THE SURFING PIZZA

THIS.

This is a Bumble. And this is my favorite thing this Christmas season. Until I proclaim the next thing my favorite thing. Fickle heart.

I called finding him the Christmas Miracle, but then again I call everything the Christmas Miracle, including finding my car keys and saving fifty cents on my choice of select Kellogg’s cereals. Coupons are miraculous.

But in fact, finding Bumble actually falls under the distinct category of Christmas Missions. All the best Christmases have a Christmas Mission Accomplished—for example when you finally find that hot toy, finally perfect that pie recipe, or finally get your first kill in a Wal-Mart on Black Friday.

Finding this Bumble was my 2011 Christmas Mission Accomplished, the result of going to three Targets. The wife was assigned to the Targets near her office. I staked out the ones near the house. Which did I mention? Are totally picked over and horrific war zones at this point.

We’re exactly one week before Christmas, which is a frightening sentence to those of us who did not do all of our shopping online, thank you very much you smug bastards. I’m sure it’s so easy to just have all the boxes delivered right to the front door, but you know what? I like pain. I like being at the mall where everyone appears to have the worst chest cold ever. My God people, should you really be out in public like this? Or just generally be out in public? And I LOVE waiting for the person who is standing right in front of the thing I want to look at. I LOVE IT. I really do. Now please fucking move. Please.

Christmas shopping PTSD is very real. Don’t be afraid to talk about it.

Special shout out to all my comrades out there working retail at Christmas. I’m a retail vet myself. I did several tours back in the day. War is hell.

Bumble is made by Funko in their line of Pop toys, a series of figures made of vinyl that are 3.75 inches tall. I normally don’t give a crap about stylized vinyl figures, but when I found out Rudolph-themed ones existed, it became a whole different story. There are also Year Without Santa Claus versions featuring Snow Miser and Heat Miser. They’re five bucks a pop, a total deal.

I would love to have seen a Hermey figure, and especially a Yukon Cornelius. That guy rules. Or a misfit toy. Here’s a piece of trivia I learned from Wikipedia: the Dolly for Sue on the Island of Misfit Toys doesn’t appear to have anything wrong with her. That’s because her problem is depression! Apparently Sue rejected and didn’t love her.

But of my available choices, I knew it had to be Bumble. I dig Bumble. He used to scare the hell out of me as a kid. I mean, he almost kills and eats the entire reindeer family and Hermey, too. It’s dark stuff. Rudolph is some crazy shit. Children’s specials today aren’t nearly as unsettling.

However, in the end, everyone knows that Bumble is just a misunderstood softie. Just look at him:

ADORABLE. This guy is made really nice. I love the minimal detail about him, and yet every detail is precisely the perfect detail. He’s got a lot of personality. It’s a solid, cool toy, and it’s bad ass enough to stay out all year. Of course, Christmas is when he really shines.

Don’t worry about what’s going on in that picture. Bumble is not about to devastate the Playmobil Nativity. He’s only saying hi.

I’ve been seeing some really legit stocking stuffers out there this year, and this one is a particular favorite. I found this at Target on sale for less than five bucks. Just take a moment to admire that packaging. It’s the total embodiment of the true meaning of Christmas. And yes, in case you find yourself lost and searching this season like so many others, you have just found it. The true meaning is Surprise Monster Jam Trucks.

Reflect on it. You’ll get it.

I always wanted to go to a monster truck rally as a kid. It’s big cars riding over little cars! There’s fire and bone-crushing deaths! I’m certain monster truck rallies had bone-crushing deaths, three words that can make a child salivate. Everyone always thinks of children as innocent, but the truth is kids are little psychos. Little psychos who cry when Bambi’s mom dies.

Plus I knew there would be popcorn at the rally, the kind that comes in a little cardboard box with red stripes on it. I REALLY WANTED TO GO BAD.

Instead my parents took us to museums and parks. One time, we did go to an exotic animals show inside an arena, so at least I broke even in the sketchy arena shows department.

There was a monster truck rally around here recently. Admission was only like fifteen bucks, and I think the first 100 people admitted got a free can of Bud Light. Something like that. Can you believe the wife didn’t want to go? Maybe I should have mentioned the popcorn in little cardboard boxes with red stripes. Sometimes that’s all it takes.

Each box contains a surprise monster truck pictured on the back. I desperately want mine to be the Holiday Hauler so that I have an excuse to put this with my Christmas decorations. And by desperately, I mean that if my particular box does not contain the Holiday Hauler, I may just lose my mind, drive back to Target, and promptly purchase a case of them in search of the golden ticket. I’m imagining a future together with the Holiday Hauler, year after year as a cherished piece of my Christmas decorations.

However, that Superman truck will do. And I probably won’t slit my wrists with a rusty butter knife if I end up with the lame Grinder Monster Truck.

Then again, I can get really emotional.

I love this packaging. It really captures the essence of stocking stuffers. There should always be that something in the stocking that goes the extra mile, and this does it. The detail down to the tire tread prints on the box is just awesome.

Plus I can totally use this nifty little box to wrap another gift.

In the tradition of Clark Griswold, “drumroll, please.”

The Gravedigger. It would have been third on my choice list, which isn’t bad given my general luck with these sort of things. I like it. It pays small tribute to my bloodthirsty nostalgia for death. Maybe the wife will fill my stocking with another shot at the Holiday Hauler. Hint hint hint hint.

THAT WAS A HINT.

Christmas is about subtlety.

And besides, I still came up with a way to work it into my decorations:

I’m a purist for getting a real Christmas tree. Christmas requires proper pain and suffering. It requires sap and frostbite and risking bringing a spider’s nest into your home. It requires agonizing with the tree stand for thirty minutes, turning those dumb little screws over and over, like that makes any difference.

Your plastic thing sucks and it’s made from lead and vinyl in a cancer-causing Chinese factory. That’s just bad mojo, and that don’t mix with the Christmas spirit, man. You know what else doesn’t mix with the Christmas spirit? That Giant-brand egg nog that comes in the creepy yellow container. It especially doesn’t mix with what you had for dinner, at all. Don’t do it, people.

I’m serious. Don’t do it.

Among us tree purists, there are two camps—and I’m certain the tree-chopper-downers sneer at us piddling tree-lot-warblers. But look, I did pull over on the side of the road at the tree lot and interact with a man who was wearing a sweatshirt that had “HILLBILLY DELUXE” emblazoned across the front. He was also selling sketchy cantaloupes which I’m certain aren’t in season. Just saying. Even if I didn’t get down on my knees in the snow and saw down a tree myself, I still did my share of required pain.

Side note: seeing sketchy fruit is always traumatic. Exhibit B: That three-pronged thing at the Asian supermarket.

One thing us tree purists can agree on is the scent of fresh pine. But I think we often overlook the most awesome part of a real Christmas tree. It’s a freaking TREE. INSIDE YOUR HOUSE. A TREE! THAT YOU DECORATE! It’s the ultimate houseplant on steroids. This is amazing. Life is amazing.

Every year, one of me and the wife’s Christmas traditions is to each pick out a new ornament for the tree. We go to Valley View Farms, a garden center that becomes a Christmas compound with 543394835 ornaments in one place. That’s the exact number. I counted them.

So in what has become a blog tradition, here is what we picked out.

MY PICK: THIS STING RAY.

He looks like he’s swimming in the tree. I had this guy in the running with a basketball playing sock monkey. If there had been a gorilla ornament in the animals section, I might have gone gorilla, but after seeing this guy swim in the tree, I have complete confidence in my 2011 pick.

THE WIFE’S PICK: ANOTHER PIG.

We have a bit of a pig problem in our household. The wife swears that she does not collect pigs. She claims that all her pigs were acquired because people gifted them to her. Over the years, she became pinned as the girl who liked pig stuff, and it became an uncontrollable thing. A pig thing. This is what she claims. I’m letting the pig out of the bag. She totally buys that shit.

“You already have like a million other pig ornaments,” I said.

“This is not a pig. It’s Olivia,” she said.

Whoever that is.

“Alright fine, but then the tree is going to be dominated with pigs.” I said.

“You don’t like my pigs?”

“Our tree is going to look like A Very Country Christmas.”

The ornament wars had begun. Ornament wars are very real and can be more contentious than closing-the-cabinet wars and loading-the-dishwasher wars.

“Maybe we should just pick out one or two of the best pigs for the tree,” I said.

“Whatever.”

She let the subject change and we proceeded to check-out. I figured I had won. I felt pretty good about myself. One or two of the best pigs. Marriage is all about compromise.

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Of course, you the reader know as well as I do that all the pigs are on that tree right now. And before you think I’m a jerk for even questioning the pigs, I think it’s because you haven’t actually seen them and will take my side in the ornament wars. So here they are.

PIG OFFENDER #1.

Jingle Bell pig. He’s missing a leg, so I sort of feel bad for him. I’d let this pig stay. He ties in with Christmas.

PIG OFFENDER #2.

This one is sort of neutral and alright, I guess. I’d let him stay, somewhere in the back of the tree.

PIG OFFENDER #3.

This one is terrible, but at least I get it. The wife used to take ballet. So there’s that.

PIG OFFENDER #4.

Golf-playing pig is where I start to get uncomfortable. It’s garish and weird, and not in a good nostalgic way. Why does she have a golf-playing pig? She doesn’t even like golf. Also, the size of this thing is approaching infant size.

PIG OFFENDER #5.

I’M UNCOMFORTABLE.

But hey, like I said, Christmas requires proper pain and suffering.

Hey it’s December! The rest of the world may have begun the psycho parade procession toward Christmas back in August, but I’m only getting warmed up right now. I put up the outdoor Christmas lights last weekend. That’s right—last weekend, which was December. I don’t put that ish up in November, folks. Oh yeah, and I got a hot tip for you in the lighting department. The $12-a-pop Martha Stewart lights are worth it. You might be tempted to save money with the $7-a-pop off-brand lights, but stick with your girl Martha. They’re way brighter and nicer.

Anyway, it’s time for some Christmas counting down. Over the next two weeks, I’m going to be doing mad Christmas posting and blowing up your life XMAS STYLE. I got something awesome for the first post.

The other day I was at the thrift store. This is the kind of thrift store where old people’s lifetimes of accumulated knick-knacks go to die. It’s heaven if you’re a hoarder—or if you’re me. I’m not a hoarder. I’m an artist. I collect things with utmost discrimination. This next thing was no exception.

Check this out.

VINTAGE SANTA DOOR COVER.

Let’s take one moment to worship those people on the packaging. They sure can appreciate a decent Santa door cover when they see one. I love that girl’s admiring gaze.

Back in the day, this thing would have set you back a dollar and some change, but I got it for SIXTY SIX CENTS, still sealed. MINTY NICE. (Gah, I’ve been perusing on eBay too long.) The vinyl sheet was crisp in the package, factory folded and untouched. I was all over it.

I mean, it just screams Christmas. Weird 1960s Santa! A door cover!

Christmas door covers are a lost art form.

I love this old artwork. They just don’t make Santa as manic and drunk-looking these days. And Santa definitely is both of those things.

To me, Christmas has always been about old, weird things. Man, I wish all of my grandmother’s Christmas decorations still existed somewhere in a place besides my head. She used to have some of the weirdest stuff. It was always for more than just displaying. Christmas decorations were bizarrely elaborate with purpose. There were ceramic elves that had tiny hooked hands for scaling the table centerpiece. There were snowmen candles that played music with wicks that could never be burned lest it destroy the electrical innards. There were plastic holly leaves for hanging off ledges, with soft plastic berries that gave a little when you squeezed them, and it was just enough.

The other thing was the smell of the decorations. The vinyl and plastic and PVC sitting in cardboard boxes all year up in the attic was a ripe recipe for the intoxicating and chemically polymer smell, sweet like gasoline. Jesus, they don’t make plastic like they used to. It just doesn’t smell that good anymore. Forget pine and sugar cookie. This is the true the smell of Christmas. I’m probably slightly brain-damaged from huffing boxes of old-ass plastic Christmas decorations as a child.

Sigh.

I guess that’s why I dig these old things. It’s not nostalgia. It’s my craving for fumes. And the Santa door cover? It delivered. Big time. As I opened the package and began to unfold the vinyl, there was a whallop of fifty-year old polyvinyl chloride unleashed for the first time. It was like the nuclear cloud of shower curtains. It was the good shit.

Also, check out those hot specs:

Waterproof! Can be used indoors or outdoors! Fits standard doors! And my favorite, EASY TO ATTACH. And if by “easy to attach” you mean scotch-taping that sucker to the front door, then my God, YES IT IS THAT EASY to attach. Dang, those specs smoke my HD TV.

There’s something passé about taping a plastic sheet to your front door, but I’m bringing it back. The thing I love about my wife is that it didn’t even phase her when I taped that bad boy up on the door. She just looked at it and noted its brand-new condition for its age. She’s so pragmatic, it’s sickening.

And they didn’t lie. It was easy to attach. Tape is so magic. Anyone who has ever put up a single Christmas decoration knows that tape is, in fact, the Christmas miracle. I’ll leave you with that thought tonight.

Every couple of months I do a post where I show off the latest and greatest crap I’ve collected over the last couple months. Today I’m showing off the stuff I found in the last gasps of flea market/yard sale season before the warm days finally gave way to chilly mornings and even a rare snow in October.

This past weekend I also went to the Greater York Toy Extravaganza, a massive toy collector show of over 800 tables filling an entire expo center in Pennsylvania. Taking place the Sunday after Thanksgiving, the toy show has become my annual tradition, a way to cap off another year of collecting junk. Even though most of the dealers are overpriced and scary in a Pennsylvania way, I always find a few rough gems. As usual, I’m always looking for oddities and random unloved things. This year did not let me down.

I’ve also done posts on the toy show in previous years. In 2009, the wife/then-girlfriend came with me for the first and last time. This was back when we first began thinking about moving in together. She was still weighing whether or not she wanted to get seriously involved with a collector, as in, living with all of it. She walked around the toy show in horror saying things like, “If I move in with you, I’m going to have to live with this kind of stuff. What if we get married? This could be my life forever.”

Meanwhile, I was dealing with my own personal struggles. I was deciding whether or not to buy a half-used box of Ninja Turtle Band-aids. Surely if they had existed this long in the universe, didn’t it mean God intended them for me? But ultimately I passed on them to assuage the girlfriend’s existential meltdown over dating someone who bought unused Band-aids from the 1980s.

Whatever. The keyword is unused.

Then in 2010, the Ninja Turtle Band-Aids WERE STILL THERE. And once again, I struggled over whether or not to buy them. By now the girlfriend had said yes and agreed to marry me, so I felt secure enough to bring home Band-aids with Michaelangelo’s face on them. But we lived in a cramped, tiny apartment, so I had to be prudent. I purchased only necessary items this time around, like plush potato dolls.

So now, this year, I was all set to buy those Ninja Turtles Band-aids. I’ve got an entire basement to fill, which is my home office, writing space, and man cave. Except, here’s the heartbreaker, guys. The Band-aids weren’t there this year. But don’t feel too sorry for me. I was only being half serious about them. I think.

So let’s dive in and take a look at what I picked up at the toy show, as well as the flea market/yard sales before it got cold out.

Little Rubber Guys! I’ve been picking up MUSCLES and other little figures here and there ever since I started collecting them back in August when I scored a whole bunch of them for five bucks at the flea market. I started out with twenty and now I have like a hundred. I found a few more at the toy show including the guys in the far left row. The dealer wanted a buck each for them, but I knocked him down to fifty cents a piece. Does anyone know who they are specifically?

Trash Bag Bunch! A quarter a piece, yard sale find. These are the Trash Bag Bunch, a toy line produced by Galoob in 1991. This toyline had an earth-friendly theme about recycling and the environment. Each figure came packaged in a bag so you couldn’t tell which figure you’d receive. Figures included monsters, aliens, and robots, a hat trick of awesomeness. The bag would fizzle and dissolve in water, revealing the secret figure inside.

Digging around online shows the line of toys was surprisingly complex with droves of figures released and many more planned, including even a crane-like “grab and dip” playset and trash bags sold separately for re-bagging the figures. Yet, the concept flunked in America, somewhat ahead of its time in selling blind surprise packages, something that is all the rage now.

Batman Stuff! Free, flea market. Yeah, I actually got both the game and the flash light for FREE. The sellers at the flea market were packing up and yelling that everything was free for the taking, so I nabbed these items.
I’ve never really been a Batman or traditional superheros fan, but I love the colors, style, and fonts on these two items. I guess that’s weird, to feel nostalgia more for the font or color more than the character. Or that Kay Bee sticker.

Vintage toy store stickers are neat stuff. It takes me back to when I was a kid, standing in the aisles of the toy store feeling small and overwhelmed, full of bottomless want and hunger. I assumed Santa, like God, was omnipresent, so I’d walk down the aisles praying to Santa mentally, hoping he was listening and knowing he was. This is what I want. This. And this! This, too! Are you listening? Are you taking this down? Do you need a pen? You better have a pen. Soon we’d leave the store and the mall would swallow us again, and I’d want a soft pretzel. And a Coke. No, an Icee. Make it a blue one.

MUPPET BABIES LUNCHBOX! I typed that in all caps because a MUPPET BABIES LUNCHBOX should always be typed that way. And it’s tin. It is that awesome. Scored it for $1 at the flea market. I love the cartoon theme song. It’s so gorgeous and sublime. If you listen to it as a song, it has awesome harmonies, too.

Why the hell is Muppet Babies not even on DVD yet?

Totally Sick Ninja Turtles Collection! (Even Without the Band-Aids!) I’m no longer simply collecting Ninja Turtle stuff. I’m now amassing it. A friend gave us his childhood Rubbermaid bin of Ninja Turtle toys for our wedding gift. And by “us” and “our,” I really mean just me.

It was a totally worthy wedding gift, too, because the bin wasn’t like some crappy beat-up, old-ass Ninja Turtles. Oh no. It was PACKED with GOOD FIGURES and VEHICLES and had all of the original accessories. April even has her original microphone, briefcase, and video camera. INSANITY.

Like, not only did this kid get EVERY AWESOME NINJA TURTLE, but he also TOOK CARE of them. If my original childhood TMNT collection still existed, it would make a shameful gift—turtle arms missing, common figures that every kid had, not a cape or sword or sai among them.

The wife can treasure her new Kitchenaid blender and Calphalon omelette pans all she wants. This Ninja Turtle collection is likely going to end up one of the most valuable gifts we received. I’ve seen decent lots of TMNT figures sell for $200+ on eBay. Imagine what they’ll go for in 20-30 years.

My favorite thing is I have a COMPLETE KRANG with walker, arms, and ray gun:

I even have Krang’s Android Body, which I picked up at the toy show for three bucks:

And Now Here’s The Moment In Which I Admit I Even Have (And Display) A Rapidly-Deteriorating Raphael Birthday Candle:

Don’t judge me. It was in that wedding gift bin. It’s not like I could throw it out. Besides, he’s now stored in a cool, dry, smoke-free basement. Maybe it’ll even firm him up a bit. It’s not even the worst thing I own, nor is it the lowest point in my collection.

Because the lowest point in my collection and perhaps my entire life is the next thing I’m going to show you:

THE WORLD’S LAST EXISTING FREE WILLY FIGURE!

I really felt ashamed of myself for buying this at the toy show. But it was only a dollar. I felt like a sociologist discovering something new about humanity. I did it for history. I did it for you. You, the reader who is right now marveling that a Free Willy figure existed. That a bendable toy of Jesse, the boy from freaking Free Willy, was mass-produced and sold in toy stores.

Or perhaps you’re thinking nothing at all because you don’t even know what this is. Fine. Be that way.

Free Willy was a movie about the tender relationship between a boy and an Orca whale. While it feels like some obscure random thing that no one remembers now, I assure you that movie was ridiculously, massively popular in 1993. For a hot minute, every kid in fifth grade wanted to be a marine biologist because of this movie.

Let this mint-on-card boy-from-Free-Willy show that this movie was once deeply embedded in our collective psyche in ways that are just now being uncovered. Or perhaps I’m only speaking for myself and it’s only my psyche that I’m uncovering in purchasing this.

Wow. I own a figure of Jason James Richter. Dude, I am creepy and weird. I need a support group, sitting around in chairs clutching small Styrofoam cups of black coffee. I hope they have doughnuts. Or at least Pepperidge Farms cookies. At least.

Here’s another thing that makes me think wow: Free Willy spawned two sequels. Free Willy is a trilogy. Think about that one for a minute.

Vintage Star Wars Stuff! Five bucks for the lot, flea market. I never see Star Wars stuff at the flea market because I don’t mosey in there until about 9am. You see, the hardcore collectors and ebayers get there in the pitch blackness of 4am with flash lights looking for Star Wars, GI Joes, Legos, and Beatles records. But somehow, this small, humble lot of Star Wars stuff lasted until I got there. The whole lot is probably worth about $20-$30, so take that crazy flashlight people!

Boglins! $1, flea market. Here’s one the crazy flashlight people wouldn’t even know about. Boglins are bank on eBay, flashlight people, and I scored this guy just as it was reaching noon. Boglins were a line of rubbery, monstery hand puppets from the 1980s. At the time, they were viewed as a knock-off of stuff like Ghostbusters and Gremlins, but since then, they’ve achieved a mini-cult status among nostalgists and collectors.

Kongs! Fifty cents each, at the toy show. I have a thing for gorilla figures with special love bonus points if the eyes are mispainted on. Special love bonus points are very esteemed and reserved. The little guy has earned a million of ‘em. Just look at him. He is nothing short of spectacular.

Random Bottom of the Bin Toys! Seriously, that wedding gift bin just kept on giving. These were scattered along the bottom underneath the piles of Ninja Turtles. I think they were actually my favorites of the whole lot. I love that dinosaur, that tomato thing, that red thing, that green thing, that little machete-wielding dinosaur, and that little dude. SO MANY SPECIAL LOVE BONUS POINTS TO GO AROUND. Some days, it’s just like that.

More Random Figures! Quarter a piece, yard sale. UM HELLO SLURPEE DRINKING HOT DOG. Screw this life. I want to live in that world. What about that Raisin wearing pink boots and carrying a matching pink boombox? Hot. A squatty little ET figure? Yes, please. Sugar Bear? Kool-Aid Man? Energizer Bunny? I’ll take them all.

Old School Video Game Stuff! Picked up both of these at the toy show. Board game was two bucks, the Pac Man Tomy game was seven. I love what these things represent more than anything, a time when everything was cross-merchandised to extremes. There was never just a video game. There was a cartoon, a comic book, a lunch box, a board game, bed sheets, a snack food, a cereal, a Happy Meal toy, a carnival prize, and a frozen pizza.

There’s something just so unique to the 1980s about board games based on video games, and really, board games based on any pop culture trend. If it was A Thing, a board game existed of it.

A close up of the Pac Man game:

This was made by Tomy, and I’ve always thought Tomy made some of the coolest toys to ever exist. Here is another Tomy find, Atomic Arcade Pin Ball:

Five bucks, at the flea market. I almost passed on it, too. I’m not sure why, because it’s awesome. But I was going to walk away until I took it out of the box and saw the minuature working scoreboard. Something about the scoreboard sold me completely.

Monsters! A buck each, at the toy show. Three of these are Tales From The Cryptkeeper, a cartoon based on the HBO show, Tales From the Crypt, which also had a comic book, a pinball machine, a line of POGS, and on and on. While I have no special love bonus points for them, I just dig monster action figures. However, I DO have special love bonus points for that monster bendy dude. Anyone know if he’s anything specifically? I’m assuming just some generic 70s/80s made-in-China bendy.

Thundercats! $19.99, Toys R Us. Did you know there is a new re-boot of the Thundercats cartoon? I don’t really care about it, but I do love the excuse to also reproduce some of the vintage Thundercats toys. There are a couple of smaller eight-inch vintage Thundercats in the stores, too, but I had to go with this “Mega Scale” Lion-O just so I could enjoy the mega-scale production of those fibrous cat man thighs. The 80s were a really weird time. I have a feeling I’ll be explaining that a lot to my children one day.

Finally, I’m capping off the post with a Toilet Pencil Sharpener!

About two weekends ago, we went to Gettysberg, PA. Even if you’re not a Civil War buff, it’s worth the trip for the neat little town and quirky gift shops. Me and the wife are like “neat little town” addicts. There’s all these strange Civil War exhibits and mini-museums, each worthy of their own posts. The one that stood out to me most was the Gettysberg Diorama, which advertised having the world’s largest military diorama. Since they had to specify “military,” I just hope there is a diorama of something else that is even larger. Please let it be dinosaurs. Please let it be dinosaurs.

The diorama is gorgeous in a creepy 1970s way. The thing about dioramas is, they seem to want to capture mundane, relateable things, even among the mini battlefield soldiers—soldiers looking out window, soldiers cooking food—things you could point to, and think, hey, look, dioramas are just like people! Just like us!

The diorama filled an entire, echoing hall. We were the only ones there that day, and we paid five dollars EACH to watch a THIRTY MINUTE program, alone in the room with the diorama. It was like being trapped in a time bubble, and well, like being trapped, period. THIRTY MINUTES OF THIS BUT WE PAID FOR IT SO WE HAVE TO STAY. The technology stopped somewhere in 1985. We watched a film strip and listened to a narration with a wicked electric grounding hum that made it difficult to hear. A few flickery strobe lights highlighted the action on the battlefield/diorama. It was awesome.

But even more awesome was the gift shop, which ought to advertise that they have the world’s largest selection of shot glasses and die-cast pencil sharpeners. Which is how I came to have a miniature die-cast toilet. I agonized over that decision for at least twenty minutes. I’d finally narrowed it down to the diver’s helmet, the 1980s television, and the toilet, but I knew I was going to pick the toilet the whole time. Still, it’s always good to choose runners up.

And you know what? Since there’s plenty to go around, special love bonus points awarded to the die-cast toilet. And to you.