my house is on fire

My friend Rachel and I recently went to Bindlestiff's Open Stage Variety Show at Galapagos Art Space in Dumbo, and were extremely excited about it, because, well, we love a good circus act/variety show.

Unfortunately, this wasn't a good one.

The opening act was Bindlestiff, himself, and he was less than whelming. He did some diablo tricks (that big spool-thing on a rope) that were pretty cool and told some jokes that were flatter than an open coke in the backseat of your car on a summer day. If this was the peak of entertainment, we were in for a long night.

(Silly girls. They had no idea how long.)

The first act was a juggler (yay!) who did old man schtick for about seven hours before starting to juggle (boo!). Key moves included: walking-really-slowly-with-a-walker, taking-six-minutes-to-pick-up-something-he-dropped, making-cheesy-faces-like-the-guy-in-the-six-flags-commercial, and striking-a-really-LAME-pose-when-he-finished-a-trick-so-we-knew-to-applaud-uproariously.

mrph.

The next act was nearly indescribable. I think she was clowning, but it wasn't funny. All I can tell you is that there was a bathing suit, an audience volunteer in a full-body safety suit, some oil, a "dance," some cutout cardboard waves, and Rachel and I exchanging looks of utter bewilderment.

Did I mention we weren't drinking?

But it was the next two acts that put us over the edge.

If I were naming Act Three, I would call it:
-- Some People Call It Pouting, I Call It "Bellydancing"
-- Pull Your Pants Up So Your Belly(dancing) Doesn't Flop Over Your Panties
-- Winkin', Blinkin', Shakin', and Digestin'
-- Please Stop. Please.

Luckily, Act Four came with its own name -- Le Gateau Chocolat -- and finally I was excited! Hooray! A chocolate cake! This has to be fun! When the curtains opened, however, at center stage stood a big, fat, black man in a neck-to-knees leopard print unitard, yellow socks, lots of make up, and a floofy yellow hat made out of papier mache.

Definitely not the dessert I had in mind.

Then the music started, and this operatic baritone belted out Radiohead's "Creep." In keeping with the theme, I asked myself, what the hell AM I doing here?

"I think my house is on fire," I said to Rachel, who looked as if she were watching a traffic accident involving a busload of crippled orphans.

"Do you -- should you -- call someone? Or should we just go?"

"I think we should just go. You know, just to be safe."

So we left. Never to return again.

Ever.