Second Hand, Second Thoughts

Ephemera Vulgata (garden variety Mayfly) Ephemera: From the Greek: Ephemeron --a short-lived insect. Members of the family Ephemeridae include dragon and damsel flies as well as may flies in the genus Ephemera. For the rest of us: the detritus of our lives: concert tickets, bus tokens, valentine's day cards, matchbooks, packaging, coupons: objects meant to be useful for a brief period of time. And then what? Advocates of simplicity say it should be thrown away. I have tried.   But I don't think they're looking close enough. Simply because it is not meant to be durable doesn't mean much of it isn't a tiny window into some artist's mind. I am not ashamed to say I buy many things based on the cleverness or beauty of its packaging. I consider this a way of supporting the arts--manufacturers paid someone to design the structure, the image, the lettering. It may not be as grand and sweeping as an operatic performance, but the opera itself is ephe...

Sarah Cannibal hunting jacket label for Hippik Because I was raised by wolves. Not really. But sorta. Ok--maybe cats. I was raised by cats. I was a difficult, fat, scabby, feral child. The youngest kid of those old-school big Catholic families--the one who crawls around under the piano, eating everyone's homework, teething on old cigarette lighters and rubber grapes. I was an early talker--mostly obscene--because by the time the fifth, sixth or tenth kid comes along, everyone is tired of watching their mouths. Mostly I was in the barn, searching for the new litters of kittens. We had a rotating herd of barn cats. And there were always new kittens. But cats really aren't good as surrogate parents. If you have retractable claws, they might teach you how to kill mice, but other than that, they don't have a lot of useful life skills to pass on to young girls. My mother did not teach me to sew. In fact, she thought I was a bit tetched in the head for wanting to even b...

So, I'm trying to hire some help with my eBay store and to get my Etsy store up and running. I thought I was offering a kind of nifty deal: you get to work at home, when you want. Decent hourly pay with a percentage of profits. It's not really difficult work. I mean, after all, I do it. And I've done most of the tedious work of photographing, weighing and measuring. It just needs to be listed and shipped. But good help seems to be very hard to find.

It's kind of funny to get messages from eBay buyers about how they feel "deceived" because the item I sold them said it was in "excellent condition," or "3/4 sleeves" and they thought it was "poo-poo condition," with "long sleeves," and now the entire experience has become a "complete nightmare" and their faith in humanity is pretty much lost. Kinda funny, but also not. Let's think about this, now: I'm this one, weird-looking, slightly ditzy person in Naples, Florida, selling used clothes on eBay. Oh, yeah--I'm here, rubbing my hands together like some evil villainess, plotting to "deceive" you into paying 15 bucks for a pair of vintage Lilly Pulitzer capris pants. So I could enjoy hearing how I've ruined your life with an ancient rust stain that I missed? Because I secretly need a pen pal so we can send skirts back and forth and debate if the elastic is brittle? If I was truly clever enough at...

Solitude      I used to think it was a personal, moral failing that, after about three to five days of being around people, I turn into this irritable, snappy, fitful, horrible creature.      I was told that I was "difficult," "unpredictable," "arrogant," not a "team player." These are nice ways of saying "snappy, fitful, horrible creature."      I have since been told this is typical, introverted behavior.      But frankly, I still think of it as a failing.      Because I've been running my little gallery in Louisville for over a month, now, and I'm truly understanding that regular shop-keepers' hours are not my strong suit. But I somehow think that shouldn't matter. I should do it because other people do it. What's wrong with me that I just can't do it?      Outwardly, I am boisterous and outgoing; I have made a sort of burlesque art of talking to strangers ...

I do know how to take a compliment. But it still kinda-sorta bugs me when people say anything about my thrifting habits. "You find the most amazing stuff! You must have some sort of Midas touch when it comes to the junk stores!" "I just can't go to thrift stores--not like you do. I never find anything good." "You must really love your stores." Admittedly, I am showing them Chanel shoes and Tod's purses and Bally briefcases, which is amazing stuff, to be sure--that's why I'm showing it to them. But if I had a true 'Midas Touch,' I sure as hell wouldn't be using it trying to remove set-in wine stains and sweater pills. I'd be raking in money investing in real estate and have someone else shop at Saks for me so that I could donate amazing stuff for some alternate universe version of me to find. As for the second comment, it's true: You can't find anything good in thrift stores if you don't go to thrift stor...