The Exercise Thing Gets Expensive

As a part of my tech-assisted health and fitness kick, I’m spending a good chunk of time wandering around places I wouldn’t ordinarily go. Do I have my hourly 250 steps in? No? What about now?

So, I went to an antiques mall. You know… one of those chain places that rents booths to anyone and everyone. I don’t, usually. There’s usually nothing to see that you couldn’t dig out of your Aunt Thelma’s attic. I went for the steps, and not for the antiques.

And I found human remains.

One booth in the whole place is selling some old medical school skeleton parts. They’re pieces that are about two hundred years old. (As usual, there wasn’t anyone to ask about them.) The first of the pieces was an articulated female pelvis. Once upon a time, it had been painted to show the various bones. Okay. Maybe if I were running an obstetrician’s office, or something.

Then, again… maybe not. Pregnant women probably don’t like the death aspect of the thing. We’d hate to see someone go into labor. (That could be why I’m not running a doctor’s office.)

There was a bundle of ribs… I’m not sure how many, or how matching. It was all behind glass.

And then, there was the skull.

I am not in the market for a skull. I am not in the market for a skull. I am not in the market for a skull.

But if I were…

He was about two hundred years old (according to the notice in the case, but I think it’s close), and missing his calvarium, and some of his teeth. He’d been articulated old-school style, with the little springs connecting the mandible.

I thought he was charming, but out of my price range… you know… since I am NOT in the market for a skull, at all. And exactly how would I store him, if I did buy him? He doesn’t want to be shoved in a drawer somewhere.

Okay. So, I’m thinking about it.

He’d be a splurge and a half. Easily the most money I’ve ever spent on a man I just met, and that’s before I figure out exactly how to store him. (That sounds expensive, too.) Of course, I don’t think all that many people who go through antiques malls are really looking for skulls, so he might go down in price, if I wait.

Or, I might come to my senses, and buy something sensible.

Shopping for Other People’s Lives

I’ve spent a lot of time antiquing in the past couple of weeks. I’m looking for that mythical piece of 16mm that I can afford to destroy in an effort to make my projector work. Apparently, people are attached to the family films. (Yes, even though they have no plot, and no sex appeal.)

I ran into some books, yesterday. Old books. Books that clearly came out of one person’s private collection. About a hundred years old, give or take. And they were labeled wrong, and priced out of my reach. (Particularly since whoever owned them was not a note-taker.) I think the seller was taking a cross-your-fingers-and-hope-for-the best approach to Bookselling.

The books made me think of one of my old professors. That’s more my imagination being dramatic than anything grounded in facts. The books were close to his field, but they weren’t quite right.

Still, I was left with a vague sadness, holding these books, turning their pages… because in order for them to be there, someone I would like to have known–someone I would have gotten along with–had to die.

I might check up on those prices, the next time I’m near the store. They’d probably like to come live with me.

Still no 16mm.  I will keep looking, when I have the time and energy.