Sunday morning: in my favorite Joe Boxers, running my auction Keywords. A strange place to be right now in the obsession: most major personal acquisitions are accomplished. Things out of my price range — grossly out of my price range — no longer affect me on an emotional level. Where’s the fun when you know where to get what you want?
How can the Grail maintain its ineffable Holy quality when it’s just a matter of mustering the cash?
I’d love to bag chogokin AstroBoy, Machbaron and Potbelly, but my hardcore meter doesn’t register the challenge. Saving to purchase suddenly becomes one more facet to life-style financial planning that — frankly — I want jettisoned from my life.
The shelf is firmly reestablished in the Studio. Vinyls spin-off to begin their own satellite franchise. And I feel a bit in limbo. Is it Italy and not Japan that’s become the next frontier? All things Tark and Tansor seem to make it so. But something else is unsettling me. The old compulsion is pushing me away from consumption. At night, in my dreams, I sharpen tools.
* * *
The real frontier always involves gravitation towards making. You start as a child, shifting your point of reference into the materials of the world. Picking up that Kenner X-Wing, you become the object, flail down the street at attack speed. At some point though, the urge to generate new form from old understanding takes over. I think I’m just tired of screwing around with somebody else’s crap.
* * *
Now THAT was kind of harsh and I don’t really mean it. No: actually I do. See, it’s this continual back and forth, and neither position excludes the other. It’s important to have your heroes, and the culture of Popy, Bullmark, and Nakajima sits high on my pedestal of things revered. At the same time, I think we’ve all felt a twinge to do more than spectate in life. It’s your duty to participate directly in your passion. You’ve got to add to the system with your energy, and not just collect it.
Down from my soapbox for a sec. But, hey — I really mean it!
* * *
Putting money where mouth is: the final focus of the site is crystallizing. (Or I should say that my focus comes to light, since DX Commandos now own the site. Incidentally, can Matt freshen my ducktape gag, empty the bedpan, and spruce up the holding cell? Thanks Sean…)
You guess where I’m going? Of course you do. It’s time to apply design methodology in a hard-core way to an age-old chogokin-lover’s dilemna:
How does a young boy fill the cavity in his soul with a Giant Robot
truly his very own?
The answer, unfortunately, ain’t at ebay.com.
* * *
Close this off. Forgive the rambling first person prose. But wasn’t that the point of entry 1 in 1998? An expression of a personal connection with a little-understood but distinctly life-changing compulsion. This is the extension of my personal perspective towards that endeavor; I’m in the middle of crafting an invitation. Now the question is, what the hell’s in that box?