No one CARES where you went Pop-Culture antiquing today!

In case you haven't been around lately, I've recently discovered the beautiful tool LIVESTREAM, and for the last couple of days have been workin' hard in front of the ole Dell, searching for cool media to populate a channel with to compliment everything else you've already got here at THE MIDNIGHT CITIZEN. Hopefully, Midnight Citizen TV will help round out the field in defining what I'm trying to do with this web site, which is to create that indescribable feeling of being up late at night; your body may have no where to go, but your mind is open to whatever.

With endless amounts of uploading and converting, downloading and reverting, and whatever else that goes along with it, it may seem needless to say that I am functioning at a certain level of certifiability, and needed to get out of the house for a break, even if it did mean stepping out into one of those humid, stormy afternoons that Alabama is infamous for this time of year.

So I was off into the Birmingham cityscape, which looked a little like the Los Angeles 2019 of Blade Runner in the muggy atmosphere. We decided to start our journey at REED BOOKS, one of these pop culture curio cabinets that's been around for a while but I've never had a chance to check out.

Immediately when I stepped out of the car, I needed only to look at the patented Christmas Story leg lamp in the front window to know I was at a place that spoke my language. How could I describe this place? If John Waters, George Lucas, Tom Wolfe and Walt Disney lived in a house together, Reed Books would be their basement.

I really hate places like Reed Books. But don't get me wrong -- I hate it in the same way many Star Wars fans actually hate their beloved trilogy; if it didn't exist, then they wouldn't pour hours and hours into obsessing over it, not to mention, of course, sinking money into that obsession. This store is full of all kinds of wacky stuff I want permeating the walls of my apartment -- B-movie posters (as well as some artsy foreign erotica fare like the unmissable signage for 17 and anxious), literary classics and modern favorites (their Stephen King section is unparalleled), nostalgic toys and memorabilia, and entire shrines of merchandise and collectables to certain important legends (I must've spent 15 minutes looking at all the Mark Twain crap).

Sure, in the times we live in, Reed Books may really be nothing special. The emerging trend of pop-culture antiquing is becoming a pretty thick chapter in the early twenty-first century lifestyle, about as prominent as iPhones and Facebook (see Stuff White People Like by Christian Lander for proof if you don't believe me). But it's a great experience to get away from all the new, cheap plastic crap the mall sells you and go visit the old, cheap plastic crap they used to -- now, of course, marked up in the neighborhood of 50 percent for the "Oh, man, I remember this" factor.

In places like this, I have to give myself a budget, just like in the old days when the folks would give me 5 bucks to spend on an action figure. Even though it was a bit more than my eight dollar budget, I landed on a rare press kit from the original release of Friday the 13th: Part 2. This worn artifact from one of my favorite camp horror films ever made came with several still shots from the flick, as well as a typed synopsis and cast bio's. Tune in soon to the next show so I can read clips from it. It's gonna get bloody!

While we were in the neighborhood, we decided to popeye on over to second avenue to What's on 2nd, another basement of pop culture curiosities and Birmingham memoribilia, faithfully gaurded by the vicious Jitterbug the Dog, pictured above. (note: this was taken just before Jitterbug snapped out of his dog coma and proceeded in an attempt to transcend the glass and bite my head off)

Unlike Reed Books, What's on 2nd has no particular theme. They don't really shelve just books, but rather, any junk that folks bring in that the man-behind-the-counter reckons may be valuable to someone else.

Exhibit A

A 1989 Batman dinner tray I would've been proud to set my Kool-Aid and Slim Jims on while the old Adam West show played on the TV.

Exhibit B

Well, one paranoid gal's creepy collection of dummies her grandfather bequeathed her might be a spook house engineer's Arc of the Covenant.

In case you're not local, Birmingham folks are always keen to debate their city's attractions -- namely, what there is to do on the North Side. In the 1970s and 80s, Birmingham experienced an extraodinary amount of white flight, when all the folks making more than $25k were fleeing South of Morris Avenue and over Red Mountain to the bedroom communities of Mountain Brook, Homewood, and the like. As can be imagined, a slew of businesses followed suit.

Even though today, there are still enough Out-of-Business and For Lease signs downtown to cover the outfield of Fenway Park, you can't deny some bold entrepeuners and grandfathered business owners are creating a pretty unique atmosphere in the Northern Beltline. After a healthy hour-and-a-half paroosing the junk and the treasures, I settled down with a Root Beer at the Urban Standard, a trendy coffee shop on 2nd Avenue North that knocks any Starbucks right on its kiester, and decided I wasn't done with downtown because there was nothing left to see, but because I wouldn't be able to finish before the stores closed.

That, my friend, is a pretty good sign you're living in an alright town.