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.

Same clowns, different circus

This is one of those posts that make my friends crazy, immediately emailing to tell me why I shouldn't have published it. I recognize they're looking out for my best welfare, which is what they think I'll be on if anyone who hires freelancers reads this. Duly noted.

Let me start by saying - as I've said many times before - that I've met some of the smartest, most creative, hugely interesting people working in agencies. Many of who form the first inner circle of great friends of mine.

If agencies were just populated with them I'd have nothing to write about.

But if you've worked at more than one agency, you already know, sadly, those aren't the only types that work there. There are about four or five personalities that keep showing up. Sure, they come in different packages, but essentially you see them over and over, coming and going at the agencies you work at.

There's Mr. Smarmy, who'd like to present my copy to the client, but "...I know you can do so much better." I don't think you're paying me the compliment you think you are.

Next, The Hostess, who really wants to like the copy, but "I just don't get it. And if I don't understand it, how will the consumer?" I'm going with the consumer's smarter than you are. Call it a hunch.

The Boss Man (not Springsteen) who brings their own work to the pitch, but promises "It'll be a level playing field. I don't have a favorite." It's okay. I didn't want to be away on production anyway.

Mr. Could'a Been A Contender, who recommends a director because "..when he took me to sushi at Urasawa I knew he'd be right for it." And besides, his reel looked great on that home theater system he gave you.

And yes, Mr. Hemingway, the copywriter who wouldn't mind making a small change, but "you have no idea how long it takes me to find the PERFECT words" You do realize the movie Precious wasn't about your copy, right?.

Here's what I know about clowns. Whether they're wearing big, floppy shoes, yellow power ties or hipster knit caps they've always made me uneasy.

Especially the ones whose noses aren't red.

You're going to need a smaller car

I believe I speak for many people when I say clowns have always scared the living bejeezus out of me. I think you'll find that any nightmare worth it's weight in true terror usually has a clown in it.

Oh sure, I can already imagine all you red-nosed squeezing, boutonniere-squirting, floppy-shoe wearing, bicycle-horn honking clown fans greasing on your sad faces in protest. Alright, alright. Never let it be said I'm not being fair. I'll agree I shouldn't stereotype all clowns (he says coughing to conceal his laughter). Because as few and far between as they are, I have to grudgingly admit there are actually some that're enjoyable.

For example, Fizbo from Modern Family? Love him. Hysterical every time. And if you recall the scene at the gas station with Mitchell (which YouTube has pulled for some reason), you know that Fizbo isn't just hysterical. He's also an ass-kicking clown.

Chuckles, the clown from the old Mary Tyler Moore Show was also a good one. Not only is his name the quintessential clown moniker, his funeral is one of the most classic scenes in all of television history.

But for every Fizbo and Chuckles, there are a thousand clowns with hell for their home address.

I think the first time this one shows up in the kid's room in Poltergeist, we all know nothing good is going to come of him. Who was fooled at the beginning when he was benignly sitting on the rocking chair? Anyone? Thought so.

Not that imagining what might be lurking under the bed isn't already every kid's nightmare. But this little feller just kind of cemented the deal.

Under the bed isn't the only place evil is lurking. It's also hanging around in the sewers, waiting to drag little children under to an unthinkable fate. Pennywise over here, the clown from Stephen King's IT, always liked to remind children that, "We all float down here." If that doesn't make for sweet dreams I don't know what does.

Perhaps the most perverse take on clowns is Heath Ledger's Joker in The Dark Knight. Using clown makeup to represent the actual decay within the character, I think he also shows a side of clowns most of us don't want to believe is real.

But for all the kids reading this, especially the young ones, it is.

So the next time you're at the circus, try not to focus on all those clowns popping out of that impossibly small car. I'm sure they're not really rehearsing the way they'll spring out from under your bed or the closet in your room late at night after you've floated off to sleep.

"We all float down here." Goodnight.