Mais oui, j'adore le cirque

I did not mean to be sly in continuing to mention the circus without specifying that it was not anything so grossly plebeian as those three ring affairs with the animals. Non! This girl got to go see the new Cirque du Soleil show, Kooza. Koooooooooza! It is, I am told, a Sanskrit word meaning "box" - in the literal sense, as my friend was quick to point out, either because he is a dirty thinker himself or saw the dirty question forming in my mouth.

My friend is in the circus. Or, rather he is behind the scenes of the circus, though that does not mean he can't hold himself upside down on one hand. I had last seen him when he was going to l'Ecole Nationale de Cirque and had come to the city for a visit along with a handful of acrobatic friends. They were all gorgeous and they all spoke French, and I would turn around to see them crossing the street two-people high, standing on each other's shoulders, or dangling artistically from the handrails on the subway. At the time, though I fought it, the thrill and pride of touring the city with this magical bunch had a niggling negative undercurrent -- the feeling of being hopelessly monolingual, inflexible, un-muscular, and afraid of heights.

So when after five years I heard from my friend again, saying "if you're still in New York, I have a ticket for you," well, first I was obviously ecstatic. I couldn't wait to catch up with him, and I had never seen a Cirque du Soleil show before (a fact which, now that I've seen one, I find inexcusable. I MUST SEE THEM ALL!). But I also thought oh god, I am going to look frumpy and I am going to be tongue-tied and I am going to turn into the type of person I mock in Times Square who just can't believe they're in the big city or, in my case, the big top.

I would now like to assure you that this did not happen. Okay, I was tongue-tied for a minute, but then I just enjoyed it - seeing my friend, roving the grounds before the show and checking out the boutiques. And then, my god! The show! THE SHOW! If it is even possible to be so city-wise and cynical that you don't enjoy a show like that, I will happily remain in tourist mode forever. There were moments of almost religious grace, and there was an act that was more bad-ass than the most bad-ass punk show, and there were clowns that legitimately made me lmao.

Afterwards, brag, brag, brag, I got to go backstage and drink beers with some more circus people (acrobats: they're just like us! They drink beer!) and was shocked to find, once again, that I was just enjoying myself, my friend, and all the people around us. I did not feel overweight. It didn't bother me when they spoke to each other in other languages. I was having fun. At the risk of sounding cheesy, if I haven't crossed that line several times over already in this blog, it seems possible that in the last five years I may have gained a modicum of confidence. Though le Cirque deserves a heap of credit, I think - c'est vrais magique.