After giving my bottle of duty-free booze (a guesting gift for Christo in Brussels) to the stupid fucking Frankfurt

‘TSA agent,” he also wanted to take away my skin cream because it was “more than 100 ml.” I pointed out the 120 ml jar was only half-full, but he would not budge until I said “it is medical.” Problem solved. (I should have told him the booze was medical, too).

I arrived in London on Friday morning. The plan: stay a couple of days and then head off to Brussels, to connect with my original plan. I didn’t really want to spend time in London. Immigrations figured out I’m an entertainer (I stupidly did not lie to the man) and I had to prove I planned to spend money rather than earn it. Two debit cards and a credit card plus a pile of old travelers checks and a couple hundred US dollars paved the way for that. I should have just said the word “medical,” since it seems to be a kind of magic word with brainless automatons.

Getting acclimated in a strange land that speaks my language: a plus, especially when two props broke in transit, and I still have to find a rope for my ropewalking act.

I popped down to Covent Garden, a mecca for buskers in the UK. First thing I see, as I walk up the street on a beautiful Friday afternoon? A crowd circled around a man who is telling jokes. EXCELLENT! I got closer and the guy’s doing Cups and Balls. With all the same jokes that were in the book I learned from. And then the next act goes on. Cups and Balls. With the same jokes that were in the book I learned from  (they are great jokes). I talked about it and pretty much each performer would like to give it up, but it just works so well as a street act. Considering the “stock” material in my juggling act, I felt quite the kinship.

And a subtle, cute routine featuring cute pieces of plastic which I specifically do not brutalize is a tough sell to the common slackjaw.

I asked around and found there was a rope store (no, really!) just up the street. It turned out to be yes, a rope store, servicing boaters and theaters (who historically use pretty much the same equipment). The very helpful rope salesman said they didn’t have the rope I need (“funny, you’ve got a lot of ropes here.”) but could have it by Monday. So I figured I’d grab it on Monday and leave for Brussels on Tuesday.

In the meantime, I’d do the other couple of routines I’d packed: Cups and Balls or the Baby Teeterboard. No worries. But the table one of the babies sits at broke in transit. And I needed to find a coconut for the Cups and Balls. Run around, find hardware store, figure out how to repair this thing without power tools, and knowing whatever tools I buy are likely staying in Europe when I leave. Hell; I need a single sheet of paper for one of my bits and I’m having trouble locating one without buying 500 sheets! I already have no air space in my luggage. My clown nose has been complaining it’s suffocating. Good thing there’s no sound in a vacuum.

In any case, day one busking: I got myself in the rotation with the four other magicians. I got two time slots. Both times I gathered a nice crowd, and then went into the baby doll bits. And I watched my crowd ebb and ebb until they were gone. It was AWESOME! One thing I think that is key for this journey is I have given myself permission to fail, and I got to do it on my FIRST TRY!

Fear of failure has too often kept me back from taking artistic chances. It’s kept me falling back on the familiar, the tested, the true. I have not grown as much as I would like because of that impulse to be perfect every time, leading to the safe, the mediocre. I gathered a crowd with no words. I got laughs with no words. And I lost that crowd with the same number of words. As a show, it was a failure. As an exercise, it was a success! My favorite moment? After everyone left in droves, I looked up and there was one couple still standing there; the final two people watching, and the man is just looking at me, shaking his head. I smiled and gave him two thumbs up. My only regret: I didn’t have the presence of mind to offer my hat for his tip.

Second attempt went about like the first, but I tried doing it with words, even though once I get to non-English Europe, I really hope to ditch all text from the show. Side note: when packing carefully to do a busking tour of Europe? Make sure you’ve packed your microphone cable. Fortunately the very hospitable magic buskers at Covent Garden hooked me up. You blokes are the best!

The following day, I got kidnapped and transported down to the white cliffs of Dover and Canterbury Cathedral, where people go to be closer to God and/or be murdered.

First of all, what the hell do I think I’m doing?! Starting about 2 weeks before embarking on this adventure, and up to this very moment, that question echoes periodically through my head.

As I sit in a bus in a train in the Chunnel (at the bottom of the sea), I think back to my last week, peppered with travel cluster puppies, props broken in transit, and sticker shock: here are some of the highlights. Photos to follow, once the internet on the bust starts up again.

I’m glad I’m only mildly claustrophobic.

My plan, if you can call it that, is to go to Europe, write a new show, work on a novel, relive some old adventures, and break some patterns. I figure I’ll also lose a bit of weight — I tipped the scales in February at 192 lbs, and although that’s not a problem for my skinny ass, — yet —I  figure it wouldn’t hurt to keep tabs on that. Traveling like I plan to will be a lot of walking, heavy lifting, and occasionally missing meals. Like the guy in my novel. I had packed three acts I wanted to somehow fit into a show, or have them split into 2 or 3 different shows, or whatever. This exercise is about the process; the results will follow.

What kind of street act do I plan to do?

The challenge: leave my entire juggling show in the USA and work on new things.

1. The cups and balls (a magic classic, dating back 5000 years, to Ancient Egypt, at least) which I’ve always wanted to learn.
2. A slack rope act, for which I’d run down to Home Depot and purchase the rope to save weight allowances in my luggage
3. My beloved acrobatic baby dolls, a cabaret act I’ve been wondering if I could get it to work on the street. After all, in a theater, the audience inside are already predisposed to like what they see: they chose to pay money up front. The street is a harsher mistress. One with PMS.

…and some assorted other even more half-baked ideas…

Getting there: US Air

First off, let’s start with the positive: My Wednesday flight from Baltimore to Philadelphia was delayed enough that I would miss my connection to Brussels. So on their dime, they put me in a taxicab and sent me up I-95. I got in no problem. Thanks, US Air! 5 stars!

I arrived with plenty of time to get through TSA (where I left my belt and clown nose in a little bin, oops) and went to the Duty Free shop (Duty Free!) to purchase a nice bottle of booze (Amarula) for my friend Christo, who would be receiving me in Brussels. Or so I thought.

After US Air’s second announcement of an hour delay, I realized I’d left my clown nose and belt at TSA. I went to the information kiosk, right next to the TSA station, which was closed. “Can you tell me how to find someone from TSA? I left something in this station.” “Nnnope.” the guy replied, “Duh, derp, dorp, guhhhh.” Thanks, Information! 1 star!

So I walked on and found a TSA agent walking along. I asked her if she could take me for an eyeball-check at the closed security station (20 yards away). She instead took me back to another, open station, offered me a phone number to call, a form to fill out, etc. etc. Another agent heard what was going on and walked me back and found my stuff strewn on the floor, under a scanner. I thanked him. I figured cops have the “good cop, bad cop” routine. TSA must have the “reasonable human TSA agent, lazy, slack jawed imbecile TSA agent” routine. Thanks TSA! 2 1/2 stars

So in hours 3 and 4 of my delay, I considered going to the bar and tanking up, or running over to get some food, but stupid me figured, “they said we should stay near the gate, in case they figure this one out…”

After hour 5, at 11:30pm, they told us our flight was canceled. Then they told us we were on our own until 4pm the next day, and they would not pay for our hotel. Then they offered us FOOD! In the form of boxes of crackers, nuts, craisins, and other “shut up food” you give to children. I presume whomever created the canceled flight policies for US Air has made an in-depth study of Stockholm syndrome. Thanks, US Air! 1 star, just for the crackers, and it’s a brown dwarf.

I rebooked my flight for London on Thursday, to visit Dave, Kristen and 2-year-old JJ.