Bowling is easily the sport that has rained down hardest on Pop Culture in terms of artifacts emulating its shape, spirit and efforts to capitalize on the good clean brand of social interaction the sport promotes. Though I go a little farther than the normal person in terms of their love of the sport. I should clarify that it’s not actually the sport itself I love so much as the accouterments associated with it. You name it and there’s some bowling derived interpretation of it. I have bowling can openers, decanters, tables, lamps, brushes, floors, shirts, shoes, dishes, cups, glasses, trophies and then some.  Sometimes I even turn the trophies into door handles.

I’m sipping decaf from a bowling ball cup right now.

I clean my clothes with a bowling pin brush.

I work by the light of this bowling pin lamp.

Sometimes the lamp sits on one of four bowling tables I got from the famous Hollywood Star Lanes when they closed their doors in Hollywood in the late 90s. I use them as desks.

I have bowling balls planted in my garden.

I even have a bowling ball carved into my kitchen floor.

Yesterday I extracted coins from my bowling ball coin purse and bought these bowling shoes.

When I got home I popped open a bottle of Bubble Up.  I had a choice of two bowling pin bottle openers.

Alas, my bowling bag coin purse is not going to be opened for any more bowling memorabilia for a while.  As I’m a totally self-financed artist, my pennies need to be pinched for all the projects I’m working on. That would be depressing but when it all comes down to it my favorite place to be anyway is home. If I’m bored I can always go bowling in the sand.

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I love lighted signs. Most of the ones I collect are African-American from the 1950’s and 60’s but I also fall for big fat trouts popping out of picnic baskets, gushing motorized waterfalls and the blinking lights of a big metropolis. But my absolute favorite genre which I constantly stop myself from buying because I have no room to keep any more are lighted food signs, not the least of which is this one commemorating one of my all-time favorite snack foods, the chili dog.

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No one loves socks, the most over looked fashion item in the clothing arsenal, more than me. I have hundreds of pairs and they change with every outfit. Easily the cheapest but what should be the best smelling socks in the drawer are these two pairs that are supposed to wreak of Sugar Daddies. But short of stuffing these socks up my nostrils I haven’t detected any such smell or I’d be running out to buy matching pairs of Tootsie Rolls, Blow Pops, Junior Mints, Charms and Dots foot coverings.

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One sure shot sign of Kitsch is when someone’s idea stops at the first thought and doesn’t spin off into a more creative zone that produces deeper, more interesting and creative spinoff ideas. This holds true with any creative vision, from telling a story to writing a song to thinking of a name for your business.

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Salt and pepper shakers have always provided an excellent opportunity to spice up any meal. As a firm believer in making meals as entertaining as possible, cat chefs Salty & Peppy, typical of the genre since the 1950s, can always be counted on to achieve that goal. Six inches high with screw-on chef caps they’ve seasoned everything around here including the fried egg I just burnt myself for breakfast.

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This is one of the most popular things in my house. It sits on a bar as you walk from my dining room into the kitchen and has been pumped full of M&Ms since the day I bought it at the Rose Bowl swap meet for 35 cents. My house is pretty much a health food lover’s nightmare anyway but even the strictest vegetarian can’t resist scooping out a handful as they pass by.

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Anyone who knows me knows that getting me to eat celery or anything else green is no small feat. I’ve always thought that I’m prone to Kitsch because my brain has been tweaked by decades of glorious junk food ingestion. But I’ve been trying to make an effort to at least dunk my toes into the waters on the other side and pulling the stringy-green-stuff-that’s-much-better-for-me-than-a-Twinkie out of something that looks like this is the first step toward reformation.

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Margaret Keane is the High Priestess of Pop Art, painting those huge waif eyed paintings that stared out at everyone throughout the 60’s and 70’s and are still copied and emulated to this day.

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Passover means Seder, Seder means matzoh and matzoh means crumbs. But fear not, the Matzah Sweeper is here, a convenient crumb caddy made from plastic that could not have cost the manufacturer much gelt because it’s so clunky to use.  After having decimated at least half a box of matzoh trying to get my favorite unleavened bread topping, peanut butter and jelly, spread evenly across it there were enough crumbs to make it look like my kitchen table was covered with snow.  But despite the fact that it says “press here”…

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Unless you were Frank Sinatra Bing Crosby was about as big as you could get in the 1950’s. Big enough to rule the Hit Parade AND in 1953 get his own brand of ice cream. He even owned the brand, Bing Crosby Ice Cream Sales, Inc., Hollywood, California, which he licensed to Valley Farm’s (excellent use of a misplaced apostrophe) who  promised that the contents was of  “Cream of the Stars” quality.

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