I spent last Sunday scrounging for stuff all morning in dingy thrift shops outside of the city. I was sort of on a date, but I was just excited about the prospect of finding tchotchkes for my new life in San Francisco. I came away with a serious cachet for less than 20 bucks, my prizes being this minty globe and a rainbow accented land camera in good working order (not shown, a pair of dope Tammy Faye Bakker sunglasses and a striped nautical tank).
Why is it that I am so thrilled by consumption? Just the act of adding material to my personhood is so satisfying, even if it's only a Flatt and Scruggs record or a red leather tassel bag.
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