I went to grab some cheap comic books for our eldest, Allie, who is recovering from oral surgery. I figured comics would be a happy medium — one step up from TV or movies, yet not requiring all the work of a book. I went to FM News, the local newsstand which also deals in used books and comics — at insanely low prices. There I delved into the previously avoided world of comics.

Why avoided? Well, as a kid the only comics I recall were Archie and Superman, none of which appealed to me. And then I became a reader, and those silly thin books with mostly drawing reminded me of baby picture books. Comics were best left, I thought, to those who don’t really read. (Yeah, even as kids, readers can be snobby.)

Sure, hubby made me watch Ghost World, and the Harvey Pekar film, American Splendor; both of which were exceptional films. While I was honestly infatuated with the idea that comic books need not be the formulaic simple stuff I knew, I still wasn’t sold enough to hunt for comic books. But then, you have a sick kid and you find yourself digging through stacks of them.

Along with some age-appropriate Manga and other issues I thought would appeal to Allie, I grabbed the only copy of Samurai Penguin. Who could resist?

I also took home a few copies of intriguing comics for myself. Included was a copy of The Fish Police. Like the Samurai Penguin, who could resist such a cover, such a concept?

Proud of myself for such a find, I showed it to hubby. “Isn’t this cool?” I cooed. And when his reaction wasn’t super-impressed, I pressed. “Come on, look at it? Fish police?!”

That’s when he proceeded to tell me that these anthropomorphic comics were all the rage in the mid to late 80’s — complete with visuals. Yup, he dug out his box of comics.

I tried to keep the proper wife distance — act like I was, again, a cool reader who wouldn’t be tempted by pretty picture books. But there he was, reading titles like Rocket Raccoon, Guerrilla Groundhog, Wabbit Wampage, Adolescent Radioactive Black Belt Hamsters… It was tempting. At my age I can mock and ignore Miami Mice, but when he said Pre-Teen Dirty-Gene Kung-Fu Kangaroos and Geriatric Gangrene Jujitsu Gerbils, what was I to do?

I gave in and looked.

He was prattling on and on about how the success of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, published in 1984, spawned a bunch of such comics; which ones were popular then and which were popular now with collectors. But I have to admit, I was no longer listening. I was glued to both the insane ideas and the funky art.

The pretty pictures had won and I’ve retained nothing of what he said — other than the fact that it’s hardest to find the first issues because they are always snapped up, just in case that comic, illustrator or creator becomes famous. I remember that because I asked if reading issue #3 of Black Belt Hamsters would ruin the story for me. (Ah, a reader I still am!)

But most of his informative lecture was lost on me. Which is why you are mainly getting an image-laden rather than informative post today. But that’s OK. Because that’s what drew me to the comic books anyway; the art speaks for itself.

Well, that and the strange titles, the insane concepts.

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As mentioned, we stopped at Georgine’s on our way home from Wisconsin on Sunday. What we didn’t tell you was that at Georgine’s I got a pheasant. Not a live one, but a dead one. A taxedermy, mounted pheasant.

I spotted him immediately, what with his vibrant colors and all, and studied him as long and hard as his (presumably) glass eyes studied me. A tag ’round his foot said he was priced at $95 at the estate sale, not that the tag means much at Georgine’s, and as my dad would say, “It didn’t sell for that now, did it.” But such a large price tag scared me off a bit. What did I know about taxidermy? Nothing. And then too, there was the matter of his broken-off tail. Could that be repaired? If so, how much? I made myself walk away.

But I was enthralled. I felt him staring at me from across the warehouse. Not in a creepy “eyes following you everywhere” sort of a way, but a compelling way. Like a doll, the pheasant seemed to be saying, “Give me a home, please.” I tired to resist, really. But by the time we were done, and he’d been rejected by the fifth interested shopper, I finally placed him on top of one of our other boxes and admitted I had to have him. (Georgine charged me $4 for him and told me how to lift him gently off his piece of driftwoof, removing his wire ‘peg legs’ from the drilled holes so that I could make sure he traveled safely.)

The kids were a bit spooked. Hunter, the youngest, said it was scary and that he “didn’t want dead things in his room.” I comforted him that it was dead, but preserved so it wasn’t rotting or anything and that it wouldn’t go in his room.

Once home with Alfie (short for Alphalpha for his three quirky head feathers), my homework began.

Since I knew nothing about taxidermy I wasn’t sure what I’d discover. Would my $4 find need a $100 repair and turn out to be a bird-brained idea?

Searching the Internet I first discovered the horrors behind collecting taxidermy animals. Most horrific were the potential bug problems. Once I verified that Alfie was clean and I stopped itching (and Derek stopped sneaking up behind me to tickle my neck — the meanie), I continued to research for the tail feather repair.

I discovered that all I need to do to re-attach his tail was use fine insect pins and super glue to splice them back together. That sounds both doable and affordable.

Delighted to discover that Alfie is ‘healthy’ and that I can return him to full glory, I was excited to learn more about taxidermy collecting.

In reading the history of taxidermy I learned that while taxidermy dates back to the 16th century, it was in Victorian times, heavily influenced by the works of Charles Darwin, that the practice flourished. In fact, many of the animals and birds you see in museums today date back to Victorian times.

Victorians, with their love of travel and fascination with souvenirs, undoubtedly saw the preservation of exotic animals in their natural habitats as both charming and educational. Many animals and birds were not merely mounted, but put in elaborate cases with realistic environments with painted backgrounds.

As with most collectibles, there are many big names in Victorian taxidermy collecting, such as Peter Spicer, Thomas Hall, and Henry Shaw.

But there was also another style. Anthropomorphic taxidermy caricature work, deemed macabre by many, was popularized in the Victorian era.

This style is typified by the work of one taxidermy master named Walter Potter.

Potter posed animals in very human situations, such as rats stealing wine, kittens at a wedding, a marching band of mice, and squirrels relaxing in a parlor (Interesting side note: While Walter Potter and Beatrix Potter may or may not have been related, they were contemporaries and some argue that her work was inspired by Walter’s taxidermy style.)

Walter Potter made many very large tableaus with fanciful details. Walter also seemed drawn to abnormalities, mounting two-headed animals and other freakish abworks He made so many of these oddities that he opened the Museum of Curiosities in 1861 in the village of Bramber in West Sussex. Eventually the whole collection was purchased in the 60’s by the Jamaica Inn in Cornwall. There they remained until 2003 when the entire collection was auctioned off in bits and pieces. The highest price of the sale, £23,500, was paid for ‘The Death and Burial of Cock Robin,’ Potter’s earliest and most well known tableau.

Now I was utterly smitten with taxidermy. Nothing against Alfie, but these strange dead animal vignettes have much more appeal for me than your standard mounted buck or howling coyote. And I am not alone.

Not only are old taxidermy collectibles popular, but there are new artists creating fantastic works. One such person is Tia Resleure.

Resleure bought her first piece of taxidermy at age 11 and has continued to do so for 37 years. In the past 12 years she’s become more serious about collecting, having paid as much as $5,000 or one piece. In 1981, she started using animal remains in assemblage pieces and nine years ago she trained at a taxidermy school in Wisconsin. From here Resleure went onto creating what she calls fancifully grotesque and anthropomorphic taxidermy.

She moves past Potter’s works, creating reliquaries, small caskets or shrines made out of vinyl-faced plush dolls into which she inserts the taxidermy. Completely creepy, compelling and captivating.

Resleure also makes ‘frisks,’ freaks of nature; monstrosities made from her mind — and dead animals. Her website is a must see for all her curiosities. (As well as for her well articulated thoughts on the ethics of taxidermy.)

Natural or strange, taxidermy collectibles are becoming quite hot. Along with brisk and big price sales in Victorian taxidermy, there’s the World Championships of Taxidermy (covered by ESPN no less).

Even kids are starting to practice taxidermy — like Amy Ritchie-Carter who began at the age of 13. In a re-use, recycle world, it makes sense to use all of the animal whether it be legally hunted, roadkill or die of natural causes.

Along with prices currently increasing in this area of collecting there are legal matters to consider. Since many animals are on the endangered lists, even if they’ve been killed years ago it may be illegal to transport and/or buy them.

As Resleure recalls, shipping alone can be problematic:

“I had a real tough time finding out the legality of having this shipped. I was calling customs and I was like, ‘OK, so what does it get reported as?’ And he goes, ‘Well, if it’s taxidermy, it’s fish and game.’ I said, ‘No, it’s not wildlife. It’s domestic.’

“And he’s like, ‘Oh, it’s food.’ And I’m like, ‘No this isn’t food, this is a scientific specimen.’ And he goes, ‘What is it?’ I said, ‘It’s a Cyclops piglet.’

“And he goes, ‘Why would anybody want that?’

“And I said, ‘I don’t know. Why would anybody want Beanie Babies?’”

After seeing all the possibilities of taxidermy collecting, I’m with Resleure. Why have a stuffed animal when you can have a mounted one?

When most people hear chalkware or plaster they think of those funny animal pieces and rip-offs of comic characters — the cheap prizes hawked by carnival barkers. Or maybe you think of those more modern retro kitschy pieces by Miller Studios, like white poodle heads plaques or kitty string holders, but that’s not all there is to collect in vintage plaster pieces.

Even at the circus and those old country fairs there were more delicate home decor pieces to be found. Some, like my harlequin Great Dane dog statue are really lovely. But there’s more than statues in the world of plaster & chalkware.

While many collectors seem to compete for the known names, the really old statue pieces or rare lamps, I find myself adopting lots of plaster for my walls. (You can literally plaster the walls!)

For some reason, floral pattern wall plaques are not in vogue. I’m often surprised at the number of these beauties I find — often nice quality pieces with wire hangers not staples on their backs. So home with me they go. They are inexpensive and what else would be better for my garden themed kitchen wall?

Well, if you prefer roosters or anthropomorphic veggies and fruits, you can find those too.

For the bathroom, you’ll find plenty of fish & mermaids… Even new pieces in retro styles. As most bathrooms are small, you can decorate an entire room with very few trips to look for them.

Again, Miller Studios is one name to search for, but you’ll find many of these in thrift shops, flea markets and neighborhood sales.

Little shelves are very common, and I put them to use in nearly every room (where else can you put the million and one small candle holders and vases on acquires?)

Currently I am working on a display of small white & off-white plaster shelves which when grouped together will hold a multitude of not-too-shabby and very chic tea cups, strands of glass beads, and little glass jars of buttons and marbles. Right now, all I am missing is the wall space (it’s always at a premium here) and when it’s done I’ll show it to you.

One of my favorite pieces — so loved for its uniqueness — is this 15 inch tall plaster piece with metal mesh background. The motif is romantic, with lady & gent in their powdered wigs, and the frame has very French looking golden scrolls and flourishes, but the metal mesh marks this piece as all 70’s baby. (I’m on the look-out for it’s mate — I just know there’s at least one more like this!)

Since chalkware and plaster of Paris items are fragile, no matter what their age, many pieces were damaged and thrown away. Surviving items may have chips and/or paint problems. Some collectors will make repairs, especially quick touch ups with paint, but I prefer the charm of a ‘flawed’ piece.

The two vintage lady wall plaques (shown in the grouping above) have lost much of their original paint. It’s just peeled right off, exposing the white plaster beneath. But I love them as they are. And this German Shepherd dog stature (a whopping 15+ inches tall) was given to us by a dealer who knows what a soft touch I am for old plaster collectibles. Sans his ears, she thought we might fix him up, but neither hubby or I have found the heart yet — nor the time.

Perhaps one day soon, when we stop scrounging for more plaster items to bring home, we’ll find the time to give him new ears. (I think the odds are more likely we’ll find him a nice hat to wear.)

Somehow, over the past decade or so, cephalopods have slowly but surely plodded over and engulfed my life. While my preoccupation with them is both more casual and scientific than, say, my preoccupation with Green Arrow, it’s still one of those driving forces that pilots me from one suction-cupped appendage to another.

I’m not sure where it started, though it just may trace its origins back to a can of Wel-Pac California squid that I’d found for not much more than a dollar at a strange Asian market in my college town. I’m not one to pass up anything for a dollar, so I brought it home, and it’s served as both companion and mascot for the past 5 years. Its creepy red label and unappetizingly rendered whole squid are reminders that… well, reminders that there are whole squid trapped within the can.

But I must correct myself. I think that the origins of my cephalophelia find themselves rooted in my frequent excursions to Japanese restaurants with my first girlfriend, back in high school. So charmed was I with the baby octopus that we’d been served that I took it home with me in a small cup and preserved it in the freezer, completely fascinated by its biology and forcing it to star in any number of lurid, naked octopus photographs.

As a result, a plethora of jiggly, eight-legged creatures find their way into my paintings and drawings, and I find myself inexorably drawn to nearly all things octoped, from rubber toys to lamps to clothing, and all of those little trinkets that friends give me when they immediately synonymize ‘octopus’ with ‘Collin and what’s wrong with him’.

The urban vinyl world skirts my obsession, giving my a fair number of anthropomorphic squid to display around my room. I’ve unconsciously collected a fair number of Doctor Octopus action figures, even if he’s a relatively poor excuse for an octopus-man and shares almost no unique attributes with a true octopus, like ink jets and the innate ability to lay down a funky dance groove.

I went on a date with an aspiring mime once, and we decided to go to the Museum of Natural History in New York City. The best part of the date was the enormous squid vs. whale diorama that was darkly hidden under the stairs, donated (as the placard read) ‘for the delight of the children’. My mime-date and I never saw each other again, and the war-torn, plastic whale probably had more charm anyhow. Mimes aren’t known for their conversational skills.

This love of cephalopods also led to an attraction to the writings of H. P. Lovecraft and his abject terror and disgust with all creatures aquatic, most prominently displayed in his creation of Cthulhu, the tentacle-faced elder god monster. While there are a fair number of dedicated Lovecraft vendors located throughout the internet and comic conventions, there’s no such reliable source for all things octopus. One is forced to accumulate items through unusual tag sale discoveries and random encounters, which is usually the most exciting and absorbing way to collect things anyhow.

Gifts of tiny glass octopi and the odd trinket comprise most of a relatively small, unfocussed collection that has formed more of a ‘lifestyle choice’ than a ‘hobby’. It’s hard to keep certain specimens of your collection around when they’re so damned delicious.