Gold Homer Buddah Karmic Redemption

Many of you have read my sad, self-piteous story of how I was robbed of the chance to acquire the 2012 Comic Con Exclusive Kidrobot Gold Homer Buddha.  Life's a bitch, isn't it?  Sometimes you get the shaft as a toy collector, and sometimes, if only occasionally, the toy gods smile upon you.

Thanks to my brother-in-law and a good friend, I have been receiving Loot Crate for a total four months now as a birthday gift.  For those who are asking, "WTF is Loot Crate?," it is a subscription based service that sends you a box of geeky merch every month.  It's a pretty cool gift for the geek in your life.  I have gotten some good stuff but nothing particularly life-changing... until last week, that is.

The following series of photos show the unboxing moments, as they unfolded, captioned with the precise thoughts I was having at the aforementioned moments:

 "Wait, what is that peeking out from under the Pikaju hat?!!"

 "Wait, what? NO!!! IT CAN'T BE!!!!!!"

"IT IS!!!!!  It's so beautiful!" (Tears streaming down my face.)

There is now a great contentment in our household.  Sure, this version is only 3" instead of the SDCC one, which was 7", but that's okay.  There is still some exclusivity to it.  Currently, these mini gold Homer Buddhas can easily be found on eBay for $10-$20.  Eventually though, they will find their way into the hands of the truly devoted fans.  Availability will decline, and prices will rise.  It is the way of the world.  On that note, at the time of this posting, there are three examples of the SDCC exclusive 7" version on eBay, with prices ranging from $350.00 to $675.35.  Holy crap! That IS expensive.

Now, please enjoy some pictures of the September 2015, Loot Crate, Kidrobot Gold Homer Buddha:

Very lucky, indeed!

The Macross Tomahawk has more guns and missiles than should be allowed.

There was one show that meant more to my childhood than any other.  This "cartoon" was a revolution for many of us here in the United States.  Never had we seen anything quite like it.  The fact that it was a continuing story from one episode to the next was enough to set it apart from other kids' shows of the time.  Additionally, this show incorporated decidedly adult themes surrounding love, death, and the toll of war.  In the U.S., we knew this show as Robotech.

Robotech was adapted from three different Japanese animated series.  The first chapter brought Super Dimensional Fortress Macross to American audiences.  In the Robotech universe, it was simply called "The Macross Saga."  The story creator of Macross, Shoji Kawamori, succinctly describes the plot as "a love triangle against the backdrop of great battles."  This series shines for the spectacular mechanical designs done by Mr. Kawamori, along with Kazutaka Miyatake.  The story rationalized the use of giant humanoid robots, or "mecha", as the most practical means of fighting a race of hostile giant aliens.

I fell in love with this show when I was 11 years old.  It was 1986, and I was in the sixth grade.  At that point, kids were determining who was "cool" and who wasn't.  Let's just say, for me, being openly obsessed with an animated Sci Fi series didn't exactly increase my social standing.  Quite honestly, I didn't give two shits that people would make fun of me for liking Robotech.  I knew it was not only bad ass, but it was also great animation art.  I also like to think that I had some intuition that I was destined for a creative career.  Appreciating great art and great mechanical design definitely contributed to where I am today as a designer and builder of mechanical interactive science exhibits.

Perhaps some of the social torment I endured, because of loving Robotech, created a particularly poignant form of nostalgia for me.  I now recognize some of the flaws in Macross, but I still love it.  And if pressed, I will argue that these mecha designs are still some of the greatest ever created.  The fact that these designs resonate with people is difficult to dispute because new toys are still being based on them.  As a young artist, I could recognize this, and I spent much time analyzing the designs and drawing them myself. 

The centerpiece of Macross Mecha designs were the elegant transforming jet fighters known as "Veritech Fighters." (In Japan they called them Valkeries.)  However, there were some non-transforming mecha designs that were just as great. 

Looking not unlike bipedal armored military tanks, the "Destroids" had a more brutish and utilitarian design.  There were five distinct Destroid designs and subtle variations of each of them.  As story devices, the Destroids were sort of like the "red shirt guy" in Star Trek.  Indeed, in the show, we would only catch small glimpses of them just before being blown up by the bad guys.

Despite the secondary role of the Destroids in the show, and the often disappointing fate they suffered, they are still a cornerstone of the Macross mecha designs.  In 2008, toy manufacturer Yamato recognized this by giving Macross fans the Destroid toy they always wanted.  It was a highly detailed and posable representation of "Tomahawk," known as "Excaliber MK VI" by American audiences.  Tomahawk is sort of a humanoid Howitzer: a legged platform for cannons and missiles.  In fact, you could say that the design is a bit overboard on guns and missiles but that is part of the charm I suppose.

This toy is spectacular in it's detail and finish, It has excellent articulation, opening missile hatches and cockpit, and that is why it is The Toy of the Week.  As the feature toy for September, you can enjoy more pictures of it in the gallery.

Why is there a mine in my front yard?

I still remember the day that my parents brought me to see Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.  There was a moment before we left for the Har-Mar Mall movie theater when my dad explained that there was some potentially upsetting imagery in the film.  I honestly have no recollection what my response to his fatherly warning was.  I do feel like, at that moment, my nine-year old brain was immediately translating a loving and concerned parental warning as pandering condescension.  I think, like most kids, I wanted to prove my independence.  In an irritated child-like way, I probably dismissed my dad's warning and said, "It'll be FINE, Dad!"

In this situation, I may have been right to dismiss the warning.  If you are reading this and you don't understand what all the fuss was about, why my dad felt the need to have this little heart-to-heart, then I would have to ask you what rock you have been living under--or if you were you born after the year 1984.  Temple of Doom caused a huge controversy because it had a level of gore and violence that seemed to push the boundaries of the PG-rating that the movie was given.  Ultimately, Steven Spielberg, who directed the film, would lobby for the addition of a new rating between PG and R.  The new rating, PG-13, was instituted later that same year, and Temple of Doom was very much the catalyst for the change.  The scene where a cult leader, named Mola Ram, ritualistically pulls the still-beating heart from the chest of a human sacrifice had a surrealistic and almost cartoonish quality to it.  I don't recall being all that disturbed by it.  But I get it: what parent, in their right mind, would bring a kid to see a movie with a scene like that without some sort of "disclaimer" being issued? Apparently, quite a few parents would because, despite being skewered by many critics, the film was a financial success.

I think it is fair to say that the most lasting impression left by Temple of Doom on my nine-year-old self was not the human sacrifice but, instead, the mine-car chase scene.  Like many other parts of the movie, it had a goofy undertone, but really, who cared?  The mine-car chase remained one of the most entertaining and innovative cinematic action sequences, even to this day.  This, combined with my general obsession with machinery and anything that travels on rails, means that, over the years, I have developed this idea that I needed some sort of mining equipment for my very own.

Actual mining cars and full-size replicas can be found for sale, but they are quite large and heavy.  The chase sequence in Temple of Doom was shot with a combination of stop-motion animated scale models and full-size props.  So, I decided to take a leaf from the filmmakers' book and build some scale models.   Now, here is the part where I drift into the "technical" weeds of these models, so if you don't give a rat's ass about that sort of stuff, then go ahead, and skip to the pictures.  Otherwise, read on!

The first mine car I ever built was a V-dump type of car, fabricated from aluminum and steel.  I designed it with an inside frame so the spoked wheels would be a nice visible feature.  I built it to a scale of 1" = 1' (1:12).  I expanded on this by fabricating a second V-dump car, a small outside frame flat car, and a small crane.

A few years ago, I got the itch for something bigger, so I fabricated a mine car using steel, plastic, and wood parts in, much larger, 1:5 scale.  The larger scale allowed increased detail.  However, I really wanted to add more of a storytelling component and create a context for my mine cars.  The logical conclusion was that I needed some mining structures to provide an environment in which to display my models.   To create dramatic and large looking structures in the available space, I decided to re-visit the smaller 1:12 scale that I started with.

The first structure I built was an ore tipple.  A tipple is essentially a large elevated hopper with chutes for transferring ore from small mine cars to larger railroad cars.  The tipple model was quite large and heavy, so it had to remain outdoors year round.  This meant I needed to select materials that could withstand the elements.  For the most part, it was constructed from redwood treated with a preservative.  There were also some metal parts which allowed the chutes to open and close.

Since the tipple was merely a transfer point for the ore, I wanted to focus on building the actual mine itself.  Here are some images of the mine under construction.  It will replicate a horizontal tunnel and a vertical shaft.  The tunnel goes about 38" into the side of a small hill and has rails for the display of my mining cars.  The shaft will have a head-frame and hoist, which I have yet to build.  Since this tunnel has to be buried under a couple feet of soil, I decided to build it from plastic to prevent rotting.  Some visible parts are made from treated redwood, but the tunnel and shaft are plastic that has been painted to look like weathered wood and rock.  This project is just getting underway, so I will update as progress continues.

As you can see, I'm crazy.  But I am a crazy person with a mine in my yard!  How many people get to say that?

The "Flintstone House" and when your chilhood junk reaches outlandish values...

Most of us have said, "I wish I still had the _____ that I had as a kid.  That _____ would be worth a lot today!" That fill-in-the-blank item we wish we still had often takes the form of a toy, but have you ever discovered that some other childhood possession you once had reached an outrageous value?  Well, I just made that discovery, and it is weirdly connected to an unofficial Bay Area landmark.

Anyone who has traversed I-280 through Hillsborough has seen it.  It looks like a network of conjoined bubbles.  For nearly ten years, it has sported an orange paint job that makes it even more noticeable.  It is affectionately referred to as the "Flintstone House," and it is easily visible from the Eugene A. Doran Memorial Bridge.  Most Bay Area residents have pondered the origins of this house.  We have also pondered that one burning question: "What does the interior look like?"  Well, hold onto your butts because the iconic Flintstone House is for sale.

The listing goes live this week.  You can peruse the official web page here.  If you want more info about the design and history of this home, I also recommend that you visit the on-line agglomeration arcane attractions known as Atlas Obscura.

I remember my first glimpse of the Flintstone House very well.  It was one year after relocating to the Bay Area in 2000.  The house was still painted in it's original off-white color.  I immediately thought of "Barbapapa's New House," which was a children's book that was well-loved in our household growing up. 

The book is centered around a family of amorphous, blob-like, shape-shifting creatures known as Barbapapas.  The Barabapapas are depicted living in a semi-urban neighborhood in what appears to be a nice old Victorian house.  Mysteriously, the Barbapapas are rendered homeless when a roving band of driverless, possessed demolition machinery targets their domicile.

Well, you can't keep a good Barbapapa down because they migrate to the burbs and build their dream home.  The process by which they build the new house is of particular note.  They inflate their gelatinous bodies, then pack mortar around themselves until they have created a network of rooms that resemble an overgrown cliff-swallow nest.

Ultimately the pack of vindictive heavy machinery returns to try to demolish the Barbapapa's balloon-house, but the Barbapapas fight back.  The demolition machines wind up getting their own ass served up on a platter, and the Barbapapas live happily ever after.

Well the correlation between the Bay Area's Flintstone House and the Barbapapa's house was more spot on than I could have imagined.  The Flinststone house was fabricated with a method that involved large inflated balloons being used as a form for sprayed on concrete.  This method is known as "monolithic dome construction."

With the news of this real estate listing, I was reminded of how much I enjoyed that beloved children's book, "Barbapapa's New House."  It really contains all the most important story-book elements: shape-shifting blob creatures, demolition of historic structures, homelessness, hippy-home construction practices, and urban sprawl.  The most important lesson, though, of all that the Barbabpapas teach us, is that when faced with a sentient, migrant gang of indiscriminately destructive heavy machinery, violence always prevails.

I decide to hop on Amazon and see if I could get a copy to share these important life lessons with my son.  My eyes wound up popping clean out of my head when I saw the current value of this, now out of print, book.  After reeling my eyeballs back in using the optic nerve as a makeshift winch cable, I realized that I was not hallucinating the current prices for this book.

The phenomenon of what drives something to become collectible is as mysterious as the Barbapapas themselves.  Whatever the reason, English language, hard-bound editions of this book are selling for no less than $2,000.00.  In fact, at the time of this posting, the cheapest copy available on Amazon is a used copy in "good" condition for $2,142.03.

In light of this discovery, I immediately emailed my mom to see if she had held onto our copy.  At this point, it seems unlikely.  I will update if there are any further discoveries.

As outlandish as the price of this book may be, it can't hold a candle to the cost of the infamous Flintstone House.  The house is a relatively modest 2,700 square feet, with three bedrooms and two baths.  It is listed for $4.2 million.  On the other hand, it looks like it was built by the goddamn Barbapapas.  Based on the price of the book, the Barabapapas appear to crap gold, so maybe that house is worth it after all...

UPDATE!: Obviously I can't type fast enough to keep up with the market demand for this childeren's book because, in the time it took me to compose this blog entry, the price for a hardbound English-language edition of "Barabapapa's New House has climbed to $2,152.87.