Cirque Du Coronavirus

Pandemic shmandemic. I roam through life unfrightened and undeterred.

Case in point: I took my first post-coronavirus panic outing yesterday. The family and I decided to spend the afternoon in a closed tent with about 2,000 of our closest, hopefully uninfected friends. We saw VOLTA, the current Cirque Du Soleil production in their big top, which is set up at Dodger Stadium.

It had everything to make the CDC and World Health Organization shake their hazmat-covered heads.

Crowds of people. Closed space. Different nationalities. Surfaces like chairs and armrests that've been touched by thousands of people before us. Port-a-potties that, shall we say were less than spotless.

It was a recipe for disaster. And yet, we all seemed to have gotten out just fine. There was a vague awareness of everyone being a little more cautious not to be in each other's faces, and no matter when you looked it was always rush hour at the hand washing stations outside the restrooms.

I fully expected lots of empty seats from people who'd decided not to venture out in public. I was also sure I'd see surgical masks everywhere I looked. I only saw one, and there wasn't an empty seat in the house.

Only two things reminded everyone of the current cautions. First was before the show when a young child sneezed, and every head within earshot snapped around to look at him waiting to see what was going to happen next. The other was the clown who came down the aisle before the show, and interacted with me by running his gloved hand up and down my sleeve. It made me a little nervous, although the coronavirus was probably the least of the reasons why.

The show was great, and I couldn't help but be amazed by how similarly built the performers and I were. It was like looking in a mirror.

I definitely don't want to minimize the virus and the cautions to be taken, but life just can't stop because of it. And besides, the precautions aren't that hard to abide by.

For starters I've been washing my hands like Howard Hughes since I can remember. And because I've never been a fan of knuckle crushers or sweaty palmed frat boys who shake my hand like it's a dry water pump in rural Alabama, I'm just swell with handshaking going the way of the Zune. Bottles of Purell? Check the center console of my car - I've pretty much cornered the market.

So here's my take on it all: with or without the virus, life is a high-wire act. Let's not go out of our way to turn it into a real circus.

Not clowning around

Tonight's entry is not so much a blogpost as an unpaid ad for Cirque du Soleil.

I took the family to see Luzia, the latest Cirque show to tour Southern California, back around Christmas (Remember Christmas? You should be seeing decorations for it any day now) when they were at Dodger Stadium. We've seen all their shows, but this was by far, for me, the favorite.

So much so that I got us all tickets to see it again today at the Orange County Fairgrounds.

It's astonishing how creative this troupe is. A breathtaking combination of dance, art, comedy, music, song, athleticism, skill, daring, courage and discipline, Luzia is a vision. A dream. A moment out of time. A magical encounter with something true.

The beauty of Luzia is it doesn't allow anyone to be a passive viewer. It demands you feel something. Whether it's wonder, entertained, thrilled, inspired or transported, you simply can't escape its otherworldly pull.

Naturally, with all the spectacularly fit, athletic performers and lithe bodies doing incredible feats requiring uncommon strength—flying through the air, hanging from a single chord from the top of the tent, jumping from one giant swing and launching each other across the stage onto another swing —it was a lot like looking in a mirror. So much so I had to keep reminding myself I was an only child.

I don't know how much longer the show is in Orange County, but if you check the Google I'm sure you can find out. I'd check for you, but the less I type the words Orange County before the midterms the better.

At the center of the story is a clown, although not the typical Emmett Kelly clown you might picture. He is our guide through it all, and has a moment of poignancy at the end that is nothing less than beautiful.

I'm hoping to see Luzia a third time before it packs up and heads to the next city. My compulsive nature (have I mentioned Springsteen, Vegas, Breaking Bad and sushi lately?) makes me want to see it again and again.

Working in advertising agencies as long as I have, you might've heard or read where I've described them as a circus. And they definitely are.

Sadly, none of them are as beautiful, artful or as magical as this one.