The Beloved Rodeo Clown

Part 15 of 30

The Mam & Pap

Royal Splendid Traveling Rodeo

All hail the rodeo clown! Who doesn’t love the rodeo clown? Everyone goes to the rodeo for the excitement of the animals, the buckin’ broncos, the bulls humping their way around the ring, a cowboy astride his steed leaping through a ring akin to a fiery inferno, and the little dogies, on the run, going astray in the ring and needing the secure discipline of their ropes lashed together as quickly as possible.

Then there’s the possibility you might get lucky with one of the darling rodeo queens. I've always been pretty realistic, but once in a while one messes with you like she might mean business. When generally she doesn't, or it might even have been a guy behind you she was winking at. Then, continuing our survey, naturally there’s the delicious food, a little dogie patty fried to perfection on a bun. There’s your closeness to the earth when a stomping bull stirs up the dirt and you get a full snoot of it in your lungs, one of the rodeos’ biggest health-hazards but still kind of fun. And somewhere down the list of our favorite things, rounding out the list, are the clowns.

I personally do like the clowns more than dirt in my lungs, because I think I really might choke to death. And I know in my heart that there’s someone redeemable under that patchwork of makeup that never quite makes full sense. Why do they do it? It'd be interesting to try it myself, drinking all day and then being expected to do the delicate work of assuming an entire second face. You’ve already got multiple gut-wrenching complexes, it'd be very tough to fulfill too many other expectations. But you’ve already been suspended for “the last time” for fraternizing with the audience, even cozying up to them in line to the point of satisfaction with your eyes rolled back in your head. Of course you have challenges, who doesn’t? I’ve heard of priests who’ve strayed over the line, priests! And if they can be forgiven and get a hundred chances to make restitution -- sometimes so expensive it's an international incident -- who says rodeo clowns shouldn’t get 500!

Everyone — I know it’s arguable — goes into their field of work, their vineyard of endeavor, with the best intentions. Some of these string-pullers behind the scenes were calculating how many of such and such — let’s say cooks — will we need? After a while they get all the cooks they need, who periodically die of food poisoning and need to be replaced. So even though the number needed was temporarily attained, others need to aspire to cooking to replace the fallen. It’s similar with rodeo clowning. There may be plenty today, but if a few of them go totally loco and there’s a massacre, where are you going to find a thousand new rodeo clowns in a second? You can’t just snap your fingers, it doesn’t work that way. The pipeline always has to have applicants, those ready to step in on a moment’s notice to climb in a barrel and be bruited about the ring by a completely mad bull.

It’s grunt work to that point. But once the bull has been safely dispatched back to his pen, it becomes a moment of recognition, appreciation and love for the clown. He or she pulls a flower out, leans into it and smiles, as if to say, “I saved the day, ahhhh!” Another sees him extending the curtain call a little beyond its due and blasts a big gun, a bang and confetti is spewed everywhere, the clown’s way of saying — and this is their own particular language — “Let’s get back to work, you’re hogging the stage when there’s other worthwhile acts to come!” The audience roars with laughter.

My Board Of Editors

I want to thank everyone for their applications to join the Grandma Slump blog in an official capacity.

When I first had the idea, some weeks ago, I was apprehensive, thinking maybe no one would apply. Or just a few internet scoundrels and ruffians trying to cause trouble. But I was very gratified, and frankly overwhelmed, when the applications started pouring in. I didn't count them all, but it had to be several hundred. The fact that you took the time to fill out a 70-page application, and did it with such optimism, and most of you with such false hopes from the get-go, is something I'll never forget.

Well, today, I'm happy and relieved to say the long and involved process of getting just the right people is over! Whew! The positions are all filled. Gentlemen, I give you The Board of Editors:

Of course that's me on top. As publisher and editor-in-chief, I keep the supremacy. It's my voice you will continue to hear, pretty much exclusively. The others are new, wet under the ears, and it's not been determined what exactly they will do.

Below me, and occupying a rank together above the last three, are two guys named Trade and Mark, the Smith Brothers. Both have facial hair, as you can see, and other talents. I put them in the middle mostly for symmetry, one on top, two in the middle, three as a base.

In the lowest position, then, under the Smith Brothers and myself, more or less in a supporting role, so far also with undetermined duties, are Dale, Frank, and Delilah. I'm not going to worry about their last names at this point. We'll first let them prove themselves fit for the job.

Dale doesn't seem as serious as Frank, just my impression. Which might come in handy, because sometimes I'm looking for someone to bounce off crazy ideas. But  Frank, being more serious than Dale, might also serve me well, since sometimes I put away the crazy stuff and am serious.

Delilah comes in for special mention for a few reasons. One, she's a woman, a lady, and that's how we're going to treat her, with respect. That's going to be my rule. And if I see any of the guys coming on to her, particularly when they're on duty, that's going to be it. I don't want her sexually harassed in the slightest.

One of my first duties, I guess, should be to come up with a written policy on what I mean. When she's in the bathroom, let's say, there better not be anyone at the keyhole. If I catch them, that's it! They'll never work at this blog or any other blog again. I'll be paying special attention to what everyone says around her. And if anyone so much as hints certain things about himself and her, he'll be gone.

Of course, if one of them and Delilah strike up a romance after hours, then somehow come out officially as a couple, at that point it will be different. I will work with them if that happens, so they'll be allowed to address one another in a loving way, etc., depending on how explicit they choose to get.

As for her duties, I will be gentle. Being a woman, I will not overburden her. She already makes a mean pot of coffee, so that's good for now. And it's nice to hear a woman's cheerful voice around the place, something I haven't heard much of since Grandma died. And I probably don't even have to say she's easy on the eyes. Something not true of the Smith Brothers, despite their higher ranking.

The artwork I have of Delilah probably doesn't do justice to her actual figure. The jacket's so tight, surely her boobs must be fairly compressed in there. And maybe it's just the pose, or again the tight clothes, but her hips don't show the kind of curves that she likely has. The long legs are just right. And the boots. You've probably heard my Number 1 statement on women's fashion: "Boots always make the outfit." I literally do a double-take on every pair of boots I see women wearing. Even galloshes.

It's going to be nice, I hope, working with a board of editors, an editorial board. I'm very possessive about the blog, as you must know. And I won't give that up easily, if at all. But as we get used to each other, me and the board, who knows how things might change? I might trust the Smith Brothers to take out the recycling.

The first thing I'm going to do at our next meeting is give them each a press pass and a firm handshake. And maybe a brotherly peck on the cheek.