A Random Image

Jett Superior laid this on you on || April 9, 2003 || 11:38 pm

I’ve been trying to finish a couple of fairly grim pieces for several days now and have had to frustratedly put them aside several times because they don’t seem to be flowing properly. Maybe it’s the fear in them that is affecting me so. They involve two very frightening times in my life and remind me what a tenuous grasp we have on being alive.
So, still itching to scribble and not yet having shaken free from what I was writing about, I pondered the idea of cooking up some more (God help us) maudlin, oppressed-woman poetry (been more of that this last couple of weeks than you could fathom). Then I saw the beer glistening happily (“Yo-ohhhh, Te-CA-te! How you beeeenn?”) from behind its restraining bar in the fridge door and I knew that was a sign to say something about The Really Good Thingtm that happened to me a couple of days ago.

Sam and I dropped Scout off at piano one afternoon and headed out to the grocery store. We took a side street that I’d not driven down in months (as small as this fucking place is, can you imagine?) and passed by an old favorite, the extreespeshull and highly revered Unclaimed Baggage. There are only two of these stores in the whole wide world, and this eedle town was blessed with one (albeit a smaller one with fewer pickins).

If you are not familiar with the glory that is Unclaimed Baggage, then I should give you a little background on it. The store at Scottsboro has been featured in magazines and news shows, because it really is a cool concept, despite the sort of pawn-shop-profit-from-the-misfortunes-of-others vibe. The store buys up baggage or shipments that are lost and unclaimed at airports and such, then empties them, catalogs the contents, pricing things and setting them out to sell. The bags, too. You can find the COOLEST stuff there, and many times at such the bargain price. Some people take their entire vacations to go shopping, you dig?? I got a heavy, leather-bound journal with creamy vellum pages and rice-paper inserts a few months back and it only cost me four dollars. FOUR DOLLARS!! For a forty-buck book that was inviting but intimidating to scribble in because of the richness of it. I have a special project in mind for it, but that’s neither here nor there. I got a Box of Chagall notecards for three dollars, woo! And music, oh Holy Peter In The Skies, the muuuuussiiiiiiiicc….

So I was going down this very succint side-street and there was this huge sign,

Everything 75% OFF

and I was, “OhmygoshSAM, Unclaimed Baggage is going out of BUSINESS.” Sadly and embarrassing enough, the carrion in me emerged and Sam was happy to be my Willing Accomplicetm. There is all kinds of eclectic whatsit housed within its four walls and scads of shelves and rolly-racks. Clothes shopping? Sam behaves as if he were being poked with hot sticks, though I should understand the futile embarrassment of an eleven-year-old boy being asked “How ’bout the crotch, you got plenty of room through the crotch??” by his mother in a public fitting room. Just lookin’ out for my future descendants, okay?

But eclectic mishmosh-sifting, that’s so very Sam’s speed. I announced to him that we had thirty minutes, forty tops, get busy buzzin’ through here kid and don’t bug your mommy. I was lost the minute I saw the tables that held the ceedees were still pretty loaded. I was sucked toward them, willing or no.

I’m a ceedee snob; I like to have cases to snuggle the discs like little audio resting-places and liner notes to gobble into my brain while I pull the music in through my pores. I like the utter completeness of that scenario, the simple joy of it. While there were many ceedees in unmarked cases sans inserts priced at three-fifty or less (EIGHYSEVENCENTSFOR A CEEDEE, WOO!), I immediately dismissed them from perusal in favor of those ‘complete’ (and hopefully in their original, unopened shrinkwrap) units.

Oh lovely readers, there was Elvis Costello (bonus disc, bonus disc!) and Badly Drawn Boy and Hooverphonic and The United States Naval Academy Men’s Glee Club and two (count’emtwooo) Frank Zappa double-disc sets and VAST and classic Heart and Glenn Gould (complete Goldberg varitions!) and Prince’s Black Album (lim. ed.) and a handful apiece for Sam, Scout and Maxim and a handful of never-before-heard-of-but-they-look-interestings. Every one of ‘em was priced between three and five dollars, so for a buck-twenty-five or less apiece, Your Favorite Poor Girl came out with a sackful of much-needed new music.

Be still, my beating heart and all that shit. Just typing the majesty of it here now gets me all exhilerated and a-flutter and such all over again.

There are two things that absolutely, without fail, make me feel like a brand fucking new woman. One is new underthings, most especially of the brasseire nature. The other is new music, most especially of the never-before-owned nature. Hell, the day I found The Beatles’ White Album on ceedee for three bucks, you’d have thought my mythical aunt, Sadie Blueheels, had left me a chunk of her Mediterranean (sp? too lazy to look it up) estate. With cabana boys. And dancing goats. Stuffed with pretty, pretty money of gigunda denominations.

Since the good vibes and the beer are rollin’, it’s time to break out the sausages.

My dears, courtesy a binding Contractual Arrangement Of Looking Lusty And Delicious (As Well As A Conspicuous Absence Of Sausages And/Or Dogs Playing Poker) with those of us here at Superior Industries, I present thee with the London boys, retun engagement:

Corn-fed midwestern just looks goood on you, fellas. No, really.

And I have piles of new music. NEW! MUSIC!

7 worked it out »

  1. An Proud Reader 4.10.2003

    I just have to say, as a fellow Tecate lover, and a frequent thrift store shopper, YOU are an AMAZING PERSON!! I think this post has made you one of my most favorite people in the whole world.

  2. Having achieved student-magazine-interview status for my penchant for good ole man suits etseterra, i think i will ole-artedly agree:


    “Jett Superior, Woman of the Year”

  3. redclay 4.10.2003

    i was just bout to send you some more music.

    i’ll let you digest what you got first.

    where’s mine, by the way.

    music or tecate, i done care whichun.

  4. waistdog 4.10.2003

    One day I shall invent a bra that plays music…..and you shall achieve a bliss unlike that ever imagined.

  5. Jett 4.10.2003

    waisty honey, it’s bliss enough just KNOWING you.

    redclay…sadly, my computer is made of concreek an’ sticks. I’m already formulating a playlist for when I get a new one, though.


    RichardD, you shameless flatterer, you!

    APR: who you is?? Come clean! I’LL FIND YOU EVENTUALLY…*insert maniacal laughter here.* No, seriously, come on out from under the covers, or e-mail me. Somethin’.

  6. APR 4.10.2003

    First off, i was first going to be An Amazed Reader, that was the reason for the “an”. Second of all, I am no one special, just a friend of the Llama and managed to find your site through his. I have been ghosting around for awhile, but, this post really inspired me and i just had to say ’something’. Anyway, thats my spill.

  7. APR your anonmyous love is cold and heartless compared to my devotion…


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