Jacqui (jacqui) wrote,
Jacqui
jacqui

Avocados, the Academy Awards, and Suicide

Scott and I went to the local Holiday Inn, I sometimes call it the round Holiday Inn, and spent the night last night. We hadn't seen Training Day when it was out and wanted to catch Denzel Washington's performance before tonight's awards. He was wonderful as always, but the movie was super dark and kind of confusing, something I rarely say about movies.

It seemed like a good plan, dinner in the room and a movie, but it turned out to be a pretty expensive rental, considering. We also had a rough night. We're both light and funky sleepers so we didn't get much sleep and then argued about it in the morning, weeee.

Our TV was pretty fuzzy so we called the front desk and had them send a maintenance guy up. When he finally got to our room I did my usual, ever seen anything unusual here, thing. I can't help it, I think it's the cat in me that always wants to know more than whatever is apparent on the surface of things. The problem with asking taxi drivers, cable, and alarm system repairmen, gardeners, waiters, people who work in hotels etc. etc., is that you get what you wish for and wind up accumulating a seriously dark and depressing collection of stories. It's that same curiosity that drives me to want to gather up old diaries and journals, to wish for a high rise apartment with a telescope, that enjoys movies that deal with people who've planted spy cams in every room of their home or apartment building, and likes to listen in on cell phone conversations. I want to get to what goes on behind the veneer of things, as if the truth is always hidden, kept secret and out of view.

In this case, at the Holiday Inn in Brentwood, I learned that someone had trashed their room during a drug binge, then slashed their wrists, and sprayed blood all over the walls, carpet, bedding and draperies. He may have survived because he was alive when they found him. Another man suffocated himself by putting a plastic bag over his head, although that sounds a lot more like murder, or autoerotic asphyxiation than suicide. And two men jumped to their deaths, one from the sixth or eight floor, and one from the sixteenth. I spoke with the parking attendant who found the man's body. He said the man left an impact impression in the grass in the shape of his body, from the weight and speed of the fall. So so sad. Truthfully though, I was really just looking for funny stories like, oh I don't know, I walked in to fix the toilet and there was this couple wearing pink feather boas, and spanking each other on the bed, that kind of thing.

There are more things I want to tell you but I think this is enough darkness for one day. I'll save the story about the man we saw at The Bridge, who was wearing shorts, and had growths on his legs the size of a butt for another time. Everyone was looking and then tilting their heads with curiosity, trying to figure out what exactly those things were. Was that part of his butt hanging down, or one enormous ball, and why didn't he just put on a pair of big loose pants? It was cold after all, and it's not exactly like being Cindy Crawford and asking people to accept your beauty mark, or Barbra Steisand and her nose. I felt so sorry for him, and at the same time I couldn't stop looking, the way you look at car accidents when you drive by, You know you don't want to be one of those people who cause massive traffic jams by slowing down to look, yet you wind up looking anyway. Hmmm guess I wound up telling you. Okay then I'll save the story about my being humiliated at the clothing store for another time.

And I so wanted to type up my Oscar picks before tonight. It's not gonna happen. I'm late as always for the preshow because I have to run out and get avocados. I do this every year. I should just plan for it. Sorry, I can't be home in time to watch my favorite part of the awards, the pre-show fashion extravaganza, because I have to run out to the store an hour before the awards to get some avocados that I could have bought yesterday, it's sort of a special stressful tradition for me involving guacamole and chips.
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