Elephant Poop

Good morning! How are you today? It's been one of those weeks where the writers are all blocked up tough luck Lucas is what I say. Tough luck indeed. And with that, the … something.

Witnessed a local circus on Saturday. Ariel silk dancers, hula hoopers, contortionists and jugglers galore. Google the Madcap Rumpus Society for more about them.

As a child, I have been told that my favorite part of the circus was watching the elephants poop.
I wonder if it's still the same – in the big top, things are so glamorous, so glitzy, so immortal that the intimacy that the rumpus society requires is gone. It's the difference between NASCAR and the local circuit – with the local, the performers are no less professional, but the audience can relate to them better and thus be better amazed that a "punter like them" could do such amazing feats.

I wonder if this is part of what Brecht was getting at when he claimed to want to make theatre like a sporting event; the closer to street theatre one gets, the more the audience will identify themselves with the characters... ug. The theory beast is raising its head. Time to wrap it up before I fully ascend my soapbox.

Last night I dreamt that I was 18 again. It was all back, the farm, the plays, the former GF, all of it. I wonder now, if I had witnessed Emperor Norton back in high school, would I have taken the same path? I'm guessing that I would have run off to join the circus. And yet, 2 to 1 I'd find myself at 28 bemoaning that I never studied theatre. All I say to that is better late than never!

Waffles!