The Imaginary Gun Show

I was so excited to write about the gun show. Even more excited to take pictures, until I found out that Cow Palace doesn’t let you bring in cameras. No matter, I would take copious notes, inconspicuously, and share the mystery with you, the curious world.

Except I didn’t get to go. For a variety of reasons that are best left unexplored (Chief’s fender bender = no car for WEEKS while it’s in the body shop, cough cough) we stayed home on Sunday.

But I can’t let go of the gun show dream. So here is my imagined gun show experience in the form of the semi-rhetorical questions I would have whispered to Chief during the day:

• Did you see her-no, wait, him?
• Oh my god, are those real?
• Whoa, are they a couple?
• I thought Nazi stuff wasn’t allowed?
• Where do you think that tattoo ends?
• Should you really eat that?
• What crazyhead issued him a permit?
• Is it wrong to buy this if I only have it ironically? No, are you sure? Please?
• Did he really tell you he killed a goat?

Next time I’ll rent a car if necessary. Shoot, I’ll rent a bike. But I won’t take Muni. Buses are for chumps.

Forget Rehab, What About Jail?

I’m no legal expert, but if I know the contents of Amy Winehouse’s drug OD regurgitation, then it stands to reason that the authorities know, too. So why isn’t she under arrest?

I mean, it’s still illegal to do ecstasy, coke or heroin, never mind all three, right? She admitted to this, and more, all over the interwebs. Not to get all technical, but that sounds like a confession to me.

What, doesn’t Commissioner Gordon have DSL down at the Hall of Justice? Should we print out a copy of the Perez post and mail it to him?

And we should totally add a note telling them to rush that squad car over for her. If this before and after shot is any indication, Amy’s five minutes from Keith Richards Heroin-Induced Living Death. Iggy Pop pulls it off, but on her it seems less “tribute” and more “lack of imagination.”

"I’ve never wanted anything I couldn’t have."

For the first official wishbone clover interview, we speak with Matthew, who used to be a buyer for our favorite San Francisco emporium of weird, Paxton Gate. When I first interviewed for a job with Knickerbocker, I was unconvinced that corporate life was for me. When I walked into Cat’s dimly-lit office, spied her green nailpolish, and chatted about stationery and monkey skulls, I thought I’d fit right in.

Matthew: Is this the interview now?

Me: Yes.

Matthew: Would you like water or cheap beer that isn’t refrigerated?

Me: Beer. How did you get a job with Paxton Gate?

Matthew: I was living down in Humboldt, a friend came back from visiting San Francisco and said, “I found this place in San Francisco that looks just like your bedroom. It’s called Something Gate.” I was working for a place in Humboldt called Something Gate, so I didn’t think much of it. Then I was traveling through Uruguay and decided to move to San Francisco. On Tribe, I found a job at Paxton Gate listed under the “bizarre” category. I had to jump through a lot of hoops to get it, but they were intelligent hoops.

Me: How long did you work there?

Matthew: 10 months. Hey! I found my fortune! (He pulls out a Mason jar filled with slips of paper from fortune cookies.) In the end, I wanted a life outside of work.

Me: What’s the weirdest thing you were ever offered?

Matthew: A film reel of a monkey being tortured. I purchased a still, but I had to get rid of it. I couldn’t stand to look at it.

Me: Do you shop there now?

Matthew: No, I’ve always had an affinity for finding odd things on my own. Which is probably why I worked there. We really got into taxidermy when a retired captain of industry offered us his collection. He had a warehouse of trophies from his safaris.

Me: What’s the one thing you wouldn’t sell, no matter how much someone offered you?

Matthew: My art. Any of it. That’s a heart in a vial. Vertebrae. A preserved duck heart. Some wings.