Truly Tacky Tuesday: Clown figurines

Many years ago, I worked with a young woman. For reasons I've completely forgotten (because that's what alcohol is for) she tried to kill herself. Now, at best, this was a half-assed suicide attempt--it probably boiled down to four sleeping pills and a tearful phone call to the guy who had just dumped her--but she ended up in the loony bin for observation.

And then, after she got all better and was ready to start life anew, she needed a new place to live, because the guy who had just dumped her didn't want her moving back in with him.

Coincidentally, I had just lost a roommate to job relocation or law school or somesuch (There really is nothing like ethanol for erasing insignificant memories. And as I get older, it works better and better!) so I had an empty spare bedroom.

I'm sure you can see where this is going. But don't think I had her move in the way you might rescue a stray kitten. It wasn't like that at all.

You see, every comedienne needs some crazy people around. Crazy people keep our creative juices flowing. They also make us look more normal. Dependable, even. So dependable that bosses will say to themselves, "Hmmm ... I need someone to update the networked UNIX system software ... better have Poppy do it. Look how dependable she is! She's never even tried to kill herself."

And so it came to pass that Ethel had Lucy, Seinfield had Kramer, Bob Newhart had what's-his-name, and I had Kim.

Now, upon Kim's release from the cracker factory (her phrase, by the way) she still had a bunch of stuff in storage. So when she first moved in, our apartment had a somewhat minimalist vibe.

And then her stuff showed up. And after a long day of updating system software, I came home to this:



Every flat surface in the living room was covered with clowns. I think there were 19 or 20 of the them. Pretty much every designer figurine manufacturer was represented, too. There was a Precious Moments.


A Hummel.


A Lladro.



And a few companies I'd never heard of because they only made clowns, so why would I know about them?

Thanks, Ron Lee, but I hope to never hear about you again.

And then there were techniques I could do without, like Murano glass.


As well as the licensed Emmet Kelly Sad Clown merchandise.


Well, imagine that someone has taken what we've seen here, made it three dimensional and as much as 18 inches high, and put it all over your living room. Then imagine walking in after a long day of updating systems software.

No wonder she tried to kill herself.

And now, a brief shorts report

I am just sick in love with this meme thing. Weird Things Friday has me bubbling over with creativity. And since I never do anything by halves, and prefer to err on the side of overkill, I now proudly present

Truly Tacky Tuesday

which is the day I'm going to blog about the cornea-searing amounts of bad taste I see everywhere I look.

Especially if I'm at home.

I was really pleased with the idea of making fun of other people's bad taste (and in a pinch, my own.) I thought it was genius. And then the other day as I was shopping for groceries, I found myself wondering. What if I couldn't find anything to post about? What if I encountered a shortage of tackiness? What would I do then?

And then, as I left the grocery store, as if to put my fears to rest, my muse presented me with this:

Strolling along, lowering property values where ever they go.

I had to sneak the photograph, so let me describe what's going on there. This is two old ladies. Don't let the bright red hair fool you; the woman on the right was even older than the gray haired on the woman on the left.

Now, please notice the shorts. It was probably 80 degrees, and I was perfectly comfortable wearing jeans, sandals, and a shirt with three-quarter sleeves. And yet these women went outside wearing the kind of shorts I find problematical on 12 year olds.

It gets worse. The woman on the right had such--how can I put this tactfully--such vivacious flesh on her legs that with every step she took, it moved in all kinds of directions. Seriously, it was all over the map. Up, down, left, right, jiggle jiggle jiggle. Although the woman on the left with the gray hair had amazingly firm legs.

And then I took a closer look. She had on pantyhose. White pantyhose. The kind business women used to wear with their navy blue skirt suits, Reeboks, and floppy disk ties. Except this woman was wearing hers with shorts.

And so, since we're talking about abbreviated things, a haiku.

If you must wear shorts

--and really, no one wants that--

don't wear pantyhose.