Clowning Around

Last night, Mimi, Chris Badgely, me, and 8 other people dressed up as clowns and went to the Emerald Downs horseracing track to drink, gamble, and otherwise raise good-natured hell in public. It was an intentionally absurdist endeavor on our parts occasioned by the track’s unintentionally absurdist endeavor, the annual between-race running of the Weiner Dogs, in which a dozen dachshunds bolt from a standard horse-racing gate 100 yards down the track into the waiting arms of their owners.

Mimi stole the show; she went as “Abraham Linclown,” a whiteface circus performer version of our country’s 16th President.

Sweetly enough, one of the adult clown’s moms was also with us which meant that we had three generations of clowns, two drinking heavily.

I went as Nutty Professor Clown, sort of Jerry Lewis meets Beetlejuice. After a few belts, I totally got into my character, affecting a voice somewhere between Krusty the Clown and Jackie Mason. Soon enough, I was also Drunken Racetrack Tout Clown accosting random gamblers and asking them which horse they liked in the upcoming race and offering my own (invariably mistaken) predictions.

Chris played his gladiator clown character, Hilarious Maximus to the hilt; bellowing commands and exortations to our clown posse while simultaneously managing to put away copious amounts of bourbon and when that ran dry, plenty of vodka, too.

Three reactions typified people’s responses to us. Some were genuinely frightened or at least pretended to be in order to keep us away. A smaller percentage of people were authentically amused; some of these wanted pictures with us. Most people, though, (surprisingly enough to me) ignored us; they seemed to be pretending either that we weren’t dressed oddly or that seeing people dressed up as clowns was an everyday occurrence.

All in all, I had a gas, but being a clown did nothing for my handicapping; I picked no winners, and even the obvious clown hunch bet “Parade Scene” finished out of the money.