The Circus

So, last night I worked. I'm a security guard at the local civic center. I check doors, check badges, give directions and read books. If given the chance to throw someone down, well, my dreams tell me that I'd perform magnificently--one little "hi-yaaaa" and a sweet Hulk Hogan sleeper hold and wallah, another criminal off the streets. Truth is I've spent more time in the Choir than on Karate--I might instead be more like Chuck Barry than Chuck Norris, but I have my dreams.

Last night was dance recital night. The kids play dress-up, turning themselves into queens, hobos, crooners and clowns. Back stage looks less like a room full of pulleys and ropes than it does Pharaoh's own castle.

One either loves the circus or hates it. I'm a little of both, but I love the spectacle. One thousand nervous, excited, if not a little petulant, dancers doesn't usually sound like my idea of fun. Add parents with every kind of expectation and entitlement to back-stage, awkward but arrogant demands that their children have this right or that, lovely negotiations with me about why I should let them in before the doors actually open and more...you understand? A hoity-toity circus.

I love dance, I do. I might even be the person who'd send my own kid to dance class. But I can't wrap my brain around the hoity-toity. They're like a game of space-invaders. Hundreds of little colorful ships gliding left, right and all around. My little laser is blazing away, pew pew pew. But then the big ships (parents) come into play. They come in fast, land hard and SQUASH my cute little lasers--game over. "Hello," I say. Most of them look at security guards like they do dandelions--they look pretty, but gotta mow them over anyway or they'll spread like the plague. This was the rich crowd and security guards are a different level. I'm not offended really. They love the parade, I enjoy the circus.

Summer's here so white is in. White shorts, pants or capris, accessorized by expensive and colorful accoutrements -- bags made by Gucci, Dolce, and whatever other yadayada Italian this-or-that one can think of. The women have bags, the men have watches. I love the spectacle. I wonder if one drop-kicked a hoity-toity that they might fall in movie-like slow-motion? I wonder? Then it might be appropriate for throngs of angels to appear out of no-where and applaud their bravery?

My wife likes to dress up, and she's beautiful--a bonafied hotty. But I don't think she knows that it's time to make the "summer-white" turn. I'll have to let her know.

Although, come to think of it, white wasn't exclusive. One chap wore a green cardigan, held a green Pringles can in one hand, and a green Mountain Dew bottle in the other. Besides the fact that he matched his soda bottle, I was slightly surprised he'd accept Pringles crumbs inside his beautiful Cadillac.

There are rules. Summer day white is different than summer evening white. And the men wear light blue, green, even red is acceptable--mostly blue and "dance recital-night" khaki though. It's only the kid's dance recital at one of the nicest venues in town--I didn't see any pin-stripes or black ties, but I enjoyed the circus-parade none-the-less. I think if I could have some kind of x-ray vision I bet you anything that even their perfume and cologne wafts from their bodies in delightful, pleasant and wistful little circles. The kids dress-up and the parents follow a strict dress code. All night long I wasn't sure which tap dance I wanted to watch more, the kids or the parents? All the Jones's were keeping up with each other.

The circus allows us to forget the troubles of the day for awhile. I was glad to attend this circus. Every one at the event danced, the kids on stage and the parents everywhere else. One lovely woman defied the code and dressed in purple...but, I kid you not, she walked by my lowly station and I caught a grand whiff of her allergy-inducing perfume--grape--not the kind of grape one might smell near a winery--like grape gum. She was purple and smelled like grape. Hoity-freakin-toity. No one offered me pop-corn and cotton candy, so in their stead, I relished my peanut butter and honey sandwich, my Sun chips and enjoyed a cold diet-pepsi.

The circus hasn't always had the best reputation. It seems some delights come at the expense of others, and they please the voyeuristic side in all of us. I suppose we should feel a little guilty about that.

But, I loved my day at the circus. Now, can someone teach me Karate?