Huff... Huff...

I had better level up in diplomacy by the time this weekend is over.

I still don't want to explain everything just yet, the facts aren't all in. But in my last post I mentioned to Lex that the scalpel was cold iron. By that I meant that my second poi made of bike chain and gym socks were unusable on account of them being fire hazards. In the African desert little flakes of flaming cotton aren't really that big of a deal. An inside performance with a huge crowd is a different story. It took me forever to test the poi because things kept coming up. Last night I was nervous about that, so I made my will save and did a "stealth firedance" on seminary property. I went behind the garages on the far northwest corner to minimize onlookers from the window (the northside is emptier than the south) around 11:00. I sort of feel dirty for doing that, but it was a question of obligation.

When I realized that I needed new poi in 3 business days, I went online and realized that American poi manufacturers are mainly located on the west coast and most (all?) of them are taking part in a regional convention called Fire Drum. This morning I finally got through to someone and I've arranged a rush delivery of fire poi heads (that don't need to be manufactured like the chains). So I can manage my dance on Saturday without burning my audience alive. Next week I'll look into getting the chains to go with the heads, and I was quite impressed with a set of training poi for $35. What better way to celebrate a firedance than more firedance stuff I can't really afford?

Tomorrow afternoon I get to drive the Archbishop to an event. Hello status! Maybe this'll make up for that one time with the remark and the awkwardness and the nervous laughter...




Ooo! Almost forgot a good conversation after I bought my poi heads. I wanted to tell Debbie to watch for my package because it's important and stuff. Chris, Carol, and Sandy were talking with Debbie in her office.

"So please watch out for that package. I know this might sound like something I'd say often, but I don't: if I don't get this package by Friday, the Bad Guys win."
That sentence was poorly worded. All four of them stared at me as if they were thinking:
"What's in the package? The antidote? A bomb-defusing kit?"
Bear in mind that I don't really want a lot of people to know about the firedancing stuff I do. Not just yet.
"Let me back up. I'm in a performance on Saturday and there's a mean guy who has the power to make me miserable. A vital piece of equipment isn't working and I just bought the replacement. So if I don't get it, I'm in trouble, my partner's in bigger trouble..."
"And the mean guy gets to gloat over you."
"Exactly."
"Don't worry about it, we'll keep an eye out."

I'm pretty sure I excessively confused them all, but I think they understood where my worry was coming from. Everyone has in their life someone mean who wants them to fail. A very common situation to empathize with.