My grandfather began taking me to the flea market on weekends when I was a child. For me it was like another world, a glorious bazaar filled with discoveries in every jumbled box patiently awaiting my explorations. Occasionally I scored deals, such as buying low on foot high G.I. Joes and later selling high at a neighborhood yard sale. I think I even flipped Joe’s command center once, my first venture into real estate.

More often, I was probably a poor consumer. I remember spending the then-huge sum of $4 on a box of jigs (fishing lures) splashed with the brightest yellow and orange paint known to man. Mesmerized by those awe-inspiring beacons of day-glo, my tearing eyes never noticed that all the eyelets were painted over. I must have put hours into digging and chiseling the paint out of those damn eyelets. I never caught a fish with them, but I’m sure I successfully blinded a few. Continue Reading »