It's Oscars time. Somebody wake the Grouch.

Thursday, July 07, 2005

Clown (In the Name of Love)

Something about clowns making the soul of this particular man, Mr. Juan Carlos Vega, go racing faster and faster until my lunch begin returning to my mouth whence it came and my eyes rolling left and right and backwards and inverting. Yes, when I see clowns, with the whitish wet drippings make-up face and deformedly huge latex-spherical crimson swollen ceramic-filled nose, I wonder why I should not run right this very moment and hide in my closet with a sharp broom handle held over my head and ready for the striking. Sometimes these clowns, they take a long unnaturally-shaped balloon and twist and ruin and harass it until it looks like the, how you going to say, skeletal Cerebrus-type dog, or they show you the big white flower and when you sniffing it, they make sewer-type water squirt out of that flower into the eye, and all the time they are laughing, chortling, giggling, guffawing and shrieking in joy at the misery they cause. Yes, Clowns. When they look at you, when they look into you and through you, you will want to sink earthward and hide beneath the shadowy stones from their horrid circus-scented peanut-sprinkled graspy-gloved carnival hands.

However....*sigh*...there is one redeeming clown. Yes, one clown who came not to, how you going to say, scream and terrify children and skulk in the darkest corners of the county fair ruining and grinding balloons into Cerebrus shapes. No, no, ladies and mans, this one clown came with a gentle whisper of the kindest goodness floating about his wispy white hairs and a twinkle of merry yuletide delight swimming in his leather satchel of entertainment. He is Bill Irwin, and if you ever see him, you will feel anew the sunshine of hope for the circus and all the fairy floss you ever wanted to see. This is why I, Juan Carlos Vega, must sigh and sigh again.

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