It was our seventh anniversary yesterday, so we celebrated by going to the OC fairgrounds to see the Cirque du Soleil Varekai show, which was absolutely gorgeous. These performers do things with their bodies that really shouldn't be possible. I remember seeing a documentary on Cirque du Soleil in which one of the show's designers said that the performers literally trust him with their lives when they begin to execute the moves he has conceptualized, and after watching some of those acts, I couldn't help but think that the designer must have excellent powers of persuasion. "And here's the part where you dangle in the air from a rope looped around the back of your neck," he says, and nobody laughs at him. Or if they do, they laugh and then dangle in the air from ropes looped around the back of their necks, so the laughing doesn't much matter.

I think the show is so appealing precisely because of the danger. You are constantly aware as you watch that 75% of these feats could result in the death of at least one performer. You don't want them to die, of course. On the contrary. But you do want them to be human, and thus fallible, and thus fall-able--it raises the stakes. A couple of the artists made minor mistakes during their acts--one performer lost his balance while perching on his partner's feet, and one of the younger artists didn't quite manage to catch a rope after he tossed it in the air and did a few flips while it fell--and it occurred to me that a handful of minor flaws actually make the show better. Nothing gets the crowd behind an acrobat like watching him flub a move, get back up, and nail it the second time. If all the performers had to do everything twice, the show would get tedious, but a dropped rope or two remind you that the strap dancers who are on next could very well knock each other silly as they fly across the room, and the acuteness of that knowledge makes you draw in your breath a little more sharply, hold it a little tighter.

While Jeff and I were having cocktails afterward and discussing high points, I mentioned the juggler, who actually managed to keep several small balls in the air by juggling them with his mouth. His mouth! "If there's any physical justice in this world," I told my husband, "that man is gay."

The only negative was that going to such shows requires being around large batches of random public, and being around large batches of random public always exposes you to certain types of show-goers. In our little section alone, we had:

THE NARRATOR - This person feels an overwhelming need to translate visual stimulus into verbal stimulus. You might appreciate her companionship under certain circumstances--if you were blind, for example--but under normal circumstances, she tells you nothing you don't already know. If she does tell you something you don't already know, it's something you don't want to know, like how she "really has to pee." She's the kind of person who informs her friends that smoking is bad for them.

THE RHYTHM SECTION - She likes to stomp her foot on the floor when the music gets fast and emotionally stirring. This makes the event feel more festive, particularly when the floor is made of wood and makes deep, satisfying THUD noises. The reverberations on the back of your chair feel especially good when THE RHYTHM SECTION happens to be located right behind you. We will, we will rock you. We here at majorweather, inc. believe that THE RHYTHM SECTION enjoyed one too many high school assemblies.

THE HOPPER - THE HOPPER cannot stand actually moving within his own row. Inspired by all the leaping he saw before the intermission, he hops into his seat from the row behind him, kicking at least one person in the shoulder as he does so. THE HOPPER is one of those assholes who drives on the shoulder during rush hour, because he can't be bothered to wait around in lanes like everyone else. He's also fond of crossing double yellow lines and moving into the carpool lane whenever it strikes his fancy.

THE BITCH - THE BITCH absolutely must complain about the most egregious offenses committed by random batches of public. If she is seated directly in front of THE RHYTHM SECTION, she will loudly ask her partner about "the deal with the stomper" as everyone files out for intermission. If she is kicked by THE HOPPER, she will make sure he knows it hurt and recommend that he just ask her to get up next time. THE BITCH has been known to yell at little kids for littering. She is actually me. She can't help it, and she thinks it might be genetic.

The trouble with humans isn't just the smell.