The whole thing was summed up by the merchandising of the big tossup - that hallowed tradition in which jugglers gather to pitch their toys high in the air, and hope to recover them without incident. Its a trade-off between recognizability in the photo and getting your stuff back without damage to it or others. So while I would have liked to throw a unicycle, I settled for a bunch of rings ­ bright colors, lots of surface area.

 

For this tossup, though, newsbags with the logo of the local paper were passed out, and those people prominently displaying them were actually moved to the front, close to special guest / art god Michael Moschen. I managed to nab a bag and use it as my ticket to the front. I have yet to see the photo, but the lJA's backbends to associate with Montreal's 350th anniversary celebration and make good on the first initial of the organizational name didn't score any points with me.

 

I thought the championship awards ceremony was another sellout. Token medals all 'round! Bronzes were given away like consolation prizes, or Halloween treats. Wasn't it a different story last year? This year, if you had competed before and not won anything, you got a medal. If you were not American, you got a medal. A woman? Have a medal. I admit the Cuban guy had hot bounce tricks, and saw no problem with his silver.

 

But the Russian guy was, well, Russian. Which is to say technically excellent, but bizarrely circus. It was another culture, but looked like another time, like Ed Sullivan from the Wayback Machine - from the non­stop tapdance style clogging to the circus prancer of an assistant doing the ballet Vanna White thing in stiletto heels, to the knife cavalierly thrown to stick in to the stage (and left there!). It was pure kitsch, culminating in the mirrored discoball which opened to reveal a steaming samovar. It was even funnier the second time 'round at the public show. Despite my opinions, though, I will not deny that the man was a good juggler.

 

We saw lots of things balanced on the head this year, including two musical instruments, sporting equipment, a samovar and a palm tree. I laughed nonstop, and received a year's supply of dirty looks.

 

What's All the CoMoschen About?

It was billed as a creativity workshop. The hall was packed. And Mr. Moschen conducted his own personal encounter workshop. Ahhhhh, how GOOD to express our feelings. And yet, the man had a point, and not just on his bouncing surface. A number of people were converted on the spot. One juggler, after much artistic anguish, began working on a unique routine reflecting the death of his daughter's best friends gerbil, using a molecule of NaCl and 26 wads of glow-in-the-dark silly putty. Another juggler vowed never to juggle again, and ran off to bake bread in Pueblo monestary in desolate New Mexico. A third attempted supuku on the spot, gruesomely stabbing himself with the bulbous end of an American club. A more moderate juggler simply gave away his props.

 

Moschen's attitude gave us all something to talk about. His slam of the seniors competition during his acceptance of the florid and floral tributes were but another incident in a week that would provide much wind for the rumor mill. What happened to the flowers he was presented with? And, more pointedly, what shape was built in the gym from three tables at 4 a.m. by which familiar juggler? I enjoyed hearing the personal development of his art, and I thought it OK that he said what he wanted. But who are we, the membership of the lJA? Are we mostly hobby jugglers, or are the majority performers? He seemed to be addressing his message to the wrong crowd.

 

Except for a few clowns and street performers, I found myself surrounded by computer geeker-guys. In truth, they are fine jugglers and nice people, so I swallowed my spleen, and considered it a tasty snack. But I digress.

 

What does Mr. Moschen's chastisement have to do with most of us? To the hobby juggler, railing against acrylic ball manipulation makes as much sense as DaVinci carping at someone for filling in a paint-by-numbers Mona Lisa. Sure, a kid wanting to develop creative art would be juggling into new realms. And reproduced, besides. It's a life­times achievement, so relax, Michael.

 

All was forgiven after his performance in the Public Show, though, and by his diplomatic appearance in the gym following. He passed clubs with a number of happy jugglers, a phenomenon I found to be the most interesting thing about the fes­tival. Almost. Because then there were the championships.. .