Wardrobe Malfunction II

Just when I thought it was safe to go back on stage...

You know what's better than having your bra strap break, or having the front of your costume torn? Having the zipper on your itty bitty booty shorts break, exposing what your mama gave you to the world.

Fortunately, this happened after my number. I did have to go on stage in that costume again, but I'm mostly hidden by a very large canvas at that particular moment, so I like to think no one saw. Other than all the people sitting stage right, I mean...

I should have been expecting it. After all, il n'y a jamais deux sans trois!

Wardrobe Malfunction

While the term 'wardrobe malfunction' may give to visions of breasticles swaying in the breeze, I'm afraid my mishap wasn't nearly as exciting.

The show started out innocently enough. Then, mid-way through my number I noticed that one of the strings from the fabric we use as canvas in the show was stuck to my shoulder (the damn things get everywhere). Only it wasn't a string. It was my bra strap. It had either broke or come undone. I tried to ignore it but as the number progressed it continued its escape from underneath my costume.

Seeing as I didn't really have the freedom to stop and fix it, I decided to just ignore it and keep going. And so, while my bra strap was smacking me upside the head, my cast mates were having a right good laugh in the wings.

Humph.

You'd think that would have been enough for one show. But the wonderful world of live performance had a little more fun in store. In fact, I had just let down my guard. We had just finished the group trampoline number, the official end of the show, and were getting into place for the encore. I went to jump up onto the upper platform of the structure, just like I've done for over 50 shows, and my costume gets caught, the front rips off exposing considerable more of my cleavage than usual, and I get yanked down like a pup on a leash.

My cast mate's reaction to the event: "Aw... I didn't even get to see any tit!"

At least I can say that the eighth to last show really knocked some socks off! Or something...

Not Until the Fat Lady Sings!

So I've been sitting on this bit of info for quite some time. Mostly because there was a period of uncertainty as to whether or not it would happen. And seeing as it's one hell of an event, I didn't want to jinx it. With the event in question only a week away, I think its safe to spill the beans.

Since a picture is worth a thousand words, I'll just let the let a couple of pictures do the talking...


I know, eh? The above would be Paris' National Opera at the Palais Garnier. Myself and two of my colleagues here at the circus will be doing the lead in to a performance by Guillaume Aldebert. He's the main attraction in a Christmas show being put on for the children of the French political elite. The show is the afternoon before our second to last performance in Paris. Should be interesting to see how things turn out...

Ah, quel vie de cirque!

Eight to Go!

There are eight shows to go before the holidays. You'd think things would be winding down, but its just the opposite. Time is running out! There's so much to do! Personally, I have two big projects to somehow pull off. More on that later.

In my head, its already Saturday, but sadly, its only Friday. The 51st show was pretty weak, and while last night's show went quite well, my sinus' chose that moment to wage war on the infection within. I spent most of the show feeling like I had a screw driver up my nose, poking me in the eye. At one point it felt like chlorinated water went up my nose.

In fact, the war being waged by my sinus' was so severe that it hurt not to blow my nose and I actually had to hide kleenex in my bra so I could discreetly blow my nose during the trampo-wall act. That, my friends, is the epitome of class.

What does tonight's show have in store? All will be revealed (to me, anyway) in four and a half hours!

Countdown

Sitting in my caravan, applying the finishing touches of my make-up, all I can think of is Montreal, how I'm missing out on the first snow storm of the season, and how the Olympic torch will be passing through my home town tomorrow. I think of these things and I ache to be home.

Compared to the first stretch of the tour, this is a short stint in France. But in light of recent family tragedies and the up-coming holidays, I'm finding myself less and less enthusiastic to do to the show. I just want to go home.

Ten more shows. Just ten more shows...

Chosen Life

Those who know me often marvel at this circus life I have chosen. They’re awed by the feats that my fellows and I perform, and envy the traveling and the mystique. For them, the romance of circus is alive and well. As well it should be. The magic of the Big Top, the spectacle, the thrills… it wouldn’t be circus otherwise. For the most part, even I’ve maintained this view of the world I now inhabit. There are hardships, of course, but you learn to take them with a grain of salt. After all, don’t all great romances have their share of difficulties?

But no matter how spellbound one might be by the world of circus and all its splendours, and I say this as an acrobat in the thick of it all, there comes a time where the consequences of having chosen this life come to harsh reality.

My grandfather died a month ago. A couple of weeks before that, I received some very bad news concerning my sister. And despite all the goodwill of my heart, here I was, completely helpless in Paris.

The initial news about my grandfather was that he wouldn’t live to see the end of the week. I was told to ask what the company policy was when there is a death in the family. I received this news a Sunday morning, right before a show. Every time I return to France for work, my great fear is that something should happen at home, and that I can’t be there. Every time I leave, I wonder if I will ever see my grandparents again.

This time I received an answer.

When I asked about potentially going home for the funeral, I was later told by the director that I was indispensable to the show and that it wouldn’t be possible. I mostly expected that response. In truth, I had hoped for it. I know that makes me sound like a terrible person, but under the circumstances, I couldn’t handle the stress of having to choose between going home and the madness that would accompany that decision, not to mention the guilt and disrespect towards the troupe, and staying in Paris to perform, not having that closure and being unable to be there with my family in that moment of duress.

I’m not proud of it, but I can’t deny it was a relief to have that responsibility taken away from me.

And I cried. And no matter who offered what kind of comfort, all I could do was ask them to wait… to leave me alone until the end of the show… otherwise, there was no way I would make it through. It was one of the hardest performances of my life. I scarcely remember how I felt, just that I hated every moment of it and was on the verge of tears the entire time.

Tuesday morning I got the call that my grandfather had passed. Being the weekend at the circus, there was virtually no one on site. I was terribly and desperately alone. To add insult to injury, Wednesday evening, just before the show I found some packages waiting for me in my trunk backstage. One was from my grandparents, signed from both of them. Of course it had been mailed before my grandfather had died, but nevertheless it was a painful reminder and a slap in the face from the Universe. Again, I cried. For the rest of the week I painted large bouquets of flowers at the end of the show.

And while I must admit that the idea of a funeral scared me (this is the first grandparent I’ve lost) and the image of my grandfather in a casket rips my heart to shreds and I don’t know if I could have handled it, I envy my siblings for being able to be there and having that closure. To a certain extent, none of this seems real. I’m just going to go home and never see my grandfather again. How do you deal with that?

My answer, of course, is baking.

Since I couldn’t be there for the actual funeral, I felt it was important to make some kind of gesture to mark my grandfather’s passing. As such, I baked the most complex, elaborate and chocolately cake in my repertoire. I invited the troupe and those who work at the circus’ bar to share it with me. To my great relief, one of the more senior members of the troupe led the proceedings. I said some words and we shared a moment of silence. Then we saluted my late grandfather and enjoyed the cake baked in his honour. Though I did have to remind certain people who were very excited to eat cake (“Le gateau! Le gateau!”) that it was not so much about the cake as it was about the passing of my grandfather.

And so a month has gone by, I have another 20 shows under my belt, and more than ever the fence surrounding the lot feels like a cage keeping me in my circus bubble. Two and half more weeks and I'll finally make it home... two and half more weeks...

Le Musee des Arts Forains

Yesterday I had the extreme good fortune of visiting Paris' Museum of Fairground Art along with the cast of La Clique. Located at Les Pavillions de Bercy, this spectacular museum is only available to groups who request a guided tour. Being a wily band of circus folk, we also had the honour of meeting the man who started the collection, Jean-Paul Favand, and were even permitted to peruse the warehouses!

The collection is huge and beautifully presented. The space also doubles as a rental hall. But the best part is that they actually let you play some of the games and ride the rides! I was pretty skeptical of this one old timey ride where you pedal a bike (I'm told it was a thrill to try a bike way back in the day) and your pedaling powers the ride. But it turns out the damn thing goes hella fast and the tour guide constantly had to pull a brake to prevent the thing from picking up too much speed and throwing us off!

Les Garcons de Cafe, best game ever.

Carousel!

After the rides, the most wonderful part would definitely be the warehouses. As I mentioned, they aren't normally part of the tour. One room housed all the carousel characters awaiting restoration. Then there were these creepy wax models of messed up anatomy. To give you an idea, the double penis/triple scrotum was the least disturbing specimen...

At night,

they come to life...

And that, my friend,

is when they come for your soul!

Lastly, we visited a room housing the museum's most recently acquired collection. It consists of over 2000 individual objects! They are they sets, puppets and original mask molds belonging to a family run company that operated for over 200 years! The room was made up almost entirely of heads. All kinds of heads of every imaginable character all for the purpose of making rubber masks. They had everything from fictional characters to politicians, pop culture icons to mutilated zombies. It was brilliant. They even had the heads of two former Canadian Prime Ministers! I was quite surprised.

Chretien and Mulroney

Don't run with scissors.

Oh, and you may be familiar with the fellow who appears at the 1 minute 50 second mark of the following video. His remains could be found at the museum as well!

All in all, we were there for three hours. The history and artistry is absolutely magnificent. When carnivals were at their peak, part of the draw was their splendor. Looking at today's carnival rides, you would never imagine that only 100 years ago, carousel horses were hand carved with real horse hair tails*! Not to mention the gold leaf and inlaid mirrors. Here are a few more pictures because really, you don't read a museum, you see it.







* Only the German made horses used real horse hair for tails. Otherwise, they were made of wood.