As the bus spirals out of the city, around the mountain, we are headed for Toronto. San Francisco is a series of hills and things hidden and mysterious, Montreal gives all of it to you, and invites you deeper, the spirals are everywhere. The staircases, the food, the culture are all set up helix-like. French and English are on opposite sides of the DNA Strand, but they are not oppositional. The codes are complementary and despite the initial shock of what the Hell are they saying, the Quebec-ers are so gracious and welcoming to the Anglafone (sp?) side. They’ve won in so many ways, and so sure I speak English, what do you need or no, and I’ll continue talking to you in Quebecoux (sp?) until you understand via context and guessing. In France the French they spoke was a wall…’Posted: No Trespassing’. In Montreal, I went to a party that was all French and the feeling was you’ll understand, follow the twist of it and you’ll understand. (They served up a strong beer and were a VERY sexual bunch…and so it was not too hard to Get It.) All of it was a spiral. The food. The FOOD was a spiral. A specific breakfast comes to mind. Reservouir. Very hungry after a night of Fringing and Drinking. Again the menu is in frengch and so I order ‘just a basic breakfast…you know eggs, bacon, etc…’
‘wee, jes we haff zis.’
When my plate arrives I question how ‘zis’ is worth $12. there are two eggs, a small pile of potato salad, a few sprigs of some sort of greens and two strips of bacon or “Lard” as the menu frankly calls them. Doesn’t look like the sort of Hungry Man Denny’s breakfast.
After my first bite of the potato salad I am sucked tongue first into a pit of yum. The potato salad is not hunks of carb like in the states. It’s delicate and surprising. The capers are little nymph heads. The eggs (which I could not get ‘over-medium’ because they are ‘pree-baked un zee oven’- a cheepie way to do it I had thought) are little shiny opuses with balsamic blood dribbling (I’ll never cook my eggies on the stove-top). And as I fall deeper and deeper I discover the marvelous contrast of centimeter thick pig (bacon is too thin, too flimsy a word for the slab of carnage before me) and light spriggy greens, the hillside bathed in spring time sun, the greens that make the pigs and stop and wonder about flight. And of course the bread. The crusty crusty bread that could only be made in a Francophonic city, spongey moist encased by crusty. And all of this IN ONE MEAL.
So yea. The Spiral. I have left Montreal physically, however my relationships there are only getting deeper. I will most likely teach a Clown workshop there, and hopefully do my show again (September).
How was my show received? Again a spiral. (and not the kind that ends up in the sewers). Once a few key people got in the door, word spread and I kept on getting bigger and bigger houses, which led to more and more fun. During my last performance the audience member that I chose to play zombie/victim with was fun to play with. So fun, in fact that the audience gave her a huge round of applause when she killed me.
A crazy group from Tokyo, HANAKENGO and SHOSHINZ who had this wacked out physical comedy/dance/??? have invited me to Tokyo to do my show (they came to my show TWICE!). And I got some great ‘Buzz’ on the site (with a very curious thumbs down). Anyhow, feels great to have had a good run in such a bit city while competing with such great acts. Two of my favorites: Joe. (Thank you Joe for making me believe in the Glory of Idiocy!) Die Roten Punkte. (F. I haven't laughed this hard in a long time. SO Inappropriate and SO sweet)
What did I learn? That I need to poster and flyer my (little) ass off. That I need to figure out how to get the Press in the door to review me. That walking Peaknuckle before a show is Essential…he’s been actually doing his tricks since I started that practice and he’s getting Really Funny…checking in with the audience and varying up his timing. We’re getting used to the idea of a Public together. Yea! And thanks to my friends back in Juneau Town for the encouraging emails. I’m not really on the Road by myself anymore. �
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