The Long Walk Again...

It's one more Thanksgiving and again I visit my little friends at Family House.

Family House, a place where families live while their children are getting chemo at UC Med Center in San Francisco.

This one day captures my whole life, compressed.

I get nervous for this show.  They've all seen me...they have other entertainers all year...They have the band Train come in all the time, why should they want to see me?...I'm not getting paid...I would rather just watch TV tonight...

And the walk.

Because it's so close I walk.  Through my busy neighborhood.  By people eating sushi and Thai food.  People going to the specialty shops getting fresh produce.

And here comes the clown, walking down the street. Very few make eye contact.  Man I have an odd profession.  I don't think my job is odd.  I just do what I do.  I don't understand why people don't run up and hug me, I'm a clown.  I walk with a big smile on my face and they stare forward and walk.

I arrive at Family House, they aren't ready, they never are.  It's Thanksgiving, all the families are eating in another room.

And then I get the kids.  And the kids laugh, and the people laugh, And the volunteers and staff laugh and laugh.  They laugh with their gut.  That's what a clown can do, get people to laugh from their gut.

There are the bald children there.  There are the babies, too young to respond.

And me.  sweating, working so hard to make people laugh.

And I succeed.  I always do.  I never think I will but I always do.

And people hug me and the kids want just one more balloon.  And people thank and thank me.

This time they forced bottle after bottle of wine on me.  Bottles of leftover wine.

I have Thanksgiving at my house too, so what the heck.

I have a bounce in my step.  I get home in five minutes.

And wash up.

I'm exhausted and pleased with myself.  I won.  I made them laugh.

Sweet relief.

And that's my life.  Nerves and release...nerves and release...nerves release.

In my little little little world.  I am rich and famous.  I'm seen the way I want to be seen, funny, silly and talented.  It's a tiny world.

I like my tiny world. 

Dealing with the sadness...

I have never really talked about this out-loud but I have pretty severe depression.

I don't think it's a surprise to my family, cause, you know, it's hard to hide that.

Although, hide I do.

So, basically, how I deal with depression is an addiction to performing.  Performing gives an intense high.  People slapping me on the back, laughter, people saying I'm wonderful, handing me cash, tipping me for being so funny.  It's fun, like eating dessert for dinner.

Then there are the slow times.  The times, I'm not working.

And when it's slow, it's tough.  The world sits on my chest and I slowly sink into the earth.

And it's hard to pick up the phone...

And it's hard to return an email...

And it's hard to get out of bed...

I'm a very smart lab rat though.  I create patterns.  Every day, I make my bed, do dishes and clean the house.

Here's the method to get me going. I time myself.  I try to do all the dishes in 2 minutes (never happens.  I have never owned a dishwasher.  This is old school, dishpan hands stuff).

I run around cleaning up the house, I set the timer for five minutes, I sweep, I pick up, and wipe down counters and run to the garbage can.  This gets me moving and out of my head.

In the old days, I was Mr. Mom.  Now,  my children don't need me, at least not much.

What's always kept me from sinking fully are the children.

There are no more field trips, reading to classrooms, running to school with the forgotten lunch boxes.
In the mix, my crown as king of clowns was stolen.  I was really good at being the best at business cards and advertising and mailings.  I worked more than anyone I knew.  At my best, I consistently did 6 or more shows, each and every week.  If you have that many, there are little chores to do.  Phone calls to return.

Unfortunately, that's old school clowning.  The new breed of clown, is really good at Yelp and has thousands of Facebook followers.  I'm not good at this part.  My job is to serve my customers, not for them to serve me.  The Yelp model has is a little arm twisting to get reviews.  I've tried it and I don't like myself when I do it.

Maybe there really are tears of a clown.  The thing is, I'm not hiding anything when I clown, I am genuinely happy to make people laugh.


It's the tears of the man that suck.  

They Keep Pulling Me Back In...

Something very magical happened to me coming home from the Clown College reunion.  I am at ease with my being a clown.

I come to realize whatever I do, whatever all my friends do, they are at heart clowns.  They may disguise themselves as teachers and office workers but that's how they think,  the clown is the compass inside.

For years, I've cursed being a clown.  It's hard to make a living, I'm tired of people saying, "I hate clowns"  (before I started writing this, someone posted that on a Halloween picture, oy. I don't get the joke, I hate clowns, clowns are scary etc.  It all strikes me as a lazy humor).   

Between shows working on my blog

Coming home from the reunion, I came to terms with all of this.

I came to terms that I might not be able to make a living at this.  For years I substitute taught.  The whole time feeling like a massive failure.  I even got fired from subbing, because I'm a goof and I made goofy videos in my class making fun of the profession.  (check out Hey Mr. Sub! on youtube.  Funny but now I'm really broke because I lost my part time job).

This week, I've decided I need to make more money.  After being a clown for 26 years, I don't know what else to do to get enough work.

So, I need a job like subbing again.  I've resigned myself that life as a full time clown doesn't pay the bills.

Then, I did a show today.

Realizing I'm a clown.  I'm a clown to my marrow.  I have taken my very funny kids show and committed 2 more notches.

And man was I that much funnier.  And man was I happy when I finished. And man, I can't imagine life not doing this.

But I still need some more income.

No matter how I supplement myself.  I'm a clown.  And that's a pretty cool thing to realize. 

Coming Home...

I went to Clown College (Ringling Brothers And Barnum & Bailey Clown College) in 1987.  

If you went to Clown College, you know to always use the entire moniker.  It was as important to us as never showing ourselves half in make-up.  We represented the Greatest Show on Earth.  

I've been a clown for 26 years.  And that's a hard thing to explain.  Saying "I've been a clown since..."  doesn't capture me.  I simply am clown.   Saying I'm a clown,  is like saying I grew up Jewish or I'm a Californian, an American.  It’s what make me, me. 

I can move to other countries, I could move to another state, I could suddenly believe in Jesus find a job, yet I would always be  Californian, Jewish, American and Clown.  That’s my hard wiring.

I'm getting a chance to muse as I return from Sarasota, Florida, from the Ringling Clown College reunion.  (it's terribly uncomfortable still to not say Ringling Brothers And Barnum & Bailey Clown College Reunion but damn that's long).

When I went to Clown College so many years ago, I didn't know I was a clown.  I got off a plane from San Francisco, was picked up at the Sarasota Airport, went into a converted hanger that was winter quarters for Ringling (ahhh, I need to write the whole thing out) when I stepped off the bus I was home.  For the first time. I was comfortable in my own skin. I looked around, I met people, we understood each other, so very clearly.  

Going to the Clown College Reunion, I'm again, comfortable in my skin.  I don't have to qualify my profession, my art.  To everyone there, I just am clown.  I can’t explain being a clown, the question always confuses me.  Asking me why I’m a clown is like asking why I’m a male.  I don’t know, just born that way. 

In my reunion,  Funny is religion.  

You want to hurt a fellow alumni, don't make fun of their wife or how fat or bald they’ve become,  Tell them they aren't funny.  You can hear that insult bandied about everywhere you go.  

I spent the last 4 days freely making dick jokes and pretending to hump a fellow alumni.  No worry of going too far or being thought of as weird.  Weird would be not going for it. 

We discuss clowning and discuss and discuss and discuss.  That's not enough, so we discuss some more.  Does this ever get tiring?  Nope.  That's why it's so hard to leave the circus.  A crappy job, back breaking work, low pay with the reward being clown all day. And it’s so worth it.

To most everyone at the reunion, it's not even about the crappy job.  You're where you're supposed to be and that's around clowns.  

I came from the world of acting. I didn't know what clowns were, I just wanted to perform.  I remember doing a play in college and my friend Gary Kramer said, "you know, you're the clown's clown.  You need other clowns to appreciate you."  I think he meant it as a jab.  I was so thrilled with that comment, I put it on my first business card.  To me, that’s always been my favorite compliment of all time.  I’m the Clown’s Clown.  

In clowning, we don't deal in backstory, we don't do sense memory.  We let our unlit selves into the light and do and be.  We don't "get into" character, it's always there.  Open the tap in our brains and out it comes.  As easy as...well opening a tap.  If you have to somehow get into character, you’re a pale imitation of a clown. 

I often feel cursed.  Being a clown is not well appreciated by my family. In fact, I feel sorry for my wife, my children my mother.  While I listen to my family, I filter everything through this odd colander called clown.    That has to be frustrating to be close to me. Ask most clowns and they will admit, they are lucky they’re still married, that someone tolerates us. 

Plus, I’m a terrible provider.

I could work at Wendy's and make more money.  Clowning takes a toll on my body and I'm angry at myself for not being as flexible as I want or gangly.  I don’t mind being slightly overweight and bald, it’s funny.  (To my friend Jeff Schott, you have no idea, how jealous I am of your gangliness).  

Being at the reunion, being clown for these past 4 days, I'm alive and at peace.  

I come home not fighting who I am.  I come home just realizing, I'm clown.  My every waking moment.  Funny.  Actually that’s a lie too.  I sometimes wake up from a dream laughing, fooling myself that I’ll remember the joke in the morning. (I never do, I really should put a pad and pen next to the bed, so I can get the middle of the night gags...oh well). 

Back To My Roots

I'm on my way to the Ringling Reunion in Sarasota Florida.

Sitting in the airport.  I feel the same fear, excitement I felt so many years ago.

Clown College is the fork in the road for me.  My whole life was created from those three months I spent learning to become a circus clown.  I've never felt so at home and accepted before or since.

I'm fatter, older, balder but much more of a clown now.

When I went to clown college, I was amazed by how the older clowns were so funny, yet they didn't throw themselves on the floor or kill themselves on purpose.

There was sparseness of movement.

It's taken me a lifetime to get this but that's what clowning is.  Precise movements to elicit
 the greatest comedy effect.

So excited.  So full of foolish thoughts.

In the Tampa Airport waiting for my clown shoes!

A Kid Named Obama...

I've been doing shows for so long I can see actual patterns.

I was doing a charity show for a very poor community center in Oakland and I met a little boy named Obama.  I don't exactly know why the parents didn't think of naming the child Barrack.

I'm a big Obama guy, so it warms my heart.  I thought it was cool.

When I first started clowning, I met kids named Reagan.  Quite a few actually.  I'm not a Reagan fan, so I found it strange.

I have never met a kid named Bush.  Neither of them must have impressed anyone.

Met lots of kids named Carter.  Probably not named after Jimmy, just a cute name.

My wife and I used to have a landlord named Wilson.  He wasn't old enough to be named after Woodrow but I'm sure his parents on coming to America wanted to respect the country.

I've met lots of Kennedys.  No one name Johnson, because that would be a problem naming someone after a penis.

Now that I think of it, I wish I had named my son Dick and changed my last name to Johnson.

Nixon?  That's a burdon to carry.

It was nice to meet a kid named Obama.  It reminded me of how the world changed in 2008.  Whatever has happened or not happened a whole community has changed and has been heard.  People of color see someone that shares their background.

You know, that's pretty cool.

Meeting a little boy named Obama made me smile.  Even if the teacher was saying. "Obama, come here, come here come here"

The Way You Wanna Say Goodbye...

I had an event the other night I wasn't sure about.

I have a client that hires me for all her grandkids.  She's a big fan of mine, even sends me very goofy emails from time to time.

I was on hold for her months away.  She called and asked what days I was open this last weekend?  She said she was diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer.  She had gone in for a physical, they did the normal blood work and found a mass.

oy.

She felt fine, didn't go to the doctor because she felt bad, just a physical.  She walked out with other news.

She told her doctor she was having a party for her mother's 90th birthday in October. The doctor said, if you want a party, you should move it up.

It's a bit freaky but I go into focus mode in these situations.  My job is laughter. I get very focused on that, the death part doesn't bother me.

And that's the really odd part, I'm very freaked out by mortality, it is on my mind an unhealthy amount.  Faced with sickness and death, I go for it, with all my might.

The show was a huge success.  Lots of people, lots of kids, it was great.

I was thinking, isn't this the way you should go out?  With a party and a clown? We all say that but who would have the courage to actually have a party?

She's a good lady.

There was plenty of laughter, no tears.  Children running around, good food, people drinking but the normal way.  From the outside, just a nice family reunion.

They are a nice family.  I tried refusing payment but they forced money on me.  I guess that's the way it should be, I'm in no position to refuse.

In my line of work, you get into situations you never expected.

I really am blessed.