How many crocheted jam jar covers, moose turd tree ornaments and painted gold pans is one woman supposed to buy?
FAITHFUL READERS OF THIS COLUMN will know that I am no shopper. Give me a catalogue or a website and a credit card and I’m good to go on everything from blue jeans to floor lamps. This unashamed anti-American uncapitalism extends to holiday bazaars, of which there have to be at least 439,572 in Anchorage…