Clown Camp Chronicles - Part 4
I'm in, baby! A sexy dream scandal and A mid-post pivot towards journalism.
Two entries in two days! I’m making it my beeswax to tell this story! This is an ongoing travelogue experiment following revelations related to attending clown camp. Part cultural analysis, part Jenny Lawson/Sedaris style essays. Catch up with Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3. You can also wing it and keep reading!
Despite my stated desire to free myself from an entry covering each day… today’s entry covers one day. We’ll get more into a slipstream of time and theory in the next pieces. Even those might spin off into standalone essays similar to The Clown Keeps Dancing.
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I cracked open my planner and set a loose agenda:
Wednesday July 27th To-Dos
-Wake up in car (check)
-Confirm that I am not a plague rat
-Possibly enter clown camp or receive the promise of a refund
-Cavort in the park
-Explore beautiful and historic downtown Buffalo
-Scope out public spaces for a bonfire
-Begin bonfire about 7
-Check out the bikeshop for a basket
-Search Craigslist for bike and solar panel equipment
I wrote all this out jokingly, thought I’d be lying if I didn’t feel excited to have a structured day of innocent hijinks in an unknown small town. I’ve never before experienced a to-do list as “freeing.” I’ve been historically skeptical of time management. My high school self, when presented with a daily planner for free from the school, saw it as a paper trail of tasks I could no longer claim ignorance to not completing. Given who I was in 2003, I undoubtedly called the entire concept of time management “super gay” and “for losers.” At that time, anything I was told should comprise my to-do list would not be anything I would personally wish to do. My only wants were to play video games, be funny, and, when needed, become invisible, and these three coping mechanisms have morphed throughout the past 19 years through multiple stages, from exciting addictions to the benign everyday sabotages we embrace because they are what we know. Disc one of the Dhammapada audiobook I’ve been bopping to most of yesterday refers to the antidote to this mode of being as “vigilance,” and I suppose they don’t mean the daily hyper-vigilance my body expects from chugging cold brew.
With this current clarity, I bike into the town.
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What to see in Buffalo, MN – A Good Place to Roam!
A Drifter’s Guide
By Em Haverty
In the state of a thousand lakes and lakeside towns, Buffalo, MN shines as a perfect low-key weekend destination for families and clown drifters alike. Cradled between Buffalo Lake and Lake Pulaski, the main corridor oozes fun and charm that has seemingly stood against the newer modernist aesthetics that have seeped into touristy places in an attempt to be hip. In a world where light bulbs and ceilings are exposed for cheap thrills, Buffalo remains chaste, yet still modern. Newer stores names hold their vowels and keep proper capitalization. Older stores like A Wreath Of Franklin proudly display their punny names. You best believe there is an old timey bike shoppe. Some may see this as a practical means to patronize the graying populace, but I refuse such a premise.
Hometown Pride
One of the biggest surprises was the number of intersectional pride flags and Black Lives Matter signs. The unitarian church was a natural fit, but I swear I saw a few other churches repping LGBT+ pride. Even a little kid playing in the street was sporting a tie-dyed BLM tee. Buffalo Books & Coffee’s window pride flare caught my eye. Once inside, I was surprised by collections and displays that would make any leftist blush commie red. (Note: Okay, sure, they are holding a Harry Potter-themed party on Saturday which isn't exactly welcoming politically, but the money has to come from somewhere. In fact, since all the activities seemed to be made firsthand by the bookstore cafe, including signature drinks and baked goods, any of the profits from this HP-branded party would never make it back to J.K. Rowling’s Secret Mountain Lair Hideaway LLC.)
Public amenities
Sturges Park features public restrooms, multiple fresh water spigots for refilling water bottles, lakeside workout equipment, fishing spots, a bonfire pit, a modern playground, boats for rent, ample tree-shaded parking, and public installations of all-weather musical instruments. It is a haven for the foolish drifter! The number of free entertainment tools offered, along with a consistent audience of people walking through, make this park an ideal space for busking tomfoolery. I will admit that my park uke playing did not garner tips, though I do not think the proud Wednesday warriors of Buffalo are to blame. Most important to my unique position, I could get water without entering a building. And of course, keep your schedule clear for the Billy Joel cover band tomorrow!
Parakeet Guy
If you are around the 8th Street Holiday gas station, keep your eyes peeled for Parakeet Guy. I was fortunate to see this man and his parakeet outside a non-nondescript commercial building made out of siding. He smoked a cigarette beside his parakeet, who was in a full-out indoor cage that came up to my chest.
“What’s the parakeet’s name?”
“It doesn’t have a name.”
“Oh. Is it yours?”
“Yes.”
“It’s nice of you to bring the parakeet outside.”
“Yeah, the weather is nice.”
—-
“How long have you had the bird?”
“Seven years.”
“Wow. Yeah, weather is nice for the bird.”
“Yep.”
“Have a great day.”
Perhaps your visit to Buffalo will result in more information about The Man Who Owns The Nameless Bird? Please comment with any additional information.
Good Reception
On a break from biking, I was able to check my email and spot my new PCR test results. Negative! I forward all my information to the clown camp. Within the hour, I was given the go-ahead to enter the grounds.
The key details of this day of clown camp were 1.) hustling to attend mandatory assemblies that will make sense of the rest of the week and 2.) attending a Roaring 20s theme party for which I was ill-prepared. The main detail I couldn’t shake was the sheer volume of Jesuses occupying the space. The pillow on my bed held a few print-outs of daily prayers and a big “New American Bible.” My roommate, with their own complex history of being raised in a religious household, has covered our wall-affixed crucified Jesus with a washcloth.
There is a lot of overlap between American clowns as I’ve experienced and Christianity. I won’t get into it right now, but clown ministry is a very real genre of performance. The whiplash of clown Christ and my queer-ass coalesced with the Roaring 20s party, where I discovered the only tights I had for my black “flapper enough” dress featured ample exposed skin through intricate floral designs. This was, categorically, too sexy for clown camp, but I wasn’t going to go bare-legged in my first interactions with campers, and “God forbid you abandon the theme completely and risk looking like a rube,” my anxiety advised. And so, I don tights and boots and say “hello” to my campmates. That night I have a dream that one of the older campers left the next morning due to my wardrobe choice. The dream holds no water in reflecting reality, but it’s one of those “all too real ones” that stays on the mind throughout the rest of the trip. Em Haverty: Clown Camp Magdalene.
Throughout the night there are shows and open jams for all varieties of circus skills. I’m excited to check these out tomorrow when I do not feel legally dead.
These little reminders were posted throughout camp. At first, I thought “Oh, like goofy pills?” No, actual pills. No one wants to mess with a clown off their meds.
I’m in bed when I revisit my planner from the beginning of the day. I still want to have a bonfire. There is no fire pit on the retreat grounds (a crime for any natural space meant for building connections between humans,) and even if I were to leave for the park, I’d be locked out of the campgrounds. As I sat with the sense of being on camp premises, I felt within my body an unnamed feeling begin to slip away. Freedom, in an embodied sense? Or maybe embodied foolery? Tomorrow I’ll have a breakfast I fought to eat amongst peers I journeyed to dine with. I will go to workshops at stacked pre-ordained times and have little space to breathe. From this room, I miss the wilds. The to-do list worked, and I can no longer feign ignorance.
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