...some sad things known to man/ but ain't too much sadder than....
Television doesn’t usually offend me, but (and here begins a brief rant, so be forewarned) some nonsense on this week's episode of The Apprentice about clowning has me pretty snarked.
I resent the implication that any idiot can put on a nose and a wig and call himself a clown. I object to a careless portrayal of clown to small children who may be irrevocably scarred. I renounce those who seek to impose clowning as a test of mettle for overlyprocessed self-absorbed twentysomethings while demeaning the art of clown. These people are going out in public! IN PUBLIC. Heather runs down last week's episode, making me ABSOLUTELY POSITIVE that I never NEVER want to watch this show. Ever. Can't wait to see what she'll say this week.
The other day, the kids and I, among others, were invited to the home of a friend. A friend who has a studio. He calls it a barn, though it looks like a loft. What it is is rehearsal space. A think tank. A rumpus room. We walked tightwire, rode a zipline, bounced on trampoline, walked a rolling globe, juggled scarves, balanced on rolla bolla, walked stilts, and twisted balloon animals. All of us. Aged three to thirtysomething. We had a grand time teaching one another our skills. No one brought makeup, because we agreed that we don’t put it on unless we’re getting paid.
Did we have a playdate? Was it training? I’m not sure, but I suspect other people do something else when they get together with their kids.
Obviously, clowns are a breed apart.
(The Tears of a Clown; Smokey Robinson)