a 3:1 margin. Monkey has a bad cold that showed up Thursday night, so I've been taking all the vitamins and other witch doctor hoosker willie crap the local HippieBarn had to offer.
Instead of sleeping in, as sane people might have, we woke up at 9 to prepare ourselves for a 4 hour drive to Baltimore. Monkey and I are friends with John Waters' long-time pal, Pugue, and he is selling us a huge lot of movie props from John's latest, A Dirty Shame.
Movie props are my family's stock market. We know nothing about mutual funds, IRAs and such, but we know cheap crap. The return on the money kicks Wall Street in the ass at an average 350% return. Sometimes it's as low as a 100% return, or as high as 1200%. When the market for a particular movie wanes, you hold onto the prop. Even if the movie is a dog, the props can go for big bucks, depending on who wore it. (90% of our stuff is costumes.) Some idiot paid $2200 for Jennifer Love Hewitt's outfit from Heartbreakers. We paid $175 for it. Monkey's side bidness is wheeling and dealing movie memorabilia to the geeks and perverts of the world. Someday our children's college will be paid for by celebrity panty-sniffers.
Our house looks like a storeroom at Universal Studios. Toys, video games, costumes, set pieces and miniature models of burning buildings, crashing planes and animatronic parts adorn every single room except for my kitchen and bathrooms. It's amazing how much crap you can fit into my house. We have full size manniquins to display whatever the latest costumes are. Sometimes it's a prison jumpsuit, sometimes it's sci-fi military regalia. Right now, the male one has on the outfit that freaky hick guy who accused Johnny Depp "You schtole mah stories!" In Secret Window wore. I can't recall what the girl is wearing. I have Traci Lord's leather jacket in my bedroom, and a huge actual Matrix tentacle in my second bedroom. The Ikea-type catalog from Fight Club is on the wall.
-Later-
We made it to Baltimore, and are eating a late dinner at a local diner. My crab chowder is almost up, so I'll sign off now, and let you know how it was tomorrow.
(To be edited/spell checked Sunday night.)
Instead of sleeping in, as sane people might have, we woke up at 9 to prepare ourselves for a 4 hour drive to Baltimore. Monkey and I are friends with John Waters' long-time pal, Pugue, and he is selling us a huge lot of movie props from John's latest, A Dirty Shame.
Movie props are my family's stock market. We know nothing about mutual funds, IRAs and such, but we know cheap crap. The return on the money kicks Wall Street in the ass at an average 350% return. Sometimes it's as low as a 100% return, or as high as 1200%. When the market for a particular movie wanes, you hold onto the prop. Even if the movie is a dog, the props can go for big bucks, depending on who wore it. (90% of our stuff is costumes.) Some idiot paid $2200 for Jennifer Love Hewitt's outfit from Heartbreakers. We paid $175 for it. Monkey's side bidness is wheeling and dealing movie memorabilia to the geeks and perverts of the world. Someday our children's college will be paid for by celebrity panty-sniffers.
Our house looks like a storeroom at Universal Studios. Toys, video games, costumes, set pieces and miniature models of burning buildings, crashing planes and animatronic parts adorn every single room except for my kitchen and bathrooms. It's amazing how much crap you can fit into my house. We have full size manniquins to display whatever the latest costumes are. Sometimes it's a prison jumpsuit, sometimes it's sci-fi military regalia. Right now, the male one has on the outfit that freaky hick guy who accused Johnny Depp "You schtole mah stories!" In Secret Window wore. I can't recall what the girl is wearing. I have Traci Lord's leather jacket in my bedroom, and a huge actual Matrix tentacle in my second bedroom. The Ikea-type catalog from Fight Club is on the wall.
-Later-
We made it to Baltimore, and are eating a late dinner at a local diner. My crab chowder is almost up, so I'll sign off now, and let you know how it was tomorrow.
(To be edited/spell checked Sunday night.)