Flea Market Finds Vol. 4

I owe all of you something of an apology.

Or perhaps not, depending on how well this fleshes out as it’s written.

Turns out I took so much time working on Volume 3, I forgot to write the exciting conclusion that is Volume 4.  And here’s the rub: this story took place a good nine months ago.  I’m sure you can infer from the information I am laying down that the thrilling resolution of this fine tale I have woven…may be a little fuzzier in my head than previous entries.  As such, I will do the best I can to recreate events as they happened; however, a sprinkle of artistic liberty has always been taken before, and this will be no exception.  We might have a shorter entry this time around, but hey!  We’ll see where this journey takes us.

Alright, enough padding!  On with the show!

The Deal – Part 3

Chapter 1: Anticipation

So I stood there waiting impatiently while the man scurried about with a perpetual look of “I’m forgetting something” etched into his brow.

Customers arrived.

As he was knee-deep in a mess, trying to pull his store together – a result of his flippant tardiness – his attention was constantly lassoed by an onslaught of customers, a distraction beyond my own means of persuasion.  So I simply waited.

Enter Frank.

He had his faulty cart on hand, counting on the man’s ability to work some of his voodoo magic and bring it back to life.

Together, we waited.

Chapter 2: The Time is Now

Finally!

His awareness shifted in my favor.  I was so ready to lay my offerings upon the display case.

As I unloaded my wares before him, I was shrewd enough to remind him of the $50 credit we had established the previous week. He agreed (Hah!  Take that, Scalper!), and from there it was time to introduce the new players: The PlayStation and PlayStation 2 games.

Now as you may or may not recall, I had some pretty lofty expectations of what value the new trade bait might add.  Since those games were not as glorious as I had imagined, I took it upon myself to prepare a handful of auxiliary items I was willing to part with in case the situation became dire.  I was in it to win, and the way I saw it, there was no way I was going home without Lost Vikings 2 in my hands.

Chapter 3: The Showdown

We already had the previous stack at a predetermined $50 credit, taking Lost Vikings 2 down to $70. My goal was to at least bring the game back to the $60 mark where it was when Bomberman Heroes (which I had decided to keep) was still in play.  But even so, the magic number in my head was $50.  If I could pull this off, I could use the entirety of my gift card and not spend a penny out of pocket.  This is the reasoning of a real miser.  But no matter.  I had my eye on the prize.

The time came to demonstrate my PlayStation goods.  He reviewed them with a careful eye and took his usual sweet time in processing information.  After several tense moments, he rejected a few games.

“I don’t want these,” referencing the rejects.

Waving his hand over the rest from the PS1/PS2 group, he said, “I’ll give you $10 in credit for these.”

Alright, back to square one.  That’s okay, this is exactly where I needed to be.  But I can push it further.  I called in for backup and produced a few games I was iffy about handing in.

Contra: The Alien Wars for Game Boy

A recent flea market find for a cool $3.  I kind of enjoyed it and wasn’t too anxious to let it go.

Pokemon Stadium for N64

Yeah, you remember this, right?  All the way back in Flea Market Finds Vol. 1?  A random inclusion in my Super Famicom lot.  Technically it was a freebie, but I had plans for this one and was not wanting to get rid of it.

And last but not least…I don’t remember

Okay, this is where my recollection of distant events falters.  What I think I had was a Game Boy Color, which I wanted to keep through a desire to branch out into handheld collecting.  If I remember correctly, I bought it for $1, but I really can’t say for sure.  This was a while ago, and I truly don’t remember.  But for the purpose of concluding this tale, let’s just say it was, in fact, a Game Boy Color I bought for a dollar. There.

I laid down Contra, and he told me $10 was his trade-in value.

And there it was.  I was now down to the magic number: $50.  But…

Chapter 4: The Push

I still had a few items left in my grab bag, and I wanted to see just how low I could get the price.

I pushed the Pokemon cart in front of him.

“Just out of curiosity, what would you do on this?”

Another $10?  Well shucks, it’s gotta go.

And then came the Game Boy Color.  Or…actually…

Ladies and Gentlemen, as I’m revising this and doing the numbers in my head, I don’t think there was a third item.  The Game Boy Color was simply a figment of my faded imaginings.  But $40 for Lost Vikings 2, with a gift card?

Did I go for it?  Is this really a question?

Chapter 5: The Big Spender

I’m certain you can imagine my excitement.  But before I pulled the trigger, I asked to look through his assortment of manuals.  I pulled three I needed and asked if he’d throw in one of those manuals, and he said yes.  It was a deal.  I shook his hand, and thus the transaction had been cast in stone.  He then told me he’d sell the other manuals at 2/$5.  I picked those up as well, and in a show of good spirit, I decided to bite the bullet and grab an Earthworm Jim poster I had been eyeing for a while.  It was $10, which had discouraged me in the past, but this man had been a good sport throughout negotiations and I was fairly drunk with excitement.  Plus it’s an amazing poster.  Just see for yourself!

So, that was that.  I went home with my prized Lost Vikings 2, a handful of manuals, and a fantastic Earthworm Jim poster, all for an incredibly low price.  Sure, I went a little over the gift card amount, but it was worth it.

As for Frank?

Well, Frank never did get his game to work.  He returned it to the man and moved to Vermont to pursue his dream of working for Ben and Jerry’s.  Along the way, he went back to school and became a lawyer.  Although Frank had to give up on the non-working cart, he would continue his search to find a working copy for the rest of his days.

THE END

What Are You Afraid Of?

I sat there, engine revving.  Everything was set in motion.  I inched the hatch closer, ready to seal my fate.  Then resistance.  Hesitation.  Something stepped in the way of that car door.

Fear was its name.

And this foe I have faced before.

If one were to come to me asking, “Say Sam, how do you think fear has benefitted you?” I’d say, “Well, frankly…it hasn’t.”  Fear has thwarted me at so many turns.  It has come within inches of crushing my entire world into oblivion.  Some may claim that fear gives them a rush.  Perhaps it motivates those individuals to push themselves further, taking them into the unknown.  Whatever.  Maybe it’s a matter of semantics; their definition of fear could be different from mine.  But the point is, I have not noticed personal growth from fear.  Only hindrance.

Allow me to tell you a story now.

Once, long ago, there was an adolescent who sat stewing in his own bad mojo.  Surrounded by perceived enemies and a ticking time bomb in front of him he slowly marked his way through, armed with nothing more than a graphite-laced tool with which to disarm the situation.  Everything seemed manageable; as long as each oval was filled, he would be safe.  But something happened.  Something unexpected.  A rumble.  A disturbance.  A gastrointestinal nightmare.

The seed which was a strange noise bloomed into a panic.  “Is this coming from me?”

No, it’s not quite what you’re thinking.

Just some strange noises – much the equivalent of hunger or something of that nature.  But there was something else.  A feeling.  A notion.  The sudden sensation that something as grave as death is right around the corner.  You wait for this nightmare to end…only there is no waking up.  It’s real.  That’s the true horror of it all.  You’re living out your worst nightmare.

The fear that your stomach is going to explode.

It doesn’t.

But it’s that fear that overpowers you.

At this point it really doesn’t matter.  The enemy has won.

Before the situation gets out of hand you wave down a sympathizer and let them know something is wrong.  But you must keep it vague.

“I’m not feeling well,” said the poor boy.

(Yes, yes.  That works.  It always works.  Who can deny such a meek utterance?  The words of a victim, a scared soul, a loser.  Loser by the hands of fear.)

He was escorted out of the classroom.

He went home.  But the war wasn’t over.

Losing this battle opened up a vacancy for the very thing he swore as his enemy.  The fear took up residency and carried on for what seemed an eternity.

–You think you’re rid of me now kid?  Oh, you wait.  This is only the beginning!

For the next two years the boy had to face his enemy every day on familiar turf.

School.

The homeland.  The boy had become the visiting team on his own court.  This lack of home field advantage almost brought him to his end inside the oppressive walls of an institution.  But he stood tall and continued on.  When the big moment came, he was ready for the showdown.

6 AM and the clock was ticking.

He could feel the pulse from each spasm of the clock’s second hand.  Every passing beat brought him one step closer to his end.

Do I choose the electric chair or do I face my foe in a classic standoff?  Perhaps if I wear a plate of iron I’ll have a fighting chance.

The boy sat cross-legged with a hopeless bowl of cereal in front of him, bathed in a soothing glow from the television screen.

How much longer must I endure this torture?  Like drops of water penetrating through my brow, piercing my sanity.

I knew my two options.  And believe it or not I had already chosen my fate.  But I thought, just for kicks…why don’t I take one step forward, toward the place I fear most?  Because, let’s face it, the other option…well…it was definitely the worse of two evils.  And the more difficult road in the long run.

8 o’clock has almost arrived.  Am I really doing this?  Am I really stepping into that car?

I am.

I drove all that way.  To the site that instilled the greatest terror in me – an American draftee immersed in the jungles of Vietnam.  I stepped out of the car and continued to let my feet do all the talking.  “Eye of the Tiger” greased the pistons which kept my engine running.

Touchdown.

I entered the large open area that was my school library.  The bell rang and from that moment on there was no turning back.  The anxiety melted away.  “This isn’t so bad,” I thought.  I eased into the rest of the day like a hot knife might ease into cold butter.

I returned home victorious – my first full day of school in two weeks.

I didn’t realize it back then as I was still deeply engulfed in the struggle, but the decision I made that day – to simply keep walking until I couldn’t walk no more – was the devastating blow, the nuclear war head that finished my enemy.  Each and every day my surroundings grew more familiar.  And then one day the anxiety cleared, and I was free once again to move unhindered, unencumbered.  Pinocchio danced freely, away from his strings.

Fear has since reared its ugly head from time to time.  But never in such a form as it had taken many moons ago.  Every time I see it, I say “I’ve already dealt with you before.  I won, what more do you want from me?”  But no, it still seems to have some kind of hold over me.  I may never understand that part.

So I guess I fight a new war now.  I can’t imagine my enemy will finish me.  After all, I survived the big guns.  But one thing’s for sure:

Fear is not a motivator.  It’s not a friend.  It’s no good.

But I won’t let it get the better of me.

And I continue to write.  Fighting off that little opposing soldier trying to keep me from doing what I want to do.

You have no power over me anymore.

Keep on my friends.  Don’t let the enemy get the better of you.

-SZB

Know thyself?

I met somebody a long time ago.

I’ve known this person for 26 years now.  Every day I learn something new about him, and the more I find out the more a stranger he becomes.  So much so in fact that he is a complete enigma to me.  Who is this mysterious friend of mine, you may ask?  Well, if you haven’t already guessed, I’ll let you in on a little secret…

*surprise surprise*  He’s me.

And I haven’t been a very good friend to me.

As an insider looking outward, how well can we really know ourselves?  You look in a mirror and gaze upon your features, but no matter how long you stare you will only see an outside representation of who you are.  And the surface really says nothing about us, does it.

What does a deep understanding of oneself look like?  Maybe an awareness that we are not so different.  All of us share this planet together.  We mirror each other in our past experiences, struggles, heartaches…but also our triumphs.

Every individual person is a phenomenon.  A small part of a larger organism which is a small part of an even larger organism.  So we try and figure ourselves out, label who we are when the answer is far more clear than the question itself.

And yet we’re here, individually.  We cannot deny our perceived differences.

I’m not gonna lie.  I’m really winging this, making it up as I go along, trying to figure it out for myself as I write this post.  This is something I struggle with every day as I’m sure many of you can relate.  Identity — who I am, who you are.

But to get back on subject…if we’re all the same, all – as Bill Hicks put it “…one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively…” – why should it matter to know yourself?  Is self-actualization overrated?  Maybe.  But however delusional it may be, somewhere in this swirling vortex of confusion there lies a point of view that is perceiving said confusion.  And this awareness wants to define itself.  It does so through likes, dislikes, favourites, fears, so on and so forth.  Some of these things arise naturally.  Some, it is my belief, are subconsciously manufactured to go along with an image that you want to project.

Let’s make this real simple and say you like a certain band because it’s the kind of music that fits your “personality.”  You convince your friends that you love this band.  You even have yourself convinced.  But deep down you really don’t care for their music.

And it is that kind of self-deception that makes us strangers to ourselves.

We really don’t know who we are.  We don’t know the secrets that lie beyond the universe of consciousness.  And if we are so insignificant how can we be so complex?  I don’t know, I kind of want to rip my hair out at this point and just go back to watching That 70’s Show.

What do I mean by all of this?  I am asking my good friend Self here.  Well…Self doesn’t know.  I guess, maybe the bottom line is that we take ourselves too seriously.  We’re so concerned with how other people perceive us when the truth is that we’re all in this thing together.  But we are separated by a barrier called personality.

Maybe that’s it.

Maybe we think that personality is this big thing that makes us individually unique.  And to a degree it does.  But perhaps personality is simply, in the grand scheme of things, nothing more than a different hair colour, a varied pattern in animal fur, a jawline.

The important thing to take away from all this mess is that we have an image of ourselves in our heads.  Actually, two images.  One is of the person we think we are and one is of the person we want to be.  While I can’t speak for anybody else, I imagine the two as vastly different from each other.  But neither one is you.  You are something more, something even greater than what you want to be.  And you cannot see that person unless you stop staring at the mirror and start observing the mirror’s surroundings.

Do not worry about what the world sees.  It’s less concerned with it than you are.  Instead, radiate.  Radiate whatever it is that naturally comes from within.  You may find that if you allow the waters to flow naturally, something truer and greater than you can possibly imagine will shine and flourish.

You.

On Imperfection

While I’m on the subject…

I’m not a perfect person.  Who is?  That guy?  Her over there?  Well, let’s be honest here…

They’re not very likable.

Look at us, we’re flawed beings.  It’s inherent in our nature.  We’re designed to be imperfect; it’s where we really shine.  It’s like a crack in an otherwise immaculate vase.  Sure, you can admire the craftsmanship.  Just look at those lines.  The curves.  And the ornate decoration is nice too.  But where does the light shine through?  The cracks.  But we try and cover them up…hide them.  Why not just let that light escape freely?

I’ve seen it happen too many times.

Have you ever had a car with a dent in it?  In the door, the trunk, where ever, doesn’t matter.  Sure, it bothers you.  Hell, it would probably bother me too.  But really think about it.  That’s your car’s dent.  Like a battle scar, it tells a story.  Maybe not something as riveting as an actual battle scar, but that little dent is something unique to your car.  Other cars have dents, yes, but no two dents are alike.  That is what makes your car yours.

And then you see all the shiny new cars on the lot.  Pretty, right?  Vibrant colours, excellent angles (although for me, if we wanna talk about angles, let’s go back to the automobiles of the 50’s.  That, my friends, is a discussion for another time), but they’re all the same, sans a different coat of paint.  And maybe a spoiler here and there.

What is our obsession with perfection?  There’s so much beauty in imperfection, I would even go as far as to argue that imperfection is, in fact, where beauty resides.

As another example, let’s take a computer that doesn’t work.  That’s a major flaw.  Nobody wants that, and if your computer ceases to function, take care of it immediately (I mean, you don’t want to miss a post from yours truly).  But just as a way of outlining a new train of thought, let’s imagine a computer assembly line (because I dunno how computers are made these days, so just roll with it).  All the computers are being assembled and programmed.  They are essentially being told what to do by the manufacturers, programmers, what have you.  And then they’re shipped off with a specific job function.  So you come home with your brand spanking new machine.  You boot it up and something goes wrong.  It crashes.  Some rebel circuit inside decided not to cooperate, not to follow orders.

Isn’t that wonderful?

So, before bringing the swift boot of justice into the computer’s helpless monitor the next time it acts up, take a moment to admire its gaul, its tenacity, its personality.  That’s right.  Personality is found where we deviate from the norm.  And it’s the same in humans.

It’s really time we embrace our quirks.  Think about it.  Who do we root for in movies?  The straitlaced, clean cut, popular kid, or the off-beat, disheveled insubordinate with a spotted past?  I mean, it’s only after we learn about Andrew’s problems in The Breakfast Club that we start to like him.

I know not everyone will agree with this and that’s fine.  You’ll pass up this post and move along.  And that’s fine too.  But for any of you lost souls out there who have something about yourselves that you cannot ignore, something that bothers you, makes you feel like the whole world is watching and judging, have a seat.  There’s always a place for you in The Lost Souls Room.  And the only mirrors in here are other people, who will look at you and reflect what is beautiful about you.

At this point you’re probably wondering when Beetlejuice comes into play.  It doesn’t.  And probably won’t from here on out.