Bring on the clowns

Moon under Los Angeles

Okay. About that clown the other day. Perhaps, as Roy suggested, after spreading joy to the little people, he does go home to his wife, pour a cold one, kick off his supersize clown shoes, put his feet up, relax and fall asleep with a smile on his face while she or he massages his feet. And perhaps he makes the rent one smiley dollar a pop, like the nice shoeshine man Don mentioned, who supplements his income by posing for photographs. But whatever this clown does or is, it is not my concern. I need to think about what part I might have played in his rage. Two to tango and all that.

Bad, scary clown

So. I waved my camera in his direction in a hit or miss fashion without turning or slowing down and took a couple of shots. Why not? A stocky, bare-legged clown standing at the edge of the sidewalk wearing a jazzy mini-skirt and blouse, huge white mittens and a thick thick thick layer of white grease paint on his face and a fantastic wig made of beads. He doesn't want to be noticed? He yelled at me even though I was well out in the flow of people.

LA freeway clown mobile

I was going to joke about it but changed my mind. I first saw this guy when the three of us were walking up the sidewalk. Right away I knew something was up. Maybe it was the black lipstick. Maybe it was because, unlike most clowns I've seen, he was muscular and restless. He kind of freaked me out but I wanted a photo of him. He was interesting but I didn't take a picture then. Lately I've been practicing unframed, random shots and my timing was off but I was ready for him on the way back and got a couple of clicks before he yelled.

Santa Monica fish house in the rain

I was startled but turned and reached into my pocket for the dollar I'd put there to give to somebody if the occasion arose. When he saw that he really got angry and yelled something like, "I don't want your damn money. Keep it. You got what you want ... blah blah" and added some crap about my parents and what a terrible person I am or something. I don't remember. He was over the top. So I yelled back, "Fine. And you got what you want. A chance to be angry". That shut him up. And I enjoyed it but why, why, why do I engage? Still. Damn.

Armagosa Opera House, Death Valley Junction

I saw a station wagon on the freeway today with the word CLOWN written on the side in big, bold capital letters and repeated in smaller letters on the back. M. Lee said there was also a rainbow colored clown wig on the dash. I didn't catch that but it's probably good we're leaving tomorrow.

Aramagosa and Nevada state line

We did go back to Artesia for Dim Sum and another foot massage today and then explored the Chinese mall in Artesia. Kathy loved it. Said we could have been in China and not know the difference. We were the only non-Asians in sight.

Goldfield, Nevada

And finally, today we made it to the ocean. To a fish shack for dinner. Venice hardly counts as a beach. The place had good food (lots of yelps) but I didn't really like being there. They had two tanks filled with live lobsters. I cannot fathom selecting a living creature to be dropped in water and boiled to death. But I ate the fish. No difference, I guess. But boiled to death? Not a good way to die. We sat under the covered pavilion as rain beat on the plastic window coverings. It was intimate the way rain makes things. The weather was supposed to turn a lot earlier in the week so we had a sunny reprieve during our visit here but rain in LA means snow in the Sierra so tomorrow we will be taking a different route home.

The desert in winter - Nevada

M. Lee told me our alternate route will begin with David Lynch's road to the Inland Empire, aka Riverside/San Bernadino metropolitan area (approx. 40 m. east of LA) and from there we'll turn onto the Lost Highway (Hwy.127) through Death Valley. Works for me.

Sign near Yucca Mountain

Santa Monica Bad clowns Armagosa Opera House Death Valley Junction Goldfield Nevada