I was dressed like a clown, traveling through a cavalcade of sugar skulls, monster movie posters, tiny calaveras and replica human skulls, one of which I had been assured wasn't a replica.

The walls were painted the color of blood, as was a good portion of my forehead. A bone-white cat sauntered by, pausing only to glance at me pityingly as I trod through the skeletal gauntlet toward the bonfire.

Finally, I made my way to the backyard, where I found ... a small barbecue with a bunch of metalheads tossing copies of the Chicago Reader into a small, brick fire pit.

A man looked over at me. His head was shaved and he had a tight devil-beard circling his face.

"Hey," he said, looking me over. "You want a burger?"

I shook my head no, but helped myself to a little hummus dip with pita. It was quite good.

Allow me to explain this weird little tale. But to do that, I must enlist the help of my good friend Depresso the Exhausted Clown.

What a handsome, handsome clown. He just oozes virility, wisdom and cream pie filling. He's the type of clown men want to be and ladies want to be crammed in a tiny little car with. When this clown's pants drop, they stay dropped. And you know what they say about guys with big shoes.

This man is the world's sexiest clown.

Yeah, it's me.

Now I have a friend who's trying to break into the world of being an alternative clown or, to use an industry term I just made up, an "alternaclown."

I've never seen her show, but apparently it has involved fire, arrows, a typewriter and, until it broke, an accordion. I'll try to cover her clown show whenever the next one is.

Knowing of this blog and my quest for the weird, the clown girl gave me a call to see if I wanted to go to, as she put it, a "circus party." There would be people dressed like lion tamers, trapeze girls, sideshow geeks, ringmasters and, of course, clowns. Half costume party, half welcoming site for the circus subculture apparently bubbling just under the surface.

Well, I was all over it like red on Ronald's nose. I would finally get to be a clown.

This is a dream I've had since I was a small, strange child and my parents took me to Circus World Museum in Baraboo, Wisc. I was enthralled. I loved the clowns, just happy enough to make you happy and just scary enough to be exciting. They thrilled me and titillated me, but most important to a boy that age, they made my sister very, very uncomfortable.

I went home from the museum with a yearning in my heart and a foam clown nose I wore too often to be sanitary.

So I was thrilled to get my invite to experience the psycho-circus mystique and the people who adhere to the world of freaks, geeks and clowns.

But then the party got cancelled, which is why I'm blogging about wearing makeup at a barbecue.

Here are a few pictures showing my transformation from Paul, overworked grad student, to Depresso, tired clown. Clown girl did my makeup.

And here's a picture showing why you should never take a flash photo two feet from someone's eyes.

So off clown girl and I went, into the night on our bicycles.

We got to the party and it was great, but very chill. The apartment dwellers had a real monster-movie, Dia-de-los-Muertos aesthetic, which really kicked the night off right. There was music, conversation, lawn chairs, a cat on a leash (which I, while dressed as a clown, thought was the weirdest thing I've seen in a while). I chatted for a long time with a molecular geneticist. Even the weird cadre of metalheads turned out to be really cool.

So what's it like being a clown? Well, I felt more sure of myself than I had in a long time. I knew I had the makeup on, so it wasn't really me. When someone annoyed me, I told them so in a firm but respectful way. I didn't try to do my usual thing of trying to make everyone happy.

Sort of ironic that it's the clown me that doesn't care about entertaining people.

Also, Depresso apparently talks in a vaguely New Yorkish accent. That one weirded even me out.

Oh, but here are the life lessons I promised:

1. When you're dressed in an extreme outfit, you can do no wrong. Act like a jackass, you're meeting their expectations anyway. Act reasonably intelligent and normal, you sound twice as smart because your words are coming from a freakshow. This actually applies to the greater subculture search that is this blog's mission. I now get you, goths. I'm onto your game.
2. People in their 30s still throw parties that last until dawn. That's good for a late 20s gentleman such as myself to know.
3. Metalheads and clowns, while enemies in the wild, are not so different when it comes down to it. However, people who help clean up everything when the cops tell you to go inside because the neighbors complained and the jackasses who just split inside are two tribes that can never truly come together.

Finally, the last lesson is that you should really watch this cool video I made. I think it says it all.

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