Saturday, November 11, 2017

The Kids Who Didn't Want to Clown

Lou Jacobs



My paternal grandfather was a gamekeeper on an estate in Northern Minnesota. His job, as far as it was ever explained to me by his cross grained wife many years later, was to nab deer poachers and fish beer cans out of trout streams.

My maternal grandfather worked for Pillsbury, and had something to do with creating a patented bleaching process for flour -- which allowed him to marry a Ziegfield Follies showgirl after walking out on my grandmother.

Neither career appealed to me as a child. My own dad was a bartender for nearly fifty years -- mostly noted for his reluctance to perform any duties more taxing than drawing beers. Patrons who dared ask for a mixed drink were told to go to hell. His career, also, held no fascination for me as I grew to manhood.

When I attended the Ringling Clown College, and then went to work on The Greatest Show on Earth as a First of May, I thought I had hit on a job that my children, provided I had any, would love to emulate.

Eventually my wife and I had eight children. They grew up with a father who was an active circus funnyman. But not a one of them ever evinced the slightest interest in following in my oversized footsteps. Not. One. Of. Them. Rotten kids . . .

Instead, they became computer programmers, housewives and mothers, construction workers,supermarket managers, military veterans, and missionaries. Rotten kids . . .

Where did I go wrong? I tantalized them with rousing stories of blowdowns and hey rubes and the origin of pink lemonade -- I regaled them with the fascinating eccentricities of showmen like Irvin Feld and Tarzan Zerbini -- I described in loving detail the peculiar talents of comic geniuses I had personally worked with, like Otto Griebling, Barry Lubin, and Steve Smith. And I sent them hundreds of postcards while on the road, illustrating fascinating items like the world’s deepest well in Kansas and Nevada’s fabled jackalope. Despite all this, whenever I would coyly ask them what they wanted to be when they grew up, they always answered with something disappointing such as “an astronaut” or “a Barbie Doll.” Rotten kids . . .

Determined to pass on my slapstick heritage by hook or by crook, I dragooned the older kids into clowning with me during the winter hiatus -- when I was able to book school shows in the Midwest. I coached my oldest son Adam in the whipcracker gag. I taught my oldest daughter Madelaine to sculpt balloon animals. And I corralled half a dozen of them to stooge for me in an original gag I created around the Sons of the Pioneer’s song “Cool Water.” Every time the word ‘water’ is sung, the kids shot me with water pistols, spritzed me with seltzer bottles, and poured pitchers down my pants. Messy, but a sure fire laugh-getter. But do you suppose my own little darlings, the seed of my loins, enjoyed drowning their dear old dad in front of a mob of giggling fifth-graders? Not a bit. They always complained they’d rather stay home to play video games or make friendship bracelets. Their mother, bless her soul, is an accomplished musician, and our kids relished their piano lessons and singing in the church choir -- but when I offered to teach them to play the musical saw, they one and all gave me the stink eye. Rotten kids . . .

The crowning infamy occurred some years back, when we lived in Salt Lake City. By then we had our full compliment of eight children, so even taking them all to a movie involved considerable planning and expense. I had wangled front row Annie Oakleys to Ringling Brothers, playing at the Salt Palace, from my old circus compatriot Tim Holst. As VP in charge of Talent, he graciously provided the ducats to a Saturday matinee and then arranged for us to go backstage on a brief tour, including clown alley -- my old stamping grounds. By then I had bowed to the inevitable -- there would be no Lou Jacobs or Peggy Williams to carry on the Torkildson name and clowning tradition under the big top.

But still -- front row seats at the circus! What normal child could resist the thrills and laughter sure to follow? I had no doubt they would be the envy of their peers, getting up close with clowns and elephants and lion tamers -- what a coup for a kid! And they could boast about how their old man had been there, done that . . .

But the little fiends double crossed me. They all came down with the flu. So instead of spending that Saturday chortling at the antics of the Ringling buffoons and swooning over the aerial acts, they lolled about in their beds, feverish and nauseous, being served jello and fruit juice by their mother, and being glowered at by me. Rotten kids . . .

Well, as the years have lengthened and I have thickened, I’ve decided to let bygones be bygones. To bury the custard pie. They’ve all turned out pretty decent, although there’s not a putty nose among ‘em. And they’re giving me grand kids now. Hmmmm. Maybe for Thanksgiving this year I’ll dust off the old spinning plates and invisible dog leash to test the waters with them. They do say that talent often skips a generation . . .


Peggy Williams

Planters Mixed Nuts Are a Fraud!



The holidays are drawing near and yet I never learn
A can of mixed nuts always leaves me with severe heartburn.
It’s not because Brazil nuts are a toxin to my gut;
Nor is it on cashews that I so unwisely glut.


The label says that less than half are peanuts, yet I find
That goobers will predominate before the can is mined.
I’ve nothing against peanuts, but when products guarantee
I won’t be finding many I believe them thoroughly.


So when I grab a handful of mixed nuts to celebrate
The richness of the season, it begins to really grate
That all I get are peanuts -- not an almond is in sight.

Planters, you have tricked me once again -- and that ain’t right!


Joseph Palazzolo of the Wall Street Journal emails his reaction:

"It's so true. Peanuts predominate. Thank you for channeling my grievance."

Friday, November 10, 2017

Foto Funnies

IT'S NOT HARASSMENT IF YOU SAY 'PLEASE' FIRST.



‘Remember, eye contact is optional - but eye gouging is a no-no’

‘Keep your seats in the presence of the elderly - they appreciate the leg exercise’

‘Please put your trash in Congress - where it belongs’


If this book were a tell-all it would only be 10 pages long . . .


I'm only going to say this one more time: The free Starbucks was yesterday.

Okay, we're going deep into the Paradise Papers -- got your cyanide pill?

Put up a giant bowling ball to honor veterans



The reason that postmodern art is safest for display
Is because nobody knows just what it has to say.
It loops and swerves without a hint of ancient knavery;
So it can never ever be allied with slavery.

A person on a pedestal will be a target, natch --
No matter who, or what they did, a piece of hell they’ll catch.
Somebody’s got it in for them; somebody will protest.
And then the money shrivels up -- the project’s put to rest.

Put up a giant bowling ball to honor pioneers.
Install a bunch of pipes and string for famous balladeers.
Even graveyard stones must be designed to be so bland

That nobody will find a cause to have them fully banned!

Thursday, November 9, 2017

The End of the Circus in Italy



Animal rights advocates are celebrating a move by the Italian parliament on Wednesday to, over the next year, phase out the use of all animals in circuses and traveling shows.
"Italy has an estimated 100 circuses with some 2,000 animals making this one of the biggest victories in the campaign to stop circus suffering," according to Animal Defenders International's Stop Circus Suffering campaign. The European nation joins 40 other countries and several more municipalities that have outlawed the use of animals in circuses and traveling shows.  
from EcoWatch 



The circus in old Italy
Is now gonna be critter-free.
No lions or bears --
And so empty chairs
Are all the clowns likely will see.

Editor's Note: The story above appears to be an egregious example of 'fake news' by an organization with an agenda to peddle. From our Italian correspondent we have this explanation and update:

Raffaele de Ritis The exact quote in Italian is: “graduale superamento dell’utilizzo degli animali nello svolgimento delle attività circensi e dello spettacolo viaggiante”. In English is" gradual overcoming of the use of animals during the activites of circus and travelling entertainment". Nothing else. Not specified how and when. And the document is not a law about circus. It is a single line about circus within a 50-pages law about performing arts. It is a quite bizarre statement, but was a safe "italian way" to politically balance the interests of circus community and of the animal right movements as well. It says all and nothing. While being effectively a law, this is not at all a prohibition but an adress. Beside the symbolic value, negative for circus, it changes nothing. Italian circuses can continue to keep their animals.


Instant Ramen Noodle Review: Feng Tien Mushroom Flavored. From Taiwan. With a can of braised Eel.



There's very little English on this package of instant ramen noodles. Just enough to know that you put the noodles in a bowl, add boiling water, and wait 3 to 6 minutes. Because my stomach has a death wish this morning, I'm adding a can of Asian Taste brand braised eels. And some scallions. In lieu of flowers, please send cash donations to the Tim Torkildson Bachelors Don't Know How to Eat Fund.



Turns out the canned braised eels wasn't such a bad idea after all. Kinda dry and sweet.
The noodles had that nice mouth feel I associate with a decent comfort food. And the broth was savory without an in-your-face sodium blast. Not even a hint of mushroom, though.
Taken all in all, this is a fine instant ramen noodle. Wish I could give you its English brand name, but I can't find it anywhere on the bag.

Now I'm going to write a few limericks (they fit on Twitter now, y'know) and take a nap prior to ambling over to the Provo Senior Citizen's Center for my lunch -- garlic roast beef with new potatoes. Life just doesn't get much better for someone as attached to my belly as I am . . .

The French Language Just Got Dirtier



It may be still be too blue for English speakers, but authorities in Canada have ruled that the word “f*ck” is no longer taboo on French language broadcasts as its use is so commonplace.
The Canadian Broadcasting Standards Council (CBSC) had previously classified the word as being suitable only for adults in both French and English, banning its use on radio and television to beyond the evening watershed and even then, only with a warning.
But after complaints from listeners that the French-language Montreal radio station CKOI-FM had twice aired clips with the word this year, it changed its mind in a ruling released Wednesday.
The CBSC agreed with the station’s argument that “f*ck” was now “part of the common French spoken language” and therefore does not have “the same vulgar connotations when used in French.”  from The Guardian.

In days of yore, when mouths were clean,
Bad words were kept in the latrine.
Decorum then was recognized
As something that was civilized.

Today, at least in Gallic tongue,
Bad words are spread like garden dung.
The F-word is so common that
Its use is thought of as old hat.

Pardon me, but this ain’t news
To chase away my morning blues.
I wonder how the French would cope

With washing out their mouths with soap?

Wednesday, November 8, 2017

Vito Perillo, of Tinton Falls, NJ, Wins Mayor's Race at 93 Years of Age



When you have reached 93 years,
You haven’t got too many peers.
Running for mayor
Makes you a player

And puts a flea in many ears.

What passes for air in New Delhi



NEW DELHI — The toxic haze blanketing New Delhi was so severe on Tuesday that politicians announced plans to close schools, flights were delayed and the chief minister of Delhi state said the city had “become a gas chamber.”  from the NYTimes


What passes for air in New Delhi
Is more like a venomous jelly;
It’s so hard to breathe
You lungs start to seethe.

Even your clothes become smelly!

Instant Noodle Review: Instant Pad Thai Noodles. Mama brand. Made in Thailand.

These are not wheat noodles, like regular instant ramen -- they're rice noodles. I've always had trouble with instant rice noodles -- they come out a bit slimy for my taste. However, they're convenient -- just throw in a bowl, add boiling water, and wait 3 minutes. I let mine sit a bit longer than 3 minutes, since I was in the middle of composing a little ditty about Kleenex, which goes like this:


My kleenex in the wintertime
Is something like a valentine;
Caressing my red runny nose,
It cushions many viscous blows.
And like a lover, when it’s gone

I mourn its loss from dusk to dawn.



Drain the noodles, then add the flavor packet, the chili flakes packet, and the oil packet. Hot! Hot! Hot! Luckily, I also put in some black beans, scallions, and a pair of fried eggs -- with a liberal dose of fish sauce. So my tongue only steamed a bit -- it did not catch on fire. There's no broth with these noodles -- which I kinda miss. It reduces the satisfying slurp factor by half. And there's no such thing as 'stir fried flavor.'

This is nothing like real pad thai -- but for a quickie b'fast it'll do until ham and eggs come in a capsule like on the Jetsons.

I've put off doing my dishes longer than I realized -- are dishes and utensils supposed to turn green overnight?