Jacqui (jacqui) wrote,
Jacqui
jacqui

Cleaning Out the Clutter, Our Halloween Madness, Flowers, The Knitting Store, Cancer, and John Prine

Cleaning Out the Clutter, Our Halloween Madness, Flowers, The Knitting Store, Cancer, Cancer Clusters, and John Prine.



Oh blah it's time to go to therapy, which is just about the last thing, (well, practically, if you don't count going to the dentist or the gynecologist), I want to be doing right now. I'd rather keep digging through my mountain of e-mail, or go with the gals to Target to buy orange and black plastic Halloween storage boxes.

I think by now you all probably know what a Halloween nut I am. Last year some of my kind neighbors got together and actually bought us dinner for three at a nice nearby restaurant, but of course I waited to long to use it and it expired. Shhhh, don't tell anyone, I still feel bad about this. I was going to take Esther and Irma to thank them for all the time they spend with me setting this elaborate haunted garden/yard up, but we never got around to it.

The kids in our neighborhood count on us now to put on the wildest haunted garden/front yard, so I never get to go out anymore and see anyone else's spooky decorations, or dress up and go to parties or anything. I've been wanting to go to that wild Halloween ball they have in San Francisco for a long time now but even if I went I imagine anything they would do there would pale by comparison compared to Burning Man. I'm pretty jaded at this point. Anyway, all of the various monsters, mannequins, costumes, gravestones, spiders, and their giant webs, animated flapping bats, witches, heads, pumpkins, props, fog machines, lights, special effects stuff, our giant black plaster grim reaper with his enormous scythe, and all of the little vintage collectibles that we put in display cases throughout the house take up about thirty plastic storage boxes.

We've put all of these in our storage unit, but sometimes when we pull it all out in early October, we miss a box or two and wind up wondering where the extra fog machine, or black lights, or the odd wiggling hand or crystal ball thing is. So we saw these great boxes on sale -- four dollars a box as opposed to the ten to twelve dollars a box for the clear ones at Bed Bath and Beyond, (Oh God the squeaking of my office chair is driving me nuts, new development, must fix,) and thought, "Hey, these would be perfect for us, they're cheap, they're Halloweeny looking, so we won't miss them when we dig through storage, and we can transfer everything and use the other clear boxes for the rest of the stuff we're digging out of the garage." Esther and Irma are going to head on over to Target while I get refills on prescriptions and blab away at my shrink.

I found this beautiful, antiquey, Victorian wicker baby stroller that had been gnawed on a bit by the rats, and almost threw it out, but then Irma's little Jacqui, (we're both Jacqui), thought it might make a good prop for our Halloweenishness and she's right. We're going to spray paint it black, swathe the whole thing in black tulle, very black-widowey, then plop a baby inside and have one of our teenage mannequins in a devilish costume pushing it.

We already have a few baby mannequins but they look so good sitting amongst the pumpkins that I thought I should get another baby for the pram. I had a hard time choosing between the white baby and the black baby because frankly I liked the black baby a hell of a lot better, but then I started worrying about anyone peering into the carriage and wondering why all our mannequins are beige but the little devil baby is black, so my empathic fear of hurting anyone's feelings took over and the ugly white baby won out.

It's a pretty realistic looking baby doll who cries endlessly when it's wet, so we'll just leave it wet, and paint it's eyes a spooky glittery shade of red with polish, and then dress it up in something lovely. Very Rosemary's Baby but without Mia Farrow and Ruth Gordon, damn.

Garage wise -- I can't believe the stuff I'm finding and had forgotten I had bought. God, there were so many wonderful things, vintage beaded French purses, bags of rhinestone costume jewelry, dresses, forties and fifties fabrics, china, crystal, books -- so many wonderful old books, art, lamps, toys, hats, props, just so much stuff, and we're doing all we can to save what hasn't been eaten by the rats, or made into nests.

It's fun in a way, opening boxes filled with so many things I had bought and then just tucked away, a bit like Christmas or my birthday. Years of flea market, garage sale, estate sale, and eBay shopping will do that to a gal, turn her into a wacky forgetful packrat. God, you should hear the stories some of my dealer friends tell me about their houses, teetering piles of bags and boxes, with only narrow pathways to walk through and that's all. Hey, at least I never got to that point. My friend Monique thinks we're all becoming such clutterers because we are suffering from social deprivation or soul hunger of a sort. Maybe I've been trying to make up for years of feeling empty and being in pain, who knows, but I'm ready to clear it all out, let it go, and make some room in our lives for, well, just room. Obviously I'm a pack rat with a compulsive yen for collecting, and I need to work on this, lucky for me I'm about to fly out the door to therapy, are you getting this -- why I need to go to therapy? Yes, of course you are ; )

Esther is working here with us this week to help get the garage cleaned out so we can start our art/music/storage studio remodel deal, and I don't really need to send her off to Target and the storage unit with Irma, but I took Irma's four kids shopping for shoes and school supplies last night, and it only seems fair to help Esther out as well, so they're going to look for some shorts for Andrea while they pick up the boxes. I want to help as much as I can but I'm such a compulsive debtor, credit cards are like toys to me, they seem like free money, and it's easy to forget that someone is going to have to pay them off.

Poor Irma's kids need so much and how can I justify buying anything else for our Halloween madness if I don't help where it really matters first? So I took all of her little ones to Target and bought them shoes, school supplies, and a few toys. Irma is really struggling right now, especially since her useless husband is off in some rehab in El Salvador. He keeps sneaking out to get drunk, then they round him up and toss him back in again.



Here's a picture of the bouquet I sent to Sharon. I wanted it to be lush, romantic, pretty and pastellish. I know she likes roses and I love gardenias, because they smell so incredible, so I had them add some as well and hope she liked it. I got a call from someone on her show telling me about tickets to next week's shows. I think that must have been some kind of mistake. Maybe my original ticket application got cycled back in again or something, or maybe someone said, "Here, call this crazy girl who sent the flowers and the card and the magazine and tell her we said thanks," and she got confused and thought it was about tickets. Ya never know. I just toss the love out there and if something bounces back great, and if not it's all good anyway, seriously.



It looks like warped.com, my host, is up and running smoothly again because I was able to upload my pictures and link them for you. Here's a better picture of the little collage I made for the top of the letter. I just scanned the actual letter but the digital collage itself is much bigger and prettier, oh well.



Damn, I really have to go, then when I get back I have to work in the yard for a few hours going through some boxes. Then Scott is going to come over and we're going to go at it, hee, and then we've promised to list things on eBay.

I'm back. Went to therapy, well, it's actually psychiatry, but I don't want you to worry I'm nuts and run off, so I downplay it. So... I saw my shrink, then did a couple of errands and went in to the knit shop. I faced my strange fear of the knitting store and it was fine. They seemed like groovy chicks and they had the most beautiful yarn and I bought some for a pal.

I bought some skeins of this great multicolored green yarn for a sweater and I'm going to start taking classes this Saturday, yeay. I can't wait to make weird hats like ana. Irma is going to teach me to crochet. I'm also signing up for Adobe Photoshop classes so I can sharpen up my baby skills there. I hope I'm not taking too much on but with all this weight melting off of me, and my lightening up my possession burden, (we'll deal with the cat situation next, maybe), I'm feeling like I can do more and get out more. We'll see.

I've been reading Strange Days: My Life With and Without Jim Morrison by Patricia Kennealy-Morrison on the recommendation of my friend Mary. Mary can come up with a list of books to buy or borrow in a second, that's because she reads for a living. Something I used to do a long time ago but hated. I was good at it, but the pressure of having to read to look for potential material and to have to review people's precious work, (work that meant so much to them but which was mostly crap, seriously, oh the stuff I used to have to read, you can't imagine) and then honestly write up what I thought of it was just too hard on my friendly little soul. I want to prop people up and encourage them and reading, or story analysis, was tough because ninety-nine percent of the scripts I wound up reading were realllllly bad, drech, truly.

Anyway I love books about The Doors and Jim Morrison and hadn't read this one and am enjoying it. It's a little on the formal side, the writing, and a bit overwrought, but it's an autobiography and just like I love Reality-TV, I'm a junkie for a good, based-on-real-life story, I can't get enough of them. Especially when it's about people fucking, doing drugs, writing music, fucking, doing drugs, fighting, and performing.

Mary and her husband just bought a house in New Orleans, as a vacation house. How do people do that -- get so lucky that they can afford to do amazing things like this? Probably because they don't throw away every dime they make shopping, like I do. I just think it's so exciting that they're going to do something so seemingly exotic. Buying a home in New Orleans that's a couple hundred years old and fixing it up sounds exotic and sexy to me.

My friend Susan was worried that she might have cancer, but thankfully it turned out to be endometriosis. I'm so relieved and happy for her. I love her very much and it's such a relief that she's okay and through the worst of this.

It seems like cancer is everywhere, all around me, has been, all my life. My friends, my beloved uncle Doug, my mother-in-law, then my mother. Scott's Mom and brother both died of it. I hate cancer, just fucking hate it, and it feels silly and small to write that. I don't understand why my Mom's doctors weren't more interested in why or how she got it. You get it and they go after it and then it's over, well, sort of, but no one comes around and asks questions and compares them to answers from other people. I always thought it would be like that; "What kind of deodorant do you use? Where do you live? Do you have asbestos in your attic? Did you smoke? What kind of water are you drinking? Do you exercise? Do you put chlorine in your pool? Do you eat meat or a high fat diet? Do you sit too close to your television? I don't know, I just expected something, some kind of study, and it never came.

I met a woman once who had had breast cancer, and I may have mentioned this to you before, but it just blew my mind. After she beat it she went home to Long Island to kind of recover and take a break with her family and when she started talking with her friends she learned that they had a massive breast cancer cluster in her neighborhood. A huge percentage of her childhood playmates had had breast cancer as well. And no one was interested in the fact that all of these kids had played in these foggy mists that hovered in their front yards that came from the trucks that would drive up and down their streets spraying DDT.

The dogs are fighting over their toys downstairs. I get two of everything, well, actually five of everything, but just in different sizes. But Ali and Lulu are like two little squabbling siblings who want whatever the other one has, "It's my knotted up rope!" "No, it's mine!" "All right then I'll take the peanut butter stuffed Kong" "No I will!" "No me!!" "Bark, bark, bark!!!" Sometimes it drives me mad!

Lulu who is just five months old and actually looks a little like Stitch, the character in Leelu and Stitch, is going through a stupid dog chewing phase. When we were out in the backyard today sorting things out she actually climbed around me and grabbed a teardrop-shaped, red, glass, Christmas ornament and was crunching it up like it was no big deal. Crunch, crunch, crunch. I screamed and ran after her and I think I got all the pieces. But if I hadn't seen her she might have swallowed those bits of glass, so we had to ban her to a safer play zone. I must be super puppy-inexperienced. I forget how goofy they can be. "Mmmmm dangerous glass, yum, yum."

Scott was singing this song to me this morning and I've been hooked on it all day. He thought John Prine wrote it. One of the first songs I learned on guitar, that I've forgotten how to play, sigh, (I always seem to be sighing here), was a John Prine song. BTW we're going to see John Prine play at the Spreckles, (sugar family -- friends of Mom's), theatre in October. They had good seats, orchestra row B, yeay. I don't like to go to see/hear someone unless we can get great seats, it's just too heartbreaking to be so far away that they look like a speck, and you wind up watching them on some screen or monitor.

Scott doesn't know yet, I did it as a surprise, I hope he'll be happy. We were both so tired tonight we almost didn't get together and we certainly didn't list any of my pretty beaded bags, or anything else for that matter, on eBay. But at least we got together and cuddled and hung out, and I got through two more boxes from the garage with Esther's help.

Plastic Jesus
Ernie Marrs

I don't care if it rains or freezes
'Long as I got my Plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car.

Through my trials and tribulations
And my travels through the nations
With my Plastic Jesus I'll go far.
Plastic Jesus! Plastic Jesus,
Riding on the dashboard of my car

I'm afraid He'll have to go.
His magnets ruin my radio
And if I have a wreck He'll leave a scar.
Riding down a thoroughfare
With His nose up in the air,
A wreck may be ahead, but He don't mind.

Trouble coming He don't see,
He just keeps His eye on me
And any other thing that lies behind.
Plastic Jesus! Plastic Jesus,
Riding on the dashboard of my car ...

Though the sunshine on His back
Make Him peel, chip and crack,
A little patching keeps Him up to par.
When I'm in a traffic jam
He don't care if I say "damn"
I can let all my curses roll

Plastic Jesus doesn't hear
'Cause he has a plastic ear
The man who invented plastic saved my soul.
Plastic Jesus! Plastic Jesus,
Riding on the dashboard of my car ...

Once His robe was snowy white,
Now it isn't quite so bright -
Stained by the smoke of my cigar.
If I weave around at night,
And policemen think I'm tight,
They never find my bottle - though they ask.

Plastic Jesus shelters me,
For His head comes off, you see
He's hollow, and I use Him for a flask.
Plastic Jesus! Plastic Jesus,

Riding on the dashboard of my car ...
Ride with me and have a dram
Of the blood of the Lamb -
Plastic Jesus is a holy bar.

[Plastic Jesus has become quite entrenched in the folk tradition, so there are considerably more folk verses than there were original ones. Following are folk additions and emendations, as well as additions from recording artists who have covered this song.]

Well, I don't care if it rains or freezes,
Long as I have my plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car

I could go a hundred miles an hour
Long as I got the Almighty Power
Glued up there with my pair of fuzzy dice
{Refrain - repeat between every verse}
Plastic Jesus, plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car

Through all trials and tribulations,
We will travel every nation,
With my plastic Jesus I'll go far.
I don't care if it rains or freezes
As long as I've got my Plastic Jesus
Glued to the dashboard of my car,

You can buy Him phosphorescent
Glows in the dark, He's Pink and Pleasant,
Take Him with you when you're travelling far

I don't care if it's dark or scary
Long as I have magnetic Mary
Ridin' on the dashboard of my car

I feel I'm protected amply
I've got the whole damn Holy Family
Riding on the dashboard of my car

You can buy a Sweet Madonna
Dressed in rhinestones sitting on a
Pedestal of abalone shell

Goin' ninety, I'm not wary
'Cause I've got my Virgin Mary
Guaranteeing I won't go to Hell

I don't care what they say, I'm gonna
Keep on prayin' to that pink madonna
Melted to the dashboard of my car.

I don't care if it bumps or jostles
Long as I got the Twelve Apostles
Bolted to the dashboard of my car

Don't I have a pious mess
Such a crowd of holiness
Strung across the dashboard of my car

No, I don't care if it rains or freezes
Long as I have my plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car

But I think he'll have to go
His magnet ruins my radio
And if we have a wreck he'll leave a scar

Riding through the thoroughfare
With his nose up in the air
A wreck may be ahead, but he don't mind

Trouble coming, he don't see
He just keeps his eyes on me
And any other thing that lies behind
{as refrain}

Plastic Jesus, Plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car
Though the sun shines on his back
Makes him peel, chip, and crack
A little patching keeps him up to par

When pedestrians try to cross
I let them know who's boss
I never blow my horn or give them warning

I ride all over town
Trying to run them down
And it's seldom that they live to see the morning
{as refrain}
Plastic Jesus, Plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car

His halo fits just right
And I use it as a sight
And they'll scatter or they'll splatter near and far

When I'm in a traffic jam
He don't care if I say Damn
I can let all sorts of curses roll
Plastic Jesus doesn't hear
For he has a plastic ear
The man who invented plastic saved my soul
{as refrain}
Plastic Jesus, Plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car

Once his robe was snowy white
Now it isn't quite so bright
Stained by the smoke of my cigar

God made Christ a Holy Jew
God made Him a Christian too
Paradoxes populate my car

Joseph beams with a feigned elan
From the shaggy dash of my furlined van
Famous cuckold in the master plan

Naughty Mary, smug and smiling
Jesus dainty and beguiling
Knee-deep in the piling of my van

His message clear by night or day
My phosphorescent plastic Gay
Simpering from the dashboard of my van

You can buy Him phosphorescent
Glows in the dark, He's Pink and Pleasant,
Take Him with you when you're travelling far.

You can buy a Sweet Madonna
Dressed in rhinestones sitting on a
Pedestal of abalone shell.
Goin' ninety, I'm not wary'
Cause I've got my Virgin Mary,
Guaranteeing I won't go to Hell.

Rain and Snow are not an issue
long as I got my plastic Vishnu
Sittin on the dashboard of my car

When I'm goin' fornicatin
I got my ceramic Satan
Sinnin' on the dashboard of my Winnebago Motor Home

The women know I'm on the level
Thanks to the wild-eyed stoneware devil
Ridin' on the dashboard of my Winnebago Motor Home
Sneerin' from the dashboard of my Winnebago Motor Home
Leering from the dashboard of my van

I don't care if I'm broke or starvin'
As long as I've got a fish named Darwin
Glued to the trunklid of my car

God, I'm feeling so evolved
Drivin' with my problems solved
Proclaiming what I think of what we are

Riding home one foggy night,
With my honey cuddled tight,
I missed a curve and off the road we veered.

My windshield got smashed-up good,
And my darling graced the hood.
Plastic Jesus, He had disappeared.
{As refrain}
Plastic Jesus! Plastic Jesus,
No longer chides me with His holy grin.

Doctors in the X-ray room
Found Him in my darling's womb.
Someday, He'll be born again!

I don't care if it rains or freezes
Long as I got my plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car

He's the dude with the rusty nails,
Walks on water, don't need no sails
Riding on the dashboard of me car

I don't care if the night is scary
As long as I got the Virgin Mary
Sittin' on the dashboard of my car.

She don't slip and she don't slide
Cuz her ass is magnetized
Sittin' on the dashboard of my car.
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