Kid’s Clowns

The New York Downtown Clown Revue, a monthly late night venue for edgy stage clowns, produced and early evening show for children.  So I took My Kid and a Classmate Neighbor Boy to see the fun.

As familiar as My Kid is with the clown genre, she and the boy-she’s-known-since-they-were-in-diapers-but-who-is-not-a-friend-because-he-is-a-boy chose seats for us in the very back row right under the light booth from which there was no chance of getting squirted with water, hit with a pie or being pulled onto the stage.  Other peoples children chose to sit right on stage at the feet of the performers.

Joel Jeske and Christopher Lueck opened the show as a couple of brothers releasing the pent-up energy of patter clowns born to play three shows a day six days a week but they can’t because Vaudeville is dead.

Silly Billy, who was My Kid’s favorite clown last year, failed to impress this time with his kazoo and color changing scarf magic.  But then, My Kid and that-boy-she-was-sitting-next-to are in fourth grade this year, an upper grade in elementary school.  They have experience and standards.  On the way home, My Kid told me that as a 4th grader she knows the difference between real magic and fake magic.

Lulu the clown, aka Juliette Jeske, introduced as a woman who will perform anywhere for money, appeared in a tailored jacket, crinoline skirt and stripped tights.  Her suitcase of props was set up on a stand covered with a handmade quilt demonstrating the Midwestern crafty aspect of  the American children’s party clown style.   She works A LOT, much of it costumed character work at corporate events.  She also writes and produces short films for the internet, hosts variety and burlesque shows and wrote and performed the stage show Princess Sunshine’s Bitter Pill of Truth Funhouse.  Her performance was filled with the kind of visual puns, like a banana phone, that are popular with the preschool and kindergarten demographic.

Rounding out the evening were “Bucky and Gigi”, Chris Allison and his wife Gina, longtime Ringling circus clowns, she’s also a dancer.  They wore bright neat costumes.  We watched him get panned as “Coney Island Chris” on America’s Got Talent.  But, with a red nose on, he is as appealing as a cartoon character like SpongeBob SquarePants.  It was a goal at clown college to become a human cartoon.  Normal was called “pedestrian,” something to be avoided at all costs.

My kids didn’t seem impressed, but they were inspired.  On the way to the subway they sang;  “My Little Pony.  She’s thin and boney.  She went to the circus and farted on purpose.”  

And then on the train, The Neighbor Boy demonstrated a perfect three point prat-fall.  Hanging from the hand rail he: 1) dropped to the seat on his knees, 2) fell forward onto his face, then 3) rolled off the seat onto the floor and jumped up smiling!

Ta Da!!!

The Birthday of My Princess

I suppose the grandparents want to know how the little princess spent her birthday.  And incidentally she loves what you sent!

It is so easy to produce an extravagant birthday in New York City. 

There was one scheduled event requiring the watching of clocks and hoping the trains ran on time.  We attended a matinee of the Broadway production of Disney’s The Little Mermaid.  My Kid has wanted to see this show ever since it opened a short time after her first Broadway birthday excursion to see Disney’s Beauty and the Beast when she was six going on seven– The Disneyfication of Broadway is shallow and disgusting and hateful except on a day that you have the honor of accompanying several six-year-old girls dressed in glittery yellow princess dresses into a grand theatre to sit in velvet plush seats and hear the live music that brings tears to your eyes because once you had a baby and now you have a princess in your life.  

The theatre is part of my life so it is not out of character to be willing to pay for tickets.  But, I really didn’t want to see The Little Mermaid (There are lots of Broadway shows I’d rather spend my money on like August Osage County, which is supposed to be amazing —but probably not a good choice to for the celebration of a 9-year-old’s birthday.) especially after I saw a promo for The Little Mermaid and learned that the fish moved about the stage on heelies and roller skates.  (We may as well go to Disney on Ice!)  But, it’s the show my kid wanted to see.   I have been dropping hints for years; “You know, my kid wants to see The Little Mermaid and I don’t, so if anyone is going I’d gladly pay for a ticket and send my kid with you,”  to no avail.   So when she said she wanted to go for her birthday.  Well, it was just that easy.  We let her invite one friend to go with us.  We didn’t find out until we went to buy the tickets that this show is going to close August 30, so I’m glad I didn’t put it off until we can go to the half-price ticket booth during the off-season, which is what I have been saying ever since it opened.  An added bonus that thrilled me when we got to the theatre–Faith Prince was playing the role of Ursula the evil octopus and THAT was fun to see!  (I guess she didn’t have anything better to do.  Lucky Me!)

After the play we ate an early dinner at Bubba Gump Shrimp, the Forest Gump movie themed restaurant in Times Square (again the birthday girl’s choice not mine.)  Then we walked to Dylans Candy Bar to purchase some trademarked and themed sugar products. There was much discussion of Dylan’s Candy Bar within the 3rd grade ranks at my daughters school this spring, ever since two of the boys in her class made the excursion and returned with tales of this place.  We were in mid-town Manhattan but we may as well have been at Disney World.

Fortunately, my child is a healthy and sane and the things that were most important to her about her birthday were the cake, her friend and one new toy, a Ripstick, (a skateboard like piece of outdoor sports equipment that makes her use up a lot of energy perfecting her balance).

She made her own birthday cake from a mix.  Pillsbury Funfetti, the kind with colored dots throughout.  We cut it into the shape of a 9.  Then she frosted it  a lurid blue-green teal and decorated it with gummy sharks and Swedish fish and the piece de resisdance, a barnacle covered rock made out of an ice cream scoop of cake covered with flowerets of pink frosting.  “It’s just like I imagined!”  She was so proud of that cake.  It was the highlight of the day.

Self-induced Frustration

I woke up this morning to the sound of a young female grew-up-in-Montana writer being interviewed about her collection of short stories on NPR.  Hey I’m a young female grew up in Montana writer.  I checked her blog.  In an interview she said something about making time to write everyday.  I thought to myself, “Hey I’m awake and the rest are still asleep on this Sunday morning.  I think I will get myself up and have some writing time. 

So I got up and went into the front room where I immediately faced the pink and blue princess and new technology sugar frosted detritis of my daughter’s birthday yesterday.  I started some water boiling for a quick cup of instant coffee in order to face it and to give me courage to write.

For some reason thoughts turned  (I suppose because of the radio conversations’ references to Montana and college) to an awkward dinner I once while in college, lonely, and apparently socially inept.  As a writer who doesn’t produce much and wonder why–I was aware with Zen-like clarity– of my movement as I jumped up to deal with the boiling water and coffee just as an image so clear and so full of potential as a short story popped into my head.  And as I was trying to figure out what was wrong with my life 20 years ago–when I was young and cute and didn’t know it–in a literary fiction sort of way,  my kid arouses herself and wanders through the room to the TV, which she turns on to a very loud episode of Spongebob Squarepants, lounges back against some pillows and declares that she is hungry.

I haven’t really written anything except that I remember an incident from when I was in college.

I find myself agreeing to–offering even– to make pancakes which I begin, still thinking I can satisfy my child with food and then go back to my writing –yeah right–that train has left the station;

I fill a bowl with pancake mix, oil and milk only then to discover that we are out of eggs.  I pull on some clothes, inform my husband that I am going out and head to a corner market for milk, and also the Sunday Paper which I see as I am paying for the eggs.

Back home again, I make pancakes and also coffee, out of beans this time for sharing with the spouse, instead of the instant that I had made for myself.  I hand deliver a cup of java to the spouse who is working now but on a laptop and still in bed so physically it feels like he is doing nothing and I am doing everything as I begin to burn the fake sausages and spill coffee beans in the soapy dish pan and try not to burn the pancakes by clinging steadfastly to my post in front of the stove while verbally mapping the location of the milk carton so my daughter can find it herself as though this were a game and she wore a blindfold.

The strong coffee and New York Times Real Estate Section make me tense and anxious as I broach the possibility of heading up to Lincoln Center to try to catch an ensemble-improvised-three-and-a-half-hour-long-French-language-theatrical-piece that was recommended by one of my clown friends who is single and lives in Manhattan.

My mind is full of the dishes in the sink and unwritten stories in my head as I apply sunscreen to myself and my offspring and follow her downstairs to act as her spotter as she practices using her new pink and black RIPSTICK on the sidewalk in front of our building.  I go down quickly without keys or cellphone so when we become hot and tired and The Husband still has not come down yet we cannot stop and go up for a drink of water.

And as I write this I am backtracking because I have just lost the edits I have just made which causes me to look at the clock and think of The Husband who is now in the park with My Kid and her RIPSTICK and how I still haven’t started the breakfast dishes which is the reason I ditched them and came back up to the apartment for a few minutes instead of going to the park with them for some family time and how really it is time now to be thinking about lunch…

And the phone rings and it’s My Kid calling from the park; “Mommy where are you?”