This morning, I idly checked craigslist for estate sales and found one in Altadena that looked good: lots of books and old pulps. But Altadena. But old pulps. But Altadena. But old pulps. Argh, we loaded up and ventured out. Why the hell not?
It turned out to be a really popular sale. I don't go to a lot of these, but this was the first where I had to wait outside until there was enough room to let more people in. And of course, the true vultures arrive first. One guy literally was packing up six boxes of pulps. He had to run off to get more cash... when he returned he forked over $500. I don't know if that was the whole price, or if that was added on to what he had on him, but I still bet he got the deal of the century.
I got to pick through his leavings. So the crap I wound up with was 3 issues of Amazing Stories from 1928-1929. Beat up, but perfectly serviceable. HG Wells, EE Smith, etc. One of the letters gushed about how much the writer enjoyed "The Colour out of Space" in a previous issue.
Apart from that, an atlas from just after the Great War, a paperback by Sheckley, and a copy of The Clansman (the novel from which Birth of a Nation was made). It's actually a photoplay version with a couple stills from the film. I'm not really a racist fuck, but I thought it was an interesting curiosity, and might be ebayable. (not really)
The most irritating thing was that nothing was priced and all books had to go through one person handling the sale. So I'm sure I spent an hour in that line (much of it spent waiting for Mr. 6 boxes to get all his stuff counted and up-totted). But I got to meet my line-mates - the guy with the small internet book business, the columnist for LA Magazine, the guy with the box of music books and girlie magazines, etc. Mr. Internet book business was busy with his blackberry, checking book-prices. That's definitely a good way to do things, if you're serious about your estate sales.
In the end, I got out for $20. Woohoo!
Dr. Pookie picked up $8 of kitchen implements, and was very patient in waiting for me as I made my way slowly through the book line. Now we have an authentic double-boiler, and need no longer cobble together a Rube Goldberg version.