Lightning Rod Gets The Zot

The Poet's Eye ^ | Lightning Rod

[Lrod]

A character like Christine O'Donnell presents a unique problem for a humorist. Few elaborations are called for since the caricature is self-embodied. All that is needed is a dead-pan Jack Benny look. You know, the one where he just stares blankly at the audience without saying a word and eventually someone titters and before you know it the whole place is in hysterics? Her very existence as a major party candidate for US Senate is the kind of comedy which arrives ready-written and would only be spoiled by embellishment. I mean, what can you add to rabidantimasturbationtarianism, rats with fully-functioning human brains and her famous Witches of Eastwick campaign ad that looks like it was produced by Tim Burton? I had fully intended to leave Ms. O'Donnell to the other comedians and the pundits who were wearing her out on cable TV. But then came the most recent revelation that she has claimed that her father was Bozo the Clown. Here I had to break my silence, not in the name of humor, but in the cause of veracity. This is a subject I happen to know something about.

Long ago, for one magic season, I was related by marriage to Bozo the Clown. I'm not making this up. My father was a semi-notorious lothario in the television and advertising business. Sometime after he turned 50, he married the 17 year-old daughter of one of his professional colleagues, Larry Harmon, the guy who owned the franchise to Bozo, the Most Famous Clown in the World. He was Bozo Primero, not one of the many FauxZos who were franchised in every major media market. I was much closer to the power center of the Bozo world than Ms. O'Donnell ever dreamed of being. It gave me an intimate glimpse into the backstage life of clowns. I knew little of the inside workings of the clown business in those days. Like a naive child, I had assumed that, you know, Bozo was Bozo. It never occurred to me that there was a school, like a Bozo boot-camp, where imposters went to learn how to walk like a Bozo and talk like a Bozo and draw the red rictus of a smile on their faces with greasepaint. It was like learning a dirty family secret and it was a big disappointment. When you go to see Bozo, you want it to really be Bozo, not some guy dressed up in a Bozo costume.

I hadn't thought about my brief inclusion in greasepaint royalty for years until Ms. O'D surfaced with her claims of actually being a blood relative of Bozo the Clown. The marriage between my father and Princess Bozo, which was chronologically challenged to begin with, barely outlasted the honeymoon. They had about as much in common as Christine would have in common with the 99 other US Senators. Suddenly the whole subject bubbled from my subconscious and made me wonder about franchises and politicians and the authenticity of clowns.

Since John Quincy Adams carried forth his father's political legacy, American politicians have campaigned on the richness of their family's past public service. Roosevelt and Kennedy and Bush all represent minor dynasties and it is entirely in keeping with this tradition for Ms. O'D to claim descent from Bozo. Clowning is as present in the current of American politics as populism, liberalism or conservatism. But in light of Ms. O'D's penchant for resume enhancement, she fibbed about her college career and has downplayed her wiccan studies, her claims to clownly ancestry are also suspect. While she seems like a natural and can certainly get a laugh and works well in the side-shows, one has to wonder if she is really ready for the Big Top, the center ring.

The US Senate is the Big League of Buffoonery. Even pros like Colbert have trouble hanging there. It's a tough room. Notice that Al Franken, even with all his years of practical comic experience, has been keeping mum in deference to the mime-masters of the Senate. These clowns can juggle, ride unicycles, do pratfalls and get shot from cannons, all with the perfect dead-pan of their painted-on media faces. They are consummate clowns adept with all the tricks, the seltzer bottle, the pie-in-the-face, the filibuster. I don't want to get all Stephen King on you but these aren't nice clowns. Ms. O'D should think twice before she alienates her witch constituency, she may need some strong juju to avoid the dunking stool. They'll make her the senator-punk-clown. Every troupe of clowns has one, the smallest clown, bottom of the pecking order, the one who all the other clowns slap and when there is no smaller clown for her to slap, she turns to the audience with her out-turned palms and pitiful Emmett Kelly frown and says, "I am you."

Two of the greatest Senatorial Clowns, Lloyd Bentson and Dan Quayle, in their famous vice-presidential debate in 1988 demonstrated the type of cut-throat comedy these jokers are capable of. When Quayle set the joke up by comparing his inexperience to the inexperience of Jack Kennedy, Bentson spiked it with this punch-line, "Senator," he said, "I served with Jack Kennedy. I knew Jack Kennedy. Jack Kennedy was a friend of mine. Senator, you are no Jack Kennedy."

The Poet's Eye would like to say to Christine O'Donnell in this same spirit, "Ms. O'Donnell, you say your father is Bozo. Well, I knew Bozo. Bozo was briefly my step-grand-father-in-law. Christine, your father was no Bozo."

Yes I’m stuck in the middle with you, and I’m wondering what it is I should do. It’s so hard to keep this smile from my face. Losing control yeah I'm all over the place.

Clowns to the left of me! Jokers to the right! Here I am stuck in the middle with you. ---Joe Egan and Gerry Rafferty

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[NicknamedBob]

"I have nothing interesting to post."

You came to the right place. When I have nothing interesting to post, the Undead Thread is where I post it.

It's rather in the spirit of when the cat gives you a present.

[Darksheare]

Dust walls?
Sounds painful.
The dust was once known as whom?
And why did they get dusted?

[Darksheare]

Sometimes you find the Undead Thread, sometimes it finds you.

[Monkey Face]

Noooo...you’re exempt. You’re happily married.

[sionnsar]

Well, it is interesting that you have nothing interesting to post. Why?

Long day here. Nice to have light in the sky on the way in to work, but then.... lots of e-mail to plow through and much of it would not have been necessary if the teleconference arranger had gotten the dates correct (Tuesday the 8th?) and defined the time zone (11 AM -- but EST, CST, MST, PST or...?).

Then two difficult expense reports: one because the D.C. hotel was so expensive (the less-expensive ones were sold out) and the other because one dinner in Atlanta was over $100 (thanks to my high-spending Swiss buddies -- not going to any potentially expensive restaurants with them anymore unless we can do separate checks). Though the boss approved both without question; the reports both show me trying to be a frugal traveler, which he knew already.

Then the real fun began with final trip plans -- usually at this point it's just printing maps and driving directions if needed. This trip the directions really are needed because the airport is 150+ miles from the hotel and some of the journey is not on major highways but minor WV/VA roads.

And the problems... I canceled the car reservation for Atlanta, but discovered the car reservation for Virginia was made for the wrong airport, ~250 miles away! It took several telephone calls to get that all straightened out. (To a call center in India, to be sure, but their American English was unusually clear -- except for their use of their Indian names; I was able to hear "Kishore" for the last call. I work on & off with a number of Indians these days.)

And there's the ongoing mess over my Wall Street Journal subscription... I was drained when it reached quitting time and I hadn't really accomplished much.

I almost can't wait to be underway just to leave the prep behind me.

But I don't really have anything interesting to post.

[ColdOne]

It's rather in the spirit of when the cat gives you a present. LOL! Howdy just got home!

[Monkey Face]

Most cat presents need to be discarded at the nearest scratching post.

Otherwise, the cat will hold you in Contempt of Felinicus.

[Darksheare]

The Manx just ran through hooting and hollering like a madthing.
Dunno what to make of that.

[Darksheare]

NiMH liked to grace us with LIVE treats so he could teach us how to hunt.

[Monkey Face]

Good thing you aren’t reading my journal. For one who has such a dull life, my journal is rather ...um... spellbinding.

(Your life would pale...)

[Monkey Face]

*kof-kof*
I recall this from several years ago....

[Tax-chick]

The music is okay, but the video with the drawings doesn’t do anything for me.

[Darksheare]

Yes, NiMH loved giving us live baby bunnies and chipmunks.
He’s strictly an indoor old man now, and he gripes about it.

[Tax-chick]

Another first grade class has been survived. James drew some massive waves for his Sea of Galilee, but no Kraken. Then he got in a fuss because Vlad put the boat in the “wrong” place.

I have some extra boats, so I’ll let each of them make their own picture tomorrow.

[Darksheare]

That’s being used for the vampire tale, he’s being dusted off from his slumber.
2004 was the last time I fiddled with that story.

[sionnsar]

The Manx just ran through hooting and hollering like a madthing.

It's a Celtic thing, ya needn't mind.

Interesting to look it up: on the Isle of Man (where they speak Manx, a Gaelic similar to Scots & Irish) it's "Kayt Manninagh" (Gaelic, "Cat of Man") or "Stubbin" (from English).

In Scots Gaelic, "cat" is "cat", but "cathair" is "chair" -- though I'm pretty sure the padding is not from cats.

Wikipedia: "The Manx are said to be skilled hunters, known to take down larger prey even when they are young. They are often sought by farmers with rodent problems."

LoM, maybe we should get a Manx to protect Seumas Ruaraidh's wiring!

[sionnsar]

666 alert!

[Tax-chick]

but "cathair" is "chair"

Well, yeah. "Where's Elen?" "She's in the living room, sitting in the cathair." "Great, I'd just had her dress cleaned, too."

[Monkey Face]

Pay attention, Dude!!! We’re counting on you!

[Monkey Face]

If boats are escaping, there is no “wrong” place. Unless one boat is ahead of YOURS!