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.
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.