He caught my eye from across the mall, his smooth, bald head shining beneath the soft fluorescent lights.

As evening shoppers selected their final purchases, a look of serenity remained fixed on the gentleman's moon-shaped face. I couldn't resist.

"A talking Buddha bank," I exclaimed, as I picked up His Holiness. "With a light-up tummy!"

The plastic deity purported to spout inspirational phrases at the drop of a coin - batteries not included - and was one of several deep-discount items lining the shopping center's walkways. Capitalism is a brutal beast, and Buddha and his cohorts were its casualties.

An air of desperation clung to the cast-off goods. Dancing monkey PJ bottoms hung limply from their hanger, the pages of "Shameless Hoodwives" were tattered before their time and the perky pink "My Grandma Rides a Harley" onesie just seemed to be trying too hard.

"Who would buy this stuff?" I wondered aloud. "Who needs all this?"

I was tempted to jump on my soapbox and indict the usual suspects - consumerism, subliminal advertising, Bernie Madoff - but something stopped me. Actually, it was a lifetime of somethings.

Maybe Buddha wasn't the ying to my yang, but through the years I've made more than my fair share of questionable purchases including a miniature Zen garden, foot-shaped sticky notes, a dancing robo-dog and Tony Little's Gazelle exercise machine. (Yes, that Tony Little. The one in the infomercials. Insert chortle here.)

I'm also the proud owner of a CD of Italian love operas, 5-inch platform Mary Janes, the fantasy card game "Killer Bunnies" and a tooth-whitening kit from the dollar store. I've even lusted after an electric egg-cooker at Walgreens, even though I hate yolks. I blame Madoff.

So I shouldn't have been surprised to find KISS collectibles, size 15 Nike cross-trainers or a plush "Scarface" throw being hawked at the mall. It's sidewalk sale season, and one person's trash is another person's treasure.

In my heart of hearts, I know no one needs a half-price Scooby Doo T-shirt or penguin hologram notebook. Products like those empty our bank books and fill up our landfills.

But try to take away my junk, and you'll be sorry. Rover the Robo-dog likes to bite.