Party Like A Party Dancer

The same day that Michael turned one, Sam turned 13 and had a Bar Mitzvah. And Balloon Lady was there.

When I was thirteen, I oftentimes dreaded going to Bar and Bat Mitzvahs because 13-year-old girls can be so mean to other 13-year-old girls. I realized last night that 13-year-old girls are mean to everyone, even if you're more than twice Bat Mitzvah age.

A sampling of things said to Balloon Lady last night:

"What am I going to do with this [in regard to very cool balloon rainbow]?"
--Mean 13-year-old-girl #1

"Why would I want a balloon? I'm just going to throw it out when I get home."
--Mean 13-year-old-girl #2

"I don't get it. You just go around and make stuff for people?"
--Mean 13-year-old-girl #3

"Uh, thanks? [In response to my handing her a balloon butterfly. Insert look of utter disgust]"
--Mean 13-year-old-girl #4

The crowd was tough, but mostly because the kids were much more into the African-American party dancers that were hired to rev up the party (read: teach white people to dance.) The whole scene was problematic on many levels: African-Americans hired to entertain, Hispanic waiters doting on the elite, elderly and deaf coat check women...all to serve the overprivileged and underappreciated future leaders of corporate America. I took a break from twisting, went to the bathroom to wash my face (and the metaphorical scum of the Earth I was feeling all over me), looked at myself in the mirror and thought, "Am I really part of THIS world? The black party dancing, spoiled rich kid entertaining party world?"

After the kids cocktail hour, I bonded with Cypress, one of the party dancers, over well-whipped guacamole and expensive nachos chips. "Tough crowd, " I said, telling him about the boys who asked for balloon whips and chains and then laughed as they popped everything right in front of me. "They're so damn spoiled," he said, "they have no idea." We both looked out on the beautiful landscape view from the Rotunda Room for a moment and took deep breaths. And then Cypress put on his dancing shoes and I snapped on my balloon belt again and went to work.

Baby Michael Turns One and I Hate Magicians

Several weeks ago, I received a phone call:

"I am having a very elaborate birthday party for my one-year-old. Are you available to do balloons for the party to bring in the party mode?"

She had money to spare and flattered my artwork nicely so of course I was available.

It was indeed a very elaborate party: A stilt walker who juggled rings and blew a whistle (?), a strolling magician (more on that later), full catering (oyster bar, mini hamburgers and pizzas and plenty of not-so-friendly-for-a-one-year-old beer), a professional cameraman (asking people to leave their thoughts and messages on tape for Baby Michael) and me, the Balloon Lady.

Baby Michael was so excited for his first birthday party that he, well, slept through the entire thing.

Aside from the slight absurdity of the whole event, people were friendly and appreciative and praising of the fish hats, butterflies, monkeys on palm trees, baseball hats, superheroes, turtles and octopus I made.

I got stumped again though...I just couldn't figure out how to make a Saab convertible. I tried really hard though, as the kid who asked me for it was wheelchair-bound and had some other medical difficulties as well and he sat so patiently watching me and asking me questions while the world of able-bodied people strolled and schmoozed around him.

And now for why I HATE MAGICIANS.

Apparently, the Magician who was one of the other "featured" performers at Baby Michael's 1st birthday party is a "well-known" magician in this area. He seemed to be perturbed by me from the get-go. Maybe because more people were into my balloons than his lame-ass magic tricks. Maybe because he hadn't heard of me and saw that I was pretty damn good. Maybe because little Amy asked me to make a balloon tomato to throw at the magician because she thought he was stupid (Didn't make it for her, though.)

Whatever it was, I played it cool and was very friendly and nice to him, because there is no need for children's birthday party entertainers to be at war with one another. There's enough war already and you would think we would at least bond over being paid to perform at a drooling 1-year-old's elaborate party.

So the Magician comes up to me towards the end of my gig:

"So you should give me your card."

Ok, I say. And I pull out a card and hand it to him. This is nice, I think to myself. The Magician and I are going to become friends. You should give me your card too, I say.

"Oh, I...gave them all out."

Which was a total lie. There's no way he gave out all of his cards, because a) no one asked him for a card the whole time he was strolling; and b) he's a professional magician and they get all of their gigs by handing out cards and there's no way he wouldn't have brought enough cards with him. The Magician was lying like a dead white rabbit on the wide of the road.

I didn't get what he was trying to do at first (and maybe I still don't) so I asked him what his name was.

"Oh, I'll email you."

So basically the Magician would not tell me his full name so that I could look him up and be in contact with him. But he wanted my card so he could, what scope me out and stalk me and blacklist me in the children's entertainment community? I don't get it. What trick is he up to? And what a total prick to treat the Balloon Lady like that!

I hate magicians, I tell you. Always have.

Grandpas Love Balloons

These are two of the last photographs I took of my grandfathers. I miss them.

Balloon Boobs

I have some very religious cousins. So religious that they have strictly kosher diets. So religious that they don't use electricity or drive on the Sabbath. So religious that even the balloons I make for them have to be modestly dressed.

On a recent trip out to yeshiva-land, little Yochanan asked me to make a chusen and kallah (bride and groom) out of balloons. So I made what I always make when someone requests a bride and groom sculpture, never really paying attention to the fact that the bride's dress is sleeveless or, as in the case above, has a little balloon bosom showing.

So I didn't really notice this. But little Yochanan certainly did:

"The kallah's not sneeus [Yiddish expression for 'not modest']!"

Sometimes balloon customers are impossible to please.

Internet Fame

Seth's dad told me that Seth had been excited for weeks about Balloon Lady coming to his birthday party. When I arrived at the party and was introduced to the birthday boy, Seth smiled and said to me:

"I remember you! I remember you from the Internet!"

Apparently, Seth's dad had showed Seth my website and he was very excited about someone from the Internet coming to his party.

A Day At the Mall is No Day At the Beach

It's holiday season and the shoppers are out. And so is the balloon twister.

For the past two weekends, I've been hired by two fancy pants malls to make kids happy while their parents drag them out for some excessive December spending. I was one of several children's entertainers out at the Acorn Dip Mall last weeked--Goby the Magician, Bryan the Yo-Yo Man and Matt the Trivia Quizzer (with prizes!) and then me, the Balloon Lady. The Mall was packed and my line didn't let up at all for 4 hours. Parents continue to chuckle and ask, "don't your fingers get tired?" They think it's some kind of silly question, but I always answer, "Yes, they do." And then said parent proceeds to request balloon Elmo's for literally every child in the family.

I made some good stuff at both mall gigs: Batman, Mickey Mouse, Elmos, dinosaurs (stegasaurus AND bronotsaurus), and your usual steady supply of dogs, butterflies and lady bugs. Derek, the party entertainment agent who hired me, suggested I make things "less complicated" in order to keep the line moving. My mom suggested I have a sign with pictures of all the things I can make so that I avoid either 1) the paralyzed and dumbfounded look of amazement on kids faces when they see all the colors of balloons in my balloon belt and subsequently can't decide what they want; or 2) the disappointment of a child when they see that the balloon bicycle I have made for them is not lifesize nor is it ridable; or 3) the occasional request for the impossible; i.e., "Can you make a fireman in a firetruck going to rescue a dog from a flaming building?"

But I don't want to make "less complicated" things. Then it's boring for me. And I don't want to have a sign because then I'm stifling kids imaginations to come up with something--anything--for me to make. And I'm also losing the surprise element of what the finished product looks like. I love the look on a kids face when they see their new inflated latex toy.

Oh, and by the way, tips are awesome.

Today's mall gig was tougher and I was cranky about life and I hope it didn't come through in my balloon performance. Best part of the day though was when I was walking through the mall after the gig (still with my striped rainbow tights) and a little girl (Pink Flower) came up to me and said:

"I really like my balloon. Thank you."

Thank you.

Son of a Balloon Witch

I went to a fancy Halloween party of a "friend" of mine who lives in a mansion in New York. I didn't know anyone who was going to be at the party, so I offered to make balloon witch as decor. Figured it might be a good way for me to strike up conversation with a stranger ("So what do you do?" "Well, I made that balloon witch in the hallway.")

The party was packed but everyone was in a different room and the balloon witch flew overhead, alone, and garnered no attention. I felt for her. Because that's pretty much what happened to me. Well, except for the flying part.

One of the Family

Family means something to everyone--good, bad, warm, cold, complicated, fulfilling. But perhaps the most interesting and common feeling is that family is a loosely defined entity. Some blood relatives you may not even talk to and they are family; your neeighbor or best friend--well, they can be family as well. At Jennie and Patrick's wedding, I came to appreciate this loose definition, as I learned that Patrick's parents were both no longer living and yet he was surrounded by surrogate parents who offered tremendous support to him and his orphaned brothers.

I was also introduced to Ashley, a nine-year-old cousin who was family to Jennie in a rather confusing way. Ashley instantly loved me, as she was fascinated by the bride and groom sculpture I made for the wedding and was thrilled beyond belief when her cousin told her I would make her balloon animals at the wedding. It was nice to have a fan/date at the wedding; I must have made quite an impression because apparently when Jennie gathered all of her family for a photo, Ashley asked:

"Can the curly-haired balloon lady be in our family?"

Sometimes a loose definition of family means you can choose to be related to a balloon lady.