And If You Should Die Before You Wake...

Thank you, University of Sheffield. The school, which I totally heard of before reading the BBC News article, recently concluded a study of more than 250 children between the ages of four and sixteen, and discovered that they all saw clowns as "frightening and unknowable."

The study showed that hospitals "decorating children's wards with paintings of clowns to create a nurturing atmosphere could backfire," because, according to child psychologist Patricia Doorbar, "Very few children like clowns. They are unfamiliar and come from a different era. They don't look funny, they just look odd."

A companion artilce asks "Why are clowns scary?"

And it probably comes as no surprise to horror fans that a University of Sheffield study of 250 children for a report on hospital design suggests the children find clown motifs "frightening and unknowable".

One might suspect that popular culture is to blame. In It, made into a television movie in 1990, Stephen King created a child-murdering monster that appeared as a demonic clown.

King's It has sparked a slew of schlocky movies over the past 20 years, known as the killer clown or evil clown genre.

I don't know if I agree with that, though. Intentionally scary clowns aren't scary at all. In fact, to me anyway, they are the funny clowns. It's the innocent-looking ones that creep me out. Making clowns look "scary" takes away what makes them creepy in the first place. It's like Leslie Nielson. When he started doing comedies like Airplane! and Naked Gun, it was funny because he was spoofing serious genres, as well as his own previous roles as a serious actor. But then he started doing goofier and goofier roles, because by then he was known as a comedic actor, but it didn't work anymore because the reason his shtick was funny to begin with was lost along the way. The same thing goes for movies that spoof comedies. How do you spoof a comedy? It's a double-negative.

Clowns = scary.
scary clowns = not scary.

In light of this story, I sort of feel bad for clowns now. The ones that aren't serial killers are just trying to make kids happy. And how are they repaid? Kids screaming in fear, pants-wetting, angry parents, unemployment, and now even their images are being taken down from hospital ward walls because they're deemed too frightening. They just want to help the sick little kids. It's not fair that Hollywood has turned clowns into a horror genre goldmine. It's not the clowns' fault. You guys can point the finger at them, you can talk about Pennywise and Gacy, and if you do that. It's not fair. That's my quarterback. I mean clown. That's my clown.

My eyes have been opened. Sure, the makeup still creeps me out and the blood-red smiles are unsettling, but I'd like to open up what is hopefully the first of many talks to further improve human-clown relations. And I'd like to end today with a little selection from The Kinks

My makeup is dry and it clags on my chin
I'm drowning my sorrows in whiskey and gin
The lion tamer's whip doesn't crack anymore
The lions won't fight and the tigers won't roar

La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la
So let's all drink to the death of a clown
Wont someone help me to break up this crown
Let's all drink to the death of a clown
Let's all drink to the death of a clown

The old fortune teller lies dead on the floor
Nobody needs fortunes told anymore
The trainer of insects is crouched on his knees
And frantically looking for runaway fleas

La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la
Let's all drink to the death of a clown
So wont someone help me to break up this crown
Let's all drink to the death of a clown
La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la
Let's all drink to the death of a clown.
La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la

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Soak it in Dishwater!

I found this joke online:

A young bride and groom-to-be had just selected their wedding rings. As the young lady admired the plain platinum and diamond band she had chosen for herself, she suddenly looked concerned. "Tell me," she asked the rather elderly salesman, "Is there anything special I'll have to do to take care of this ring?" With a fatherly smile, the salesman said, "One of the best ways to protect a wedding ring is to soak it in dishwater."

I've got to be missing something here. Where's the punchline? Are you not supposed to get dishwater on wedding rings? I feel like there needs to be another paragraph or two. Maybe a genie or a talking goat could also give her advice. There could be some wordplay at work here that I'm not picking up on. Soak it in dishwater. Maybe if you say it really fast it sounds like something else. Soakitindishwater. Sew kitten this otter? That doesn't make any sense. Anyone? They made a point to say the salesman was elderly, so his answer must be some sort of comically incorrect thing, right? That must be a clue.

But "soak it in dishwater" is more odd than funny. Like, if you went up to a guy and asked him what time it was, and he said, "Gophers! There's gophers controlling the New York Stock Exchange!" That wouldn't really be a joke. A non-sequitur, sure, but not a joke in the tradition of "Three guys of differing races, religions and or nationalities are doing something fairly innocuous when suddenly a figure of either mythical, religious or historical significance appears, and hilarity ensues." If it had been a leprechaun talking to a hillbilly, it would have been instantly funnier.

What is the joke? This is killing me. Is that it? Is the joke that it's not really funny? I've heard of those, I think Mr. Schprock talked about it before. It's when you tell a completely nonsensical, unfunny joke and then laugh uncontrollably, leaving the other person completely baffled. So they start laughing because they don't want to look stupid, and then you ask them to explain why the joke is funny. Which, of course, they can't. I don't think this is one of those, but...soak it in dishwater, what does that mean? Can someone please explain this freaking joke? I don't get it.

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Why I'm Afraid of Clowns, Part II

Cave paintings recently discovered in Lascaux depicting a Clown Hunt
Clowns. Clowny clown clowns. Man has feared clowns since the dawn of time. Whether we're pitting them against our super heroes, or turning them into sewer-dwelling giant spiders, man has looked to clowns as inspiration for dredging up our darkest fears.

But clowns are funny, you say? Clowns are harmless. Well then, riddle me this: whenever you think of circus clowns, what song instantly plays in your head. It goes something like this "Do do doodle-oo do do do do do...", right? Do you know what that song is called?

Entry of the Gladitors by Julius Fucik, a Czech military orchestra composer. The clowns are mounting an army. On Bozo's command, unleash Hell.

Incidentally, if you've ever wondered the name of a classical piece that you always hear in movie trailers or when Jerry is setting Tom's tail on fire, check out kickassclassical.com.

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The Stinkening

There was a weird smell emanating from our pantry. So Michele asked me to go find out what it was and get rid of it. I walked over to the big white cabinet, but before I could open the doors, before even getting within a foot of the thing, my nose was assaulted by the most foul smell it had ever encountered. I opened the doors and to my horror, the stink was even worse, but I couldn't immediately find it's point of origin. It could have been coming from anywhere, so I'd have to...ugh...sniff around.

I started with the top shelf. Some time during the summer, the shelf had collapsed, cascading all manner of dried and canned goods all over the other shelves and onto the floor. We never did find the last of the four tiny L-shaped bits of plastic that hold the shelf in place, so ever since then, it's been teetering on three pegs. To keep the whole thing from tumbling down again, the heavier stuff was moved down the the lower shelves and the top shelf held mostly spaghetti and other dry noodles, maybe a couple of those seasoning packets for tacos, and nothing in the back left corner where the peg is missing. I checked to see if one of the packets had opened up and spilled out, but I couldn't find anything.

And so it went, moving down to the next shelf, and then the next, trying to locate an expired can of...something, or a broken bottle, leaking putrid stink juice all over. But again, I didn't find anything.

Finally, I reached the bottom shelf. There, we have some onions and potatoes. Deep in the back was a bag of little yellow potatoes. Little yellow potatoes leaking terrifying brown stuff. I'd just found ground zero.

Who knows how long they've been there, only that it was too long. It looked like the potatoes were secreting their own soy sauce. That bag was without a doubt the culprit, but because the onions had other potatoes had been trapped in there with the soy-sauce potatoes, they suffered from second-hand stink and had to go, too. Fortunately, the onions and potatoes were all in bags which in turn were sitting in wooden crates that oranges come in, so the smell had a buffer in the wood that prevented it from seeping into the white plywood cabinet. All I had to do was lift up the orange crate and toss those suckers in the trash.

But then the most awful thing happened. When I picked up the crate containing the smelly potato bag, the smallest, tiniest droplet of liquid stink dripped onto my bare forearm. The drop was so small, it couldn't sustain a flea, (assuming a flea would drink rancid potato juice) but a little goes a long way. I brought my arm up to my nose to assess the damage. Dear God, it was even worse than I'd imagined!! My options were few, reign as Prince of the Land of Stench, or that arm was going to have to come off.

In the end, I decided against amputation because the loss of an arm might throw me off balance, so I just scrubbed it with soap and water for a good half hour or so until only my own pleasant musk remained.

But heed my warning, ye who would touch little yellow potatoes leaking soy sauce: don't.

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Nuts to You

Let's say you're walking down the street, when suddenly you see a car parked alongside the road with a license plate that reads "NO NUTS." It's probably the best thing that's happened to you all day, perhaps all month. Now, you have you're trusty camera phone with you, but all around you are...


PEOPLE!!!!


And you suddenly feel a bit awkward whipping out a camera to take a picture of a vanity plate, regardless of how hilarious said vanity plate is. You briefly consider a cover story in case someone wonders why you are taking a picture of someone's license plate (apart from the obvious, "It says NO NUTS"). You'd say that you were involved in an accident and you need photographic evidence for insurance purposes. But that won't work, because the car doesn't appear to have sustained any damage, and you are on foot, so there's no second car. You suppose you could say you were run over, but then you'd have to start limping until you turn the corner. And what if you run into the rare Good Samaritan who wants to help you, a poor injured pedestrian, while the jerk that ran you down is across the street, doing a sudoku and sipping a latte, chuckling to himself about the pain he's brought to you. Is it worth the escalating pile of lies, just to get a stupid picture? I offer that is it not.

Of course, you could just take the picture and not worry about anyone seeing you. So what, right? And anyway, if you had to, you could do that thing were you pretend you're on the phone, but you're really taking a picture. How many times have you gotten away with that one? Too many to count. Well, five. It was five times.

But then, then you think even if you did take the picture, well...then what? You can't put someone's license plate on the internet, can you? I think that's an invasion of privacy or something. Unless that person is a convicted sex offender. I'm pretty sure they put sex offender's license plates on the internet. But then how would you find out if someone's convicted a sex offender? I guess you could run the license plate. Although, if you're plates say "NO NUTS" you're pretty much announcing that you're libido isn't a threat to anyone. Unless that's what you want people to think. Very clever, possible convicted sex offender. Very clever indeed.

So let's say you took a picture, but decide not to post in online because it's probably illegal, or at least immoral to post someone's license plate and you don't want No Nuts tracking you down, because maybe "NO NUTS" doesn't describe the driver, but what he does to people that tick him off. It's a warning! Maybe the car belongs to a militant lesbian gym teacher out to castrate our patriarchal society one pair at a time.

All of this assumes that "NO NUTS" is referring to male danglies. Maybe "NO NUTS" is a former mental patient who was given a clean bill of health. What better way to announce your newfound sanity than with vanity plates? Or it could be someone who's had it up to here with these damn crazies and won't stand for them to be in or anywhere in the area immediately surrounding their car. NO NUTS ALLOWED. Maybe it belongs to a New Orleans fan.

It's probably just someone with a peanut allergy.

Well, whoever it is should have put a little bit more thought into what to put on the license plate.

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