Glossy 8 x 10’s, signed books, tickets to special events, props from television sets, movie scripts, dollar bills with celebrity faces, sports equipment, cards, personal items, clothing, these all seem to be the stock and trade of fans, but apparently we want more.As if the paparazzi weren’t bad enough, fans obsessed with their favorite celebrities now run about trying to obtain photos and autographs of their own. (I admit, I myself have done that!)

This fan-atical attention to persons in the public seems rather normal, and we tell ourselves that being a celebrity means a bit of intrusion now and then. When the chance to bid and buy personal artifacts arises, we jump in and bid, and we tell ourselves that celebs want all this attention, or why would they have these auctions for charity?

It’s not like we are trying to insinuate ourselves into their lives or solicit real friendships with them or anything, we just want a piece of them… or their lives…

We fans buy strange little things, and normal large things, which become important because of their connection to a celebrity. Case in point, Barbra Streisand’s Floral Print Sofa. It sold for $264.00 — a decent price for a used couch, but I wonder what they did with it? Surely a couch so important as to have Ms. Streisand’s delightful derriere rest upon it was not left in the family room for Joey to spill Kool-Aid on it and Fido to take a nap… One must have a rather large home to dedicate a furnature shrine to the one you adore.

And adore them we do. We seek more unique items such as locks of hair and the 3 tablespoons of water said to have been touched by Elvis at a 1977 concert.

Some of us even want souvenirs of their tragedies.

With head lines such as Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston’s Complete Divorce File, Marilyn Monroe’s Signed Hospital Patient Card, celebrity last will and testaments, and even “Chris Penn’s Autopsy Report Now Available”, websites lure in the collector who simply must have it all. This is the creepier side of celebrity collecting, to be sure.

Why do we do all this, in such a modern and enlightened age? Do we really think objects and paper become imbued and infused with the very life essence of the beings we admire?

Paul Gray pondered this in 1996 regarding the public sale of the estate of Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy Onassis. He said, “We are much too busy and progressive, thank you, for the magic charms and potions and amulets that so bedazzled our dim ancestors. We clasp at this faith and manage to hold on in spite of the myriad irrationalities of daily life. But every so often some public event gives our congratulatory self-image a sharp blow to the chops.”

He continued, describing the actual event as “not only a bewildering binge of conspicuous consumption but a perverse tribute, crass in some eyes and innocently romantic in others, to the allure of nostalgia and of the woman who single-handedly, and in many ways involuntarily, redefined the culture of celebrity.”

This notion is called celebrity worship, and be it romantic or crass, creepy or stylish, we all raise our paddles in salute to celebrities.

During a long social drought, filled with bouts of loneliness and plenty of overeating alone at various sushi bars, I made a conscious decision to try to conquer my isolation. You can’t cure isolation with sushi, no matter how many dragon rolls you shove into your slowly-expanding gut.

I already had something of a presence on the internet, having created and maintained at least two different websites for a few years, but I wasn’t on the web in any social terms. So, I found myself setting up small, free profiles on places like Friendster and OKCupid, advertising myself like some kind of prize stallion who happened to really like Batman and cuddling and robots. I kept fairly quiet, waiting for digital passersby to notice me and make contact, and in time, I found myself making a fair number of friends and chatting partners. There was always a kind of distance and dissatisfaction when online friendships didn’t materialize into actual friendships with meat-people, but when they blossomed, they became trips to flea markets, beautiful concerts in small NYC clubs and a few platonic sleepovers. Eventually, I became disillusioned and cancelled my memberships to all but one : MySpace.

MySpace, as is often discussed in the news, is a pretty multi-faceted online networking database. While a significant portion of it is cluttered with woe-ridden early-teens with a predilection for animated GIFs and posting pictures of hot cars or supermodels, beneath it all is a powerful communication tool. People set themselves up like digital trading cards - an image to represent themselves and a handful of biographical information. The only difference is that trading cards are usually made about people of importance. MySpace profiles are ostensibly about how hot Kevin Federline apparently is and what debauchery any given teenager participated in last night.

Above, you can see my personal MySpace picture, in which I try to appear intellectual and / or interesting, mostly to women. Note the use of the fedora and the urban landscape. This, as well as my ‘hand-to-chin-in-thought’ pose, suggests a charming savviness. I like to think.

As with any trading cards, you might want to collect as many as possible, or you might just collect your favorite players or superheroes. In fact, when you’re adding friends to your network on MySpace, you’re actually temporarily re-directed to a directory called ‘collect’, which sends an eMail to the person you’d like to add to your network, and pending their approval, the both of you are linked, inseperable until death. Or at least until one of you changes your mind and makes that harsh decision to click on ‘delete’.

I have a personal account and a business account on MySpace. Through my personal account, friends who date back as early as elementary school have looked up my name and re-established contact with me, inquiring about whether or not I’ve made it out of my tiny town yet (I haven’t), what I’m doing with my life (trying to make it out of my tiny town), and regaling me with how far away and successful they’ve become. I hide my jealous resentment well, behind a facade of LOLs and emoticons. I keep my list of connections slim, because even if I’ve ventured into that world of social networking, I’m still fairly antisocial.

However, with my business account, I took on the monotonous task of collecting as many friends as possible to promote my new hand-made wooden robots. Over the course of a week, I amassed over 500 networked individuals, bands and galleries, all of whom use MySpace to discover new people and develop a web presence. I started with everyone who used the word ‘robot’ in their screen name, followed by anyone who listed ‘art’ in their searchable profiles, followed by many different bands, followed by a bevy of gothic pin-up girls - not only because I have a weakness for them, but because of all of the personalities on MySpace, they usually have the highest number of collected ‘friends’, and the larger the network that you’re attaching yourself onto, like a lamprey to the graceful orca, the higher visibility you’ll acheive when trying to promote yourself. The collection of people continued to grow, and the critical mass of the collection has invited plenty of people to come across my wooden robots and add me to their networks, and potentially, this means sales aplenty.

I’m networked with my favorite art magazine, Juxtapoz, and some of my favorite pop-surrealist artists, like Lori Earley, Ghostshrimp and Sas Christian, all of whom have set up their own profiles to communicate with their fans and discover new things in the realm of MySpace. I’ve talked with some of my favorite musicians, like Tullycraft, Bikeride and Tom Maxwell. And ultimately, I’ve collected a vast network of minds that I can potentially interact with for inspiration and collaboration.

Swing on by, promote your projects and don’t forget to include me in your online adventures.

A few years ago I came upon a pretty little white glass bottle with green designs and a rounded stopper on top in my favorite antiques mall. I figured it was a perfume bottle, but when I asked about it I was told it was actually a snuff bottle. A few years later I was in China and saw an artisan actually painting an elaborate landscape scene on the inside of one of these bottles with a small curved brush – it was truly amazing.

Snuff bottles were developed in China to hold tobacco, which was introduced in China in the 1600s by the Europeans. Although smoking tobacco in a pipe was outlawed for a time, using snuff was still permitted. Snuff was made up of tobacco leaves that had been ground into a fine powder that could be sniffed. The snuff was sometimes enhanced with herbs and spices. While Europeans preferred to carry their snuff in small boxes, the Chinese preferred bottles. Snuff was believed to have medicinal properties, and users originally employed medicine bottles to hold it. They eventually turned to small bottles topped with stoppers that had a little spoon attached for scooping up the snuff.

Snuff bottles were developed in China to hold tobacco, which was introduced in China in the 1600s by the Europeans. Although smoking tobacco in a pipe was outlawed for a time, using snuff was still permitted. Snuff was made up of tobacco leaves that had been ground into a fine powder that could be sniffed. The snuff was sometimes enhanced with herbs and spices. While Europeans preferred to carry their snuff in small boxes, the Chinese preferred bottles. Snuff was believed to have medicinal properties, and users originally employed medicine bottles to hold it. They eventually turned to small bottles topped with stoppers that had a little spoon attached for scooping up the snuff.At first snuff was a luxury used only by the upper classes. The bottles used to hold the snuff were elegantly decorated, and the wealthy soon began collecting a variety of beautiful bottles for their snuff. By the end of the 1700s, the love of snuff was no longer confined to the upper classes and people from all walks of life in China were using snuff and collecting the attractive snuff bottles. Snuff and snuff bottles remained popular until the 1900s, and snuff bottles are still made today.

Snuff bottles are small and made from many materials, like glass, ivory, wood, metal, stone, jade and porcelain. Some were decorated with semi-precious or precious gemstones. Others were hand painted, often on the inside of the bottle. Much artistry went into these bottles, and many have found their way into museum collections today.

Some collectors simply collect any bottle they find attractive, while others focus the collection on a bottle made from a specific type of material, like jade. Some collect modern creations, while others limit their collection to valuable antique bottles.

For more information about collecting snuff bottles visit the following links:

http://www.worldaa.com/article.cfm?article=24

http://snuffbottles.homestead.com/snuffbottle_background.html

Here’s a phone call I recieve at least once a summer:

“Hi, Derek: I’m at this rummage sale, and they’ve got this computer thing, I think it’s a video game…The guy has ‘make an offer’ on it, and says they’re collectible. What do you think it is worth?”

Collectors of all sorts tend to hate these calls. Expertise in any field will lead to tough-to-answer questions: “It says ‘California’ on the bottom,” isn’t necessarily enough to identify a $500 pottery piece from a $5 one, and neither is the maker enough to identify the value of a computer. Adding to the confusion are people who think, just because it’s old or because someone mentioned one on TV, that it deserves a $50 pricetag. Still, I’ve gotten pretty good at getting close. No collector wants to buy something for $50, then find them for $5 on eBay, and collectible dealers don’t want to lose money on buying an expensive machine that has no resale value. Here’s my methodology for evaluating computers, both for collecting or for reselling:

1. Does it have extras with it? Whether a video game or a computer, you want to make sure it’s well accessorized. The TV videogames invariably have controllers, a plug-in, and a cord to connect it to a TV. A computer should have a keyboard, mouse, and monitor, possibly a printer, scanner, modem, or other useful parts. The more parts, the more likely the machine will have everything available to make it usable.
2. Are there games/software? Modern computers don’t necessarily need to have disks along in order to test it, but it’s essential that a video console have at least one game. If the computer seems to have panels missing, exposing empty internal spaces, it may not have any software left.
3. Complete game consoles almost always have a buyer. Video gamers aren’t always looking for rarity: they simply want to play games. Nintendos and Segas, which were manufactured by the millions for a number of years, can often be bought at a rummage sale for a few dollars, and on the a collector may pay $10-$20 for it. A well-tested machine, with good controllers and everything to start playing immediately, will go higher. Due to the large number available, however, don’t expect to make hundreds off it. This even goes for older consoles like the Atari 2600 — so many exist that there’s not a rarity demand, so prices tend to stay low.
4. If it’s pre-1990s, and you don’t remember seeing a commercial for it, it’s probably valuable. Even bigger manufacturers, like Atari and Commodore, made computers and gaming systems that fell flat, didn’t sell well, and were quickly discontinued. If you’re surprised by an odd PC with the Atari logos all over, or a strange little computer with the Commodore logo on it, someone’s probably looking for it to complete their collection.
5. PCs have little to no value. This one is a little tough to gauge, because pre-1990s Amigas, Commodores, and Ataris can be quite valuable, while the Macs and PCs only have minimal value to tinkerers and repair shops for parts. The IBM-compatibles are the worst, because most are assembled from off-the-shelf parts and have no inherent rarity. 1985-1990 is a nebulous time for computers, when standardization of hardware was occuring, so fewer of the unique machines were being made. Collectors prefer machines made by individual manufacturers from original parts, not ‘clone’ machines from various makers.
6. Apples and “Classic Macs” have moderate value. Any pre-Mac Apple computer has collectible value, and the early all-in-one “Classic Macs” have a following. All fit into the nostalgia-collecting realm, where many adults today had one of these computers either at home or in school. The later the model, the less rare it is, but $20 for a “Classic Mac” isn’t an unreasonable appraisal, and older Apples (in working condition, with accessories) can be worth $100 or more.
7. $20 is the most to spend on an untested complete machine; $5 for an incomplete machine. Untested complete systems still have valuable components: power supplies, controllers, disk drives, software. Fragmented systems, such as one missing a controller or power supply, still have moderate value to people willing to take a risk on an untested piece just to get their system back up and running. If it’s a common machine, like a Nintendo or Classic Mac, you can’t expect it to be worth more than $20 in complete working condition, so no matter how clean or in nice shape it is an untested machine is still untested.
8. Anyone asking more than $10 at a rummage sale better have a good explanation why. If not, they really don’t know what it is, and cannot reliably tell you if the thing even works. The best question to ask is, “does this thing work?” with a confused look on your face. Really, it’s the best way to get an honest answer: someone in-the-know will have a long description of what the machine is and does, and a shrug or an “I don’t know” isn’t good enough.

#7 is probably the most important of the guidelines. If you’re interested enough in an old computer or video game console to consider its value, it must mean you want to play with it for a little while (don’t deny it!), and $10 is definitely cheap enough for an afternoon of entertainment. Following the rest of the rules will ensure it’s useable and entertainingly unique, and you’ll be less likely to be disappointed. Once you’ve gotten your Commodore or Atari, you can start watching rummage sales for new games, other accessories, or just know a little more about the systems next time you run across them. Vintage computers can be a lot of fun for tech-minded collectors; just make sure you don’t waste your money, and try not to call me every time you see something with cords attached to it.

From the first notes of ‘Uncontrollable Urge’ emitted from my ‘Are We Not Men?’ vinyl picturedisc spinning on a decrepit turntable, I was hooked on DEVO. Post-punk new-wave nerd-rock was in my blood, and the record was inherited from a slightly-previous generation of aficionados of the unusual.

I presume that it would have been difficult to grow up in the 1980s without getting sucked into DEVO at least in some small way, especially when the rest of your life was already saturated with Pee Wee’s Playhouse and Oingo Boingo, all of which form the strangest entangled trifecta of my childhood. Even beyond DEVO’s ‘Whip It’ and ‘Satisfaction’ videos being a very important part of early MTV, the inherent fun of the music kept me addicted. So, scoured from tag sales and cassette tapes at the old Camelot Music store at the mall, I began to understand DEVO. The very first CD that I ever bought, days after I got my first CD player, was ‘DEVO’s Greatest Hits‘.

DEVO, in their heyday, was a band that was almost entirely, unflinchingly conceptual. Sure, bands come and go and make concept albums based around strange ideas like Pink Floyd’s ‘The Wall’ or ‘Numbers’ by Cat Stevens, but DEVO’s whole existence was based around a pseudo-cult, and your personal indoctrination was through robotic, synthesized song. Outwardly expressing their melodic disdain for general society and the paths that human evolution was taking, they preached (with half-seriousness) the theory of de-evolution, hence their name. Forever calling the general populace ‘spuds’ or ‘mutants’, we loved them anyhow, most likely because we all envisioned ourselves as partially exempt from being a contributing factor to the declining state of the world. If you listen carefully, a fair number of their hit songs, from ‘Jocko Homo’ to ‘Mongoloid’ to ‘Smart Patrol’ all follow the ideas of how mankind isn’t exactly living up to its potential and falling victim to a serious backslide. The song ‘Smart Patrol’ is pretty much about how DEVO themselves must sleep with a lot of women to save the human race, and floppy-haired, spastic front man Mark Mothersbaugh couldn’t have been more convincing. Their secret vitriol almost matched my own, myself entering my ‘grunge’ years, which perched like a grotesque gargoyle on the precipice of my storied ‘goth’ years.

So, along with Jethro Tull, DEVO formed a crucial part of my self, and it’s only been a couple of weeks that I’ve regressed (some might say de-evolved) into my passion for DEVO again, and with that realization came the further realization that I was missing some very important CDs and tapes that were once part of my collection. Even stranger, two particular volumes entitled ‘Hardcore DEVO Volumes 1&2’ from Rykodisc had become tremendously scarce and were nearly impossible to find. If you could find them, you could expect to pay upwards of eighty dollars per volume. Until this point, I was completely unaware that a music CD could fetch such an exorbitant price. Early recordings and demos from any band are usually hot items among the more devoted and inspired collectors, but this brought to light the strange culture of DEVO and how totally collectible it was.

I’ve grown up in a culture in which CDs are dispensable, replicatable and indestructible objects, made even less desirable with the advent of the MP3. Why carry around a disc of plastic with 12 songs on it when you could carry around a credit-card sized device with thousands of songs? Ergo, it was wholly surreal to imagine that a CD could be worth such a fortune.

DEVO themselves have offered strange cult-like collectibles over the years, from the energy dome hats used in the ‘Whip It’ video and in stage performances, to lenticular wiggle discs and propaganda-like posters, all vital elements to the subculture that the band, and only the band, was. While most of this stuff surfaced and vanished before I was of age to be making a disposable income, the one keen collectible that I managed to inherit later was a 1980 Central Park Music Festival pin, from the ‘Freedom of Choice’ era. There are some wild collectors out there, though, especially Michael Pilmer, who has received personal donations from DEVO themselves to his obsessive collection, which includes everything from tour memorabilia to signed checks from the DEVO guys.

I found ‘Hardcore DEVO’ in my garage after an exhaustive search, the sweat and scratches and more than a few scares by fist-sized spiders well worth the $160 I didn’t have to re-spend to complete my collection, and thus, my soul. I respectfully refrain from showing you the covers of these CDs within this article due to the explicit nature of them (perhaps also truncating their lives in CD stores of the time), but man, it’s good stuff. You totally need it. DEVO’s MySpace page has a sample song from it, as well as some early live performances, so go forth and spread the DEVO.

Excelsior, spuds!