Auctioneer (Another Engine).

I've long wanted to take in an auction, both for the experience and for the possibility of uncovering some great bargains. Greeted by the strong smells of stale tobacco and alcohol, bacon, eggs and church, SCS and I made our way to one of the local auction houses this morning, wandering in an hour into the four hour proceedings. Rookies on the floor, nervously flinching with our buyer card. The vets paid us no mind, perched as they were like birds of prey on plastic chairs -- copious notes and quick tallies, furiously scribbled into their catalogues. And still, we turned around to scratch our noses with eyes cast downward, lest we be pegged as buyers of crazy old Aunt Ruthie's favourite crocheted mauve slippers, always tucked lovingly onto arthritic feet. And under Morris, her sweaty cat's belly.

No, we have better taste than that. Still, it felt a little like Antiques Roadshow meets garage sale meets Vegas -- every item was a potential gamble, chock full of adrenaline coursing through your veins as players anted up. Are they bluffing, or do you fold? You might just end up with something nice. In the end you wind up with something: your purchase, or a broken heart -- lamenting the one that got away. Yeah, just like Vegas. Ensuring you don't get sucked into the fevered vortex of the moment can be a challenge, particularly for people as competitive as SCS and I both are. That said, with a little bit of research and a set price in mind, you can get some really good deals. So long as you are able to walk away from something you wanted when the auctioneer's chatter climbs a little too high. And the chatter can be quite something.

First and foremost, I was amazed by how pretty much everything goes. When an item doesn't receive much interest, the auctioneer combines it with something else in a package deal. A bonus nobody wanted. Plates, dishes and teacups rarely sold individually; rather, they ended up being combined. It was also incredible to see how cheaply some items sold: a great condition, antique wooden kitchen set, including a table with eight chairs and a hutch? 10 dollars. What? How can you go wrong there? While still a little out of my price range, a Haines Brothers square grand piano with intricately carved legs from the 1800s sold for $600. A quick look on the Internet and I found a similar one which just sold for $25,000. The auction's highlighted item, it would have likely cost about as much as the purchase price just to move it out of the warehouse.

Upon the sale of a cross filled with holy water, a fellow first-timer remarked: "Jesus, sold for 15 bucks? Sacrilege". SCS had fancied a couple pieces of furniture. She has a good eye: those items, of course, ended up being a couple of the day's highest draws and she came home empty-handed. There were obviously some professional buyers in there, grabbing things with good resale value, but there were still good deals to be had.

We participated in a couple of the auctions, but rarely ventured beyond the price raising a couple of times. We hadn't yet grasped auction strategy and were slow reacting on a couple of bids. But we didn't get sucked in, either. Not wanting to leave completely empty-handed, I did win a lot comprised of old glass bottles for five dollars. Much like old books, writing implements and printing plates, I've always had a fondness for old glass -- and particularly bottles. They were just so much more solid, made in interesting colours and shapes, and often had things embossed into them.

One is from Lavoris mouthwash; another big chunky bottle was for Enos Fruit Salts, which was reportedly used for easing stomach discomfort. The neatest, though, is a small rectangular bottle originally used for Davis Vegetable Painkiller. Patented in 1845, it is believed this product was the first nationally advertised remedy specifically for general pain and was distributed around the world by Christian missionaries. Lost out on some old pens and an antique child's chair with a drawer built into the base. Oh well. I think we'll be back another time; if nothing else, it was a fun way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

"Do ah hear five...fi..fi..fi...fi an' a quartah...fi...fi...fi an' a quartah?"

Devo-tee.

Well, maybe not a Devo tee ("Crack that whip, Give the past the slip...When a problem comes along, You must whip it..."), but a devotee of using the 'T' as a form of communication? Works better than other letters, particularly if you plan on wearing it. Hmm, the 'X' might work somewhat as well, but no, today's letter of the day is indeed 'T' (with the 'X', all I can think of is little Maggie Simpson in her star-shaped snow suit).

Forget Rick Mercer as Canada's next Prime Minister (though I'm sure he'd have a tonne of fun lampooning whichever party he ran for). Not Canada's Next Top Model, either. Nope, I just got my Stewart/Colbert in 2008 t-shirt. Some are touting this as the 'intelligent choice' for President/Vice-President and a couple of students at the university are using the shirts to make a statement about the current state of American politics. A revolution, swathed in 100% cotton. (And made in Haiti?) Clever. And it keeps me warm. Above the elbows, anyway. For more, check out their web site.

Which of course takes us back to the opening lyrics: "When a problem comes along, you must whip it." Dubya is a problem and he must be whipped -- in the polls. It won't likely be by a comic (though the U.S. has had an action star and a former pop icon as Governors, and a B-movie actor as President...) or political commentator. That doesn't mean we, in the frigid land to the north, cannot rise up on our igloos, bear our hockey sticks and help knock-out the right winger. We feel your pain, America. No, go ahead and vote your displeasure: wear the 'T' and revel in your freedom to bare arms. And hopefully, voters will elect a new votee.

International Animal Swag. Hurrah.

Thanks to Cynthia at "Big Ass Fans" in Kentucky, I had a nice little package waiting for me at the post office today. Oooh, mail, how I love thee. Particularly if you're not bills, summonses or sticky little pizza flyers. For the ever-so intriguing backstory behind Big Ass Fans, visit here and check the comments for how it came to be that I had this little nugget in my mailbox today. You're back? Okay, so Big Ass Fans is nothing dirty(drat, you might be saying), but instead, a fan company. With a donkey as a mascot. And with Refrigerator Perry as a spokesperson (always thought Maytag or someone like that would be a more natural fit, but hey, what do I know?) The tidy little box contained a t-shirt (below) and three little stress balls (stress asses?) like the one to the right. Methinks this little gal will become my new road trip mascot (accompanying Barkley, of course), seeing as she is from the spoils of my last little highway foray. Ottawa, here we come on Friday.

Oh, the description on the web site describes it as a squeeze toy, rather than a stress ball. My bad (do the kids still say that these days? Hm, I wonder).

The Big Ass Squeeze Toy

Need some relief from the stress at work? Now you can release pent-up frustrations playing with your very own Big Ass.

When you're at your wit's end and about to go postal, simply grab your Big Ass and squeeze it, knead it, caress it, slap it, or make funny sounds with it. The tensions melt away.

Need some brevity to explain a simple concept to your boss or co-worker that they just can't seem to grasp - and yet you don't have any graphs, charts, or illustrations handy? Simply show them your Big Ass, suggest they give it a big kiss -- and the concept you have been trying to get across to them will become readily apparent.

Has your boss or co-worker had a hard time keeping their hands off your Big Ass? Tell them to quit playing with yours and buy their own right here.

Oh, the hilarity that is sure to ensue in the office tomorrow. And I think I'll call her Ane -- with one 'n', not because she's trying to assert her individuality or her 'alternativeness', but because, well, just look it up in a French-English dictionary already, will ya'. With the road trippin', I think she'll need some good shoes for walking. Perhaps not mules.

Alas, SCS has already suggested (some might say, strongly) that it might not be the wisest thing that I wear this shirt around her in public. Anywhere. Oh, how the list of my sketchy-slogan-ed t-shirts continues to grow, from "I cut the cheese in Wisconsin" to "That shirt says Porn Star!" and "Take me to the nookie" (replete with little, grinning aliens) . My favorite one I don't own simply had a picture of Ron Jeremy and said, "Daddy?" Smooth and/or classy. Definitely. Yeah.

The run on grey t-shirts from places starting with the letter of the day -- K -- continued with SCS's swell delivery of a Tusker shirt directly from Kenya. Tusker, my favorite beer (sweet, sweet beer...). And the back says "Baada ya Kazi...", or "After Work..." in Swahili for those of you who are a little less linguistically inclined. She also brought back a soapstone elephant from Tanzania, which I adore. It has a nice, reddish pink vein running through it. And it's strong like Bull. Elephants and beer, how can you possibly go wrong? Unless, of course, the beer tastes like elephant. Or like ass.

Above: The Back. Below: The Front. While you'll potentially have to forgive my spelling, the other Swahili I learned is that "taco taco" refers to each of your bum cheeks. As such, I'm hoping Taco Bell does not open a franchise in Tanzania, however closely tied taste would be to name. Collectively, your posterior would be referred to as a "wowowo". Not to be confused with punda kubwa, or Big Ass.

Bounty-licious

Okay, so I guess I hadn't had enough exercise for the day after playing tennis for the first time in a year (and at that, the second time in ten). Or enough exercise after 15-20 clicks of walking the day prior. So, let's lug heavy, old, solid (enough adjectives yet?) wood around a couple of buildings, into and out of a van, etc. In the middle of the night. Yeah, that's the one. No aching and throbbing at all. But really, considering the haul -- well worth it. It turns out the University is getting rid of some of its old surplus furniture in order to prepare for renovations. I love old wood furniture, so I'd be glad to oblige. Even if it's the middle of the night.

So, the haul was impressive, filling up the back of the van. Chairs, an old drawer and la crème de la crème: old microscope lockers. Was pretty geeked about those. They make an excellent impromptu dining room hutch. Would also make an excellent liquor cabinet should the need for one arise. Quirky furniture -- yay! They just don't build 'em like they used to.

Ah...bestill my heart. Love it.