VN AfterTaste

Notes from the clown underground
by David Raffin

Clowning is serious business. There are meetings. People are expected to attend.
In Olympia, the clown meetings take place in a government building after hours. I suppose in Olympia, the state capital, many things take place in government buildings after hours which you would never suspect. Would you expect clowns to congregate in the evening, in a lunch/breakroom? The fluorescent lights. The steady droning hum of the vending machines: soda, coffee, partially hydrogenated snacks. I don’t think any of the clowns even work for that division of the government. In my heart, I respect that.
I immediately asked if anyone could use this government break room after hours. I was told people probably could. My mind reeled at the possibilities.

The most disappointing thing, as a non-clown attendee, was the lack of clown makeup. It may have been a meeting of clowns, but looking in through the window one would never assume as much. This was a business meeting of clowns. Still, I expected full clown attire. An attendee told me that clown makeup tends to dry the skin. This poses a problem when wearing it for extended periods. I expressed my belief that wearing heavy makeup would clog the pores and create oily skin. I was told this might be true for younger people, teenagers, but at some point this makeup/skin interaction changes radically; leaving you with dry, painful skin. I did not realize the suffering. I regret that I did not ask about the feasibility of permanent makeup.

...

There were two major agenda items: the upcoming festival of clowns and the unloading of a neglected clown conveyance. The clown conveyance took the form of a trailer. A trailer altered for the use of clowns. There was discussion about the sale of said trailer, and the potential problems of marketability. Who would want a trailer altered for the use clowns, other than clowns? These clowns did not want the clown trailer. Or they did not need the clown trailer. I was not clear on the difference. Therefore, possibly the trailer should be unloaded on some other organization of clowns. Is this feasible? How many other organizations of clowns are there? In trailer buying distance? How many of those clown organizations, in trailer buying distance, required a manner of clown conveyance? Did they have crippled clowns who could no longer walk? Clowns who could no longer ride the unicycle? Aged clowns? Too many clowns, perhaps, to fit jammed up in a small car; necessitating that the small clown car pull a trailer?
It was agreed that the trailer be sold. Perhaps to a buyer who would use it for a more conventional purpose.

The other agenda item was the clown festival. The clown festival was scheduled to occur at a local Red Lion. I assume the Red Lion was chosen for its well-known friendliness toward other conventions, such as those of the Shriners. While Shriners are not clowns they are no strangers to wearing funny hats and riding in miniaturized cars.
Clowns would be coming from hundreds of miles to attend. There would be competitions. Competitions imply planning. Planning implies meetings. Here we are.

The meeting table was covered with clown industry journals. Not just one, but multiple clown industry journals. Competing clown industry journals. There were also grapes.
I asked one of the organizers how strong the local organization was in clowns. I was told the organization was divided into a small handful of diehard clowns, and a larger pool of sometimes-attending clowns. This implies Vanguard-ism. I was afraid to ask if the clowns were Leninists. Did Lenin know how to juggle? I would have to look it up.

As people drifted away toward the end of the meeting one clown brought in a giant bag of swag. Clown swag. The bag itself was nondescript. Inside were props, wigs, and implements of destruction. It was not long before someone forced me to don a floppy orange wig and a giant green polkadotted bowtie. That is the tyranny of the majority.
Thereafter, the clowns dispersed from whence they came.

I retired to the bar next-door, with an attendee, who preceded to show me her prosthetic leg. Everyone knows, after all, that I’m a prosthetic leg man.

About a month later I received a call to come to the Red Lion. It was on.
The season had turned. It was cold and wet. Rain fell, light and constant. The clowns congregated inside – in the basement. The clown underground.
In the clown underground there were more clowns congregated then you have ever seen. More clowns than in a circus. (Who goes to circuses?)
It is difficult for me to tell one clown from another. To me, all clowns look-alike. I must be forgiven. I was not raised around clowns. I did have a fish who was a comedian, but I tired of his fish shtick.
Because of the abundance of clowns it took me 20 minutes to find the clowns I was looking for. There were clowns everywhere, but no clowns for me.

Half an hour later the clowns began parading. Parading in the basement. The clown underground. The clowns entered through a door and ran a gauntlet through the crowd of clowns. The route was a semi circle. A half a ring. First they paraded as single acts, then as groups. People ate popcorn, cotton candy, and chocolate chip cookies. People drank apple juice. When I say “people” I mean “clowns.”
Then, high on sugar, they voted on scraps of white paper for the best single performer and group. Small, stubby, pencils were provided.

Afterwards there was a break. Some clowns retired to a smaller room where vendor tables had been set up. Here clowns could make consumer purchases. There was an entire clown economy. Gags, tricks, books, DVDs, balloons, shoes. All of these things were spread on tables by various vendors. Clown shoes begin at $345 a pair. They are handmade. The vendor traveled to the festival from Massachusetts. He explained to me that they make all kinds of custom shoes and that they had made all the shoes in the upcoming Jim Carrey version of A Christmas Carol. Also on display were Santa boots and elf shoes.

Soon thereafter began the stage show. First, single clowns would do their acts. They would be followed by group acts. One group, the Northwest Rubber Chicken Society, performed their version of laugh-in. Each clown resided in a small house, or outhouse, made from cardboard refrigerator cartons. A cardboard-less clown danced between them, knocking on each door. Each clown told him a corny joke.

In the end, Olympia’s own Jusby the clown applied cream pie to face after face as a closing act. Cool Whip does not remove clown makeup. This is not disclosed on the side of the packaging.

The most important thing I learned at the 2009 NW. Clown Fest was that Christian clowns are worse than Christian rock. Save me. In a secular sense.
It was impressive as twice Christian clowns performed in front of an otherwise receptive clown audience to nearly dead silence.
It was all a mistake. It was my love of science that brought me here. I honestly thought it was a clone convention.