Statesman > XL Blogs > Archives > 2005 > January > 25 > Entry
One-wheeled woes and Sinus shows
I almost took out a guy on a unicycle today. This, apparently, is one of the hazards of driving in South Austin. Lakeway has deer, North Austin has endless mazes of construction, and South Austin, so it seems, has kamikaze unicyclists. I find that upsetting.
First of all, unicycles are silly, and not just because I would do considerable damage to myself and others if I ever tried riding one. If I designated as silly all modes of transportation that resulted in frequent and impressive self-injury, then unicycles would be in fine company with many escalators, all bicycles, and an Indian elephant named Uma.
Also, unicycles are not particularly safe.
I come from Swedish stock. That means two things: 1) I get inordinately excited around herring and 2) I am genetically predisposed to driving giant, boxy cars. My Volvo may have all the sleek modern lines of a hot dog cart, but at least if I got into an accident I’d have several hundred pounds of solid Scandinavian steel to protect me. Not so when you’re driving what looks like a gerbil wheel on steroids. What sort of built-in safety features come on a unicycle? What does the owner’s manual for these one-wheeled wonders look like? I’m imagining a line drawing of some guy’s forehead with an arrow pointing to it under the heading “Crumple Zone.”
I’ll stick to my Volvo, thanks.
I spent a whole weekend gorging myself unto busting with cinematic cultural enrichment and this is what I’ve learned:
1) Given the opportunity, your gentleman caller will conk you on the head, push you into the lake and steal your life savings (actually, I’d already suspected that).
2) Britney Spears’ hair smells like waffle batter.
The first I gathered from Fellini’s “hooker-with-a-heart-of-gold” picture “The Nights of Cabiria,” one of several films by the Italian director screened at the Paramount during aptly named “Fellini Week.” The latter I learned from The Sinus Show’s performance of Britney Spears’ cinematic ode to lipgloss, “Crossroads.” It was quite possibly the worst movie I’ve ever enjoyed.
In the four and a half years Owen Edgerton, John Erler and Jerm Pollet have been together, The Sinus Show; a more-or-less monthly production where three guys drink beer and make fun of bad movies; has become an Austin institution and for one reason.
The Sinus Boys put out.
There is no joke too dirty, reference too obscure, or pratfall too painful for them, as long as it keeps their audience laughing and drinking. I have personally seen Owen cut his head open jumping off the stage during “Pretty In Pink.” He went to the emergency room, but not before finishing the show. That’s a pro, a pro with the distinction of being the only person in history to need stitches after being hit by a picture of a train, but a pro none the less. Sinus will bleed for their art, and for that their audience, especially women, love them.
Boy, do they love them.
There is a certain je ne sais whut, in the Sinus appeal. I think it’s because there is a bit of classic sitcom casting to the Sinus boys, a little something for everyone. There’s the sassy redhead, the sultry brunette and the ….um…bald one who’s well versed in Latin literature and does inappropriately deep knee bends while dressing in drag. It’s like “Petticoat Junction” gone horribly, horribly wrong, and it drives the ladies wild.
Standing in line outside The Alamo Drafthouse before a Sinus Show is an entertaining precursor to the show itself, mostly because those “cool girls”, the ones wearing Elvis Costello glasses and ironic haircuts, giggle like cheerleaders when discussing their favorite Sinus boy.
I’ve been fortunate enough to hear, and by “hear” I think we all know I mean “eavesdrop on,” many of those conversations, some of which go into mortifying, almost clinical detail. I will not inflict them on you; this is a family paper and my readers’ sensibilities are far too delicate for that sort of thing — besides, the girls mumbled. Yet, because my desire to serve is exceeded only by my lack of shame, I persevered. Eventually I gathered, much to my relief that the girls finally came to an agreement. While each had their favorite they admitted that John, Owen and Jerm all have individual charms, and from what I could understand (the conversation got a bit confusing here) none of them, apparently, would be severely punished “for eating crackers.”
Permalink | | Categories: By Rhiannon Gammill
