Jeremy Turner, founder of the Vintage Mobile store and purveyor of 3,000 holiday sweaters last Christmas, is taking on another sector of the mobile economy: art.

Turner says he has purchased a 1955 Spartan trailer and plans to convert it into an art gallery.

"I want to show art by local artists, artists who have both a technical proficiency as well as ideas to share ... when idea and skill meet, beautiful things happen and the world needs more beautiful things," Turner says. While he hopes the gallery will be ready to go by Summer, he first needs to raise some funds.

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Photo by Bianca Montes

Over here at the Observer, we love a good convention. Last weekend's All-Con was a thing of exceptional beauty -- After all, when else can you walk through an Addison hotel and see men and women, bounty hunters and storm troopers, dressed down to suits and helmets partying in a hot tub?

Only at All-Con, man.

From steampunk angels to voice-modified Imperial Troops, we were humbled by your costuming skills. So, we've put together a few favorite photos to share. Here's the top ten, and pop back by for more dispatches from Geekfest 2013.

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Growing up, I often spent summers in Jacksonville, Florida, where my aunt and uncle lived. Their neighbor two houses down was an older, widowed woman named Wyn, who had a spectacular talent for showing off her spectacular talents, and would often clean her house, cook dinner and garden in her backyard nude, her blinds open to the world. It was known to the young men of the neighborhood that Wyn had certain times she'd be putting on shows, and it was known to their wives, mothers and girlfriends as well. As a child, her celebratory nakedness was intriguing, and also dredged up a bit of Catholic guilt for being titillated by it. By being unclothed, she seemed freer than the rest of us.

I thought of Wyn during Friday night's Southern lit-themed Naked Girls Reading event at Quixotic World, which resurrects the idea of the literary salon via five naked women from the burlesque community, and followed up last summer's fairy tale-themed event. Wyn's role was played by The Dirty Blonde, Angi B. Lovely, Courtney Crave, Glam'Amour and "head librarian"/show producer Black Mariah, who explained their definition of what might be considered Southern literature, at least for the night.

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Egotastic

With a long lens, you can see Kate Middleton's boobs.

Everyone needs to be nicer to the weird kids.

Don't leave the monkey in the car too long when you're at IKEA.

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All photos by Stephanie Embree

Inside New Orleans host Rachel's apartment

Editor's note: Stephanie Embree, an SMU student and Observer photo intern, braved the world of CouchSurfing for a school project. See her slideshow, The Photo Chronicles of a CouchSurfer, and read about her adventure here.

Most of my friends thought I was going to die. They were supportive at first, even entertained by the notion of me CouchSurfing my way to New Orleans. Then I explained that CouchSurfing meant I would be spending the weekend sleeping on the couches of people I had met online, and panic began to set in.

I've always romanticized the idea of being a vagabond. Of walking away from responsibility, living simply, wandering to my heart's content. So I jumped at the chance to try this unconventional way of traveling. I threw everything I had learned about stranger danger out the window, and started planning my trip.

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Photos by Matthew Lawson

Jr. Roller Derby Girls at their practice in Mesquite.

Roller derby is a game associated these days with violence and irony and beer in cans, whisked beneath the rug of mediocrity because of the half-interested press coverage it receives and the goofy names the players possess.

But if the parents of the young combatants skating in a dimly lit suburban skate barn over the weekend are to believed, this is a great sport for everyone, children included. Children especially.

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All photos by Matthew Lawson

There really should be Stormtroopers at more piano bars.

It was a night that would make the lurkers of a Tatooine night club proud. An intergalactic hoedown hosted locally at Louie Louie's Dueling Piano Bar.

Stormtroopers mingled alongside Starfleet cadets and the two groups cast glances of reserved respect for one another. They are two collections of collectors and geeks that are connected by their passion for science fiction, but separated by the universes they choose to admire. The sequestered sets of nerds decided to put their sabers and phasers away for the night, and join forces to raise funds for the USO, and help the lives of American veterans in a unique night of unification.

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Photos by Matthew Lawson

Liza Ellen performs as Liz Mikel (right) and Lady Dwarf (left) watch on.

The night was a warm glow. The mood was soft, the venue low-lit like a candle-filled bedroom. Local blues man Lucky Peterson provided the soundtrack on the piano; he played soft jazz with a creative infusion of something nearing the blues. Free chocolate-covered strawberries and wine heightened the intimate mood, and everyone was relaxed and loose by the time the poets took the stage.

They were all there, in the Blue Room at the Southside on Lamar lofts, for "Blue Mondays," an evolving art show that happens on the first Monday of every month. Every Monday is a different theme, and every Monday draws a unique crowd. Yesterday's theme: "Sex in D City."

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Acryllic on canvas by Patricia Rodgers

At some point in the near future, a feeble, and impoverished Romanian child will be trekking along the Carpathian Mountains in a free pair of piss-sticky rain boots, all thanks to Dallas.

Not all of the rain boots donated will be drenched in human runoff, but a few pairs were indeed tested by the warm streams of a drunk gallery goer last week, at Evol Society in the Park Lane shopping center, as the 17 artists of "2nd Thursday" threw their first party.

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Mark Kaplan, NakedLens.org

The Black Mariah (and mustache) and Angi B. Lovely

You'd the think title says it all. In fact, its straightforward logic is what got me through the door: "I like this and I like that." But admittedly, I expected something more reserved and perhaps even boring from Friday night's Naked Girls Reading. While the premise might sound like a perfect night in, I was less convinced that two hours of it at Quixotic World would be an altogether entertaining Friday evening. I should have given those gals more credit.

Anyone who has been to even the most rudimentary burlesque show knows that the art is not about "nudity" so much as "getting there" in a lighthearted and mutually pleasurable manner. Caitlin Moran distinguishes between capitalistic, dead-behind-the-eyes stripping and the effervescent transcendence of burlesque by writing that "burlesque clubs feel like a place for girls ... watching good burlesque in action, you can see female sexuality; a performance constructed with the values system of a woman: beautiful lighting, glossy hair, absurd accessories (giant cocktail glasses; huge feather fans), velvet corsets, fashionable shoes, Ava Gardner eyeliner, pale skin, classy manicures, humor, and a huge round of applause at the end -- instead of an uncomfortable, half-hidden erection and silence."

I was no burlesque virgin, so why did I expect Naked Girls Reading to consist of a dour set, involving no humor, creativity or interaction with the crowd? Well, probably because the Dallas set was wildly different than what I'd read about other cities' incarnations.

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