STANDING ROOM ONLY

Thursday, July 29, 2004

*CLICK*

One day the Smithsonian will call me.

“Hello, Mr. Elliott?” they will ask.

“Maybe. Who’s calling?” I answer in my French-ish, Jodie Foster/Nell voice I use for such questions.

“This is the Smithsonian. We’re calling because we’re mounting an exhibit on the Hula Boola. We thought a balloon would be appropriate. Do you have any suggestions?”

“Do I!” I quickly answer. “Take a look at this!”

“Ah”, they academically nod together. “Of course! The wild abandon! The unchecked glee!”

“Mmm” I respond. Funny, I was thinking more “crazy person running from a burning house”, something I can relate to. For whatever reason, the joy of these balloons cannot be overrated. Cars will be sitting like old turtles in the sun and then there’s an Air Dancer (Balloon Industry Lingo). Wave ‘em in the air like you just don’t care! Air Dancers are the Jessica Simpsons of the Promotional World - all jiggle and no brains.

Betty and I love them and will actually stop to watch one. We stand across the street staring like local kids do at the Crazy Neighbor’s House. Betty lifts the edge of her skirt to scratch her leg while I pensively smoke a Dunhill. Waiting for the neighbors to Freak is cool. We’re giddy at the prospect of loud noise or crying or The Police coming. We watch the Air Dancers flail their puny arms and undulate like Holy Rollers. Perhaps they’ve burnt some toast and their kitchen is full of smoke, all 400 cats coughing and running out the back. Maybe the baby has the mumps or extra arms or was abducted by Aliens.

“That’s Willy” Betty notes matter-of-factly. “Willy Nilly.”

I sceptically take another drag of my smoke. Betty has a penchant for inventing nicknames.

“He comes from Akimbo*click*”, she remarks with her mouth making a strange clap like a Plastic Joke Hammer. I accept the information sans comment, assuming “Akimbo*whatever*” is some Exotic Native World. Sounds suspicious but I’ve never been to Exotic Native World so who am I to say? Just cause I haven’t heard of something doesn’t make it unreal.

“They live in houses like this :”

Small but festive. Nomadic, the house implies, though I’ve never witnessed one walk. “Guess they only do the Crazy Dance outside” I suggest.

“Unlike you.” she snorts.

I like to watch. I want to absorb the jerky movement of the elbows, note the Swift Dip before bolting alert. With wild abandon, with unchecked glee! I want to be an Air Dancer, arms willy-nilly until dawn when I’ll climb into my Akimbo*click* Hut and dream like a slumbering turtle.

11:42:10 AM

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