Saturday, April 28, 2007
Last Thurdsday riot! Clones vs. Clowns
There was no riot. The thing is, I suspect a slow news day.
For years I have been attending protests for causes I believe in, from anti war stuff to save the whales, many times it was only made into a big deal by cops in Darth Vader outfits rushing in and spraying people or hitting them with the pellet guns.
My own kid was threatened with pepper spray May 1st 2000, while standing in a public park, so I know what I'm talking about.
What happened was the usual crowd was swelled by a large number of frat boys (jock type, agro, college aged clones). I don't know where they came from but they were drunk, loud, and willing to do whatever stupid thing a clown asked, so we had a great time with them.
Anyone that was there would know that it was a brutal display of steel crushing into steel, incredible impacts, blood, sweat, dirt.
Earlier in the day, our Hot Dog Cart was shut down by the city for lack of all the proper paperwork (we sent in our stuff a long time ago, and thought we were cool, but this time I stupidly forgot to set up a hand washing station, and then we got slapped.) So I was free to move about the yard and do what I do...entertain the masses.
Did you know that for every two clowns you see in the yard acting crazy, there are at least two more in plain clothes, working the crowd, policing for all the stuff that gets the city angry with us? they are looking for underage drinkers, fires or anything they can point out to the clothed clowns. We pull the perps, scold them , publicly humiliate them and then eschew them in short order.
We don't drink, and we don't invite drunks, so it's a constant irritation and hassle to keep it fun without being the "Man".
After 10:45, Pinga deployed the smoke bombs, and I killed the lights and that was the signal to the crowdthat our part was over and they needed to split. A few of them stayed behind and helped me clean up the yard (the city has a habit of inspecting us the very day after Last Thursday, we have to stay on our toes.)
A fella came up and asked that we anounce a street party down the street. I didn't know anything about it, so I asked Pinga to make the announcement, but to do it in his own language, (Portugese). At first, people thought they couldn't hear him and then I saw the faces slowly understand that it was in another language.The crowd left at once and in all directions.
I had just had a traumatic time in Texas, came home unprepaired for working the Last Thursday hot dog stand, got my buissness shut down, and had just delt with a yard full of frat boys. I needed a break, a big one.
Now, remember I don't drink, so there's no beer to cry in, so I decided to just retire to the office and have as much sex I could (I'm withholding the names to protect the naughty).
For the next two hours or so, my clown roomates kept barging into my room and telling me to come see the street party, "No thanks I'm already dancing!"
I never get much privacy, so I didn't get mad or anything. I did run downstairs wearing only circus tights to make sure everything was put away a couple of times, just saw kids in the street dancing.
Later, another roommate came up to tell me the cops were in riot gear, walking down the street.
I was in a tangle of fishnet stockings, and my chest looked like a glazed dougnut. Our consensus was that erotic, sober fun beats dealing with drunks and cops, anytime.
I went out after a bit, and looked at the RIOT it looked like some kids blocking the street and stupidly keeping my neighbors up with loud disco music. Those folks that needed to be up for work on Friday called the police I'm sure, I don't blame them.
When I heard that the tiny dance party was being called a "Riot" I laughed my butt off; that wasn't a riot, it was a noise violation.
When I think of a RIOT I see charred bodies washing up on a Hatian shore, splintered shop windows and chimp like humans swinging sticks and hiding behind rocks.
How many windows got broken? How many dumpsters were set on fire? How many cars were overturned?
That's all stuff that happens at riots.
If you have ever been to Eugene,OR you would know that some of what newspapers call "riots" happen around frat boys, they are usualy centered around some kind of sports nonsense and most of the time it's just a stop sign or pay telephone that get damaged.
This was just kids in the street dancing.
So, the way I see it, the Clown House did another unrecognised community service: we tired out all the frat boys with our gladiator sports. By 11, they had gone home, tired and beat up, what was left were just regular kids in the street dancing, and the riot cops who love them.
Do cops need the word "riot" on paperwork to get more funding? I have no beef with P.P.D. just asking.
Now that this is a big news story, I'm worried: what happens if some punk gets caught with beer on our property? The city already has so many "Officials" inspecting my stuff, that I will get into trouble.
It's not like we are a bar, or anything, it'S NOT LIKE WE GET FUNDED. Last Thursday COSTS us money. I sure don't invite drunks, as much as I just have to deal with them, or at least put them on Tall bikes.
I'll get some pics to clownhouse.org soon, Bizzy got some great ones, also I hope Will Workorf Ood writes a review of the jousting tourament soon.