Its real name is Industrial Plastic Supply Company, but that's not what the big gray sign in the sky says, so it's not what I say.

Industrial Plastics is located on the isle of Manhattan at 309 Canal Street between Mercer and Broadway. It's very easy to get to, but not super easy to find open if you work... they're only open till 5:30 at night, and not open Sundays at all. But, Saturdays can be days of plastic laden pleasure and romping.

Imagine a reasonably big industrial space filled with nothing but plasic. Plasic statues, plastic trees, plastic balls, plastic things for your walls, plastic funky things, plastic squares, plastic chairs, plastic everything. Maybe most importantly is all the little odd chunks of hip, translucent plastic. I'm thinking of super-gluing dozens of transparent cubes of plastic all over my monitor. Or maybe I'll give it sharp blue horns. Or maybe it needs lots of pink spheres...! Or maybe I need all these things as permanent attachments to my flesh... mmm... Spirit Gum

Ailie might be right. I might have a plastic fetish.

But you know, it's a common truth. Noders love plastic and I love plastic presents. Templeton and Yossarian love Industrial Plastics. Ailie and Stand/Alone/Bitch loved their plastic presents. Many of you may be receiving surprise plastic presents in the mail. If you don't want it to be a surprise, you could ask for it, and I'll probably oblige.


I owe my own allegiance to churchinhell. Give him props.
Perdedor has just confessed his own love for Industrial Plastics and plastic fetish-ism in general. He's one of us.
Stand/Alone/Bitch is off this very instant do discover her new true love. See below for the result.
zot-fot-piq was so impressed by Industrial Plastics he brought plastic as presents for jessicapierce. She'll be one of us too.
I ask Andy in advance:
'If I only have half an hour there, will I feel cheated?'
He says I'll be fine, and I am, it's perfect.

I take a basket and a deep breath.

Start from the beginning, Jane. Work your way around.

Ideas bump into each other, visions crowd the forefront of my mind. Blues. Go for the the blues. Geometrics. Transparent. Different themes, riotous schemes mingle on the screen in my head. I'm like a kid in a toy store, gawping and staring, longing to touch it all, see it all.

Slow down, Jane. Work out what you plan on doing with your plastics.

Eye candy: buckets of discs. Flourescent pink. Translucent green. Little bits perfect for Tiddlywinks. Cylinders, cubes, flat hoops. Bright skinny wedges click their way into my basket. I can't get enought of the squigglies, the tiny balls.

I have vague ideas: a cityline of transparent cubes, short and squat; rectangular, tall and narrow. A clear blue crescent moon, floating flatly in the background. A forest of luminous blues and crystal-like cylinders. A jungle-gym sort of structure, hung with hoops, triangle chips, squiggles. A clear bowl filled with dozens of the little plastic dice.

Whoa, Jane! That's one full basket you've got there!

No kidding, eh? I watch the checkout lady tally up my total, flicking the pieces to one side as she counts rapidly: 73 pieces at $0.15 dozen, (she leaves the extra one in), 3 chunks at $1.00 apiece, little marble-like balls, the moons, the hoops, the triangle chips. 15 plastic wedges, long narrow ramps. The squiggles, flat confetti.

'That comes to $46.65'

I dish it out willingly, sit on my bed at home to pour it all out. Paw through my plastics, piling, sorting and stacking; the pictures in my head slowly coalescing into actual designs as my eye candy clicks through my fingers and I grin like a fool.


Thank you, Andy, for introducing me to this place. I think it is about to become my new obsession.

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