I DIDN'T KNOW CIRQUE de SO GAY WAS IN TOWN
On Sunday afternoon Kiki and I took her rat terrier out so he could sniff random dog ass down in Wicker Park. Too bad Milo is a little wuss who pretty much shivers at the sight of any pooches bigger than he is. He doesn't get out much. We decided to skip the dog run and just lounged on a blanket near the softball diamond instead.
A group of New Bohemians (for lack of a better term) were setting up blankets next to us. Kiki immediately referred to them as "dirty hippies", but they were fairly well groomed and free of tye dyes. I'll bet they've participated in many a drum circle though.
The one dude was playing that stupid marionette thing with the big spool, tossing it up in the air and then catching it on the string repeatedly. Meanwhile a pale girl who looked like Joan Osborne on a crash diet was twirling tennis balls tied to ropes with streamers attached, one in each hand. I wanted to cram a couple Boca Burgers down her throat.
Within a half hour another 10 people descended upon these two like locusts, each with their own set of the tennis ball streamers. Young and old, male and female, gay and straight (but mostly gay), they came learn how to twirl.
The "teacher" was a Perry Farrell looking motherfucker who walked among his minions, smiling and exhorting them to "show me what you got, yo." He had the standard issue labret piercing and bad Yin Yang, sun and unicorn tattoos.
All the pupils had permagrin. If I didn't know any better I'd think they were part of some rhythmic gymnastics cult. All that was missing were the black Nikes, purple shrouds and Bela Karolyi.
"Find your equilibrium" Barely Farrell lisped. "Just let go, yo."
Huh? What kind of circus is this? Doesn't anyone play frisbee anymore?
"That's fantastic Sloan! FANTASTIC! Now try adding a pirouette to the mix!"
There was way too much positivity and encouragement going on for our taste. Even the trucker hat hipsters playing hacky sack nearby were annoyed by the twirlers.
As we packed up our stuff, Kiki said "Should I tell them it's over? I don't think they realize that Phish played their last concert this weekend."
"Nah. They still have String Cheese Incident and Rusted Root."
A group of New Bohemians (for lack of a better term) were setting up blankets next to us. Kiki immediately referred to them as "dirty hippies", but they were fairly well groomed and free of tye dyes. I'll bet they've participated in many a drum circle though.
The one dude was playing that stupid marionette thing with the big spool, tossing it up in the air and then catching it on the string repeatedly. Meanwhile a pale girl who looked like Joan Osborne on a crash diet was twirling tennis balls tied to ropes with streamers attached, one in each hand. I wanted to cram a couple Boca Burgers down her throat.
Within a half hour another 10 people descended upon these two like locusts, each with their own set of the tennis ball streamers. Young and old, male and female, gay and straight (but mostly gay), they came learn how to twirl.
The "teacher" was a Perry Farrell looking motherfucker who walked among his minions, smiling and exhorting them to "show me what you got, yo." He had the standard issue labret piercing and bad Yin Yang, sun and unicorn tattoos.
All the pupils had permagrin. If I didn't know any better I'd think they were part of some rhythmic gymnastics cult. All that was missing were the black Nikes, purple shrouds and Bela Karolyi.
"Find your equilibrium" Barely Farrell lisped. "Just let go, yo."
Huh? What kind of circus is this? Doesn't anyone play frisbee anymore?
"That's fantastic Sloan! FANTASTIC! Now try adding a pirouette to the mix!"
There was way too much positivity and encouragement going on for our taste. Even the trucker hat hipsters playing hacky sack nearby were annoyed by the twirlers.
As we packed up our stuff, Kiki said "Should I tell them it's over? I don't think they realize that Phish played their last concert this weekend."
"Nah. They still have String Cheese Incident and Rusted Root."
posted by Brian at 11:57 AM
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