Truth or Dare

[Zoltan]

This happened back in the late eighties when I was performing to try and make ends meet while I slaved away in university. (As opposed to now, where I perform to try and make ends overlap while I slave away at my desk.)

I was hired to perform at a company Xmas show. I don't recall the company, but it was some sort of blue-collar affair. I get there and meet the manager who hired me. It's a plain 'banquet room', filled with some 300 workers in rows of tables and chairs packed in as tightly as possible. There's a small stage and microphone set up at one end of the room, near the entrance.

I can deal with this. The lighting and staging is a little less than I had hoped and the crowd a little bigger, but what the heck - I'd been paid up front, when I got the contract. I hang out at the bar while some awards are given out, after which I'll be on. There's a constant line-up at the bar. As far as I can tell, the workers have decided to bilk the company as much as possible in free booze. I figure having the crowd as liquored up as possible can only help (can you hear the ominous music playing...?).

The awards are done, I'm introduced and I go on. I'm about 10 minutes into my act when I see a fellow near the back fall off his seat. The only people who have seemed to notice are the people around him, and they put him back on his chair, so fine.

Two minutes later, he falls off his seat again. There seems to be a bit of a commotion, but it's near the back and I can't really tell, and besides, I'm trying to keep going. Halfway through the next trick, I hear sirens outside.

Paramedics rush in with a stretcher. They leave the stretcher near the entrance and work their way through the tight-packed tables to the fallen guy. They strap him to a board, but there's a debate between the paramedics about whether or not he'll make it back to the hospital. One paramedic rushes out to the ambulance for a medical kit.

I'm still trying to keep the audience's focus. I'm shouting into the mike to be heard over the sirens, and it's starting to feed back. The paramedics decide they have to work on this guy right now, but because the place is so full of tables and chairs they choose the only open space - right in front of the stage.

So I'm on stage, there's an ambulance with sirens wailing right outside the window, and three paramedics trying to save the life of a drunk lying on the ground two feet in front of me.

I look over at the manager, and he makes the universal gesture for 'keep going' (finger-pointed hands moved in a circle). I ask, "Is anyone still paying attention to me?"

No response from the crowd, who are (not surprisingly) watching the paramedics.

"Thank-you, good night, have a great holiday and don't drive drunk!"

I was glad I had been paid in advance.

[Airborne Dan]

It was back in 1988 and I was having the time of my life experiencing my first full season as a street performer.

I was in Barcelona, performing on the Ramblas with my partner Joel. We were having fun shows and constantly giggling about our adventures. Anyway we were doing our last shows of the evening when we got the heckler from hell.

The guy was drunk and Austrailian (what are the chances of that?) He was about 6' 5" and sported a shaved head, a pair of Dr. Martin's Boots, shorts, ripped t-shirt and a look about his face that indicated to us he was a few sandwiches short of a picnic.

He walked right through our crowd and into our circle where he tried to join our show by making an ass of himself. We played with it as best we could, i.e. introducing him to the audience as our long lost brother, letting him have the spotlight for a minute, insulting him, asking him to leave, offering cash for him to leave etc. Nothing worked.

Still, we continued the show. Our finale at the time consisted of a nice seven torch passing routine with lots of build up and jokes. Right after we had presented our torches to the crowd our heckler friend proceeded to drink the petrol we used to fuel our torches. And I mean drink, he was gulping the shit down like it was water. When he'd finished drinking he kept a mouthful of petrol so he could walk in a circle around us, spitting the fuel on the ground as he went. His plan was to make a circle of flame around us. It didn't work. He tried to light the petrol he'd spit on the ground by touching a match to it, but the stuff wasn't combustable enough to light that way.

After this brilliant stunt the guy just walks away, we thaught we'd seen the last of him. We were wrong.

He came back during our final show of the evening. The petrol he'd been drinking, combined with the alcohol already coursing through his system caused him to become violently ill in the stomach. He walked right into the middle of the pitch and started vomiting. And not just vomiting, he was vomiting with style. Puking into his hands, then rubbing it back into his face and even eating some of it. After getting sick in front of us and our crowd he left again, this time we were sure he was gone for good. We were wrong again.

In an effort to salvage the show we convinced our audience to follow us to another pitch down the Ramblas. We (The Airborne Comedians) prefer to work in a vomit free enviornment, we're just picky that way.

Anyway we salvaged the show, we even had a good show and made it all the way to last trick in our torch passing routine when vomit man showed up again.

He was no longer wearing his shorts or t-shirt. In fact he wasn't wearing anything at all except his boots and a piece of some kind of synthetic fur he'd found in the gutter somewhere, wrapped around his waist like a loin cloth. It really wasn't a very good loin cloth though, being that the function of a loincloth is to cover one's loins. This piece of fur left his private parts exposed to the public.

He picked up one of our hats and stood there next to us as we were excepting donations for the show. He was shouting at the top of his lungs "MORE MONEY, MORE MONEY!" over and over.

We just pretended like he wasn't there and finished passing the hat. We never saw or heard from the guy again.

Anyway that was the worst heckler I've expierienced before or since. I'd even comletely forgotten about the guy until reading this subject. Thank you Butterfly Man (and the rest of you) for helping to stir up such a wonderful memory.

Airborne Dan

[Steven Ragatz]

Although I frequent the rec.juggling NG, I have not posted at this site before, but Robert’s “Truth or Dare” is a challenge that can’t be passed up.

Writing about the worst, or most embarrassing, show ever is easy – choosing which one to write about is not. Since it is impolite to dominate any conversation, I will only choose one…

A commonality between performers is the reoccurring nightmare about being on stage. A classic example of this is the dream where I am on stage, the lights come up, the music starts, and I begin my routine only to realize that I have completely forgotten to wear any pants. Now, this situation may be a reality for some, depending on the sorts of shows you perform, but in my sleep-state I realize that the laughter is no longer directed towards the routine. I usually wake up in a brisk sweat.

I was a juggler with Cirque du Soleil’s production of Quidam. In that show, the common character roaming throughout the show is the “every-man” character. This character is dressed in a white cover-all, much like those worn in clean rooms or for toxic waste disposal. They have hoods and are all white with a zipper up the front. The concept of the character was to hide the person in the costume and make them faceless, emotionless, drones that go about executing tasks under the direction of the show’s Master of Ceremonies.

As a good and cooperative ensemble member, I regularly volunteered for these cues. Most of the acrobats hated doing the grunge work of running around on stage in these less-than-flattering costumes, so they left plenty of opportunities for a performing yes-man like myself to shine. As such, I did most of the cues that needed to be done in the white suits.

Working in the tent in Southern California in the summer was hot work. Not only was it hot but also my main costume was a three-piece suite. The kind folk in the costume department even lined in for me so that I wouldn’t catch cold in that drafty tent. It became quickly apparent that wearing one costume over another to do the white-suit cues was impractical. So, most of us that had to don the “every-man” costume would do so in our underwear.

After doing almost 1500 performances with Cirque du Soleil, as soon as the show started, I would slip into autopilot with the greatest of ease. I had the show optimized to the microsecond and knew exactly when and where I needed to be for each cue.

If you have read this far, you see it coming…

The finale of the show goes like this: All of the cast roam about the stage in our white, every-man, suits. There is a clap of thunder and we all collapse onto the stage. As the music starts up again, we slowly rise, and in a very dramatic moment, we peel away the white suit to reveal the real person behind the mask, concluding in an almost tear jerking ensemble bow.

On this occasion, I had been talking backstage, and had not been paying attention before going on for the finale. I went out, did my little choreography, the thunder clapped and I collapsed as I had collapsed hundreds of times before. I lay there until I heard the appropriate music cue to unzip my suit and rise to embrace the warmth of the crowd’s applause. I unzipped my suit to see that I was not wearing anything except a brisk sweat.

I had gotten so used to being on stage without anything else on that it felt perfectly normal to me. To make matters worse, as I said before, I was a “yes-man,” particularly to the director. I proudly volunteered to be down-stage center and to be the one to cue the entire ensemble to rise together – i.e. they all watch me out of the corner of there eyes to see when to stand up.

So, here I am, in nothing but my undies under my white-suite, FRANTICLY trying to figure out what to do before I had to strip. I first thought that I could get off stage somehow, but I was at least twenty meters away from either wing. The show is on a thrust, so I had audience on three sides, meaning that there was no way I could get from down-center to backstage. Then I decided that if I just lie perfectly still, no one would ever get up and the audience would eventually get bored and leave. (The cast members in that show were especially committed to doing everything exactly the way that it was told to them, so I have no doubts that none of the acrobats would have moved if I had not moved first!)

Ultimately, I realized that I would have to get up and take a bow. The solution was quite simple really; I just didn’t take off the suit. I just continued to represent the every-man that appears in any community. I took my bow and exited.

I was unable to confess to this faux pas while I was with the show for word of such a goof on stage would have quickly reached the Montreal offices. It was not that I was worried about my job status, but there are many in the administration there who take great pleasure in singling out individuals and have some good fun at their expense. Luckily for me, everyone else was also on autopilot and never even noticed me as I left the stage to go vomit.

Steven Ragatz


[This message has been edited by Steven Ragatz (edited 02-14-2001).]

[This message has been edited by Steven Ragatz (edited 02-14-2001).]

[danielc]

Late night show, working the festival circuits. Performance tent is right beside the beer tent. This is the recipe for imminent disaster.

Before I even get on stage and begin to unload my props, a chorus of "Your fucken mother" is ringing out as I solemny attempt to hook up my mic. I half assedly start the show trying to over come the constant shouts of "You fuckin' suck" and "Your momma must be proud ya' fuckin' hobo"

I have a decent sized crowd built up and the crowd is now yelling at these drunks to be quiet. I'm lambasting them with everything I have from all the standard lines to all the racy raunchy lines. The crowd is now infighting with the drunks. I use the classic
"I'm glad you came, too bad your father did"
This nets me a standing o and security extracting the drunks from the grounds.

But the fun doesn't end there. Oh no.

Walking back to my car after the show I notice a guy following me. I turn and look at him and lo and behold, it's Senor drunk from the show that night. He yells something illegibly, and hurls something through the air. I feel warm beer splashing my legs and a half empty beer can bounce to the ground at my feet.

A couple more obscenities and he's gone.

And the worst is, I know there will be a show that's ten times worse.. The question is .. When?

[Furry Eggs]

I don't get it. I do a show, collect the money and go home. What's so hard about that? Sometimes I have a hard time spending it all, but surely that can be excused? Why is life so hard for you guys? Maybe you should try rubbing glasses. Cheers, Ed

[Juggling@large]

This is my first reply, so please be as gentle as possible (dropped soap).
Thank you butterfly man. Oops no caps.
I have been performing at renaissance faires since '93. At a small mostly locally attended fair in Michigan, we were coming to the end of the fair for the year which at the time was a whole two weekends. I was really starving to end my shows for the year with something odd and over the top enough so I could really let loose myself.
well, at this fair, they had a falconer's exhibit. Hawks and falcons eat mice.
In a moment of "what the hell", I figured it would be fun. It was sort of.
I get into the show and I'm going along knowing that I'm waiting for when it kind of feels right.
I see the woman in charge of the birds standing off stage near her birds waiting for our cue.
Then I announce that I'm going to try something different.
These were very small mice. not new yorkers.
maybe an inch and a half to two inches long with the tails.
Tails. Never juggled anything with something dangling from it.
I go over, she hands me the three mice.
I get silent.
I wish I had paid a little more attention to the looks on the faces of the crowd.
I begin the first couple of tosses and it happens. I catch the tail of one clumsily and cant recover to avoid the drop.
It thuds on the plyboard stage. Drop line.
I start singing "three blind mice" and while I thought it was funny they start cringing.
I finish up with the mice realize now while looking at the crowd that this was NOT funny to them. I morphed from funny juggler to freak right there.
I thanked the audience after finishing with a torch juggle finale then went for the hat line. I cant think of the right words for how small it was.
Even for a ren faire of this size, even for all the factors, it was almost not there.
It then got around (minutes later) to one of the directors of the fair what I juggled "on stage". After he gave me a few words of disbelief in my stunt, we both kind of shook our heads in mutual agreement that I wouldn't try it again.
I actually felt a very strong sense of guilt for juggling the mice. Kind of a disrespect thing I think.
A good friend of mine had a sign in his room
that said "BE STRONG, BE WRONG."
I'm glad I dared.
humbly young,
joh

[Butterfly Man]

"I don't want to live in fear",
-Jango Edwards

[Zoltan]

The 'juggling mice' story reminded me of something that I happened to me last year.

I use live rats in my show. Rats are a great pet - I'm hooked on them. I could go on for at least six more sentences, but I'll spare you. Suffice to say that as a (sometimes) geek magician, my rats suffer a number of indignaties for my show (but they are never, never hurt. Stuffed in my mouth, sure, but not hurt).

And no, this is not going to be a rant about cruelty to animals on stage. In fact, just the opposite.

I was working the MI renfest, which Don Juan and Miguel (Jose and Doug) perform at. Jose (which is Spanish, in case you didn't get that...where's the accent key on this keyboard?) is a great whip-cracker; he does a lot of precision work on stage. For their last show on the last day last year, he and I did the following routine:

He's on stage, warming up with simple whip stuff. I wander onto stage, with my rat on my shoulder. I ask him if he's any good, really - is he good enough to hit a moving target? He says he is.

So I challenge him - I say I'll throw the rat in the air, and he has to try to whip off the tail. The audience gasps.

But mostly, the think I'm joking. I toss the rat to myself a few times, so Jose can get the range. The audience is starting to get upset. I say, "It's just the tail! They grow back!"

The audience is starting to freak. I say, "C'mon - it's like, a $10 rat!". I turn to Jose and say I'm ready. I give the old one, two, three...I can hear things like, "No, don't!" and "Stop" from the audience. On the backswing on three, I ditch the rat in the web in the folds of my vest, snatch the fake rat I've made (out of rabbit's fur), and fling it in the air. Jose smacks it (I said he was good) first shot, and rabbit's fur goes everywhere.

The audience is very upset, until they look at me and see the rat sitting calmly on my shoulder. They was no clapping, just an ugly silence. I left the stage, Jose started the show.

Now, I've done everything a geek can do, just about - nailed a spike into my nose, lit my tongue on fire, smashed a concrete block on my stomach (and on the stomach of my girlfriend), and no-one's said a word. But you try to harm just one rat....

But still, juggler@large, I understand the juggling mice thing. It's like groucho Marx used to say, "These young comics come in and things it's funny to dress a guy up as a old woman in a wheelchair and push her downhill. They don't know anything. The pros know that for it to be funny, you have to use a real old woman."

[This message has been edited by Zoltan (edited 04-19-2001).]

[This message has been edited by Zoltan (edited 04-19-2001).]

[Butterfly Man]

My very first job (when i was 15) was cleaning out rat & rabbit cages in my father's animal laboratory. I can grab up to twelve of them (rats that is) before they can escape one cage ... I just called Vince Bruce and left a message ... so who books that gig?

[martin ewen]

A long time ago in a place far..far away
I was a red nose clown called vernon vortex.
I was working on a wharf and at the start of my show I saw quite a large fish floating in the water.
I thought it would be a neat idea if I got it out and tryed to resusitate it as a crowd-builder.
I noticed as I attemped to simulate mouth to mouth that it was a bit off and when I interlocked my fingers and gave it a chest massage my hands went right through it.
I had rotting fish paste all over my hands (and the audience were constructing a huge butterfly net for no apparent reason.)
I then did juggly bollocks and shot a squid using half a speargun quite some distance.
I will never improvise with fish again.

[Peter Voice]

Perhaps this should be in "Announcements" or "For Love Or Money".
The latter first. It appears that neither love nor money means enough any more. The spirit mat be strong but the body ......
The "Announcement" is, I have retired.

It has been a shitful week. I have some great invitations sitting on my desk, chances to work with friends that I haven't seen for years and I can no longer do it.

Bev and Ulla, both founding members, are going to keep working as Chalk Circle but my busking days are over.

I wanted to write about what busking means to me.
I'm an artist, as in I draw pictures, I was completely broke and discovered the fact that if you can do something beautiful in public, people will support you. That was 18 years ago.
Since then, I've met and worked with Finkel, Christoff, Nelson, Bradley (both of you), Raoul, Jodi, Roth, Lucky (Greg McLaren, if you ever wanted to know), Gnannyarra, and Forrest.
I've stunned a packed house at "Midnight Madness" with Pieter Post and seen Shelley"s "Dolphin" (Wow! and I mean it), taught Kimpton to ride a 6ft unicycle and Larry to juggle 9 balls (can't do either myself). Had prawns and oysters with Flying Bob and worked for Steve Scott.
Tim Tyler, the Dutchmen, Wayne Condo, Benny Seidel and Neil Thomas were special influences and Kate the Great, Lynnette Maurice, Kim, Nanni, the Friends of Moira and Petra Massey, reminded me that it wasn't just a boy's club. I've lost money to Nick and bluffed Charlotte at poker. I've rescued Gazzo from the spiders and spent the night in jail with Andrew Elliot.

At one stage I thought I was not only the best but the only person doing what I did. Then came Bev Isaac, Ulla Taylor, Jenny McCracken, Jamieson, Gary Palmer and that unknown guy called Dave in Toronto. Wow.

Point is that my decision to go busking was probably the best of my life. Did I mention Tony Campbell, Dave Sheridan, Hilby, Waldo, Woody, Kristy, Mr Lu, Lovett, Furry Eggs, Green Fools, Zip and Zapp, Charlie Brown, O.J. Anderson, Women in Sensible Shoes, Limpopo, Lenny Henry and dozens of others.

Busking has taken me around the world at least 6 times and I cannot even begin to tell you what I've learned.

Visual Art is an infinite field and I'm going to hang around at home and explore it. Maybe I'll get a lemon or orange tree for the back yard. Part of this is that my Dad has Alzheimer's and I have become father to the child my father has become.

Thanks to every-one, it has been a dream come true, but it's time to give it away.

PS Did I mention Pam, Trotter, Rosetti (I swear , I didn't break his arm, it was an accident), Micheal(s), Karen, Nanni, Dianna, Glen, there are more but I'll be here all night.

I really can't believe I said "No" to Edmonton, Nelson, Windsor and Waterloo.

Thanks again, I will see you around the traps sometime but I won't be in the program.

Love Peter.



[This message has been edited by Peter Voice (edited 05-10-2001).]

[Butterfly Man]

I once did a college date in Yuma, AZ., where an uniformed chauffeur met me at the airport and drove me in a stretch limo to a 5 star hotel.

I was a bit confused, because I had done this same gig the year before and remembered being picked up by a student in a rusted out ‘63 Valiant station wagon and taken to a Motel 6.

At the registration desk, I asked how much the room would cost and was informed that it was “complimentary” (much to my relief).

When I opened the door, I was amazed to find I had a jacuzzi, a full bar and two televisions in my adjoining suites.

The Motel 6, where I stayed the year before, did have a TV, but to get the remote control, you had to put a $25 deposit down.

As I was putting my things away, the local television station called my room to set up an appointment for an interview the following day.

I thought to myself, "Wow, I really must have done well the last time I was here!" I raided the bar and jumped in the jacuzzi.

The next day, just before the show, the TV station shows up to interview me.

During the course of the conversation, the TV guy says to me how much he enjoyed my “football routine”. I was not quite sure what he was talking about, but I thanked him anyway.

So he is asking question after question and the interview is going great. Then, I inadvertently take my hat off, for a second, to wipe my brow.

His jaw drops when he sees the tattoo. He stops talking, and in a quizzical voice asks, "You're not Bob Nelson, are you?”

In a flash, I figure the whole thing out.

I answer honestly, "Well, my name is Robert Nelson, but I'm known as “The Butterfly Man”. I think you might be mistaking me for the comic Bob Nelson.”(who had been in various movies and HBO Specials)

Nothing more was said ... he packed up his gear and left silently with the film crew.

I did my show and checked out of the hotel the following morning.

I was taken back to the airport by the guy from the college, who had arranged the limo and the room. We drove in silence.

I later found out that he had to pay for his mistake out of his own pocket.

To err is human, a jacuzzi divine.

[Mr.Taxi Trix]

As my torch tumbled down in slow motion the sound of my shame was like stones shedding tears.
I was long on desire, my heart was on fire to prove myself wise beyond years.
The red in my cheeks had increased through my weeks in the sleek streets of Coconut Grove.
Where the kids in their cars cruising nightclubs and bars scoffed and rolled their cold eyes as they drove.
The torch tumbled and crashed as my ego was smashed and it passed like a perfect straight shot
to the mouth of my recently purchased and quite clearly cherished earthenware blue pot.
Whose new job was containing my fuel: it was raining misfortune, the fire sure grew.
And the eyes of the folks said that, more than my jokes, here was something quite interesting: new.
For far better this fire by far than forbearing far more of the fast failing show.
It was sweet for them, neat that this feat in the street would complete with a heat treat, and glow.
Their newfound life and wonder underlined my young thundering
sundered confronting dumb blunder.
I was tongue-bunged and fucked and, my luck, I could not find a table or chair to crawl under.

*

[ 10-11-2002: Message edited by: Mr.Taxi Trix ]</p>

[Prof Willie B]

You should have been in Mildura the day "Tim Tim" set fire to his head.

[benni seidel]

True story

We use sanitary pads in our masks to absorb the sweat. They're replaceable and hygenic, stops performers from getting rashes etc etc etc. (good tip for mask performers)

We were at Darling Harbour circa 1992, never had permission and had an unusually large audeince, six deep all around.

The show was the best show we had ever done and they were primed to give. Everything went perfectly and we said our hat line, one simple line, right at the end of the show.

People we're just beginning to surge forward and I'm thinking sheeshka, we're really gonna make a heap. A tough looking gay lady in her fourties perhaps, was the first to step forward. She drops a twenty dollar note in the hat. My mind is going chinka chinka.....

Richard in order to thank her, takes a deep bow, mask in hand. Low and behold a sanitary napkin falls out into the middle of the ring at this ladies feet.

Well anyone would have thought we'd just nuked a kindergarten. She started screaming hysterically at us, "How dare you...blah blah blah.." Richard tries to explain that they're hygenic etc.....she has none of it and contiues screaming. And I mean screaming, stoops down and grabs her twenty. I was terrified of her and trying to dodge spittle, and the crowd just stood back and watched as she stomped all over our hat calling us child molesters and perverts.

End result. Nada in the hat (and a fucked hat) Security comes ...Stretch Mk is escorted from Darling Harbour.

To days later I walk into a super market grab five packets of sanitary napkins and walk up to the counter. I'm half way through paying it when I hear this screaming banshee. "I thought so, you do it on purpose. Why else would you need all the muff slings." Off she goes, "PERVERT blah blah blah. Security guard comes, cops come. Dykes friend arrives, dyke faints, ambulance comes.

Two hours at the police station, explaining what the fuss was about I walk out thinking thank the Lord that's over. Reach into my jacket, no wallet. dropped somewhere. in the bunfight. Lost my credit cards, a couple of hundred, drivers licence etc etc.

Man if I ever see her again, I am gonna, well I don't know what I'm gonna, but I am gonna something.