Baby Overboard

I'm pretty sure you know what my policy will be on this item:

Who would leave such a thing on the table? And furthermore, who is this for? Who's taking a used baby bottle to feed their own infant?

I can hear at least one person saying it now: "Well, in this economy, people need any help they can get."

To anyone who offers this argument, allow me to offer you a punch in the throat. Nobody Living in Luxury in the Hollywood Hills wants to save four bucks by taking a used-and-probably poison-riddled ba-ba from a faceless stranger. Unless, of course, the baby mama is looking for one less mouth to feed. Basically, this is the equivalent of giving the kid some bleach to swallow in the laundry room... except the bleach is cleaner and you probably know where it's been.

Instead of infanticide, perhaps you might consider leaving your unwanted baby in this basket that was also abandoned on the Big Blue Table:

I mean... it turned out pretty well for Moses:

Note: This is not actually Moses.

Attention All Ye Who Enter...

Lots of things get abandoned on the NeighborGoodies Table. Often, I will offer sad, stabby reasons for these things. And although some may think I'm embellishing or, for some reason, just "making it up," I like to think I'm pretty much dead-on over 2,000% of the time. That's a pretty good track record!

For example, I think there's only one way to read today's NeighborGoodie...

...and that is to assume this NeighborGooder has abandoned all hope:

While few people are this literal about it, losing hope is an all-too common occurrence here in the luxurious Hollywood Hills.

People flock here from all walks of life to try and live out their dreams of becoming actors, writers, illegal immigrants, etc. Unfortunately, their dreams are often crushed and they are forced to become waiters, American citizens, or, heaven forbid, celebrity gossip bloggers. And, just like that, all hope is lost.

Although today at NeighborGoodies, we learn a very important lesson: All hope is not lost. It's just... hanging out on a Big Blue Table in some laundry room somewhere, in a crappy little basket someone found on sale at the Hallmark store the week after Valentine's Day.


Keep hope alive!

The Hole Truth

Today we have a basket:

And inside this basket, we've got a small selection of random NeighborGoodies:

I'm not actually sure what this neon green rectangle is. It's spongy, and since I don't know any better, I am going to have to assume that it is some sort of feminine hygiene product. It makes me wonder if this basket was actually someone's trash can before it became a NeighborGoodie.

It wouldn't surprise me at all, considering what else is in there:

What you're seeing now is a hand-held single hole puncher, some correction tape... and, my personal favorite, a plastic knife.

In the interest of fair and accurate reporting, I feel I should tell you now that I am a big fan of office supplies. I love going to stores like Staples and Office Depot and wandering the aisles. I don't know why, but I just love my accordion folders and my postage scale... and yes, my correction tape.

I know I have no practical use for it, but it is effing cool. I love white out as well, although I currently don't have any. Perhaps some kind NeighborGooder will change that in the future.

While I am pro-correction tape, I always was pretty much against the hand-held hole puncher. Even more useless to me than the correction tape, this instrument is designed to create one single hole in your paper. This item has always been a mystery to me. My mother (Tina) had one of these things when I was growing up and I couldn't for the life of me figure out what the hell I was supposed to do with it. Judging by Tina's reaction, I was definitely not supposed to be using it to chop individual strands of our carpet ("mowing the rug") or poke holes in my shirt (playing "moth.")

But I did some research for you, kind NeighborGoodies Enthusiast, to unlock the Mystery of the Hole Punch. According to this awesome article at about.com, the hole punch was invented in 1885 by Benjamin Smith. It was originally called the Conductor's Punch, and is still used to mark train tickets to this day:

It's Patented!

A few years later, a guy named Charles Brooks improved upon the original design. Always concerned with keeping things tidy (he also invented the street sweeper!), Charles attached a little trap to capture all the round paper (or carpet) clippings, so that there wouldn't be any litter!

And yet, in a cruel twist of fate, his invention has been placed in a wicker rubbish receptacle... on a table full of waste... in a building full of white trash that no amount of correction tape can erase.

Basket Case

Normally when I see a big box on the NeighborGoodies Table, I get pretty excited about the amount of random stuff it could contain. But when a box contains only two items, it's usually either very disappointing or very terrifying to me. This one is both:

It contains a yellow, green, red & basket-colored basket along with a (mercifully empty, but totally oversized) tissue holder--complete with grapes painted on the side. I like that they put these two worthless things together into a giant box and placed them on the NeighborGoodies table. Isn't a basket's sole purpose to easily carry other objects around? Why not just put the hideous grape ceramic monstrosity into the equally hideous rainbow basket? Why introduce another vessel into the mix...

...especially one bearing the words "Stuffed Animals" in red sharpie?

I think what bothers me the most about this item is what isn't included: The Stuffed Animals themselves. I can only deduce that this box was emptied of its furry, childish contents before being filled with unwanted basketry and grapeyness. Call me old-fashioned, but I believe if you're grown-up enough to move into a Luxurious Apartment in the Hollywood Hills, chances are you didn't need to bring an entire box of stuffed animals with you.

The worst part is, you just know those stuffed animals are sitting wide-eyed on the unused side of a middle-aged actress's bed as she runs lines from a script of a terrible play she's writing. After she thanks them for being such a kind and attentive audience, she treats them all to a tea party before curling up with her favorites. As she cries herself awake the next morning, the cycle begins again--only this time, Betty Basketcase won't have the ceramic tissue holder to slow her down as she reaches for her Kleenex! Way to purge, Betty!