
I didn’t realize that nudists were going to have an impact on my silly blog. But they did in a very large way (percentage-wise based on my embarrassingly minuscule successes with Catch a Falling Star).
It began when I offered my services as a blogger to a nudist website seeking blog posts about first time experiences as a nudist. Which was a goofy thing to do considering I had no intention of being a nudist until I made that decision based on encouragement from friends who were already nudists. If I wasn’t going to publicly take my clothes off and walk around naked, I shouldn’t have made such an agreement. But, sometimes I deal with depression by doing things that set my adrenaline pumping. So I agreed I would visit a local nudist park and write a blog about it. That started my nerves vibrating and my heart beating again.
I went to Bluebonnet Nudist Park near Alvord, Texas on a day when my family went to a theme park in San Antonio without me because my ability to ride roller-coasters is a thing of the past (for a number of health reasons). I put in some outdoor naked time with other naked people, and though it made my heart thump faster, it was actually an enjoyable thing. I was wise enough to use a double layer of SPF 50 sunblock to keep my most personal parts from being toasted with Texas sunburn.

A picture of me enjoying the shade at Bluebonnet Naturist Park (I know I promised not to show you my scary bare carcass, but at least this portrait of a nudist doesn’t actually reveal any really scary bits.)
I then wrote a blog post about it here the day after, called The Naked Truth About That Idiot Mickey. It was supposed to be cute and humorous, though slightly off-beat and risque. Then, two weeks later when I cancelled out on a second visit, I wrote another essay called Becoming a Nudist. Again I was trying for self-deprecating humor with a touch of tongue-in-cheek puckishness. Then, a gentleman who goes by the name of The Militant Negro with a very eclectic and thoughtful blog decided to do as he usually does when re-blogging my blog posts, he picked the most embarrassing one he could find. (He previously re-blogged a doll-collecting post about Beautiful Barbie Dolls.) Somehow the bloggers of clothesfreelife.com got hold of that post, either from that initial re-blog, or from Twitter, and re-blogged it on the website I linked at at the start of this essay. So my first nudist blog turned out not even to be for the website I had originally agreed to blog for. (I have not heard back from that submission yet.) But that nudist website was actually good for my blog. Nudist-website-readers have been tuning in. More than 50+ views every day since Becoming a Nudist was first re-blogged. They also found such blog posts as Be Naked More and Why Do You Think That 4? All People Are Nudists Under Their Clothes and cemented them as among my most viewed posts.

So, now I am inexplicably popular as a naked writer. Who could ask for anything more? It certainly serves as an unusual talking point in family discussions.

























For the Love of Sad Clowns
This is my latest clown picture, inspired by my newest fascination with Puddles’ Pity Party on YouTube. Like all my clown pictures, I am fairly sure that my number one son will tell me it’s a creepy clown. He has never liked clowns. When he was still small we took him to the pre-show at Ringling Brothers Barnum and Bailey Circus which at that time was Meet the Clowns. We met the men… and women… and dwarves… in the face paint with the loud personalities and huge red smiles. I was charmed, as always, but number one son spent most of the time behind my pantleg, peering around for sneak peaks at the clowns. He was actually shivering most of the time.
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But me, I love clowns. Always have. Especially the sad clowns. The hobo clowns. Red Skelton playing Freddy the Freeloader, Charlie Chaplin as the Little Tramp, Marcel Marceau, the peerless mime, and Emmett Kelly Jr. as Weary Willie. There is something deeply poetic and resonant about a clown who makes you laugh by his outward actions but manifests deep feelings and an underlying sadness on the inside. It is a metaphor for the whole of life in the human world.
Puddles walked on to the stage of America’s Got Talent and engaged everyone first with his silent-clown mime routine, and then grabbed everyone right by the heart by singing a song about drinking and swinging on the chandelier with such emotion and operatic power that, by the end of the song everyone was standing, everyone loved him. Singing clowns with a sad song help us keep our own little boats afloat on a vast and stormy ocean of life. The song buoys us up and makes it bearable to tread water a little longer. I am at a time and place in my life where I really need that.
I love clowns. Especially sad clowns. Particularly when they sing.
I dare you to watch these videos and not fall in love with Puddles. That’s the point of sad clowns. They make you laugh at the sad and serious things that tear people apart. And by doing that, they put Scotch Tape on the tears and put you back together.
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Filed under battling depression, clowns, commentary, goofy thoughts, humor, Paffooney, sharing from YouTube, strange and wonderful ideas about life
Tagged as clowns, humor, PUDDLES' PITY PARTY