Send in the Clowns - Day One in Clark County
What I've been up to: backstage hand at this.
Under my belt: gig at the Bite of Seattle, where I scored a Ratatouille poster just for looking familiar to the woman at the "Ratatouille Big Cheese Tour"; two days at the Castle Rock Fair with a pitifully weird parade through "downtown" with an invisible pooper scooper for an invisible tiger, and an adventure in Chicken Fried Steak.
That was with Scott Baxter and the young-at-heart head of the company Elisa. This gig, 6 days at the Clark County Fair, is with her friend Carol. I headed out today for the 45 minute drive (plus 30 "bonus!" minutes thanks to the Blue Angels) in weird spirits for HQ in Puyallup.
I roll down a block of one-story houses from the seventies. There, watering the garden, being circled by Max the greasy dog, is my temporary boss - Carol.
It's rude to say it, especially secretly, but Carol is sorta shaped like a corn dog, but with the head of John Goodman. And maybe the corn dog is shaped more like apple. That's all I feel is necessary to explain about that. We'll move on and enter the van of choice - a moldy plastic clown nose tied to the grill of the green Chrysler and peeling ads on the back windows for "Mazey T. Clown & Friends." As I load in my suitcase, I realize that I am that friends. The famlied-out van with the TV and the built-in retractable shade screens that Elisa owns will be taking me out of here come Tuesday. I climb in, and realize that the inside of the van is pretty much like the inside of . . . a corn dog. Carol is eating cottage cheese and wiping her face with the towel on her speedometer. That's how much stuff is everywhere. Some is for our circus show, some is for her clowning days that she's off to after here, far away from grease-dog, for who knows how long, but some is just gross.
Only 15 minutes of the 6 days have gone by, and I'm feeling the burn. Carol is a clown by profession, and in the "off-season" she drives a school bus. This allows her to closely observe the kids that are tomorrow's school shooters, she says (just like the time the one kid at the party she was clowning for who didn't want to play with the clown - she went ahead and talked to the host parents to check in to the possibility of child abuse for that kid). Of course, she went to school before school shooting was "cool," but nowadays there are a lot of angry children who are on the verge of "shooting . . . or stabbing, or poisoning, or, you know, whatever." As we continue to drive, she addresses the outside world directly, using the world "people" often prompted by "come on" or "I mean really." Two hours left until I can start building the set.
Then I see it - between the seats, glowing slightly as she pulls back yet another towel. He's there, a friend indeed for a friend in need, his hand stretched toward the orange sky, almost reaching out to me. Much as the sword of Godric Gryffindor was pulled from the Sorting Hat when it was needed by a worthy Gryffindor, so here had I produced Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows on CD.
And that's how we spent most of the ride - a chapter on either side of the one entitled "Malfoy Manor." It was bliss, but also the saddest part of the book for me.
Two missed exits and a set-up that took five times too long (2 hours 40 minutes for a backdrop and four drums) later, we head off to Applebee's. Carol's martini asks me to drive to the grocery store and then back to the hotel, where free WiFi, 24 hour pool and workout, cookies, breakfast, and my own room with a KING BED wait . . . along with the prospect of a visit from friends. I've used most so far.
Under my belt: gig at the Bite of Seattle, where I scored a Ratatouille poster just for looking familiar to the woman at the "Ratatouille Big Cheese Tour"; two days at the Castle Rock Fair with a pitifully weird parade through "downtown" with an invisible pooper scooper for an invisible tiger, and an adventure in Chicken Fried Steak.
That was with Scott Baxter and the young-at-heart head of the company Elisa. This gig, 6 days at the Clark County Fair, is with her friend Carol. I headed out today for the 45 minute drive (plus 30 "bonus!" minutes thanks to the Blue Angels) in weird spirits for HQ in Puyallup.
I roll down a block of one-story houses from the seventies. There, watering the garden, being circled by Max the greasy dog, is my temporary boss - Carol.
It's rude to say it, especially secretly, but Carol is sorta shaped like a corn dog, but with the head of John Goodman. And maybe the corn dog is shaped more like apple. That's all I feel is necessary to explain about that. We'll move on and enter the van of choice - a moldy plastic clown nose tied to the grill of the green Chrysler and peeling ads on the back windows for "Mazey T. Clown & Friends." As I load in my suitcase, I realize that I am that friends. The famlied-out van with the TV and the built-in retractable shade screens that Elisa owns will be taking me out of here come Tuesday. I climb in, and realize that the inside of the van is pretty much like the inside of . . . a corn dog. Carol is eating cottage cheese and wiping her face with the towel on her speedometer. That's how much stuff is everywhere. Some is for our circus show, some is for her clowning days that she's off to after here, far away from grease-dog, for who knows how long, but some is just gross.
Only 15 minutes of the 6 days have gone by, and I'm feeling the burn. Carol is a clown by profession, and in the "off-season" she drives a school bus. This allows her to closely observe the kids that are tomorrow's school shooters, she says (just like the time the one kid at the party she was clowning for who didn't want to play with the clown - she went ahead and talked to the host parents to check in to the possibility of child abuse for that kid). Of course, she went to school before school shooting was "cool," but nowadays there are a lot of angry children who are on the verge of "shooting . . . or stabbing, or poisoning, or, you know, whatever." As we continue to drive, she addresses the outside world directly, using the world "people" often prompted by "come on" or "I mean really." Two hours left until I can start building the set.
Then I see it - between the seats, glowing slightly as she pulls back yet another towel. He's there, a friend indeed for a friend in need, his hand stretched toward the orange sky, almost reaching out to me. Much as the sword of Godric Gryffindor was pulled from the Sorting Hat when it was needed by a worthy Gryffindor, so here had I produced Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows on CD.
And that's how we spent most of the ride - a chapter on either side of the one entitled "Malfoy Manor." It was bliss, but also the saddest part of the book for me.
Two missed exits and a set-up that took five times too long (2 hours 40 minutes for a backdrop and four drums) later, we head off to Applebee's. Carol's martini asks me to drive to the grocery store and then back to the hotel, where free WiFi, 24 hour pool and workout, cookies, breakfast, and my own room with a KING BED wait . . . along with the prospect of a visit from friends. I've used most so far.
posted by Jon at 10:25 PM
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