Suburban Ballet

Oscarama is over.

That's Oscar's name for the week that includes his birthday. He says a single day is far too constraining for his particular celebratory needs.

During the course of the week, Oscar played golf, took an evening rampage through the old town's bar district, hosted one of our shows, went to a movie, drove around a high-speed go-kart track and ate two restaurant steaks.

For observational purposes, your agent joined him for several of these escapades. Somebody has to record this stuff for posterity.

It might as well be me.

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Last Sunday afternoon, Florence, the Wonders' next-door neighbour, fell sideways into a coffin-size planter box in front of Little Doug's place. She needed help to extricate herself from a riotous mass of leafy, fully-grown perennials.

Earlier, a spontaneous pre-Labour Day party had erupted around the front stairs leading into Little Doug's house. Apparently, it started with Little Doug and Ben and then quickly grew into an eight-person gathering.

The Sack has always been more of a beer-drinking cul-de-sac, rather than a wine-drinking one. But at this particular gathering, everyone was drinking wine exclusively. Not a single pint of beer was consumed.

It was an impromptu wine party.

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Even Jeff Christ was part of the unplanned event. Weed says the gathering marked the newcomer's "coming out party" in the Sack. He's also certain that Jeff had something to do with the wine phenomenon.

I remain doubtful about this.

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Florence was at the gathering, of course, and drank too much wine.

Too much wine, in her case, is not very much at all. She says she only takes an alcoholic drink on rare occasions and even then, in great moderation.

So on Sunday, it only took two glasses of wine to knock Florence, as Big Doug likes to say, "arse over tea-kettle."

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Florence was actually sitting on the ledge of the planter box during this end-of-summer gathering. When she tried to get up, she lost her balance completely.

She fell backwards into the planter box. Her knees were left hanging over its side. She was completely immoblilized. Ben and Little Doug actually had to pull her out.

When Florence lost her balance, one of her pink crocs disengaged from her foot and flew into the air. It almost hit Little Doug in the head.

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Oscar, Weed and your agent witnessed Florence's tumble into the planter box. We had just returned from the go-kart track along with Oscar's thirteen-year-old, Dorian.

Oscar laughed very hard when Florence landed among the flowers. And he had very good reason for doing so, too.

It was a spectacular fall.

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Oscar's sides were hurting from laughter after seeing it. He said he probably would've punctured a lung if the croc had struck Little Doug in the head.

As you can see, life in a cul-de-sac has the potential to be lethal.

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While Oscar enjoyed his week-long birthday celebrations, he said the best part was seeing Florence fall into the planter box.

Of course, he didn't mean this in a hurtful way. He just meant that Florence's fall, if captured by an alert video camera, would have been a masterpiece of cinematography. Most gripping, he argued, would have been her eyes, as she realized that she hadn't come to a standing position when she rose from her seat. Captured in slow motion, Oscar said the blended look of surprise and horror on Florence's face could not be achieved by a mere actor.

The flying croc, Oscar pointed out, also gave the scene some subtext. Weed agreed. He said the croc was a powerful metaphor for the futility inherent in suburban conformity.

I think Sack people should stick with beer.

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