Montreal, Uncensored

Sort of, anyway....

By Thomas L

ME???   In the pages of THE MAGAZINE? I read the message with disbelief. Nawwwww, JW didn't REALLY wanna print what I had to say. Or did they? Mainstream recognition at last! My head swelled with pride as I read the message from the editor: "admired my work," blahblahblah, something about "needing a fresh voice," or breathing life into something. Heck, my voice was so fresh it wanted a good slapping. By gosh, I would do it. For the glory. Good thing, too. In Montreal, the pay is peanuts!

Coverage was to begin with the "Juggler's Train." You read the advertisements? At least YOU weren't suckered in. I came ready to party. I donned my shades, some attitude and climbed aboard. But where were the jugglers? The Florida people, who had hyped the trip, were nowhere to be seen. It was just me and D.C. Later we would pick up Miz Tilly and partner, though they didn't associate much with the little people in cheap seats, having booked a sleeper. Other folks included Eric, of extensions fame. Neil Stammer was bumming, because he had come down to the train to see some old friends who didn't show.

I longed for the nastiness of my hometown club, because NEVER have I met such nice people. Does one really want to roadtrip with NICE people? 7-Up, brownies and mixed nuts were passed 'round. The brownies were good, but the only thing which expanded was my waistline. Yeah, we ate a lot on that trip. I managed to score a knish in New York, and some bagels. I got the juggler's discount, too, although I had to vault a gate to make it back onto the train.

There really isn't anything to report about the train ride. After some urging, we got some passing going and things livened up a bit. "Burkes Barrage by New York," I vowed, and worked away for a couple of hours. Office workers on holiday became jugglers as a successful 3­3-10 in the aisles lead to a heroic box, with the two in the seats doing a beautiful job passing across a narrow aisle. First it was the club car, then the box car. Finally, when the conductors were about to bounce us and our silicones from the train, we put the clubs away and tossed bags the rest of the time. We ran out of steam about Baltimore, and then things settled down to a nice monotony, en­livened only by the beautiful Vermont land­scape the next morning.

The train was welcomed in Montreal by festival organizers with a documentary crew. "Act lively." OK. We juggled. It was Monday afternoon. When I walked into the gym that evening, my heart sank. A handful of jugglers were there already, and there seemed to be just about enough room. A chill passed through me, and I was glad it did, because it was hot in there. The literature had said there was no need for air conditioning. So I kept telling myself this: "There is no need for air conditioning. There is no NEED for air conditioning." It didn't work. There was a need for air conditioning. Or ventilation fans. Or another gym.

There was simply not enough space for 1,000 jugglers. Workshops need their own space, and partitioning off part of a too-small gym is not an adequate solution. Outside was an OK alternative, but it was frustrating to chase up and down hills looking for workshops, especially those that were cancelled.

Registration was your basic nightmare. I waited in line for hours, and I got there early, too. The administration experimented with various registration strategies, but by the time I got inside, there was scarcely room to juggle anyway.

I got in shape during the week trudging up and down hill, from dorm to gym to grassy field. I cannot comment on the food, since no WAY was I going to spend megabucks on cafeteria cuisine in one of the continent's greatest food cities.