I remember the day I graduated from clown school
It was late may in rural, Northern California - Humboldt county to be precise.
The locals used to call us the hippie clown faggots
It was a lumber town. The local bar was called ‘the logger’.
The Logger Bar ‘s walls were covered with timber industry paraphernalia. There were two handed buck saws and chainsaws with sixty four inch bars - tools build for felling giant redwoods.
The humid air of town was intoxicating. Amidst the tart saltiness’s from the nearby pacific, notes of manure from the near by ranch danced playfully with crisp hints of cedar and redwood. Underneath it all the murky scent of loam had a life of its own.
Every sunrise a delight. Each sunset a symphony
I fucking loved clown school.
It’s one of those memories that at the time I knew it was exquisite. My task while there? Get up every morning and make something. Get better. Play. Work out. But most importantly?
Be funny.
Well, that was the ethic of myself, Tony, Yama, The boss bird and a bunch of the others. Sure there were teachers there with some noble ideas - and students as well.
But within a good number of us?
We KNEW to the core what our place on this earth was.
We were there to have a fucking good time.
And?
To bring others along with us kicking and screaming.
On graduation day?
As our teacher Daniel handed me my clown scroll, he asked - what do you hope for? What do you want from life?
My reply:
I want to get paid to make people laugh and have girls like me.
His reply?
I’m sure you’ll have great successes.
And in retrospect?
So far, so good.
I’m married and the women / girls who matter the most in my life don’t just like me.
And even better?
I go out and tell stories every day. People laugh and I get paid for it.
How could it get any better?
I set some pretty great goals for myself.
Neither aiming high or low, they’re just so on target with what really matters.
Most of my life the only way I’d get to school or do pretty much anything was knowing there would be a pretty girl to make laugh or impress in class.
I’ve done some ridiculous things to get guffaws from both ladies and men.
Antics…
There are stories of antics to be told.
But those stories?
They’re for another day.
(Because dear reader, I’m a prick and I want to tease you with the promise that maybe I’ll return with a delightful tale of some idiotic things that a fool might to to attract the attention of of the most delightful opposite sex)
Stay naughty you noodle knuckles.