Trashball 032807: Caribbean Cruise, 1968

Bored-looking white folk in background.

Recovered in Laurel, MD.

Trashball 032807: 1953

The dollar, it seems, used to go pretty far, as these two 1953 receipts bear out. "Charms 3 Boxes" for a mere $1.78 at the People's Drug Store and a full month of newspapers—delivered, no less—for the trifling sum of $1.40.

Recovered in Washington, DC.

Trashball 032607: Baby Boy

Recovered in Laurel, MD.

Trashball 032607: Breaking News, 1981

Four snapshots someone took of their TV screen. The images are pretty familiar, especially to me since I drive past that wall in the background all the time. It's the T Street entrance of the Washington Hilton, site of John Hinckley's assassination attempt on Ronald Reagan.

Why didn't the picture-taker just use YouTube? Oh, right...

Recovered in Laurel, MD.

Unpleasant Memory No. 23: Auto-Micturition

The street I grew up on, well, it wasn't really a street. It was a boulevard. By the age of 11 or so I had come to realize that "boulevard" had a certain cachet, a kind of European flair, that "street" lacked.
And, indeed, it was no ordinary street; down the middle of Springbrook Boulevard, in Dayton, Ohio, ran the eponymous brook, a quietly burbling little stream through which my friends and I would wade, upsetting rocks and catching crawdads. (In case you're confused, the brook did not literally run down the middle of the street; the roadway was a long oval bisected by a strip of grass and trees, through which the creek ran.)
Unusual people lived along my part of the boulevard. Everyone's neighbors are strange or funny or mysterious to a degree, but my little stretch seemed particularly endowed with odd birds.
Across the street lived the twins, Holly and Heidi, and their mother, whose obsession with Elvis was unsettling.
Down from them lived Mrs. Hough and her son. Mrs. Hough could be relied upon for two things: Little Debbie oatmeal-creme cookies, if you knocked and asked nicely; and, every so often--but without fail--she would back her car out of her driveway, forget to turn the steering wheel, go down the embankment, and into the creek.
Directly next door to my house was Mr. and Mrs. Stover, a nice elderly couple who had a little vegetable garden that was always set upon by rabbits, no matter their efforts to keep them out. Mrs. Stover will never be forgotten for her unabashed snooping; it was highly unusual to be out in the driveway and not find her peering through the blinds, staring fixedly at you. You could make eye contact with her and her gaze would not waver nor her blank expression change.
Anyhow, one day, around 8 or 9 years of age, I was playing with the twins in the creek. It was summer, one of those elemental summer days that seem, when looking back as an adult, to be made of green leaves, blue sky, fluffy white clouds, yellow sun.
I suppose we were looking for crawdads (crayfish, to some of you). We may have been digging up the occasional car part, too; every so often you'd come across a side mirror or bit of tail-light from one of Mrs. Hough's depth-perception errors.
It was getting close to dinnertime. I knew I'd soon have to go in, but I really didn't want to. I wanted to stay out there, feeling my bare feet on the slippery, moss-covered rocks and teasing the twins, whose sole similarity to each other was that they both lisped.
For some time, though, I had really had to pee. But I didn't want to run into my house, worried that my parents would induce me to stay in. I didn't want to go into Holly and Heidi's place, either, because I found their mother rather terrifying, with her enormous hair and makeup so heavy that it seemed to make her face sag. Plus, I knew she'd want to show me some of her latest Elvis kitsch.
The situation was getting truly desperate though. I was at the point where I had to pee so bad that I got that strange tingly feeling in my molars; where I was unconsciously reaching down and squeezing the end of my ding-a-ling to hold it in; where I could think of nothing but peeing; and where, moreover, I was surrounded by the sound of running water.
I could take it no more. I quickly hopped and jumped over to where a tree grew out of the bank, hoping it would provide adequate cover from the girls, and further hoping that they hadn't noticed my distress. I was wearing shorts with an elastic waist. As I started to pull the front down, I furtively looked over to make sure I was unseen; at the same time as I pulled the front of my shorts down with my right hand, I was grabbing onto my dilly-ho-ho with my left hand. Something went wrong.
I immediately started peeing all over myself, starting with my face and, more specifically, my nostrils and eyes. So overcome had I been with joy at the prospect of imminent relief that my bladder had preceded my having fully gotten my wee willy winky out and pointed safely away from my body.
Shocked by the sting of urine in my eyes and, believe it or not, my sinuses, I started falling backward, and made quite a splash in every sense of the word. I never fell completely down, but my ruckus had attracted the attention of Heidi and Holly, who stood transfixed as I wrestled with myself, for the flow continued unabated and I still had not fully released my petit jesu from my shorts.
After several hours of this, it finally stopped. The twins, naturally, were howling with laughter. Mrs. Stover had probably gotten an eye-full, too (although not in the same way I had). I clambered up the bank, utterly humiliated and now quite ready to go in. I managed to get inside the house without my parents seeing me and asking me embarrassing questions I did not wish to answer.

NPR Interview

Liane Hansen, host of Weekend Edition Sunday on NPR, heard about Trashball and was nice enough to do a short piece about it today on her show. You can listen to it here.

Trashball 032507: South Dakota Knights Templar—They Run the World

Recovered from a circa 1895 steamer trunk, these cards identify the bearer as a Knight Templar and Royal Arch Mason in good standing with the Chamberlain, South Dakota, Chapter No. 32. This chapter, as is commonly known, was among the most feared in Brule County, and is thought to have played the chief role in instigating the infamous Barley Riots that took place in Chamberlain on May 12, 1923, from 4:45 pm to 5:02 pm. Only a loud and impatient whistle from a passing constable brought the situation under control.

Trashball 032407: Close Call

This tag came from the seatbottom of one of three fairly unremarkable-looking chairs that I was prepared to take to the dump. Fortunately, my friend Bill indentified the chairs as desirable bent-plywood Thonet chairs from the 1950s, and they'll be auctioned soon. I love the old Maryland Department of Health stamp that was applied to the tag.

Trashball 032307: Poetaster II

A terrible bit of blank verse written on the back of a pink "While You Were Out" slip (incidentally, do they even make those anymore in the age of voicemail?). Given that it is signed "Love always, Michael", it's pretty hilarious that he clearly was confused on the spelling of the name of the unfortunate girl he wrote it for. Here now, is the poem:

A vision
comes

with peace

through thought

from the third eye

out the mouth

to my ears

and pushes me

further

towards

Nirvana.

Yechh. The large indent before "Nirvana" really grates. Michael strikes me as the earnest type of sensitive fellow who date-rapes passed out girls at Phish concerts.

Don't remember where I found this.

Trashball 032307: Entitles the Bearer to Be Lame

This is a lame-ass hall pass. It's a product, I think, of the namby-pamby modern practice of treating all children as "winners". Why else would this bathroom pass imply that the bearer is a "star" and be garnished with crappy celebratory graphics? In my day (did I really just write that?), a bathroom pass was a chalkboard-eraser-sized block of wood with the word "PASS" written on it in magic marker. And it got the job done.

Recovered in the LeDroit Park neighborhood of Washington, DC.

Trashball 032207: That's a Good Boy, or Release the Hounds

The last thing the shutterbug saw before being torn to shreds? Really terrific old snapshot recovered from a shoebox in Mt. Rainier, MD. I worry for the photographer/intruder. Hope she got rabies shots just to be safe.

Trashball Apparel

Yes, Trashball is hard. It's labor intensive and each little ball only nets me 25 of your Earth cents. That's why I invite you to help support Trashball by checking out my t-shirts and other novelties. Some shirts, like those above, feature bits of Trashball ephemera. Others feature my art (www.goodwinart.com) and politics.

Trashball 032107: This Little Piggy Went to the Crusher

Recovered from circa 1970 toy chest in Gaithersburg, MD. Gave me a bit of a scare at first.

Trashball 032107: Kiwanis Club, 1926, and the Odor Lingers On

Here's the nearly all-male Kiwanis Club of Greencastle, Indiana, in 1926. I have a hunch that the gentleman I point to is about to break wind (click on the image for a closer view). He's just got that look about him.

Trashball 032107: Econobox

Many of the beaten-up toy cars I recently recovered from an old toy chest in Gaithersburg, Maryland, retain some value to collectors, but not this one.

Trashball 032107: Please Call Them "Little People"

Half-inch laborer recovered from circa 1970 toy chest in Gaithersburg, MD.

Lil' Ole' Trashball Gets the Washington Post Treatment

Click here to read the article.

Trashball 031407: Clams! Canned Clams!

Dang. This coupon expired December 31, 1968. Damn you, Lord Mott!
Recovered in Falls Church, VA.

Trashball 031407: Either a Re-enactor and His Lady or Oldest Color Photo in the World

I suspect the former. Circa 1974. Recovered in Chevy Chase, MD.

Trashball 031407: Poetaster

Still, it's real sweet. Recovered in Bethesda, MD.

Trashball 022807: Basset Hound to the Rescue

Don't send me a St. Bernard—send me this Bassett Hound bottle for me and my five snowbound friends. His little red nose is a cork, his tail is a handle, and he brings 6 cups. Come, avalanche, come.

Trashball 022807: Mayonnaise Dressing

Recovered from an estate sale in Falls Church, Virginia. Note early spelling of "blender" in this fun-without-end 1947 cookbook that came with purchase of a Waring BLENDOR. Every page has a different illustration of the skilled and wacky blender. I definitely have to try the "Mineral Oil Mayonnaise."

Trashball 022807: Tahiti Anchorage

Recovered in Bethesda, Maryland, among old letters in trash. Somebody did a nice rendering in ballpoint pen of a boat christened "Ciao". Somebody else threw it away.

Trashball 022807: Rep. Mark Foley Is a Dirty Man

Filthy name tag recovered on Capitol Hill. His name has deservedly been dragged through the mud.

Trashball 012007: Milo's Tooth

Shambling around the house in stockinged feet, I came up short after painfully stepping on something very hard. This is what it was. It is the third of my dear cat Milo's four canines (or is it "felines" for pussycats?) to take leave of his struggling oral cavity.

Still, the old boy manages to tear through food, wet and dry alike. I just hope the remaining long tooth lasts a while or I'll have to get him fitted for dentures.

Trashball 011107: To Rent an Auto

Postcard message, dated November 2, 1913, reads:

As you have probably read in the papers the strike is on here but may not think it serious I thought I would better write + tell you not to let Alice come till we tell you. Not a car in the City running since [illegible] night about 11 o'clock + you know we couldn't possibly walk + wouldn't want to rent an auto. Will let you know soon Love to all Alice

I found a little bit about the strike here.

Trashball 082875: Love in the Capital Centre

August 28, 1975 and a set of lips rivaled only by Mick Jagger was pushing out songs: Steve Tyler and the rest of Aerosmith landed in Landover, Maryland, at the long-since-gone Capital Centre. Only one month earlier, "Sweet Emotion" had entered the charts. That's a good-ass song.

Charmin' and Alarmin': Ads from the March 1936 Issue of McCall's

Mystery prize to whoever comes up with the funniest caption to the giant toilet ad.

Hasher's Delirium

A sensational old animation. Have the volume on.

You, You, You

Why hasn't Bits of Fry & Laurie (Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie) been released on DVD yet? It's gen—i—us!

Trashball 120306: King George the Copper

Recovered from a 10-kilogram box of scrap coins. From 1806, this well used penny bears—just barely—the image of Britain's King George III. Lost his colonies and then lost his mind to arsenic and porphyria. Now he sits on my grimy desk.

Trashball 120306: Glen Burnie, Maryland, meet Manchester

A couple of days after a disappointing show at Nation in DC—lousy sound system, short set—Morrissey did an unheralded show at the reception-hall-cum-music-venue Michael's 8th Avenue in Glen Burnie, Maryland. Only about 750 people came out to it, but those who did were not disappointed. Morrissey emerged on stage under the 10-foot fiber-panel ceiling, a half-unfurled backdrop (all that would fit) and greeted us, "Welcome to the bar-mitvah!" Better than the Nation show by a factor of 100.

Trashball 120306: Ethiopian Joe

Recovered in the parking lot of the former Ethiopian Cultural Center on Georgia Ave., NW, in DC. Howdy, fella!

Trashball 120306: Jiminy, R.I.P.

Found near the dryer. Completely dessicated, poor old Jiminy likely expired quite some time ago. Question is, will he fit inside a Trashball?

Womb with a View

Stunning. Be sure to click on the gallery for more amazing pictures.

Trashball 112206: Some Fucked-Up Cents

Gathered from my pockets.

Trashball 112206: Passbook Savings, A Fine Example

Some of us are old enough to remember savings passbooks, where every deposit, withdrawal, or interest payment was duly and carefully typed into small passbooks the customer kept. The passbooks were a bit smaller than passports but had the same important feel to them. I come across old passbooks every so often and am frequently impressed by the diligence with which people put money into their savings accounts. Apparently the U.S. now has a negative savings rate (heaven knows I do), but this wasn't always so. Here's one from 1977-78.

Trashball 112206: Dignity, or, Alcohol Porn

Recovered from 80s-era photo album found among abandoned items in a storage unit.
And by the way, no, "recovered" does not mean "stolen".

Trashball 112206: What to See This Weekend, if This Weekend Were in 1973

Recovered from house on North Carolina Ave., SE, in DC.

Trashball 112206: Delicious Earrings

Recovered from 2334 Massachusetts Ave., NW, in DC. There's something about these old clip-on earrings—I can't quite put my finger on it—that makes me want to put them in my mouth and roll them around on my tongue.

Trashball 111906: Notgeld

Notgeld was emergency money locally issued by towns, businesses, and municipalities primarily in Germany between the two world wars. The graphics and lettering are often quite beautiful (if difficult to read). These, and about a hundred other examples, were part of a fascinating collection of odds and ends I recovered from a house in Arlington, VA. Presumably the previous owner was one of the gentlemen shown in the old photo-booth snapshot I found among the lot. Most of the collection, which included coins, music boxes, South American carvings, and vintage keychains, seems to have been built in the 1950s.

Trashball 111906: Hotel Raleigh

Recovered from a crackhouse on Morton St., NW, in Washington, DC. Image of the original hotel interior posted also.

Still a Chump

The company where I work part-time recently had an IPO. A $15.00 dividend was given for each share an employee owned prior to the IPO. Checks arrived last week.

I'm dimly aware as I track through the drab officeplace that many of the people I dully interact with are now fantastically flush with cash. The prematurely gray AA who's been here for decades, the hyper-focused project coordinator with her ridiculous shawls, the avuncular suburban dad whose work is a mystery to me, the homely Focus-on-the-Family member who writes copy (it's your lucky day, Mr. Dobson)—all these people just got many, many thousands of dollars in the mail, many into the six figures.

Me? I had squirrelled away 12 shares, thank you. $180.

Serenity or Serendipity

Dear old Nicola, my brilliant friend in Cardiff, has started an utterly charming new blog. Please visit it often.

Christopher+Phung+Italy+Wedding=Why Did We Have to Return?

Pictures here.