Flea markets: They're not just for women anymore!

I love flea markets. I have my entire life. There's something I find really appealing about buying something that someone at some point treasured, but has since decided is disposable. The old saying, "One man's trash is another man's treasure" is never so true as when you're wandering through a flea market.

For example, as I type this, there's a really incredible painting I bought at the Georgetown Flea Market a couple of years ago for a relative pittance, hanging on the wall above my computer. I guess the vendor thought she got a good deal. Personally, I think I fleeced the fuck out of her, because of all the paintings I own, it's by far my favorite. There's no date on it, but it appears to be fairly old, and the framing was done by the Veerhoff Galleries, so who knows what hoighty toighty Washington home(s) it hung in before I got it.

There's also something really cool about seeing all the complete and utter crap that's for sale. Crap that vendors literally couldn't pay me to take off their hands, much less, convince me to pay them for the right to do so. But again, what I consider crap, other people consider not crap. Many a time, I've seen someone carrying an object that can best be described as repugnant, and I have to stop myself from saying to them, "Really? That's going in your home?" And yet, they seem happy with it. C'est la vie.

I never actually knew there was anything unusual about a guy enjoying going to yard sales and flea markets until a few years ago when a female friend of mine asked if I wanted to be her "yard sale buddy," because she enjoyed going to them, and her fiancee loathed them. The fiancee seemed indifferent about her spending Saturday and/or Sunday mornings out with another guy, and I quickly realized that as far as he was concerned, "yard sale buddy" meant either "girlfriend" or "gay shopping companion." Since then, I've noticed a distinct lack of enthusiasm from fellow guys were flea markets are concerned.

The two big ones in D.C. are Eastern Market and the Georgetown Flea Market. Eastern Market is fun, but over the past few years, I've noticed that the smaller artists and vendors have seemingly been pushed aside by the bigger, more established--and needless to say, more expensive--ones. Which is a shame. Once, I bought a beautiful painting of Rock Creek Park from a guy who seemed to quite literally be a starving artist. I didn't even have to haggle. I asked him how much it was, figuring it was probably out of my price range, and to my amazement, he said $20. Between the materials and time spent on it, I can't image how this didn't represent a considerable loss for him, but I wasn't going to argue. You just don't see guys like that there anymore. There are certainly some quality artists, but no one whose stuff really excites me.

The Georgetown Flea Market, I hit up almost every Sunday, though. Because unlike Eastern Market, which features mostly furniture dealers, professional artists, and various other crafts merchants, the Georgetown Flea Market is primarily made up of what can best be described as high-end junk dealers.

So it's a great mixture of really nice, really expensive stuff, and there's also a lot of crap and oddities, some of which are expensive, some of which are not. Needless to say, the crap and oddities are the most fun to browse.

If I suggested you give me money for old cassette tapes, you'd be perfectly justified in slapping me for my arrogance. But at a flea market, it's perfectly acceptable. I occasionally check such bins for hidden gems. I have yet to actually find any, but I keep looking.


The Georgetown Flea Market: One of the few places in the world where a lovely antique desk and whatever the hell a Spirit Ball is can peacefully co-exist.


A photograph of Harry Truman signed by Roger Moore. No, I'm kidding. It's actually signed by Harry Truman. Any D.C. politicos out there looking to share a genuine West Wing moment with their boss/staffer, tell me this isn't the sort of gift an Aaron Sorkin character would give someone.

"Hey, honey? You know what would look really good in our living room? A portrait of some old guy we don't know."


Is there any more beautiful sight in the world? I don't even buy old comics anymore, but I love the idea of old comics being for sale. Should I ever win the lottery, though, I will eschew giving to charities, and make vendors like this very rich.


The face makes it art. The penis makes it fine art.

A book of old pin-ups and a vintage Alfred Hitchcock board game? Best. Table. In. The. World.


This is a photo I took back in January. Get it? Inaugural balls? At the time, I balked at the $20 price tag, but now I kind of wish I'd gotten one.

Now...men? Tell me you don't want to go to a fucking flea market.