"Hello, my name is Dennis, and I am addicted to picking".
Ok, so my dad didn't really say that, but he did say:
Me: 8 hours, what's up?
Dad: That's not bad. I gotta go pick up an 8 foot ice cream cone. But first, I gotta build a special crate to hold it in.
Me: That's cool. Really I was thinking (WHAT THE HELL! WHO DOES THAT!)
Later that day I tried to figure out what sort of ridiculous items I might buy if I could just for the sake of my out of control hobby. So far I have squat. I did however find this website, and this website - which lists weird as hell hobbies. Perhaps I will take up Ecstasy pill collecting, Beetle fighting, or Javelin catching. So maybe dad isn't crazy, he is just dedicated.
I really think that dad could have his own show. Just yesterday I spent a few hours designing business cards for his "hobby" - Junk Drunk Pickers. How appropriate! So far his "hobby" has enveloped an entire metal building. It includes; a bar, a service station, a general store, and soon to be soda fountain. There are mentions of a bank and a post office, and I am rooting for an old theater (or theatre if you wish).
This has also developed into my part time career between all of the eBay communications and transactions I have to handle, mapping the next pick, and general magic machine errands that require finding websites/antique malls/auctions/other related events. At least I get paid bonuses in way of awesome tea pots and vintage owls for my own collections. I have considered telling dad I now collect money, so if he happens to find any on his picks that will suffice. I do love my owls and teapots so I can't complain! But I can laugh when my dad travels cross country for an ice cream cone, and 8 foot ice cream cone.
A sampling of some of dad's tiny town: