A few months ago, I started up a Vox account for a particular project. And then I summarily abandoned it, not because the project wasn’t going anywhere, but because I am really bad about keeping up with things that are not on this website.
Seriously. You should see my house when the Boyfriend doesn’t step in to save my ass. It can get pretty icky.
Anyway, I started this project, and it was a lot of fun, but A.) It was on a site that I don’t much care for; B.) I just didn’t have the time or energy to maintain TWO blogs (I know other people do it; I don’t know when they sleep); and C.) There were some definite kinks to work out, such as the fact that I didn’t have a post office box.
…as you will see, the post office box thing was kind of crucial. But yes, this is what I originally wrote, lo those seven months ago:
Years upon years ago, I had this huge crush on a man I will call “Lye soap guy.” Actually, wait, no I won’t–his name was Josh, and he was really cool. When we had to introduce ourselves in class by listing one interesting fact about ourselves, he confessed that he’d been trying to make lye soap in his room. When the professor asked him how successful his soap was, Josh said, “Well, I can’t say that it really CLEANS that well, but it does remove the first layer of skin, so I guess that counts.”I fell a little bit in love that day.
Josh had many exciting habits, such as threatening my face with a cold coke can, getting me to walk like a penguin in public and–most importantly–collecting postcards from totally random, stupid places. He once proudly showed me a postcard he’d picked up at the mother-effing Raleigh-Durham airport. It amused the crap out of him to find commemorative postcards for things that really, REALLY didn’t need to be commemorated.
I have to admit, it amuses the crap out of me, too.
So, I have in mind a little project, possibly something that will result in a silly little collaborative blog. I want to get together a group of people who will start sending each other (and me, of course) postcards from nowhere. I want postcards from New Bern, birthplace of Pepsi Cola. I want postcards from the battle of Antietem. I want postcards from the Detroit Airport. I want postcards that are so ridiculous and so stupid that they aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on, and I want you to help me by sending them to me and to each other.
So who’s game?
I’ll be at the Detroit airport next week, in fact.
Ha! How serendipitous!
I live in New Jersey, land of small, inconsequential townships that try their hardest to have some kind of distinction. The place I live right now is where Cyndi Lauper’s “Time After Time” video was shot. Inorite?! There’s gotta be postcards somewhere.
Oh, it’s pretty much a given. And hopefully they have Cyndi Lauper’s FACE on them…
That video is so weird. What is up with the fake dog? And her hair? And pretty much everything?
It confuses me about as much as the video to Sweet Dreams Are Made of These. WHY ARE THERE COWS?!
Ha! I live in Dothan, Alabama (not by choice); I bet you’ve never even heard of it… in fact, I think the only people who know it exists are the peeps who live here.
Anyway, I’m moving back home in January. Where’s that you ask? DETROIT!!! I’ll also be driving to NC and VA this summer so I could help fill up a PO Box with random bs postcards. =)
Cheers!
I actually HAVE heard of Dothan, but only because I just happen to have friends with relatives there! In fact, just the other day, one of these friends mentioned possibly flying into the Dothan airport. And I think I spoke for the world at large when I said, “…dude, DOTHAN has an airport?”
Obviously, I expect them to ascertain whether or not it has postcards.
Anyway, excellent! I look forward to your contributions!
NOW you say this? Now that my postcard collection is so long gone, I don’t even know what I did with it. They were just cities and Hello Kitty characters, so they don’t apply here. Ready the smelling salts; I cannot abide that someone questioned the genius of Lady Lauper.
I’ll get the smelling salts, but try not to swoon! She’s well under twenty–the merest infant! There’s no way she’ll ever understand the 80s!
I wasn’t alive for any portion of them ¬_¬
Be glad. It was a sordid, sordid time. Complete with shoulder pads, gigantic bangs, and sweater dresses.
Sociologists are weeping because you and the Josh haven’t produced an offspring.
Well, the Josh went on to marry an extremely lovely woman who was once a foster parent to disabled Romanian orphans. I SHIT YOU NOT. So I’m pretty sure sociologists are eagerly awaiting the offspring of THAT union, and have resigned themselves to never knowing what randomness we might have spawned.
And legwarmers and neon spandex?
Eighties hair was pretty awful. (My mom’s a hairstylist. I’ve seen all kinds of hairstyle books from all kinds of decades. Also I used to watch Full House.)
When I was five, I very badly wanted a crimp perm. That’s all I’m going to say about that.
When I was five, I managed to wheedle my mother into giving me a pixie cut. I looked HORRIBLE with short hair, and I’ve been growing it out ever since >_<
I think my cousin was still ripping her own hair out on the top of her hair at that age, and stealing scissors and cutting it off. She’s weird like that with her hair. She cut it all off with a butcher knife in our grandmother’s bathroom two christmases ago.
I have been flicking through your blog and found a lot of what you are saying very interesting and you are now in our list of bookmarked websites!