The matchbook read “USO, Cam Rahn Bay”. I imagined it belonged to some young soldier who brought his nifty new camera with him to Vietnam to snap some wild photos…wonder where they are now?

Wrote a little tidbit to go along with it:

What was I doing at the Aloha Club at Cam Rahn?

The girls straddle our knees and peck our at our necks like hungry birds. There’s a nurse; a bawdy, lively one and she shimmies across Goose’s lap and pours scotch down his throat. A translator from Jersey hangs around the Captain’s table, teaching him dirty words. I watch her lips for awhile, they pucker out, wound the words.

Brought my new camera, had it tucked away in my duffel bag next to some magazines and a transistor radio. We rounded up some folks from the dance floor and just before sunset, took some photos down at the beach; high tide rolling in over our boots, thick and mean.

Jayne was there, tiny and homesick–now she’s gone and not home to Kansas. Alex’s in the front, hunched down in the sand, sleepy eyes and dirty shirt. He sells us joints and tickets to movies at the Rex downtown. Lost a finger near a foxhole, looked towards home when the bullet hit.

In the middle of the jungle, sipping Mai Tais and nursing wounds.

Buying the matchboxes themselves was even more fun. Well, you never bought them, the cigarette carts would throw them in with a pack of smokes. You’d walk to the dusty market, wander up to the kiosk and buy a pack of Wills Classic (“Capstan” was a brand as well–always liked that one, I called them “capsicum”, the Indian English would for bell peppers) or whatever one smoked then. And you could even just buy one cigarette, which was something like 20 paisas and if you wanted to light your cigarette at the kiosk, the cigarette-wallah would reach up around the cart, grab a rope that was hanging down and hand it to you. The twined rope was lit on one end and burned incredibly slow thus becoming sort of a primitive lighter. You’d light your cigarette from the burning end of the rope, much like lighting one cigarette from another.

Once in a while for fun, we’d get Bidis, the hand rolled cigarettes the taxi drivers smoked. They were small, the size of a small joint and were rolled with tendu leaves and tied up with a little red string. Occasionally, I’d smoke one on the back porch with one of the cooks. But, it was probably the package I remember most, the ones I bought were a violet blue with Hindi script and photos of a stern looking fellow. But there are many different package colors as well. This photo is from Flickr user, tdietmut. Later I remember them selling in San Francisco smoke shops for ten times the cost…and now they have various fruity flavors?

Some more from my collection:

Later, I started to make collages over the least interesting covers.

I’ve been getting lucky with book finds recently. Last week I picked up a book at a rummage sale, solely on its title, ‘Wine, Woman and Words’. Now who could resist a book with a title like that? Turns out it’s a bio by Billy Rose (had never heard of him–seems he wrote ‘Me and My Shadow’ along with being an iconic theater person in the early 20th century) and illustrated by Salvador Dali! The illustrations are really amazing!

Here’s the version with the dust jacket (sadly mine is sans jacket but still 1948, first edition, I think…), I found on this site :

Also, found this gem, ‘Sextra Special’. The blurb on the cover calls it a, “Sintillating Sexcursion”. Chockablock full of 1960s campy cartoons and quips:

Anyway, back to Audubon. A few lovely prints below. And I’m still jealous of Lorrie Moore for stealing the title for her brilliant ’90s, short story collection…well, Audubon’s book is really called ‘Birds of North America’ , Moore took out the “North”.

Clutching grapes properly is a must in the art of homemaking. And that’s an awfully sultry look for a ’50s “teenager”.

The blonde in red is definitely shagging white coat’s boyfriend. Pure evil, but I do like her shoes.

Seems to me she’s already broken rule #5.

One should always match their brooch with the wall decor. But she really needs to give Liesl Von Trapp her jumper back.

Most of these are going up for auction, I believe. Pretty wild selection…Gorey wore most of these on a daily basis while living in the city.

Also took a photo of the “house” cat, Ombledroom, sleeping on George, the poor lad smothered under a rug from “The Ghaslycrumb Tinies”. Those not familiar with Gorey can check out the museum on Cape Cod. Well, worth a visit!

I snagged this lamp from a yard sale my mother had years ago, thinking why on earth did she want to get rid of this fantastic lamp! It was so unique, sort of wild, a bit bohemian–I imagined it new in some Deco house in 1927. Peg picked it up from a local department store, admiring it’s beauty and brought it home and displayed next to her collection of Limoge poodles.

The lamp dates from 1927 and was mass produced in its time, it’s spletzer cast metal, heavy as hell and still damn tacky but oh, so sort of cool. Still debating if I should keep or ditch…it’s been in my basement for years, it’s rusty, dusty and needs rewiring. Below is a photo of it’s current condition and then a photo of a similar lamp, in pristine condition, I found online at vaselineglass.org. As you can see the glass vase is missing in my version, and of course, I prefer the old clunker.