Jackassworld.com

My parents are in the process of updating parts of the home they have lived in since my brother and sister and I were kids.  Although they are vague about their reasons, my belief is that they intend to downsize from the four bedroom garrison they've spent the last 33 years in; that they are attempting to thin out the boxes of old clothes, old toys, and old junk that has accumulated in a house that saw three kids go from infants and toddlers to legal adults.  Even if they're not planning to sell the old house any time soon, they're definitely getting rid of some of the junk.  I know this because my mother is constantly asking me:

-"Do you want any of this stuff?"
-"There's so much stuff, and I want it out."
-"Do you need any furniture?  How about Irish Belleek teapots and vases?  Would Elisa like Belleek?"

"No, mom," I tell her.  "I don't want more stuff.  Our house already has enough stuff and we've only lived in it for two years.  As it is, we keep goodwill in business with the number of bags we dump on their door."

"Fine," she replies.  "We're just going to throw this crap away, so don't complain if there's something here you want."

She's not kidding.  A couple of years ago, they had a yard sale and sold my Dungeons and Dragons pink and blue boxes with my dice and "The Keep on the Borderlands" module.  I'm guessing they sold unceremoniously to some shrewd yard sale pro.  You know the guy I mean; he waits out in front of your yard before the yard sale even starts, smoking a cigarette in his station wagon until you begin to lug out all of the boxes.  The second you do, he runs over to buy all the stuff most of us would be heartbroken to know our parents put up for sale.

"I really don't have room to take anything back with me, anyway," I told her.  The truth is, I've rescued most of the sentimental childhood items from my parents house by now, and anything I haven't rescued is long forgotten.  I don't want the extra clutter.

"Well, I left your old Matchbox cars up in your room.  At least take those home for Zachary.  Todd took his for Ian." she told me as she left the kitchen. 

I perked up.  The Matchboxes and Hot Wheels?  The toys I played with more than any other toys I ever owned in my entire life?  The dozens of cars that had individual characters and traits I created for them, that I started to remember before I even made it upstairs to see for myself?  For a brief moment, I had a pang of childhood possessiveness as I wondered if Todd pilfered any of my "good ones."  I laughed at the thought.  I took the stairs by two, as I have since I was ten or twelve.  I also smacked the green-carpeted steps on the way up in the same rhythm I have for 25 years.  It's gorilla like, and makes my stairway ascent sound like this:

Ba-da BA BUMP, Ba-da BA BUMP, Ba-da BA, and then I'm at the top.   

In my bedroom, there are two carrying cases filled with Matchbox cars.  My brother and I had the exact same Matchbox© brand carrying case, but I recognize this one as my own by the small red label-maker initials of "SN" still affixed to the yellowed, ripped plastic encasement.  The yellowing is due to age, but the wear and tear is from years of heavy usage when we were kids.  My brother and I played with our cars for hundreds and hundreds of hours in our youth.  The other plastic blue case is a case I won in some sort of childhood trade, and it is also definitely mine. 

(click pictures to embiggen)

I can't help my excitement as I open the cases.

Instantly, I am transported back twenty five years... 

Sitting in neat little rows, just the way I left them a quarter of a century ago, is a familiar collection of around 75 Hot Wheels and Matchbox cars, with a few stray Corgis, Ertls, Tomy's, Kenner Fast 111's, and a couple of Burnin' Key Cars mixed in.  They are battered and scratched, but I remember them all with precise detail.  Each one has a story and a place in the hierarchy of my collection.  I could write a paragraph on each of them.  I'll try not to...

Although I don't remember exactly where each car came from, I remember details only a kid would care about for every single car in the collection.  I pulled a few memorable cars out and took some photos. 

Let's start with the Jack Rabbit:

This little bastard was fast.  It's actually an early 70's Hot Wheels model, as you can tell by the red stripe on the wheels.  Originally, this car looked like this.  I got it off a trade with some kid on the playground in elementary school, so I never saw it in that condition.  This was one of the fastest cars in my case, and it was a go to for racing.  Also, I remembered that it was called the Jack Rabbit without even looking at the bottom. 

Up next, my brother's fastest and most durable Matchbox:

Look at this thing.  It's a 70's era Matchbox, and it is probably the ugliest of all the cars either he or I had.  The one thing it had going for it?  Pure speed.  This thing was invincible, too.  I'd guess it's been in over 500 head-on collisions.  At one point we tried to paint it black with some water color paint, but it flaked off quickly and the orange peeking through the black was even uglier than the orange.  The paint got on the tires, and cost this car the only thing it had going for it: it's speed.  At some point, I must have traded something to Todd for this car.  Why I'd want it, I have no idea.

Next up, The Firebird:

My god, I loved this car.  Not only did I love the Hot Wheels version you see above, but I loved the actual car.  I wanted a Firebird with T-Tops and the Firebird on the hood.  I wanted this exact car, with gold rims and tan leather seats.  This car was durable, marginally fast, and always mine.  It was never up for trade, and my brother didn't even bother to ask.

And a weird British Ford from the 60's:

This also came into my possession off of a playground trade.  It was a fast car and kind of cool looking, but it was never on my list of favorites.  The reason I pulled it for a photo is that it's one of the oldest Matchboxes in the box, with a date of 1969 on the bottom.  Still rolls pretty well for a weird looking British car.

And next a McDonald's toy:

Here's another late model Hot Wheels.  I include this one because it was one of the last cars I actually got and played with before retiring my matchboxes and hot wheels for other, more mature games and toys.  It was quick.

And of course, Brown Sugar:

Look at the wheels on this thing!  I think it's a Camaro Hot Rod, with a plastic engine that broke off early in it's life.  Somehow, I never lost the engine over the years, and after every game of demolition derby I played against my brother, I'd carefully reposition the engine and snap it back into place.  This was my brother's car for a while and then he traded it to me.  Faster than it looks, and once it was mine I never let it out of my sight.  This was one of my top three favorite cars.

Another favorite was the Marlboro Lancia:

This car is made by Tomy or Tomica, I think.  It never occured to me that a Marlboro ad on a car was a bad thing, when I was a kid.  I saw ads for cigarettes in stores, in magazines, on billboards, and heard them on the radio.  This was nothing new to me.  I just liked the shape of the car and the color scheme.  This was also one of my top three favorites that was never up for trade.  This was my car from beginning to end.

And of course, the General Lee:

Made by Ertl, this car represents everything I loved at the age of ten: The Dukes of Hazzard.  I used to tape the show on a cassette recorder that I placed next to the television.  I got this toy at Ames in Derry, NH.  My brother got one too, if I'm not mistaken.  It wasn't particularly fast or as well made as the Matchboxes and Hot Wheels, but it was a perfect replica of the General.  I had Daisy Duke's jeep, too.  I could keep myself entertained for hours playing with those two cars.

How about a battering ram beater car:

Look at it.  It's a Hot Wheels (you can tell by the wheels), and it was a beast in the demolition derby.  This was also my brother's car for a long, long time.  Somehow, I ended up with it.  It sort of looks like something Hunter would drive if you strip off the scoop, the paint and the spoiler.  It's amazing how durable they made these cars.  My brother and I literally flung these cars down a track at each other as fast as we possibly could.  When we got bored, we'd take the cars we didn't like and bring them down to the "car crusher," which was my dad's table mounted vice. 

Want to see an impostor?

In the 80's, Kenner came out with a new toy car called "Fast 111's."  The gimmick was that each car in the set had a License Plate from a different state.  The only problem was, they were made with more plastic than their competitor Matchbox and Hot Wheels brands, so when the novelty of the license plate wore off, we realized we were stuck with ugly-ass cars that weren't as fast, weren't as durable, and weren't as fun to play with.  I have another one of these that's shaped like a Shark.  I believe the model was called "Shark Shifter." 

And of course, the gold stingray:

It's a gold Corvette Sting Ray, and it was the ultimate car.  It's a Hot Wheels, and although it wasn't fast, it just felt like the king of all the cars I had.  When it was new, it looked like real gold to me.  Also, when I was a kid, Ioved Corvettes.  If I could have been guaranteed this car the day I turned 21 in exchange for a lifetime of work in the sludge mines, I would have done it.  This car was indestructible, too.  I think they have cars like this in Saudi Arabia now that are actually made of gold.  It seems less enticing now that I'm an adult.

And finally, the crusher:

This was my secret weapon in the demolition derby.  It destroyed many a cheap Matchbox knock off, and shattered the durable plastic windshields of countless others.  It was the same thing as when you steal a garbage truck in Grand Theft Auto: Slow as shit, but plows through cars like they're made of ribbon candy.  This is a Lesney Matchbox, and for all the destruction it caused, it still looks pretty good.  

I know the expression "They don't make them like that anymore" is over-used.  Leaving quality aside, they'll never make cars that I bond with the way I did when I was ten or twelve.  The thrill for me is the look on my kids' faces as they see this antique box of old toys that they can now bring back to life with a little imagination.   If nothing else, seeing these old cars of mine around the house will always trigger specific, indelible memories that will forever remind me of a carefree and happy youth that I spent playing matchbox cars with my brother.

 I'm glad my mom saved them.

I'll embed this when I get to a computer. Here's a 3GS vlog, uploaded from the field:

So I love Threadless Tees. Actually, I love tee-shirts in general.  While perusing the selection at Threadless, I peeked in on the Threadless "TypeTees" site.  It's kind of brilliant.  If you can think of a good phrase or slogan or other assemblage of words that would make a good shirt, you simply post it and it goes up for a vote.  I'm addicted.

So I says to myself, I says, "Self, why not see if they'll make "F Twitter" a tee shirt?" 

If you're in the mood to go vote for it, you can do so here:

F Twitter @ TypeTees

No pressure.  BUT, I'll tell you what...

If you do vote on it and it actually wins and gets printed, I'll totally give the $500 prize to one of you, via random drawing! 

Maybe I'll do it live on Ustream.

How will I know who voted?  Post a comment to let me know!

Honor system, people.  Honor it up.

Here's the video.

http://feeds2.feedburner.com/Nickerblog

Much obliged, friends!

1. Hear the word Twitter.  Scoff.
2. Hear it again from someone else.  Scoff again.
3. Hear about famous celebrity who is apparently "On Twitter."  Scoff, but make mental note to check it out.
4. Log into Facebook to comfort self.
5. Sign up for Twitter.
6. Give up because it seems dumb.
7. Loudly criticize others on Twitter.
8. Follow @johncmayer, @aplusk, @rainnwilson, @wilw, @mrskutcher, @oprah, and one other person you actually know.
9. Post tweet that is a variant of: "Trying out this Twitter thing."
10. Attempt to dig a little deeper into Twitter.
11. Notice rampant usage of words: "Tweet," "Twitter," "Twitterverse," "Tweetie," "Tweetdeck," and something called "RT."
12. Scoff again, this time in confusion.
13. Tell friends you "tried that Twitter thing, but didn't get it and it's stupid anyway."
14. Log into Facebook because that site at least makes sense.
15. Read story about Twitter somewhere.
16. Log back into Twitter. 
17. Try to avoid saying Tweet, Twitter, Twitterverse, Tweetie, Tweetdeck, and ReTweet.
18. Respond to @rainnwilson.
19. Curse self for fanning out.
20. Log off for 4 months.
21. Come back, just to see.
22. Post something relatively funny.
23. Get RT'd.
24. Discover that RT means ReTweet.
25. Make it your life mission to get RT'd.
26. Install Twitter app on your phone.
27. No longer ashamed to say "I've gotta Twitter that."
28. Attend events with the sole intention of "Tweeting" them.
29. Pray to get RT'd.
30. Refresh. Refresh. Refresh. Refresh. Refresh.
31. Close computer.
32. Open computer.  Refresh.  Refresh.  Refresh.
33. Think in 140 character sentences.
34. Compulsively check phone all day every day.
35. Tweet that you compulsively check phone all day every day.
36. Alienate actual people in your life in an attempt to impress ones you don't know.
37. Lose weight because you forget to eat.
38. Place phone by bed so you can check first thing in the morning.
39. Defend Twitter to the death from detractors.
40. Hear self, and vaguely recognize that you have become "That Guy."
41. Feel like, and start to behave like River Tam.
42. Vow to quit Twitter to preserve sanity.
43. Read this and change mind. 
44. Think to self, "I should twitter that."
45. Recognize irony.
46. Twitter it.

Did I miss any?

*Now in French, too! (Rue 89)

*And in Spanish! (Soitu.es)

*Related Video: "F Twitter."