A James Dean cookie jar, to be exact. It was a long-ago gift from my ex-in-laws (man, that’s a lot of hyphens), packed away in my house’s attic along with plastic bins containing the ex’s Maxim magazines. I was up on the ladder, shoulders-deep in the warm attic, lugging down those Maxims, intending to sell them in the next day’s garage sale. ( They didn’t sell, but the Bowflex and two lawnmowers did, so win-win.) And by lugging, I mean I dragged the heavy bins to the edge of the attic opening, moved slightly aside, and let those suckers fall to the concrete floor. The bins didn’t bust, so yay plastic!
And after the bins were cleared out, there it was, a dark blue box with an image of the cookie jar printed on it. I’d almost forgotten about this bit of memorabilia; I have a large Rubbermaid box in my office closet that contains stuff like a James Dean bobble head and a copy of the front page of his hometown newspaper, announcing his death, but the cookie jar was too big to fit in it.
To tell the truth, the jar had never really fit into my Dean collection. It was kind of kitschy, and also, since it featured him in the car that killed him, kind of in bad taste. Plus, the car wasn’t accurately portrayed. No “Little Bastard” logo or red stripes on it. Also, the scale–
All right, I’m nitpicking here. I took the jar down, unpacked it, and put it on display on my bookcase in the living room, right below the Cthulu statue.
Also a few feet from my 11 x 17-inch Sharktopus poster.
Holy fuckin’ shit, what a gawd-awful piece of crap movie.
But what a great poster!