Spring cleaning

Not NorthStar Vintage Corporate Headquarters necessarily, rather, my eBay folder, with my sales from the past 8 months.

It may sound self-congratulatory, but I find (and manage to sell) some cool stuff. One thing I'd like to find more of are vintage t-shirts. But it would be tough to get rid of them. I love them for myself even more than I love the money they can bring in.

Here are a few from the NSV archives:

1980's Todd Rundgren Sweatshirt (pre-annoying Bang on the Drum All Day Song).

1980's Fishbone T-shirt (which makes me regret that I didn't keep the t-shirts from when I used to go to tons of punk rock/ska/metal/new wave shows):

1950's Matchless Motorcycle t-shirt (bought for myself, off of eBay, worn once, maybe)

1920's Cambridge Cycle Club wool (ick) racing jersey. This was a good one!

Nostalgia

I was a teenager/young adult during the 80's and initially had a hard time accepting that 80's clothing (and music) as "vintage."

But I see now the beauty in the adaption of New Wave and the inverted triangle silhouette. Plus, I am compensated by the opportunity to indulge in some nostalgia. Some memories, like those of my prom and craptastic prom dress, are bad. Some memories are good, like those resurrected by selling this early 1980's Grateful Dead t-shirt.



I have (or had) a shirt almost identical, purchased at a Dead show in the mid-80's.

In spring of 1984, on a whim, some friends and I decided to go see the Grateful Dead at the Cumberland County Civic Center in Portland, Maine. We knew nothing about the band - they hadn't had their big "I Will Get By" hit, and we had never heard the term "Deadhead." We just thought it would be an interesting rock show and a fun place to get stoned and meet guys. The tickets were $14.50 and we were able to buy them a few days before the show.

And so the three of us, all starters on the state championship field hockey team - the goalie, myself (a fullback) and the other fullback went to see the Dead. And us three girls, in from the boondocks of Maine, in our pegged pants and fluffy hair, were smitten. The Deadheads were in full, patchouli-reeking, shrooming force. And all that crazy dancing and hugging!

Next fall we saw them in Augusta Civic Center - an even smaller venue. This time we knew what to expect, and indulged accordingly. We met two boys we called "Chewey" (as in Chewbacca) and "Spacey" (self-explanatory) and I think there was some making out. Luckily we did not have a game the next day, as we, the last two lines of defense against goals, were feeling rather sluggish.

I went on to college and checked out Dead shows when I could, though by then they were playing stadiums and tickets were expensive and rare. The goalie dropped out of college and gave up her full field hockey scholarship to follow the band. The other fullback managed to stay in school, but was still a Deadhead.

Sadly, I think that during my punk rock days I threw away my t-shirt in a fit of Dead-hating angst. I wish I still had it!