Supernatural: Everybody Loves a Clown
Star TrekStargate:AtlantisFireflyWhy Did It Have To Be Clowns?
by
Sylvia Bond
Supernatural Season 2 - Episode 2
“Everybody Loves a Clown”
The title for this episode is misleading, of course, because not everybody loves clowns. (Some people, like Sam, are downright freaked out by them.) The first I heard that of it was from my sister. There I was at the circus happily enjoying the clown act, when my sister turned to me, and in that voice she reserved for telling scary stories, said, “Clowns are evil, you know. They’ll hurt you.” I was six at the time, and I don’t know if she was pulling my leg or not (she was totally wrong, for example, about the fact that the blood would run out of my ears if I was held upside down by my ankles long enough), but I had to act upon the belief that she wasn’t. I have looked at clowns with a kid-sized apprehension ever since. I am not alone in this, apparently.
Let’s talk about the killer clown plot, since although ostensibly it’s the main plot, it pales in comparison when placed next to the REAL plot, which I’ll cover later, saving the best for last. Sam and Dean pick up a gig to investigate strange murders involving clowns, which Sam is afraid of. Sam and Dean’s investigation takes them to Cooper’s Carnival, where Sam’s clown fear takes a rabid turn.
Poor Sam. He’s never been able to live this one down, and Dean’s the one who’s going to see that that stays true for always. I always like it when the boys dither as they drive. In the rain. Even in a mini-van, the scene is dense and satisfying. Dean throws out snotty comments about Sam’s fear of clowns, and Sam retaliates by bringing up Dean’s fear of planes. Then comes some classic Winchester brother exchange. Dean says, “Oh yeah? Well, planes crash!” To which Sam replies, “Well, apparently clowns kill!” I laughed long and hard at this because it seems to me that Sam’s been taking Dean’s razzing him about his fear of clowns for 22 looooooong years, and finally, FINALLY he is vindicated!
This scene also contains one of my favorite motifs: Sam looking at maps by flashlight while Dean drives. There’s something about this that feels quite iconic to me, and I don’t know if it’s the almost holy way the circle of light from the flashlight bathes Sam’s face, or whether it’s the idea of him with his nose buried in paper that does it. Either way, I always sigh when this bit starts, or any scene like it. I think it’s because that I know that Sam feels safe when he’s occupied in this particular task, him with the flashlight and maps, Dean at his side with his hands on the wheel, and the two of them on a road that seemingly goes on forever.
The hunt for the evil clown is typical MOW stuff, with false starts and red herrings. What adds to it is the humor that dots each and every scene about clowns. For starters, Sam is right, clowns ARE evil. They represent death or something, and they have the worst taste in clothes and accessories. Plus the killer clown in this ep is wearing an outfit that surely smells of mold. But it’s like a running joke must be inserted into each clown scene, and I’d say it’s done with a lively skill.
For example, there’s the bit where Sam has a stare down with a lady clown. You can actually see his heart thumping right through his chest as he looks at her, totally freaked. Dean asks if he got her number. What I love is Sam’s scoff and that nose wrinkle he does when he simply cannot believe that Dean went there with that. As if he’s completely forgotten that it’s, like, Dean’s JOB to go there. That particular nose wrinkle and scoff combination should be patented or something because no one does it like Sam does, with complete and utter disdain and a kind of surprise that Dean actually went that far with it. Like he does. Like he always does.
Then Dean reports on what the police know, about the little boy who made it, and Sam buts in and says, “Who fingered a clown.” Dean looks at him, waits one or two beat for the filthiness of this to sink in, anticipation brightening his face. Sam’s on to him though and doesn’t want to touch this one with a ten-foot pole. Thank you, boys, for giving me some VERY good laughs while watching this ep, a mighty feat considering all the angst lurking around the corners.
The boys decide to blend in and apply for jobs. The boys’ interview with Mr. Cooper is especially fun because as they step into the office there are two chairs. One is a normal chair and the other is done up in a clown motif. Dean takes one look at the clown chair and snags the other one, because that’s what older brothers do when they are determined to keep teasing you about something that really scares you. Watch as Sam sits down and holds himself forward of the back of the chair, his shoulders curled forward as if the chair is going to bite him. When Dean says his bad, ill-timed joke about Sam and the bearded lady, watch Sam’s nostril flair and silent scoff. It’s delicious.
Dean and Sam try to bluff their way through the interview, and Sam even pulls out the “We don’t want to go to school, we don’t want regular, we want this” speech. Everything he says is the antithesis of what he’s always said he wants and it makes you wonder whether he means it. I think he does, or at least half of him does. With The Dad gone, it’s like something in him has become unleashed and he’s ready to go get the world.
Later Dean asks him about this, whether he is actually going back to Wussy State. Sam says he changed his mind and so forth, but I’m totally distracted. Sam’s hair is sticking straight out like robins have been pulling on it for their nests. I want to laugh but I can’t. The scene is too serious and Sam is too grim. Besides, only a man that good looking and confident and in the throes of such strong emotion won’t give a hang what his hair looks like. (And I applaud Makeup for the realism of this. Sam is entirely un-vain, and if he’s still dealing with The Dad’s death, then it makes sense that combing his hair is the last thing on his mind. Dean, on the other hand, looks like he spent hours perfecting his Mohawk, but I think he’s just doing that to distract himself because while Sam’s been off changing his mind, Dean’s in denial, refusing to admit he has any problems whatsoever, which is typical Dean for you, even on a good day.)
While they work for Cooper’s Carnival, Sam and Dean are on trash duty. Watching Dean and Sam perform menial tasks is rather like seeing Abe Lincoln in his underwear. Now, it’s not entirely unthinkable, after all, Abe surely wore some sort of underwear, but seeing the Winchester boys do jobs that any one of us could do (and maybe probably did for a summer job) is just a tad bizarre. Especially since Dean purportedly eschews all regular employment in favor of making a living by his special talents, which include pool hustling and poker sharking. But that gets them in to the inside of the carnival, where they can run their EMFs with impunity. Or at least mostly.
Barry the blind knife thrower (that the boys met earlier) comes up and starts asking questions about Dean’s suspicious activities (talking to Sam about bones), and I liked it that at last Dean comes up with the perfect excuse: We’re writing a book about ghosts. Well, duh. Why haven’t they used this excuse before? Everyone knows writers are weird and like to write about weird things. Plus people respond to being told that a book is in process. Try it, you’ll see. Call up any business establishment and ask them a weird question. When they start hemming and hawing, say, in your shyest voice, “Well, actually, I’m writing a book, and…” And then watch. Within five minutes you’ll be talking to the company president, or at the very least, that weird guy in the back room who knows EVERYTHING.
The boys eventually figure out that the blind guy is the MOW, a rakshasa, which is a creature that has a slow metabolism and likes to eat the parents of naughty children. They end up in the funhouse (because that’s where the brass is) and with Dean’s smarts and Sam’s brawn, they kill the thing. What I liked, my favorite bit, was where Sam shoves the brass pipe into the invisible rakshasa, and the blood comes spurting out the pipe. Someone on the Blood Team knew how cool blood coming out of a hollow pipe would look on film. Go Blood Team!
The killer clown storyline has one frustrating aspect to it that I have to mention here or go mad forever. You know it’s those durn kids who are to blame for all the deaths. I don’t mind that they like creepy clowns who dress in dusty motley and have a tendency to resemble pedophiles that stand on street corners handing out sticky candy. Kids have weird taste and that’s a fact. But the kids in this ep all make the same durn mistake: they not only talk to a stranger who’s come up to the house in the middle of the night, they invite said stranger (who is strangely dressed) in to play. Have they not heard the warnings, the never-ending commercials where Officer McGruff enjoins kids to “run away” and “tell mom and dad?” Jeeze, they watch enough TV, you’d think they’d have seen at least one. But the worst little kid in my book is the little boy who has been brought to the carnival by his dad. Now, really, I should blame his dad for this one because he brings his kid to this place of happy fun and then allows said child to continue playing a hand held video game. Take the blasted thing away for 10 freaking minutes, why don’t you! If you’re going to share with him an experience that reminds you of YOUR childhood, then do it right.
Enough of that. A second sub-storyline has to do with one of The Dad’s old pals, Ellen Harvelle, with whom he apparently knew years before. The good thing about The Dad’s character is that Show has made him secretive, so secretive that even after his death, his boys continue to find things out, and Show uses this to its advantage: they can introduce anyone or anything and explain it away as being one of The Dad’s secrets. (Not that I blame them, this is a very good use of a dead character. I’m just pointing it out because that’s what I do.) There are several good scenes that take place in the Roadhouse, and each of them gives us tons of information in a short period of time.
In the first one, Sam and Dean arrive at Harvelle’s Roadhouse, chugging along in a totally embarrassing mini-van. They use Sam’s lock pick to break in, encounter a sleeping man on a pool table, and wander around as if they owned the place. I like the rundown feel of the roadhouse, the dust on the floor, dirty glasses, and the streaks on the windows. I’m sure that there are even dead flies in the windowsill; the Set Dressers deserve a round of applause for really outdoing themselves here.
And then the fun starts. The boys hook up with the Roadhouse gang, and the meet is a cute one. I rather like the introduction of Ellen and Jo and Ash. With guns held high, Dean dubiously cowed and battered by Jo’s rifle, Sam practically hogtied by Ellen’s gun (and looking as adorably cross-eyed as a young lion cub), we get Ellen’s very hearty “Sam and Dean? John Winchester’s boys?” question, like it was only yesterday that she heard tell of them instead of years back.
Ellen is a joy to watch. She owns the roadhouse, and she’s an independent woman. You can tell by her ease with a gun that she’s no stranger to danger. I like her denim shirt and her “yeah, I got better things to do, mister” long, brown hair. I like her accent, that slight affected lisp that makes everything she says with an “s” in it that much more interesting than it already is. If face of the slew of half-naked, size nothing, coiffed, manicured, and overly made up FAKE women that so many shows (including, alas, this one) seem to want to introduce by the hundredweight, seeing Ellen, a real woman making her way by herself, doing her thing, is like a revelation, a miracle, and a blessing from above. Anyone can tell you that more audience members related better and faster to Ellen than ANY other female character on Show, bar none.
Jo is another matter. I have a love/hate relationship with her. It’s not just that she’s a size nothing, pert blonde with too much makeup, and it’s not even (really it’s NOT) that she falls instantly in love with Dean. I mean, I can’t fault her taste there, it’s impeccably good. What I can fault is Show’s purported decision to suddenly and inexplicably give Dean a love interest. I think someone in a Suit and Tie from Corporate dictated this to Show, so Jo throws herself at Dean. It’s the falseness of this sudden love interest that makes me dislike her.
Dean, for some reason, starts to make the moves on her and then stops. I love the look in his eyes when she tells him what every other man has tried to entice her with a pizza, a six-pack and side one of Zeppelin 4. Dean, you can tell, was JUST about to try this very thing and is sorry to have already pulled out, as it were. I personally think that he just wasn’t, um, up to the occasion. That’s a horrible thing to say about someone as macho as Dean, but really, his heart just wasn’t in it because in spite of what Sam believes, he’s grieving mightily over the death of The Dad. Any other excuse he makes is just a cover.
As for Ash, what’s not to love? I love any man with a brain, and Ash is so unabashed about his smarts that I want to sit down and have a chat with him right away. I love his hair (”business in the front, party in the back”), I love his love of those zingers that men love to deliver, like, “si, si compadre,” as if he’s been waiting all DAY for an opportunity to deliver his cool lines. I love his protectiveness of his computer and his complete BRASS at practically slapping Dean’s hand away from touching it. And I’m beguiled by his apparent acceptance of a lifestyle that includes sleeping on pool tables till noon, and living in the back room at a rundown roadhouse with no other prospects in sight. Maybe it’s me and my desperate middle-class need for a mortgage, a 401(K), and that savings plan that promises to sock away a certain percentage so that I won’t end up on the streets living in a paper box in the middle of the road.
Ellen lets the boys know that she knows about hunters, referring to the Roadhouse as a saloon, and asking if they’ve come for her help with the demon, of course. Dean and Sam, who heretofore have never met, let alone heard of other hunters, are shocked, and Dean wants to know if there’s a Demon Hunter’s Quarterly that he’s not been receiving. When Ellen learns of The Dad’s death, she is sympathetic. Dean, of course, refuses her sympathy with the immortal line, “Really lady, I’m fine.” But the question that raises its head at this time is given that John knew about the existence of other hunters, why did he keep this (and his statistical research) a secret from his boys. To protect them? Well, isn’t keeping them in the dark a sure way to get them killed? Oh, John.
The boys give Ash The Dad’s files on the demon they are hunting. Ash expresses his disbelief that any man could do this, on account of the fact that no one could track a demon using non-parametric statistical overviews or cross-spectrum correlations. (I looked these up and could barely understand it. The former has something to do with looking at data where the external parameters are flexible and not defined. The latter has to do with the meeting of two random elements or events. I think, and I could be wrong, John was using this information to narrow down the probability of the demon’s being at any one given location. But jeeze, it’s all math to me!) Sam, naturally, is piqued by this, so he says, “Our Dad can,” in that voice that grade-schoolers use when announcing what their dad can do to your dad. But Ash is impressed anyway and promises an answer in 51 hours.
Then, while Sam picks up the clown job from Ellen, there is more flirtation between Jo and Dean that seems to fall rather flat. She agrees that it was the wrong place, wrong time, but sits rather close as if she was still hopeful. I did NOT scream at the TV for her to get AWAY from him, no, I did not. (But yeah, Dean should wear body-skimming Henley shirt more often, don’t you think?) During the last scene at the Roadhouse, the subject of Dean and Jo getting together comes up yet AGAIN. Sam gives them some space with his adorable, “I’ve gotta go…over there…right now.” Jo wants to know if she’s going to see Dean again and as Dean responds, listen for the Ackle’s Texas accent slipping through here as he asks, “Do you want to?” (I never knew a Texas accent could sound so lush!) Luckily, Dean professes a lack of interest and a fear of Jo’s mom, so hopefully Jo gets the message.
As to the Roadhouse, as I said, I liked the Roadhouse. It looks like after the sun goes down, it gets a little wild, so if I had someone who could look out for me (like Sam, Dean, Ash, Bobby, The Dad), I think I would enjoy a little R & R there. However, when Ellen says that the Roadhouse is a place where Hunters pass through now and again, I had these images of Immortals from Highlander, who all hang out at the same high-class bar, ugh, ugh, ugh. Boring, banal, and predictable. I always had the idea that hunters (oh, yeah, like I’ve known So many) are rather like moose: secretive, territorial, private. Why on earth would they announce their presence, even in a place that used to be owned by a hunter? Overall I liked the Roadhouse very much, but I disliked the idea of what the Roadhouse represented.
However, in the end, whatever else this ep is about, be it clowns or roadhouses, truth is, this episode is about the boys talking to each other. Arguing. Punching and poking at old wounds. And in the end, for all the talking, not resolving anything. As any fan can tell you, one of the great underlying treats of this ep are these difficult and angsty conversations between the boys, buried amongst discussions about the evil clown apocalypse and visits to the Roadhouse.
One great conversation occurs as the episode opens with a funeral pyre. The body wrapped in white linen and on the flames is John’s. Beyond the flames stand Sam and Dean, and there is no grief as great as theirs. Or rather, I want to say, no one cries as well as they do. Sam is a mess. His face is streaked with tears, snot runs from his nose, and he looks as if he’d rather crawl under a blanket than have to stand there and watch his father’s body burn. But he’s doing it the right way, the healthy way. He’s expressing his grief, he’s letting it all out as opposed to bottling it in like Dean is doing.
Dean’s tears, on the other hand, are rare and they are powerful. And, frankly, watching him cry with his single tear is like watching blood coming from a stone because that’s how difficult it is for Dean to cry. He’s going to make himself sick bottling it in, I just know it. In the meanwhile, yeah, it’s beautiful to watch. Not that I should be enjoying such suffering, but it’s hard not to, seeing as Sam and Dean do it with grace and feeling. Plus, they’re beautiful, and that’s just facts.
The conversation ensues. It’s short, so don’t blink or you’ll miss it. In fact, it’s so short, I can include it in its entirety here. Sam asks, “Before he…before he…did he say anything to you? About anything?” Dean says, “No, nothing,” and then snaps his mouth shut before he can say anything else. It’s a complete lie, of course, because as every fangirl knows, the poor dear has been loaded down with an awful secret and an awful responsibility when The Dad enjoined Dean to decide when and whether he must kill his brother Sam.
As for the funeral pyre, it’s impressive. The flames leap high into the air, surely alerting the authorities for miles. Which then begs the question, how on earth did the boys arrange this? That they did arrange it doesn’t surprise me, but my mind boggles at the logistics of it. Now I don’t blame Show for not showing me all of this, because there’s a lot of detail there, it’s just that my mind wants to fill in the blanks
First they had to get the body from the morgue in the hospital. I’m also sure it wasn’t difficult for them; the idea of breaking into a place or disguising themselves is not new. Then, they had to get it away from the city, and I figured they must have used the Impala for this. It would have been impractical (because of all the stuff in there), for them, to use the trunk. Not to mention, it would be very disrespectful to treat John’s body that way. So I think they ended up putting John’s body in the back seat and covered it with blankets and coats.
Then Sam and Dean arrive in the middle of nowhere with a dead body and plans to cremate it. Whether The Dad had previously at some point given them instructions to do this, or whether the boys figured it would be better to be safe than sorry, I don’t know. It seems sensible to burn the body, considering that they know it would keep that person’s soul at rest. Or at least they think they know; because at this point, they are unaware that The Dad has already sold his sold in exchange for Dean’s life. (And the Colt, but that’s another matter.)
At any rate, dead body, middle of nowhere, and now the boys have to prepare the body. The boys probably washed the body and then wrapped it in linen. The thought of them doing this always saddens me. Not just because of the fact that their father died, but it’s the way I imagine them doing it: tender, gentle, slow. Not shirking from a difficult task, but bending to it out of love, out of respect. And were no jokes, there was only silence. I guess it’s good that I don’t watch this ep too often, otherwise I’d be a morbid mess.
The boys then built the pyre, tossed on the salt and the gasoline, and then asked each other (without words, most likely): Who is going to light the flame? I like to think that they did it together, each with a match. And man, it must have been hard. Especially for Dean, even if he doesn’t cry very much about it. (Plus the smell. Have you ever smelled a dead body burning? I haven’t, and I never want to. People say it smells terrible, but I imagine that’s as much from the idea of what’s burning as to the actual odor.) I feel for Sam and Dean in this scene, because behind the drama and the tears and beyond the flames, the boys have lost their father and they will never be the same.
It’s after this that the first of the long (and therefore utterly satisfying) conversations takes place in Bobby’s junkyard. Dean works on the car and Sam comes out. He asks Dean if he needs help. Dean refuses and as a piece of the something falls to the ground, Dean remarks sarcastically that he knows better than to let Sam under the hood. Then Sam starts talking to him about important issues like why Dean isn’t grieving properly, as Sam thinks he should. First off, Sam should know better. People grieve in different ways. Sam’s way is to mope and cry and let it all hang out. Sam’s way is to also walk around in a t-shirt looking like a chipmunk’s been at his hair. His way is to also badger his brother to pieces. To stand there with his hands on his hips and harangue. I rather like him like this, because I appreciate Sam’s willingness to be vulnerable and open. This is hard to do, especially on a consistent basis as Sam seems to do it.
Dean’s way is to grieve work on the car, in spite of Sam’s desire that Dean should show more active grieving, that Dean should want revenge, and I think it’s interesting all the things Sam wants for Dean. To me this indicates all the things Sam wants for himself. I love the fact that Dean comes back at Sam totally unfazed by Sam’s desires and complaints. In spite of everything Sam sees to the contrary, I think Dean knows exactly how he’s dealing with his Dad’s death at this point, and that is to not deal with it. Dean’s gonna do what Dean’s gonna do, and that is work on the car. He’s Dean Winchester, what else does Sam think he’s going to do?
But what I like here is Dean himself. He’s dressed in a grey t-shirt and jeans, has a five o’clock shadow at high noon, and he is covered with grease. He’s working with his hands. He’s wiping even more grease on his face. He’s got bruising and scarring from the accident, and best of all, the sun is just pouring down on him and I can see every freckle, every lash, every inch of the sweet curve of his lips. This scene is a Deangirl’s dream. I mean, if you like them all messy and scruffy and masculine like this. Lord knows he could probably use a shower, but there’s something so sexy and animal here, it makes me want to run my hands all over him and get messy myself.
The second terrific conversation takes place on the road to nowhere, after Dean and Sam have ditched the mini-van. Along they walk, amidst the fields of silky golden wheat and high green grasses, with cottonwood seeds dancing in the warm air, and the sunshine pouring down on them so bright and clear and warm, I’m sure the lighting crew got the afternoon off. The beauty of this scene reminds me of one of those paintings of a summer’s day that came straight from the painter’s memory and not from any real day, because the whole of it is almost too pretty to be real.
It’s lovely, as well, to see the boys bathed in this golden afternoon. Their hair is lit up by an aureole of light, their skin, pale from lack of exposure to the sun, glows like warm marble. You can see eyelashes, and freckles, golden specks in green eyes, it’s like a cornucopia of small details that we usually don’t get to see because for SOME reason, every where they go, it’s rainy and cloudy. Who knows how long they walk but they don’t seem to think anything of it, they just walk, the way you imagined people used to do before cars became everyday objects. Plus, it amazes me the things that they are not carrying. I know they travel light, but all they have is two duffels and one backpack. That’s their whole lives, everything they need, right there. Yeah, sure, there’s more stuff back in the Impala (or perhaps in boxes at Bobby’s place), but if they traveled any lighter, all they’d have between them was a paper bag with two toothbrushes in it.
But then it gets better, because Sam is at it AGAIN. He’s realized that Dean doesn’t have to deal with it his, Sam’s, way, but that he has to deal with it. Watch as Sam points and gestures. I always get the feeling that he’d just as soon strangle Dean at this point as talk to him. Then it gets nasty, with exchanges about who said what to whom and who might not actually be dealing all that well (Sam) and who’s dealing with it just fine (Dean).
Dean gets mean. He pushes back with saying how everything Sam is doing because The Dad would have wanted it is too little, too late, and that basically Sam is a hypocrite. And oh, Sam. He asks, “Why are you saying this to me?” Mean fangirl that I am, I think Sam is perfectly perfect when hurt; nobody can do it like he does. His eyebrows get low and somehow his eyes take on the expression of a wounded child, and for all his height, Sam comes across as a five year old who’s just been told he’s about to be sent to the local orphanage. I’ll bet Dean feels pretty bad about it the second it happens, but then Sam decides to bury himself in his work and off they go, and nothing is resolved.
The last of the Great Conversations takes place once again in Bobby’s salvage yard after the MOW has been vanquished. The Impala looks to be in better shape than before; it’s obvious that Dean’s been hard at work, and Dean is once again greasy and edible. Sam comes out. He’s wearing the thinnest t-shirt ever and the chipmunks have been at his hair again. The sun is bright, Dean is sweaty, and Sam’s got something to say. (But really, when does he ever not have something to say?) But you’ve got to give him credit, at least he’s thought it out. And this is my favorite of his speeches, I love the rhythm of it, the pacing, the way it was done. I love what Sam confesses, about not having done it right with The Dad, about feeling guilty, and the whole “too little, too late” and I’m absolutely sure he’s tearing himself up about it. Then he leaves.
As for Dean, he’s got nothing to say. He’s a brick wall in this scene, and what might at first appear to be merely Dean holding his tongue till Sam has finally shut up is actually something else all together. Dean is holding it in till Sam leaves after which he takes a crowbar to the Impala and puts many holes in it.
This scene shocks me each and every time I see it. It’s scary to watch Dean to express emotion so violently and aimed at something he loves almost more than he loves Sam: his car. His best girl. His attack upon it is vicious and hard, exploding through his arms and his chest. I’m sure he was sore the next day, but at that moment, I’m also sure he doesn’t care. There’s so much rage having built up inside of him, rage and grief and confusion about everything. At the end of all this, he is silent and still, just about as pale as I’ve ever seen him. It’s hard to watch this scene, regardless of my mood, and I just wish that for one minute, someone would take care of Dean. Alas, there is no care to be had.
This particular episode is what I like to call a sleeper. Fangirls I’ve talked to seem to forget that this is the episode where the boys cremate their father, or where Dean smashes the Impala to bits. I think it’s because the cute title belies the seriousness and all those conversations about death and grief and loss. The main plot might be about killer clowns, evil clowns, homicidal phantom clowns, and, finally, the evil clown apocalypse, but what it’s really about is how the boys deal (or really, how they don’t deal) with The Dad’s death. What I liked was that it did so much in the allotted time and all of the different storylines seemed to fit together seamlessly. This episode is a perfect example of how siblings, in this case brothers, can bug the holy bejesus out of us, tease us mercilessly, yell at us, and sometimes, sadly, they can’t help us. They can’t even help themselves. And all this in an episode that seems to be all about funny, harmless clowns. How’s that for ironic?
Sylvia Bond is a ten-year technical writing veteran with too many degrees under her belt to count. She lives in Colorado, but does not ski, preferring instead to spend her money and time at the annual Great American Beer Festival, taking road trips across the United States, and reading historical fiction from the comfort of her fluffy green arm chair. She has been involved in fandom since 1993 and been writing fanfic since approximately 1993. What she finds most amazing about fandom (besides the open heartedness of fans and the sheer amount of creativity) is how visible fandom has become. “In my day,” she says, “we had to hide behind P.O. boxes to get fanfic. But nowadays, people wear t-shirts that shout their affiliation and share their shiny toys on the internet.” It’s a wonderful world.
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