Julie Kirkwood of the North Andover (MA) Eagle Tribune recently endured what appears to be hours of being told “don’t touch.” You might think she was visiting an art museum or poisonous reptile exhibit, but it turns out the subject of her article were people like you and me. I know, it’s an assumption, based on your reading a collecting website, but, well, we all know that there’s something in your house that nobody’s allowed to touch.

It’s easy to expect people to keep their dirty hands off the carnival glass and Swarovski Crystal, but when the item is something meant to be handled or used, well, the wrong assumption might be made. I’ve been known to open up an unplayed record and drop the needle on it, but that’s intentional. I suppose that Billy Beer you’ve got on the shelf is obvious enough not to drink it, but a well-meaning house guest might accidentally toss the six-pack of OK Soda in the fridge…because that’s where it belongs, right? Now, this is a bit of a stretch, allowing for an unforseen string of events to occur in just the right way for it to accidentally be imbibed — mistaken drink, sits in fridge unnoticed, and it is drank without being caught first, but it could happen.

More likely to occur is a single, unpreventable event. My uncle once had budgies and regularly removed the eggs from the nests to prevent his apartment from being budgie-overrun. One single, unpreventable event: a friend of his mistaking them for fancy-looking peanut M&Ms. You can imagine exactly how that went. Dud budgie eggs aren’t as collectible as many aviary-operators hope, but it’s an example of how one fatal error can cause a problem.

More collectible is an autographed band t-shirt, like the one my brother used to own. Well, he still owns it, but it’s no longer autographed after an unintentional trip through the laundromat. Had it been signed with sharpies, he might have come out with at least something still collectible…but what came out of the dryer was a never-worn, sparkling-clean shirt without any signatures. Bringing out the nice china night be fun for a special occasion, but too many plates have ended up damaged or destroyed by the easy-to-use dishwasher.

Grandma always had a dish of ornamental soap for purely aesthetic reasons, but you probably wouldn’t be in too much trouble if the molded seahorses found their way into the water…but a McKinley soap baby might evoke a few tears if it was used to cleap up a pair of messy hands. I know I’d probably lose a hand if any of the wifey’s soap dolls, at right, ended up at the bathroom sink.

Homer Simpson ate the Gummi Venus De Milo, Richard Pryor mailed an Inverted Jenny in Brewster’s Millions — wasting an antique is comedy gold, so everybody would have a nice long laugh if you really destroyed something of value for all to see. Hopefully, you won’t find yourself on national television, explaining how an Edison cylider works to the world, when it bursts in your hands. Or, showing off your Picasso, when your elbow meets the canvas unexpectedly. New rule: leave the rarest collectibles behind glass.

What makes these examples tragic is that once the damage is done, there’s no undoing it. When the antique coins end up in the change jug and are dumped at the bank, there’s no getting them back. A vintage candle can’t be unburned, a classic paint-by-number can’t be unpainted. Be careful with your treasures, and think long and hard before you decide it’d be cute to keep your antique toiletries in the bathroom: you can’t expect everyone to understand which they can use, and which are not to touch.

The wide world of Wrestling was always kind of a bizarre shadow that lurked between the end of Pee Wee’s Playhouse and the beginning of American Gladiators, perched curiously between the worlds of live action childrens entertainment and live action pseudo-adult entertainment, a kind of segue of mentalities that never coalesced properly. If you can call running around in giant hamster balls and fighting with enormous q-tips, and I’m not talking about the Pee Wee segment of the morning here, ‘pseudo-adult themed entertainment’. I remember mention of The Undertaker closing The Ultimate Warrior into a thematically-appropriate casket, and feeling my first few pangs of sympathetic claustrophobia.

The Ultimate Warrior survived the ordeal, because it was scripted that way. Having actually survived a stint where he was called ‘The Dingo Warrior’ probably prepared him for anything that life might have thrown at him, like kids named ‘Enis’. He’d hold the Intercontinental Championship title for a while, legally change his name to ‘Warrior’, write his own wrestling storylines (which apparently involved a magic smoke that only he and Hulk Hogan were immune to, as well as mirrors that only Hulk could see), be presumed dead-and-replaced, wear a singlet with muscles painted onto it, become a right wing mini-pundit, and finally, sell himself on eBay.

Well, not HIMSELF, but signed action figures of himself at ridiculously inflated prices, attracting the ridicule of many a wrestling fan and eBay seller alike. I’d been reading about these auctions on various nerd-boards throughout the internet, but it didn’t really attract my attention until I saw his most recent auction offering - a motivational phone call, for an additional 200 dollars over the original auction price. I mean, after all, he’s said that “The family that I live for only breathes the air that smells of combat… with or without the facepaint I am the Ultimate Warrior!” Clearly 200 dollars is a bargain if we’re going to get more such gems.

Recent discussions of celebrity collectibles have proven the psychological validity of wanting to own an item close to your favorite celebrity in some way, even if it might occasionally step into creepy territory. Where exactly does the creepometer fall when the celebrity is marketing odd shreds of themselves to anonymous bidders? We’re not talking about the book signing at your local Barnes and Noble anymore - we’re talking about a personal phonecall from an ex-celebrity.

Perhaps this couldn’t get any creepier than Corey Haim’s wacky eBay adventures. Sure, the poor guy was one of the statistical child stars that succumbed to a fast, hard life and lost control, but somewhere in the midst of this, he decided to sell his teeth and hair on eBay, neatly shaved from regions unknown and sealed in convenient cases for your collecting pleasure. While in itself disgusting, the auctions have become something of a legendary Pillar of Ridiculousness. I love the screen work of Steve Carrell, but I don’t want his toenail clippings.

Alas, these aren’t the only cases of desperate celebrity types declaring themselves ‘collectible’. You might expect as much from a wrestler who wore a cape with an idealized painting of himself on said cape, but Vincent Gallo, another controversial personality, saw himself as far more than collectible, and for one million dollars, he’ll gladly provide the genetic material to any woman who wanted to actually create another one of him. His website is also selling his childhood bedspread, and a book of his that he happened to read that has nothing to do with him creatively in any way, but is signed by him. One day, I hope to also be famous enough to sign any given tomato at the grocery store and have it double in value. Triple, even.

Also, like the Ultimate Warrior, I hope to change my name. I think I’ll change it to “Awesome Rocketlord”. If Prince can change him name to an unpronounceable symbol, I conjecture that I can change my name to the physical action of giving me a dollar. I’d be rich by sundown if I had any friends.

Celebrities, in the truest sense of the word, have no need to sell themselves. Even the most forgotten ex-celebrity can find a safe place in a VH1 reality show. Those things sold by ex-celebrities are another category of celebrity collectibles entirely - items of scary desperation, instead of iconic symbols of glory. Do we do a good deed by helping them eat for another day, or does placating them just encourage them into more irredeemable depths of arrogance and delusion?

When Mark Hamill starts selling his old toothbrushes, I’m going to stage an intervention.

Packaging has long been a major component of perfume marketing, and I’ve even read where some manufacturers put more money into the bottle than the actual perfume. Scented oils and perfumes have been carried in bottles since ancient times. However, bottles and scents were not packaged together as they are now, rather the scents were usually purchased at market in a plain container and then poured into the buyer’s own pretty bottle at home. Glassmakers in Venice were known for the delicate, colorful perfume bottles they created, and many of these antique Venetian bottles can still be found today.

Perfume bottles really became an art form in the 20th century. That’s when famed glassworkers like Rene Lalique and Baccarat turned their talents towards perfume bottles, with stunning results. Bottles by these two names are among the most highly sought by perfume bottle collectors today. Others prefer the fun, whimsical bottles by Avon.

When considering perfume bottles for purchase, check for chips and scratches in the glass. Run your hands over the bottle, since sometimes your fingertips will detect a chip that your eyes missed. Likewise, examine the cap, stopper or applicator to make sure it’s free from flaws. A paper label should be firmly attached and without tears or stains.

International Perfume Bottle Association

This Saturday and Sunday, January 21-22, there was an Antique & Collectible Show at the Moorhead Center Mall. Since it’s too cold for garage sales, leaving just thrift stores and antique shops for hunting this time of year, hubby and I, along with his folks, went to check out the show.

Overall, the show is a good one: free to get in and a good variety of dealers and their wares. You have everything from coins, flatware, & jewelry specialists to those dealers who have a general mix of vintage and antiques, and even the more modern toy collectibles dealers with Barbies, Mary Moos figurines, the obligatory Beanie Baby table and the like. Certainly enough variety to keep the collectible connoisseur content. Even the dealers with high-end antiques had a mix of inventory in a number of price ranges so nearly everyone can find something worthy of opening their wallet (or heading for the ATM machine located inside the mall).

As my parents taught me, you can learn a lot at shows. You can see what values others have placed on items you have. You can see just how rare an item is (at least in your area) by counting the number of dealers who have it — or I should say how common that ‘rare’ item is by the number of dealers who have it for sale. But of course the most fun you can have, without buying anyway, is to see things you’ve never seen before. If you’re lucky you can even talk to the dealers about their wares.

At this particular show I discovered the following items I had never seen before — I had hubby snap the photos.

First up, this old makeup tin for Stein’s Face Powder.

A pretty enough tin, yes, but what thrilled me was the list of powder shades available, including “Healthy Old Age.” Funny enough, but then there was, along with the various shades of pink, “Brunette”, “Dark Brunette” and other ages such as “Juvenile Flesh” & “Sallow Old Age”. “Olive” and even the non-pc ethnic shades of “Chinese”, “Japanese” and “Indian” make sense… But what shade is “Othello”? Or “Moving Picture”? Despite the tin’s statement, “For the Stage — For the Boudoir,” I can’t see cosmetic companies selling “Healthy Old Age” as a look for women, let alone “Sallow Old Age” — even if you are supposed to match your powder to your own skin tone for a more natural look.

Sold by Sue & Gerald McMahon, a really neat couple from Big Stone City who do not have a store but travel about doing antiques and collectibles shows, gave me the story on where they found this tin and the others displayed for sale with it. “It was in this fishing tackle box… all these tins and tubes of red makeup, like for clowns,” Gerald said. “All this makeup in one box,” continued Sue, “some theater group must have had it.” I’m guessing from what they described and the other tins they had left, that they had a vintage theater kit like this one.

Wherever they got it, they also got a kick out of the shades too. (I really wish I had bought that tin and a few others they had too.)

The next discovery I can’t show you. The dealer not only refused to let us take a photograph, but refused to even look at us when he shook his head ‘no’. Obviously disgusted by such a request, he was even rude to my mother-in-law when she caught up with us and asked the price on an animal on wheels. He remained, for the duration of our time at his booth, facing away from the lot of us. I point out his surly attitude not only to explain the lack of a photo, but to vent my displeasure at his customer service skills.

Anyway, what you don’t see here is a collection of little hand-carved wooden baseball players in animal forms. Each vintage piece was a character by itself — and each was different. Not just different positions or stances, nor just individually numbered uniforms, but each was a different dog breed with priceless little carved faces. (I think there was a total of nine of them and all dogs, but since he was so unpleasant, I didn’t linger too long.) What struck me about them was the fact that each was clearly a labor of love. More than ‘just another sports collectible’ or even a ‘cute dog set’ they were folk art pieces. Very cute with the authentic charm of worn paint, and again, I wish I could show them to you. But onto more happy things you can see.

Next, there was this antique photo album.

I’ve seen many of these old beauties, in various states of care or lack thereof, but what was spectacular about this one was that it had a beautiful Indian woman on the front.

She had a little bit of damage, but nothing to really detract for her age. In fact, from what I saw, even the velvet was still rich and brightly colored, without those typical thread bare spots. There were no photos inside, but no real damages that I could see to the binding or anything. Frankly, I was surprised she hadn’t been sold. (The seller is David Sonsthagen, and he sells on eBay under his last name — he said he mostly sells coins there, but if you are interested in this pretty lady you can contact him there.)

Last but not least, this little lady.

A ceramic piece, about 10 inches tall or so, with bright blue rhinestone eyes, I imagined she was another vanity or boudoir item, but on her tag it read “napkin holder.” I was intrigued…

The seller of this pretty pink lady, Gail Washburn of West Fargo, was kind enough to explain more. “Yes, she’s a napkin holder; you put folded napkins in each of the slots — and a candle on her head. They were used for buffets and other group entertaining.”

When I told her I’d never seen one before she said, “Oh, they made lots of this sort of thing… lots in wood.” With the wooden ones, it’s easier to imagine the napkins becoming the lady’s skirt, but with the finished look of the pottery, I never would have guessed something was missing. Many thanks to Gail for educating me.

There will be another Antique and Collectible Show at Moorhead Center Mall on March 10th and 11th. You can check here for times and, if you are a dealer, register for the event. (I’ll likely drag hubby back to see if the McMahon’s have any of those tins left!)

So here’s my question : why the holy hell do I need three dozen Darth Vaders?

As I may have mentioned, I’ve been cleaning out my closets and selling the forgotten and undesirable on eBay, or mailing those things to friends, or feeding them to the dog, because that damned dog will eat just about anything. I knew that I had an ungodly amount of Star Wars action figures and various Wars memorabilia, and I fully expected to encounter the rich, precious veins of space adventure that run through the recesses of my room, like marble through a cave, or mysterious nougat through a delicious candy bar. Unfortunately, I severely underestimated the wealth of awesome that permeates my quarters, and thus, more storage solutions were sought out. New wells of Star Wars were discovered, and among them, oh so many Vaders.

Much more specific than general sci-fi collecting, or Star Wars collecting, I think that I’ve likely never passed on a Darth Vader action figure. As far as fictional villainy goes, he’s the ultimate villain. It’s been said that a successful villain is not a malevolent one, performing destructive deeds for the sheer sake of destruction - he performs ‘evil’ in the name of something that he sees as truly ‘good’ or progressive. From the villain’s perspective, there’s no other way, and he’ll use any means possible to accomplish those ends, and in that way, he’s simply a hero to an unusual logic. Tolkien’s Sauron (another much collected character) suffered from some kind of paranormal megalomania, violently reshaping the world in his own image. Marvel Comics’ Magneto sought to fight against the persecution of mutantkind, and Dr. Doom sought misguided (but passionate) revenge against Mr. Fantastic. Darth Vader, well, he was the servile mouthpiece to a greater evil, and in the end, he had an epiphany and actually proved to be the greatest hero of the Rebellion. And that’s why I love the guy.

Call it idolatry, but I’m surrounded by Darth Vaders. From the inch-tall Micro Machines playset Vader by Galoob, through an endless cache of Hasbro and Kenner 3.75″ - 5” Vaders (all very slightly different from one another, and some merely in different packaging than the last), all the way on up to the king of all Vaders, the arguably perfect 2-foot-tall Darth Vader with light-up sword and cloth cape made by Sideshow Toys. There’s small busts of Vader, statues of all varieties, a Darth Vader that transforms into a tie fighter, an unacceptably cute Galactic Heroes Vader, a Lego Vader, and even a big ol’ chunky Playskool Vader. And they’re almost all big, scary guys dressed all in black snowsuits with breathing problems and half of a payphone strapped to their chests. Some helmets come off to reveal the ghost-white half-man beneath the mask, some arms flail with lightsaber-slashing action when you press buttons. Some remain in their packages, such as the still-in-package original Return of the Jedi Vader, too cool to allow to gather dust.

And I realize that to a vast majority of the population, all of these look exactly the same, and they’re not entirely incorrect. Deanna recently spoke about hoarding items, and the possibility of a biological or genetic reason for some of our collecting compulsions. I think that for collectors, the idea of accumulating a ‘critical mass’ can be a quiet, unarticulated, but dominant urge. Either the idea that possessing every last something-or-other will create some kind of perfection, or creating a perfect balance in a display in a seamlessly-meshing sea of items - these are the impulses that drive a lot of my collecting.

I don’t know if it explains my truckload of Vaders. And let’s be clear here - I’m not talking about whiny Anakin Skywalker - I’m talking about the Episode IV : A New Hope (and beyond) Vader that we knew nothing about. No midichlorians, no hopelessly acted Padme, no boy-genius-who-built-C-3PO crap. Darth. Expletive deleted. Vader. All up in your Death Star, destroyin’ your planet. I’m very guilty of selectively ignoring delusional retcons, mostly for the sake of my delicate grasp on my fleeting youth. Every time I find another hair in my hairbrush, angels die. And maybe some unicorns. But mostly, me.

I’m keeping the Vaders. At least they won’t fall out of my head.