The next best thing to running away and joining the circus is taking the Gold Line downtown to see Cirque Berzerk, which AK, Christine, Jody and I did Saturday night. I wore my Peninsula Gymnastics Camp T-shirt (another find from my dad’s attic) in hopes that the performers would acknowledge me as someone who could, at one point in her life, do a back flip.
Miraculously, I made it through the show without imploding from envy. Despite Chantal Durelli’s ass-kicking-pin-up-girl trapeze poses (some of which I did in my trapeze class—!—but one at a time and with a lot of grunting and resting in between).
Despite an amazing five-person trapeze act which combined extreme physical fitness and artistry with the one thing that seems more difficult in my opinion: group work.
Despite the mesmerizing splits, handstands and pretzel-bends-on-steroids performed by contortionist Hayley
At intermission, we congregated in the beer garden—a random chain-linked section of dirt in
Well, sort of a la the opening act.
“Okay, on three, jump up and I’ll toss you,” Christine instructed.
“Why don’t you jump, and I’ll throw you?” said Jody.
“I’ll let you throw me if I can throw you first.”
A lot of jumping and throwing ensued, preceded by a lot of instructions along the lines of, “Wait, do you mean jump on three, or wait till three and then jump?” and “There doesn’t need to be a three! It’s just one—prep—two—jump.”
AK and I tried it too, and Christine cracked up when I automatically got into cheerleader ready-position (hands on hips, smile on lips). “I guess I’m just used to her cheerleading poses by now,” mused AK.
If I do say so myself, I think the combination of Jody’s skating background and my cheer background got us some good air. And probably a few odd looks, but not that many. It was a very Bu
Then the bench AK was sitting on the edge of tipped over, and a guy wearing a lot of makeup came and did some miming, and then it was time to go back inside the tent.
I feel about the circus the way that novelist and blogger Andrea Seigel feels about Ralph Lauren: Both represent the exotic for middle-class suburban Jewish-ish girls. If you read her entry on Lauren, you’ll see how a fetish can also save the world. For example, I paid an extra three bucks for my Cirque Berzerk ticket to buy a couple of carbon offsets or whatever they call them. (There was a giant fire-spewing contraption set up next to the tent, so our carbon emissions were pretty blatant, if spectacular.)
Okay, so Andrea’s taking things a little further: Her Ralph Lauren chair is curing cancer, and you can help, and you will be rewarded. Check it out here. A little passion goes a long way, my friends.