Clown capital

by RAF KATIGBAK

I’m going to admit something right now. I’m scared to be alone. There, I said it. I feel better now. A great weight has been lifted off my shoulders, like that time when I decided that it wasn’t a gay thing to continue to wear my sister’s wool tights to high school even after my long-johns were out of the wash (they were way warmer and made me feel “squishy,” OKAY?!).

But, you see, I’m not always scared to be alone. In fact, for 10 months out of the year, I cherish my solitude. I love being able to have quiet time to think and do simple things like making French toast in the nude while singing ’90s dance hits at the top of my lungs, or spending a week converting my house into a multi-disciplinary obstacle course for the 1st Annual Katigbak Summer Catlympics. But right now, it’s different. This is festival season, and living alone in the middle of it all sucks. It’s like being trapped in a prison of corniness, wrapped in a straight jacket of bad music with a gimp mask made of a jester hat. Now that I’ve spent almost a year on my own, I was worried that this year I would be alone to face the hordes of tourists in crocs lumbering around with cameras slung around their necks. But thankfully, at least for the next couple of months, I have two roommates: a lovely young couple visiting from Germany.

Having foreign houseguests is amazing not only because I can tell stupid jokes like, “How do German toddlers tie their shoelaces?” (“In little knotsies”), or the fact that I actually love to converse like a Bond villain all day, but because we can share in the misery of the Chinese water torture that is endless soundchecks (you try listening to someone go “un, deux, un, deux…” for hours and hours) and the evilness that passes for public entertainment in this city (Really? A choir doing stiff renditions of Radiohead and the Cure on giant scaffolding?).

On the upside, having foreign houseguests must be what having kids is like, because you get excited to show them all the fun things about this crazy world you live in. New foods to try, strange things to see… wonderful things that perhaps you normally take for granted. And just like kids, they are full of questions that have you examining your everyday world in a way you possibly hadn’t before.

But instead of deep, meaningful questions that have you endlessly questioning morality and society like “Why is there war?” you get even more perplexing and impossible questions about Montreal culture like, “Why do they love bad blues and Elvis so much?” and “Is there a law requiring people on stilts at EVERY public cultural event?”

Indeed, I seem to spend more time trying to defend corny Queb culture to visitors than I do showing them the wonders that make this city great. Late night poutine, topless breakfast, sketchy karaoke bars where haggard ex-drag queens and Quebec bodybuilders in Zubaz duet on “Islands in the Stream” (and this is the good stuff). Perhaps it’s because these hidden gems exist despite this terrible circus culture that has the world looking at us like North America’s clown capital. (If you don’t believe that’s how the world sees us, recently a friend went to Chicago to promote the Pop Montreal festival, and upon receiving a flyer, a person asked warily if there were going to be jugglers and fire-breathers there.)

But perhaps it’s futile to fight it. Perhaps instead we should embrace our circus heritage and have clown culture permeate every aspect of our lives. Maybe we could have all the public gardens filled with squirting flowers. Maybe we could replace Bixis with tiny clown bikes. Imagine how much it would benefit the environment if we could fit 30 people into a tiny clown car! Shoe shopping would be easy because they would just all be oversized and red and Montreal bagel vendors could juggle their wares and pirouette twice before your order landed squarely in the bag. Heck, we could even have cops on stilts! Sure, it would be hard for a bank robber to take someone yelling “Freeze!” at them while waddling on their heels seriously, but have you seen the cops in cargo shorts on pseudo-Segways? That shit is already pretty ridonkulous.

Yes, perhaps it’s time I stop fighting Montreal’s nature and learn to love it for the juggling, stilt-walking, chain-mail-wearing, chien-chaud-eating mess it is. Or maybe I’m just going crazy because I’m trapped in my apartment and the 2009 Katigbak Summer Catlympics are postponed.

RIFF-RAFF@SYMPATICO.CA