Clubs that will have me as a member
Words: Dusty   
Wednesday, 08 August 2007
Yesterday I had the strangest Fringe experience I've ever had, and that's
saying something, given the amount of time I have spent hanging out with No
Fit State Circus.  I was invited to a live art event taking place in a
mystery location.  I was very excited, as only a handful of people have been
invited.  Each invitee was to be taken through the event individually.

The event was called the Dislodge of the Antediluvian Order of the something
or other, and I gather was a pasticcio of initiation rituals to secret
societies.  It was taking place in a derelict, soon-to-be-demolished
building in Polwarth.  I had to dress in black and give a secret doorknock
at a precise time.  Yes, a secret doorknock.

I will only say that I went in with an open mind and an eagerness to go with
the experience and, if possible, enjoy it.  The first twenty minutes were
terrific, unsettling, thought-provoking and beautifully curated.
Unfortunately, when it came to the part when I had a bag over my head and
found I was having trouble breathing, things turned unpleasant.  I insisted
on the bag being removed, and, apparently, that broke the rules, as I was
escorted out of the building back onto the street.  I am told that I this
meant that I had missed the entire second half, which was even better than
the first.  My loss, I thought, though it seemed very unsporting to turf me
out just for being mildly asthmatic.

On reflection, though, I was not the right person for the experience.  Folk
who endure the traumas of initiation rituals do so because they greatly
desire to belong to the organisation that imposes them.  The problem with
this ingenious parody of an initiation was that the initiate in question had
no particular desire to reach the conclusion, aside from aesthetic
curiosity.

Some people will endure fire and torture to be part of the gang.  I can't
imagine wanting to belong to such a gang, composed as it is of morons who
will endure fire and torture.

Being a fair-minded fellow, I won't give away all the details of this art
event, as I think that would be against the spirit of it.  Though I guess
failing the initiation and disclosing the secrets is all a valid part of my
response to the experience.  Ah fuck it, the address is number 43....

Gotcha.

However, to bring this meditation back to the reason I'm here, I suppose the
Fringe has its own initiation rituals, many of them painful and generally
involving the loss not of breath, but of very large sums of money.

But I did that one last year.  Passed with flying colours.

In other news, I am not hung over today.  Hooray!  And I bumped into Amanda
Palmer yesterday and she's going to perform at the Bongo.  Hooray!