Tag: Clowning

Step-by-Step Instructions (Feb 15 2026) 

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In which Our Hero reflects on unusual timelines. 

People often ask me how I formed such an excellent relationship. (No one has asked me. But let’s assume.) 

Here’s my process, in case it helps: 

  1. Date her friend 
  2. Have a threesome with her and another one of her friends (not the one you were dating) 
  3. Let 10+ years pass 
  4. An AI matchmaker pairs you
  5. Schedule a 3-day-long camping trip as your first date 
  6. Extend date to 10 days long, ending only when one of you comes down with Covid 
  7. Wait 2 weeks <cough, cough> 
  8. As a second date, she moves into your van, and the two of you drive across the country together
  9. Attempt to purchase a house together in Puerto Rico within the first 6 months
  10. Backpack though Europe together
  11. Break up 
  12. Attend clown school together in France
  13. Get back together 
  14. Put down a deposit to buy an apartment 
  15. Buy life insurance on each other 
  16. Within one month:
    • Make embryos
    • Get engaged 
    • Buy apartment 

We’ve got all the right steps, just not in the normal timeline. Maybe next we have kids before getting pregnant. 

Free fridge: frustration not included. (Feb 13 2026)

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In which Our Hero <grumblegrumblegrumble> 

Two days ago I acquired a free fridge. My partner and I wheeled it home: 6 short blocks and 1 long block. Arriving home, we spent 1.5 hours removing fridge doors and apartment doors just to learn it’s slightly too large. 

No bother: another person in the Facebook free group can take it. We text yesterday and she offers to pick it up today between 2 and 3pm. I confirm. 

Today I tell her 2:45pm is ideal. 

She says fine. 

At 2:30pm, I say I’m around and ready. She says she’s delayed: would 3pm work? 

I say that timing is worse for me, but we could do it if it’s exactly that time. 

At 3, she tells me 3:30. She gives me the phone number of “her uncle”, who is coming to pick it up. I call. He says he’s 15 minutes away. 

They finally arrive at 4:15. It’s not her uncle: it’s a moving company that she paid $350 to move the fridge for her. 

This entire time I’m pissed. Sure, I’m doing work from home that I would just be doing across town with my partner. It’s not the impact on my productivity: it’s the disrespect. I’m giving you a free fridge. 

I glance at her Facebook page. She is a single mother of two. 

It’s a hard spot: on the one hand, I’d like to help someone in need. On the other, she made my day worse. 

And, like, never even said thank you. 

What did I learn? 

  1. Especially when being kind/helpful/generous, establish what I can do and when. Let others fit it. 
  2. Use the time better. The angry/annoyed time could have been better spent. 

I’m considering messaging her to say “Hey, just an FYI: your misestimating of timing by 1.5hrs made my day much worse. If you had given a more accurate window, or even told me it was a wide window, I would have been able to plan better.” 

Would I feel better? Yeah. Would she do better? Unlikely to do worse! 

There is probably no justice to be had here. We’re talking about a free fridge handoff, after all. 

But even without justice, perhaps we can inject some humanity. 

Hate Mail (Feb 11 2026)

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In which it’s nice to be seen 🙂 

My first piece of hate mail arrived in the form of a google document from my partner’s former grad school weightlifting friend. It articulated all the terrible traits that he observed during the long weekend we stayed with him. It included such gems as, “There were multiple occurrences of him saying something to the effect of ‘this happened because of some thing you did Nikki’ or ‘whose fault is this?’ And because he was saying it in a silly way it is expected to be a joke.” 

I read this criticism to a clown school friend of mine, who asked, “Oh, so you were doing bits?” 

“Yes,” I replied. “One was blaming Nikki for absolutely absurd things that were clearly not her fault, like the weather.” 

“That’s a pretty good bit.” 

“I agree.” 

—

Then, two months ago, I received a second piece of hate mail. This one came as a series of text messages from a fellow clown student. She derided my blog, my relating to other humans, and my analytic approach. I hadn’t spoken with her in ~a month (I had broken my foot and stepped away from clown school), and before that, I recall only neutral-to-positive experiences. Apropos of nothing, she sent me this diatribe. 

I have since shared that letter with a few friends. To a person, they describe it as “unhinged” (or various synonyms). 

In her hate mail, she made a few good points. My writing was likely alienating to some clown students. Clown school is a beautiful place and a precious gift. 

She also took some shots. Specifically, she said I “wasn’t funny yet” (the newsletter was called “Am I Funny Yet?”) and she described my blog as “very public and mediocre”. 

After I received that letter from her, I of course didn’t reply. I also of course didn’t alter my writing or publishing schedule. The article I published that day prompted a second screed from her the next day. She – in whatever reality she was experiencing – thought my intervening post had been about her (it had not). 

This second screed brought me great joy. 

“Ah,” I thought. “How wonderful it is that she reads my blog every day!” 

—

I like to live my life in public. I adore New York partly for that reason: meeting strangers and living in an environment where big, bold people are appreciated. I take my shirt off in public. I do so even though I’ve grown breasts. 

I also think it’s funny to call a blog about someone’s daily struggles “mediocre”. It’s not polished. It’s not complete. It’s not intended to be either of those. It’s a documentation of my attempts to do new and challenging things; a collection of my thoughts and observations and learnings and experiences. I’ve never been accused of waiting for perfection (and my partner, at least, thinks my life is better for it). That’s one of the clowning lessons: fail more, and befriend your flops. 

To quote my partner: “Being mediocre is the first step towards being kinda sorta good at something”. 

At present, I have 21 Substack subscribers and 168 subscribers. 

I’ve never looked at my stats before. I haven’t cared. I still don’t. But it’s nice to know that her estimate is also true numerically. 

So yeah, with my hundred of fans and my abnormal life, I’m proud to be: 

Very Public & Mediocre. 

Mellow and Dramatic (Jan 26 2026)

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In which Our Hero mellows in the drama 

Today was the first day of the second term. I’m not there. I’m in Etampes, four minutes walk from the school. I walked earlier today by the train station cafe that doubles as the student haunt. Yet I’m not there. Do I miss it? 

Today my mother and I dawdled down a classic Parisian street. Over lunch we swapped plates four times so we could experience what the other was eating. An Eastern European tourist offered us alcohol at Jim Morrison‘s tombstone. A California native gushed his worries about American politics 10 feet away from Molière corpse. 

This evening, my housing purchase was confirmed. After 8 years nomadic (homeless?), it’s time to put down roots. My partner ordered a bed for the empty apartment. I ordered locks for the doors. We’re buying one way flights like we always do, only this time they’re to home. 

The clown course I’m missing is melodrama. A fellow student once told me that melodrama is about stretching moments. What should be a five second stroll becomes ten minutes of dramatic, hyper-experienced anguish. 

Today stretched. From sprinting for the train to dashing through loan documentation, I was hyper present. Focused. Immersed. 

That’s one of the goals (or is it *the main goal* of clown school). Presence. Giving. Moving forward. 

I don’t miss melodrama. 

I’m excited for my life. 

Ease is what you make it (Jan 24 2026)

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In which intense and easy coexist 

At the start of today, I expected an easy day. Farmers market in the morning, then relaxing in this little medieval town, perhaps with a stroll around the lake.

But when I’m with my family, things happen!

My mother – who was up until 4am last night – walked for ten miles around Paris today. “Because today is so nice and tomorrow will be cold and rainy”. 

We sped through the annual scallop festival; sauntered winding streets in the outdoor flea market, strutted down the jardin des tuileries, and basked under the calmest place I’ve found in France (a particular library room near the Louvre).

We ate four of my favorite French foods: tomme de brebis, galette, a particular raclette wrap, and carbonara at the best Italian restaurant in Paris. (You may think carbonara is Italian. But if in France, doesn’t that make it French?)

Le jeu changed over time. From find caffeine to find food to find the most outrageous item being sold to people-watch to make the train. 

(We made the train home, despite it leaving in 20 minutes and Google telling us the walk would take 22 minutes.) 

If this were my everyday, I’d be exhausted.

Exhausted,

but happy.

😌

Squeaking By (Jan 18 2026)

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In which Our Hero enjoys a capital day. 

Dipping churros into chocolate, I could feel the blood throbbing in my left knee.

After walking 26,986 steps (13.34 miles) on a mostly-still-broken foot, inside a surgical boot that was actively coming apart, it was time for new shoes.

Most people don’t put hundreds of miles on their surgical boots.

Most people don’t buy a second surgical boot so both feet will be even.

Most people don’t sprint through Dallas/Fort Worth Airport in surgical boots when the announcement says they have three minutes to board, even though their ticket insists they really have eighteen.

I am not most people.

We landed in Madrid at 5:45 a.m.
By 6:45 a.m., we were failing to locate our Uber and choosing the subway instead. 

Our exit train from Madrid left at 4:45 p.m.

Ten hours in Spain’s capital.

After eight of them, my feet were finished. The boot—kept out of an abundance of caution—was now increasing my risk. Three weeks ago, I’d been cleared to wear normal shoes. I hadn’t. I’d stuck with the boot.

Safety, it turns out, has an expiration date.

I spotted a discount shoe store.

Since I return to France on Friday, I only needed shoes that would last five days.

The clerk showed me a pair of decent-looking sneakers: twenty euros. I tried them on. He only had the left shoe in size 44 and the right shoe in 45. The clerk agrees to a discount, and apologizes he cannot give us a greater one. After all, what shoe store only sells mismatched shoes? 

Little does he know, my right foot is the broken one. Mismatched shoes is actually a plus! 

I ate a second ham croissant. It rivaled the ones I’ve had in France. (It wasn’t a croissant in the way they make them there. But it was delicious.)

We strolled through Madrid’s central plaza.
We passed photos of gored bullfighters and Jimmy Carter. 

I learned I could buy an apartment of the same cost and size as my future one in this square. I concluded I’d rather have mine.

Why do people prefer the artsy second city?

Melbourne over Sydney.

Barcelona over Madrid.

In both, I have a strong preference. In both, it’s the business hub.

I prefer places where real people are real. Where life isn’t a reflection or performance of itself. And in Madrid, the live music is more prevalent than in Barcelona.

Ten hours.
Too-big, mismatched shoes. 

Clown. 

[Get the title? Squeaking? Like clown shoes? How they squeak? 

Tough crowd.] 

Clown School Break Day 49: Following the (a)Muse(ment)

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In which Our Hero says yes

I emailed clown school to tell them that I will not be joining for Melodrama. Melodrama starts in just over 2 weeks. I will be somewhat in New York and somewhat in France. I could join. My foot will be near-healed. But I don’t want to go. Why?

  1. I’m buying an apartment. I’m currently in the final stretch. My attention is elsewhere. This is a better use of my time.
  2. I’m just not excited about it. I’m still very interested in the Bouffon class. Perhaps I will join for that in February.
  3. The most important reason: I’m not super-uber-jazzed about it. I have other professional work I’m currently doing. And if the specific course is not super-uber-appealing, I don’t need to take a slot from someone else / spend the time & money.

–

Also, I made $550 playing poker today. Woohoo!

–

[Also, stay tuned.]

Clown School Break Day 42: Making Spades for Poker Pros(pectors)

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In which Our Hero stumbles upon something interesting… 

My partner wants to improve at poker. She 1) has the sort of mind that could be very good at the game, and 2) wants to improve her comfort in situations where she makes the right decision but the outcome turns out bad. [She also 3) wants to improve her comfort in situations where she made the wrong decision and the outcome comes out bad.] 

We watched some theory videos together today. It was very fun. I enjoyed it. I’m excited for more! 

–

My partner asks whether there exist little poker drills, à la “hit the ball at this bucket” in tennis, so you can have fun while learning the skill. I said I didn’t know any. 

We therefore invented a way to teach a particular, very-important poker skill in a manner that’s actually fun. Perhaps we will expand this, refine it, and share it with others! 

… and I built an app for it! More info to come… 🙂 

Clown School Break Day 36: Empty Spaces

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In which emptiness permeates Our Hero. 

Today I drove in silence. My partner in the passenger seat, surrounded by calm empty space. 

Usually I drive with music or a podcast. This drive was 3.5 hours. 

For the first two hours, just being. 

Once in a while adding a comment. Saying something. Mostly quiet. 

It was nice. 

— 

It reminded me of some time spent on stage. The increased comfort that comes from increased experience. The greater ease that comes from an acceptance of emptiness. 

I’m reminded of the idea variously attributed to Miles Davis and other musical greats: playing the spaces between the notes. 

It’s pleasant to play the spaces between the notes. 

It’s even more enjoyable to let the spaces between the notes play. 

And then

To level up

To the notes themselves playing 

And you simply helping

😌 

Clown School Day 32: A Virtuous Pleasure Cycle

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In which our hero celebrates yet more acclaim (with utmost humility)

Hearing of my post yesterday, the reader who recommended the game emailed to share their joy: “It gave me pleasure to recommend the game. It gave you guys pleasure to play. It gave me pleasure you liked it … a circle of joy. So happy!”

As I read this message, I smiled. For it felt like the most virtuous cycle of pleasure since the invention of what the French call “le soixante-neuf”.

Perhaps what’s most interesting: I now understand why people engage with fans.

Plus: Not only do I have dozens of daily readers (and some more non-subscribed daily readers); I’m also an accessible human person.

You – yes, you – can communicate with me, and I will respond + engage. An act of engagement mirroring that of the audience x clown. 

Humanizing. Connective. Satisfying. 

“Okay,” I then thought, “What would it be like to explore and isolate this wheel of success? Is it the same in all media  (including clown; public intellectual; and writer)?” 

Looking at it, I saw the following wheel: 1) Make a thing; 2) make it public; 3) engage with those who like it. 

I then began thinking: “Wouldn’t it be cool if I brought even more people joy?” and then, a bit of fear: “What if I got big enough to have people who dislike my work?” 

Doubtless, in any city of sufficient size you will have bad actors. Similarly, in any media reach of sufficient size, there are bound to be haters and/or trolls.

As such, the question is not if, but when. And being a sometimes-catastrophizing sort (even when I’m imagining a future world where people enjoy my artistic work enough to be popular), what would they say? Here’s what I imagine, and my thoughts on them:
1. “I hate you” / “you suck”. (People like to say things like this; they’re non-substantive; next.)
2. “You dive into particular and uninteresting rabbitholes” (I follow what interests me. It’s not going to interest everyone. I hope to be accessible to those who will find me valuable.)
3. “You have X blindspot” / “How can you not know Y” / “What the fuck is wrong with you for Z”. (This is my favorite – unnecessarily aggressive, but at least there’s substance. I’ve spent my life separating the person from the idea, parsing for the gold nugget of truth while ignoring the surrounding turd, so these are responses that I genuinely look forward to).

Yet, upon reflection, many of these notes I’ve already heard at clown school. From our Head Teacher in response to one of my performances, I once heard – direct quote – “We don’t like you”, alongside feedback that I failed at showing my personhood/humanity. Last I checked, I have always been a person (and I suspect the Head Teacher knew this). Perhaps this intensity of aggressive attacking is part of the inoculation of clown school. Or perhaps, as a family member put it when I described the social structure of the first two weeks, “that sounds like brainwashing.”

So if clowning (art?) is about creating games and playing them with others, what games do I want to create for my writing audience? 1) in this post, look at the first letters of each paragraph to find a cute little easter egg, and 2) over the next few days, let’s both be on the lookout for where interaction goes. Perhaps it will go nowhere. Or perhaps I’ll find some fun to share. Since clowning is about so much present-ness, there’s really no way to tell. Guess you’ll have to keep reading 

!🤡