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Yesterday saw the much-anticipated DVD release of the first season of Cartoon Network’s ‘The Venture Brothers‘. I gotta tell you, it was one of those mornings where I woke up super-early in anticipation, like the excitement of Christmas but without your grandma telling you to open your presents slower and save the paper while the dog chokes on tinsel behind the tree and someone knocks the antique ornament that’s been in the family for 75 years onto the mantelpiece.

The Venture Brothers was 2003’s addition to Cartoon Network’s late night block of adult-themed cartoons that are aired under the banner of ‘Adult Swim‘, which is an entity that forever changed my life. Coming together in a small dorm room, crowding around a TV to watch cartoon characters curse and engage in adult situations, all done smartly, is part of my better college memories. It almost drowns out the memories of that roommate who left actual, mysterious slime trails all over the floor and gave me fake phone messages, and even my questionable relationship with that girl with the speech impediment and aversion to showering. The Adult Swim block of ‘toons saw its infancy back in my high school days when ‘Space Ghost : Coast to Coast‘ was born, taking recycled animation from the 60s (which was now owned by Time-Warner) and repurposing it, making intergalactic hero Space Ghost a horribly inept and inattentive talk show host with live-action, bewildered guests. Cartoon Network has expanded upon the elder crowd’s appreciation of animation ever since.

For those of you who’ve not seen The Venture Brothers, it’s ostensibly a parody of the old Hanna-Barbera Jonny Quest cartoon. You have a scientist, his strapping manservant and a couple of kids going on adventures. Beyond that superficial understanding are many hilarious strata of parody, referencing everything from The Fantastic Four to Hajime Sorayama’s explicitly sexual fem-bots, and it’s genius. I said it. It blows my mind for 15 stellar episodes with rarely a mis-step.

So, why does one bother to go out and tightly clasp a DVD set of things that one can easily turn on the TV and see on any given night? That’s a question that I often ask myself when I’m purchasing TV shows on DVD, and I think that the answer is that I collect these Adult Swim DVDs (eighteen sets so far) so that I might share them with people, bring a little hilarious light into their lives that they might not have otherwise had the time to pick up on. And not have to wait until 11 PM on weeknights (and 10 PM on Sundays for new episodes) to show the stuff off, too. I want to take this DVD set, sit on a couch for hours on end and see someone else laugh with me.

But I guess that’s not entirely true. Many of these TV shows on DVD come with a plethora of extras, from bonus episodes to deleted scenes and making-of featurettes, and the Venture Brothers DVD is no exception. While hardcore fans might be disappointed with the fact that the DVD doesn’t contain any actual behind-the-scenes stuff besides six creator commentary tracks, it actually does contain a ton of great misinformation. Voice actors performing live-action mockumentary style interviews, in costume, was certainly a highlight of the extras, plus the pilot episode and a rarely-shown Christmas episode top it off. The ‘deleted scenes’ are all sketchy animatics, and usually aren’t entire scenes at all, disappointingly – just an extra line of dialogue in the middle of a scene that leaves it pretty much unaffected. What the DVD set does come with, though, is internal box art by legendary illustrator Bill Sienkiewicz, and that in itself with worth the $20 to $30 dollar price.

You can tell that the show is a labor of loving geeks, who both produce and act within the shows. Venture Brothers stands out from the general Adult Swim lineup in that it uses high-quality animation, while most of the AS shows rely on minimal animation and clever dialogue and absurdity. It also is a sequential show, situations in one episode reflecting upon future episodes, which is another thing that not many cartoons address. Not knowing if they were going to be picked up for a second season (as really intelligent shows are often canceled while shows like ‘Will and Grace’ are virtually and painfully interminable), the final episode of season can be seen as pretty darned final, but after a struggle, the show will begin airing season 2’s episodes in late June of this year, still on Cartoon Network.

So far, anything with the [Adult Swim] logo comes bearing my approval, which is probably a gleeful approval given in a fit of wet-myself laughter.

I remember browsing through an antique jewelry dealer’s shop as a preteen and noticing a large display of Victorian era black jewelry. There were brooches, rings and earrings, all featuring black stones. I remarked that they must have liked black a lot in the “olden days” and the shopkeeper informed me that it was mourning jewelry, worn when a loved one died.

The wearing of mourning, or memorial, jewelry began in England in the 16^th century. Before long it was common for mourning rings to be distributed at a funeral in memory of the deceased. Skulls and skeletons were popular designs for mourning jewelry for many years, and were often worn as a memento mori: a symbol of one’s own mortality. Eventually these designs lost popularity and were rarely seen after the 1760s.

It was about that time that a more sentimental form of mourning jewelry came into fashion. Scenes of urns, tombs, weeping willows and grieving maidens were depicted, usually in paint or enamel. Human hair was often worked into the scene, perhaps as the branches of the weeping willow. These scenes of grief appeared on brooches, rings and pendants. The scene was often set in a frame of engraved gold, gemstones or seed pearls, symbolizing tears. The name of the deceased and date of death were often on the piece, making it easy for the collector to date the jewelry.

As the nineteenth century wore on, jet became fashionable in mourning jewelry. It grew in favor after the death of Britain’s King George IV and was Queen Victoria’s adornment of choice following the death of her husband, Prince Albert. The Queen was in mourning for forty years, and during that time the court wore black with black jewelry. Hence, black mourning jewelry gained popularity among the populace and black jewelry was even worn by people who weren’t mourning.

Jet is fossilized coal and is easily carved. Mid-nineteenth century jet jewelry was often carved into medallions, serpent bracelets, rings, flowers and crosses, while the styles of the late nineteenth century were much more plain. Imitations such as “French Jet” (black glass) were sometimes used and it can be difficult to tell true jet apart from these. Jet was one of the most common materials used in jewelry by the end of the nineteenth century, and onyx was also frequently used.

Say what you will about filling your life with unique and rare and masterfully executed works of art, dusty first editions of Moby Dick, and that fine china that you bring out when your demanding older sister comes for a visit – give me hunks of mass-produced plastic any day. Especially if they’re in the shape of Momaw Nadon. Or better yet, metal bikini Princess Leia. They may not be worth anything in a tag sale, but that’s the last way that I’ll assign value to anything. I value the cultural and personal resonance of any item before I’ll value how much I could get for it from a greasy guy hanging out in my driveway, breathing all over my LPs and eyeing my cat nervously.

I have a deep appreciation for art and literature, and am a firm believer that underneath a pop culture-dominated world, these are the things that truly keep us advancing as the human race. Our dominant culture is, after all, this same art and literature made accessible to the masses through simplification and mass production and the exhortations of Oprah. The value of ‘art’ and ‘things that are mass produced’ aren’t mutually exclusive, though. I’m sure you’re familiar with Andy Warhol, but it’s worth investigating why he did what he did with the replication of his own artwork. Also, while you’re there, check out why Jackson Pollack splattered things. It’s really very interesting, and also culturally significant.

My mind has almost fully divorced the idea of a ‘figural toy’ from being only a plaything, instead replacing the definition with ‘representation of a pop culture (or subculture) icon’. We live in a society that is largely dominated by pop culture, from American Idol to Batman, so why deny these things? It’s better to accept them, but keep a careful eye on them. That’s why the nascent art movement of pop surrealism has blossomed : to incorporate pop culture into unique artworks and reveal the true value of both elements. The art might not be one hundred years old, but that doesn’t invalidate it as art.

There is art in toys. There’s sculpting, there’s engineering, and there’s coloration, but mostly I’m enamored with the sculpting. Somewhere, someone sculpted that tiny head into that 6” Skywalker, capturing the emotion and energy of the character as best they could. And then they made 10,000 copies of that so that everyone could see.

Not only that, but Star Wars in particular is a cinematic work (cinema being an art form) that redefined the genre of fantasy storytelling on-screen, and it’s important to recognize. Do you need to recognize it by buying action figures of Greedo and Yoda? Absolutely not. Hasbro, most of all, has notoriously overproduced the Star Wars line, revisiting the same figures and using the same sculpts time and time again, further preying upon our collector instincts by re-packaging figures into retro-styled black and white packages, giving us that thrill that we felt when we first saw the figures on store shelves in our youth. Hasbro CREATED the word ‘action figure’. They know how to drive it into the ground. Drive it with a ten-ton hammer in the shape of Chewbacca. I’ll be the last person to be a Star Wars completist, but I still can’t get enough Darth Vaders.

I don’t collect toys to recapture some lost vestige of my youth. For that, I play 8-bit Nintendo games and sometimes watch bootleg DVDs of Parker Lewis Can’t Lose. I never collected toys while I was growing up, and I don’t collect toys now as some way to make up for lost toy time. I went across the street to play with Ninja Turtles if I wanted to make little plastic guys flip around and kick each other in their respective faces, slide down the firepole in the Ghostbusters Firehouse playset, squeeze Superman’s legs together to make his fists flail wildly – and I had a great time doing it. When I was at home, I drew pictures and caught bugs. Now, I draw pictures and catch bugs and collect action figures. They don’t all make it onto shelves, and in fact many are still cruelly trapped in their packaging, waiting for a time when they’ll be set up in a grand display that has no value to anyone but myself. Sure, I could sell a truckload of them if I ever found myself needing a new kidney, but let’s hope that it doesn’t come to that.

Toys represent, and are deeply related to, things that are important to me. Not as ‘toys’, but as representations of greater things. The process of creation, the fact that a small idea can blossom into universally recognized cultural consciousness, and the value of a well-realized character in anything. No, one doesn’t need a little Darth Vader next to you to remind you of the power of the dark side, but you don’t need a crucifix over your bed to truly remind you of the story of Jesus either. It just helps to have something tangible and tactile to represent these things. And I don’t think it cheapens it in any way.

There’s something about a pair of cufflinks that can take an outfit from everyday to extraordinary. They’re such a small accent, and yet they add a touch of elegance and distinction to a man’s shirt. No wonder there are so many passionate cufflink collectors out there!

Cufflinks first appeared roughly 300 years ago. They were once sold along with removable stud buttons used to fasten shirtfronts, but as buttons became cheaper and were sewn onto shirts more and more men began wearing the cufflinks alone. Though cufflinks are traditionally worn by men, over the years women have adopted cufflinks as well, particularly when masculine styles were popular. Cufflink use dwindled after the 1960s as casual clothing became the trend for men.

Cufflinks are a way to show personality, and there are all sorts of styles for collectors to choose from. One avid collector amassed so many that he started a Cufflink Museum in the 1990s, which has since closed. While some men have preferred conservative cufflinks in somber colors and conventional styles, others prefer to make a statement with loud, flashy cufflinks. Some choose to focus on collecting sterling silver or enameled cufflinks, while others pursue cufflinks made by famous jewelry designers like Tiffany. Some look for cufflinks with sports themes, such as golf or football. Some collectors prefer collecting cufflinks from a particular era, such as the sleek, geometric Art Deco designs. Many think the best part of having an antique cufflink collection is donning a shirt with French cuffs and wearing the unique cufflinks to work, parties, dinner or a house of worship.

The range of prices for vintage and antique cufflinks – from around $5 to thousands of dollars for a rare set – makes them available to collectors of all budgets.

To read more about cufflinks, please visit this link:

http://jck.polygon.net/archives/2000/07/jc07-142.html

I was born around the right time, I have an affinity for science fiction, I’ve got an eBay account — but why don’t I collect Star Wars?

The first Star Wars toy I got was a sandspeeder, circa 1978, and nearly every birthday or Christmas after that point included Star Wars of some sort. I still have the sandspeeder around here someplace. My parents, the source of my packrat mentality, stored my and my siblings’ toys for decades, waiting for the eventual day that we come and pick up our stuff and take it to our own basements. A year or two ago, I did exactly that.

I’ve gone through all of it, sorted the broken from the intact, the bad from the good, and figured out which weapons go with which figures. Much to most action-figure collectors’ dismay, they’re not lined up on a shelf. I’ve got a couple boxes in the basement, loosely organized by type.

I sold a bunch of them on eBay. There was even a nice Weequay, still in its original package, that went on auction. A couple of the complete figures went under glass in our antique booth. My wife took all the Ewoks and claimed them for herself; they guard her computer monitor. The rest are lying around in boxes, waiting to be sold.

A lot of the recent interest in 80s artifacts is an attempt by those of us in our late 20s to early 30s who miss the items from their childhood and now have the money to buy them. GI Joe, Rainbow Brite, He Man, My Little Pony, Transformers: besides still being in production, they all have a new following for their old incarnations. People all over, in the US and overseas, and competing with their dollars to buy back their childhood, collect the toys that they broke or lost so long ago.

I admit, I’m a big packrat – I keep darn near everything. I have boxes of receipts, piles of computer junk, boxes of stuff I don’t know what it is but can’t part with. The toys, however, don’t even hold as much value as the box of PC power cords. Those I might have a use for. The toys, not nearly so.

My real collection is up on bookshelves, old leatherbound tomes; it’s the century-old oil paintings on the wall. It’s bits and pieces of ephemera, one-of-a-kind works of human art. The items in my collection may be old, but there’s no replacing them. Age and uniqueness has given the items a value, maybe not priceless, but worthy of being on a shelf for display.

The leftover toys, the rare ones that actually survived, are deserving of a garage sale. I played with them for years, I had my fun, I don’t need to buy that back again. Why do I need them now? I can’t even play with them like I did in my childhood; that’d ruin the value. A new-old toy, like a genuine tin windup from the 50s or a composite doll from the 1910s, is old in a good way. The toys from the 80s, mass-produced by the thousands and marketed with half-hour cartoons, are meant to be tossed out, disposable items in a fast-moving market.

A lot of my Star Wars toys aren’t really collector quality, so I probably won’t find buyers for them. I don’t particularly need to keep them, but if I hold onto them long enough they may find their way into a young collector’s hands years from now. The day will come when they will be revered as antiques, not as leftovers from a person’s forgotten youth. Until then, I won’t be displaying them. My Star Wars figures will be unceremoniously dumped into a box and stacked in the basement. I don’t need them; it’s not what I’m into right now.