I’ve always wanted to run away and join the circus. When I was in junior high, I read a Teen Magazine profile of three girls who were contortionists with Cirque du Soleil. They were skinny and talented and had beautiful pink and purple costumes, all of which were appealing to my 12-year-old self: I was fat (or so my skinny 12-year-old self thought), could only do the splits on the left side, and wore biker shorts and Body Glove T-shirts to gymnastics class.
But I’m not picky about my circuses. I wrote a term paper on P.T. Barnum (big, flashy, swindle-the-suckers circus), I loved Geek Love (dark, fetishy, freak show circus) and I took a class from a real live bearded lady at CalArts (pomo political circus). And yet my life—past three weeks excluded—is undeniably un-circus-like. Oh, let’s face it, even the past three weeks of post-break-up hell are hellish in a really ordinary way. Like, I can’t even say, “At least it will make great material for a future novel,” because I don’t believe I have anything to say about heartbreak that hasn’t been said more eloquently by hundreds of great writers or Alanis Morissette.
At least one of my problems has been solved, though. Enter Carnival of the Mundane!
The brainchild of Dean (of Inspired by a True Story), Carnival of the Mundane will be an online roundup of posts by bloggers who write about everyday life, hopefully in a not-so-everyday way. A bunch of us will take turns hosting, providing enticing peeps into virtual tents. And the people shall come together, stale popcorn in hand, to revel in the freakishness of their posts about dorm roommates, gym memberships and the search for the perfect bed frame.
To be honest, I’m not entirely sure how it works yet. Luckily, I’m not hosting till March. One does not become a world class tightrope walker overnight.