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!!!

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?”

A bit of a clown Friday

Adam’s all gaga over his baby he wasn’t there. Well I wasn’t there either. But, we checked the box office at “Humor Abuse” to see if there were tickets. (Tonight’s show was sold out but we have tickets for tomorrow night.) We got to see lots of clowns I know in front of the theatre. Jay Stewart was there in town for the weekend, and Lisa Lewis with her husband (Their kid chose not to accompany her clown parents to someone else’s clown show when there was an opportunity to play with a Wii.) Michael Bongar was there with his wife. There were others I knew. It’s the last weekend of Larry Pisoni’s kid’s solo show about growing up with a clown for a dad.

It was a clown day for me. After I got My Kid successfully to her daily spring break swimming lesson at the Y (notice how I haven’t had any Pilates classes or lap swims this week…), transfered her care and feeding to The Husband who was taking a long childcare related lunch, I got to spend a couple of hours playing in the studio with Kendall and the other clown women. It was good to do. It’s been a while.

Then uptown on the train with My Kid and The Husband, returning him to his office and accompanying my kid to FAO Schwartz for the last afternoon of the last Friday of her Spring Vacation. She spent an hour hanging around the adoptable baby dolls, so I was softened up and let her paint a penguin in the new ceramic painting section of the toy store. I did one too to keep myself from getting bored. I hope I will have the courage to throw it away as I am trying to clear clutter. It was like buying a sandwich to sit in a cafe because your feet hurt even though you aren’t hungry.

After we didn’t get into the play we went and had a lovely end of the week family dinner at Trattorio Spaggetto in the West Village. It’s not the best Italian food in the city, but it’s the best location between a church and a public fountain.

I had hope of going out and talking with clowns tonight (Jef Johnson is also performing this evening) but after wine and heavy food with My Kid and The Husband, I find myself home in the apartment typing up a quick blog entry while My Kid watches some “SpongeBob SquarePants” before the entire weekend becomes about My Kid and the AYSO Spring Soccer Season which begins for our family tomorrow!!!!!!

Someone is on a business trip and it’s not me

 

Someone in this family is in EUROPE on business AND IT’S NOT ME.  

IT SHOULD BE ME.  I’M THE ONE who studied French.   I’M THE ONE who loves to travel.  I’M THE ONE who has a list of European clowns and circuses  and opera companies I want to see.  I’M THE ONE creating a non-verbal physical theatre that I hope will take me to EUROPE someday.

Instead, I am hiding in the bedroom trying to write (as a journalism grad it was supposed to be my career once upon a time) while My Kid watches too much “Spongebob Squarepants” and eats sugared cereal in the other room.  I feel guilty because as a “stay-at-home-mom”  I am supposed to prepare frugal yet organic meals  in my beautiful yet practically decorated home while simultaneously presiding over creative art projects and planning educational outings for my offspring.

When a couple has a baby, as a general rule, one of the careers takes a back seat.  Nursing mothers have to work so hard not to stay home that they generally stay home.  Then one by one women on maternity leave go back to work and after a while the only adults pushing strollers to play group and playgrounds are the professional caregivers, freelancers and artists.

Subsidized childcare outside weekday office hours is rare.  Jobs with irregular hours are not.  Nannies can cost less than daycare, but the economy comes from being able to offer a regular schedule.  If I was in rehearsal for a play now,  instead of “working on a piece”, I’d be screwed.

 I am enabling The Husband to have both career and family simply by being the one who is always around.  It is the path of least resistance.  For a woman without paid help or near-by relatives involved with her children to the point of sleep-over babysitting, it would be almost impossible to leave the country for a week WITH ONLY 2 DAYS NOTICE.

When I was still single, I worked in Japan as part of a group of 10 variety entertainers on a 4-month contract.  Two of the men had toddlers and neither was still with the mother.  

“She was into having a baby…but, I couldn’t practice at home…so I had to leave…” said one of the jugglers.

The mother of a teenager almost broke her contract when her own mother, who her daughter was staying with, called to let the performer know that her child was cutting classes and threatening to drop out of high school.  Her juggling partner and husband (who was not the father of the teenager) didn’t think it was his problem.

Another juggler desperately missed his 3 boys, but his relationship with his wife was not good.

Sigh.

Work is hard.  When combined with family life it can seem almost impossible.

There is ego involved as well.  

When My Kid was a baby, I met several men who were stay-at-home-dads (because they worked in the arts and their wives had the jobs with insurance).  Inevitably when I next saw their kids on the playground they were with a babysitter and when I next ran into the men, they had gone back to work because being home with the kids and not working was making them crazy.

I can’t find it now, but a while ago, I read a blog that was started by a man who was staying home with his infant son.  He blogged about how easy it was to plop his kid into the jogging stroller and go for a run.  He blogged about training seriously each morning before his wife left for work.  He was a triathlete or  marathon runner or something like that.  The days were going so smoothly he didn’t know why more men didn’t stay home with their babies.  The blog ended abruptly after a month or two.  No more entries.