Wednesday, May 30, 2007

Trashball 053007: Milo's Tooth: The Sequel

Well, it was inevitable. Milo the cat has lost his other top-row front canine tooth (here's the first one to go). I found this one on my comfy green chair, where Milo often sleeps and loses teeth. And yes, this tooth will fit in a Trashball.

Monday, May 28, 2007

Trashball 052807: Treatise on Style

The Chinese have long been the best in package design, as far as I'm concerned. Recovered on the 1000 block of 4th St., NE, in DC.

Have You Always Wanted a Trashball, But Were Afraid to Ask?

Well, for those of you not in DC and therefore nowhere near a Trashball machine, you can now get your very own Trashballs. Send $3.00 via (click here) and I'll send you 4 randomly chosen Trashballs via 1st-class mail (that's the regular price of 25 cents plus $2.00 postage/handling). This is for U.S. residents only. International coveters of Trashballs should email me first at chris [at] goodwinart [dot] com and we'll work something out.

Friday, May 18, 2007

Trashball 051807: Paradise Lost

Okay, so nothing is paradise. But sometimes I really miss being a kid.

Recovered in Alexandria, VA.

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Trashball in the News: CNBC

My first live TV interview and I figured I'd be in a fancy green room, plied with tasty catered foods while getting made up. Hell no. Just a humorless cameraman and me under hot lights.

Monday, May 14, 2007

Trashball 051407: Larry's a Stinker

Diary entries from a circa 1969 sorority pledge. States that pledges must always carry, among other things, a "passafire", by which I think she means pacifier. And after reading a lot of entries not posted, it's clear that "Larry" is acting like a total jerk to her and she should totally break up with him. Recovered in Fairfax, VA.

Friday, May 11, 2007

Trashball 051107: Lamb Sandwich

This luridly photographed lamb repels me yet makes me hungry. Recovered from 33rd St., NW, in DC.

Saturday, May 05, 2007

Trashball 050507: We Are the Champions

History, as written by the victors.

Trashball 050507: Can't Touch This

Say hello to Diondre, Benn, and Cookie, as they are labeled on the back of this 1986 photo I recovered on Minnesota Avenue in D.C. The fellow on the right menaces the viewer with a half-peeled orange.

How About Some Down-Home Lard 'n Butter?

Yesterday's job on the dump truck was an all-day affair. We were charged with emptying a house in Fairfax, Virginia, that had been abandoned 8 years ago and unoccupied since. It's as if, one day in 1999, the person had left to go out for a pack of smokes and never came back. The house was fully furnished, the closets full of clothes, and the refrigerator and upright freezer fully stocked.

Mind you, the fridge and freezer had not been opened in 8 years and had not run for who knows how long. Guess who got to open them up and clean them out?

You may wonder why we didn't simply tape the doors shut and dump the fridges with the contents in them. We would have loved to; alas, the dump has a special drop-off point for fridges and requires them to be empty.

My wishful theory that dead and rotten things eventually stop smelling proved off-base. Sickeningly so. The odor that burst forth and infiltrated our nostrils and pores was shocking.

Still, the freezer in particular yielded up interesting things, and I'm not referring to the half-eaten leg of lamb (I think it was). Inside were old plastic containers containing leftovers that had been helpfully labeled with contents and dates. There was chopped basil from April 30, 1982. Eggplant parmesan from 1979 (even if the house was abandoned in 1999, how could these things have been left in for so long?!). There were probably 2 dozen of these containers in all, spanning many years but nothing later than 1984. The 1977 containers of lard are pictured above, as is the stick of butter found in the fridge. The butter, by the way, had become very light and papery and felt hollow. That said, it was not too bad spread on toast.

Wednesday, May 02, 2007

Trashball 050207: Mayday Mayday

Oddly enough, I found this slip of paper on May Day, among a large, malodorous pile of bagged and loose trash in an alley behind Swann St., NW, in D.C. What struck me about it at first was the idea of filling out a form while plunging to your death in a P-3C Orion. Then it occurred to me that such a form was probably taped up near the radioman so he could follow a script in the case of a mayday situash. I think it's poignant that they refer to the crew members as "souls", as seen in the line "______ SOULS ON BOARD".