Below are the detailed reviews that I wrote for all four nights of


Renegade in Madison last week.  I was asked to take "notes" on the


shows and as per my usual penchant for uncontrollable babbling in


print, I barfed up over 1,000 unusable words for each night.  With my


aversion to letting my blood, sweat and tears (and there were A LOT of


tears) going unread, here for your prohibitively lengthy reading


pleasure are my opinionated, sometimes in poor taste, hopefully


entertaining Renegade reviews.  I recommend that you print this sucker


out and keep it by the toilet.  It should provide a good week of


reading material for the average, healthy person.








------------------------- oooOOOooo ----------------------------------








TUESDAY NIGHT








After watching in awe as Leo Bassi told twisted stories about


torturing pigeons, shook his fifty-something Italian ass to some


shockingly hard core hip hop, sprayed the audience with fruit,


seemingly threatened to burn the entire Alliant convention center to


the ground and then finally mutilated himself on a pile of broken


glass, all the while being uproariously funny, I feel deep pity for


the individuals that are slated to hit the stage for Renegade tonight.


 The only thing that can follow an act like that would have to be the


Devil himself dong a 20 minute break dancing routine and then


decapitating everyone in the first two rows and making it funny.





Having made the ill-advised decision to swear off alcohol one scant


week before Festival and having been mentally battered due to


averaging 5 hours of sleep per night for the two prior weeks, I know


nothing short of unbridled hilarity and possibly a lap dance is going


to truly entertain me in my condition.  The poor bastards on tonight's


Renegade don't have a chance.





MCing the festivities is the reliably witty Mark Hayward.  Mark starts


things off by lecturing all of us pathetic men on how to get laid at


Festival.  All kidding aside, this is a serious problem.  Back when I


started going to festivals the guy to girl ratio was something like 17


to one, with the achingly small female contingent either being married


to or the under-aged daughter of one of the other jugglers.  Granted,


the female presence has exploded in the past twelve years, but there


are still far too few available ladies in the juggling community and


something needs to be done to remedy the situation immediately.  I


propose that we spearhead a nationwide campaign to drive up young,


single, female attendance at juggling clubs by hitting the college


campuses with only our most charming and attractive male jugglers


(Mark Nizer and myself) and some kind of killer, idiot-proof incentive


for the females, like free booze.  Earlier in the day, at the bottle


flairing workshop, the FlairCo guys reported that flipping and


spinning a few bottles while mixing a cocktail seems to have an


alarming Tom Cruise-like effect on drunken sorority girls.  I couldn't


have planned this better.  Mark Nizer and I can sponsor quarterly,


juggling, drunken melees on each major campus and all women's colleges


around the country, where we will woo the women with our stunning good


looks, wit and finely honed bottle flaring skills during drink


preparation.  Once we get the women hooked on the free booze, then


comes the juggling lessons and the eventual attendance at regional and


national festivals.  In fact, I'm not particularly choosy about the


juggling part, the females can simply be hard drinking, non-juggling


groupies and hangers-on for all I care.  All the better, in fact,


because they will not have any silly preoccupations at juggling


festivals if they don't have anything to practice.  They can simply


focus on the heavy drinking and the worshiping of us guys.  If any of


the women get out of hand, we can just send them to Mark Faje for his


flaming dildo orientation, which should dispatch even the most unruly


women. Ultimately, what's really important is the presence of as many


available and open minded females as possible and then simply by the


shear numbers alone, more of us pathetic guys will get lucky at


juggling festivals.  But I digress…





First up is Dr Stardust.  Doc limps onto the stage with a feigned foot


injury, making the first of many references to Leo's act during the


show.  Due to what must have been an overdose of feigned painkillers,


he speaks too softly for me to hear much of what he was saying.  


Stardust proceeds to perform several feats of balancing and two ball


manipulation.  The Badger Bowl regulars, who are lurking in the far


left corner of the bar love him, though most of them are totally


loaded.





Mark continues to instruct us on cool tricks to pick up chickadees at


juggling festivals, before introducing Jay Gilligan.





Mark reads from Jay's prepared monologue as Jay sets up a cigar


stacking balance, with a Tupperware bowl full of water and his fish


"Fileo" (as in "Fileo Fish", ha ha!) balancing on top of the stack.





More dating tips from Mark follow.  Jeez, once a guy gets married, he


thinks he's some kind of Don Juan.





Gary somebody or other (some drunk had accosted me, so I missed the


full name) hits the stage next.  Gary does some strange club swinging


while I brush off the drunk.





Slammin' Andy gets up and gives a passionate speech about his dream to


be an IJA champ without having to deal with the practice and


dedication and stuff.  Then he segue ways into the Carmine Street


Irregular Championship pool, with guesses on such details as number of


vests and sequins in the championship performances.  By this point, I


am thinking that there should be a last minute category added for


"Number of References to Leo Bassi's Act".





Randy Keral (spl?) staggers up next and treats us with a brief, but


inspired banjo and feather routine to the tune of "Jack in the Box".





Up next is Dan Kirk.  The audience is getting pretty ornery by this


point and they heckle Dan mercilessly as he demonstrates his pogo


sticking abilities, while making yet another reference to Leo's act,


and finally building up to juggling three balls on the pogo.





Jammin' Jim (who?), the night's closer, is a no show, so Mark Hayward


has to beg for someone to get up and do "a cool, funny closer that


doesn't suck".  Randy and Slammin' Andy do a paper bag popping routine


to Randy's well polished Jack in the Box tune, before Robert Nelson is


egged onto the stage.  Robert gets into character as we watch Mark


Faje cut off his ponytail on stage for the second time this year. 


Robert juggles what appeared to be used urinal cakes, culminating with


him taking a bite out of one.  The taste doesn't seem to agree with


him, as he bitches about it for the rest of the evening.  During the


confusion of Robert and Mark Faje attempting a tandem urinal cake kick


up to a head balance, Nick Gatto jumps on stage and baits Mark into


falling for the half-glass-of-beer-dumped-on-the-head gag while


attempting to assist Nick in a fake trick.  It is by far the biggest


killer of the evening.





Eventually Faje does the kick up to the head on his own and Renegade


is over without so much as one flaming dildo.  Mark, please don't


leave us hanging like that again, dude.





------------------------- oooOOOooo ----------------------------------








WENESDAY NIGHT





Tonight the Renegade juggler audience seems to have doubled while the


drunken locals that were very much a presence on Tuesday night are


conspicuously absent.  Sure, Tuesday's show sucked ass by Renegade


standards, but it's totally free, so people, myself included, really


shouldn't be bitching.





Despite being late, I manage to once again get my inconspicuous seat


in the back with the worst sight lines in the entire bar.  Sometimes,


anonymity has it's price.  I am relived that there are no hopeless


drunks seated around me tonight.  It's amazing how quickly I've become


completely intolerant of drunken idiots ever since I stopped being


one.





As people wrestle with pre-show details, Mark Faje entertains the


crowd that is banished to the bowling alley for being too young or too


Asain (The Coke Bottle Glasses Cop at the bar door bounces our tourist


friends for not having IDs that he can decipher) by hopping up in


front of the camera that is providing the simulcast out on the bowling


alley TV screens, dropping his fly and giving the lucky people a peak


of his Jockeys and maybe a little more (I averted my eyes).





Paul Nathan, a guy that I've never seen before, is MCing the show. 


Perhaps it's just the sleep depravation compounded with the DTs, but I


swear I have seen him around the festival several times in the past 24


hours, sporting what appears to be a 2010 Time/Life Telephone Operator


Headset.  I hope to find out what the hell the thing really is


tonight.  Paul raves about the legendary debauchery of Renegade and


more or less promises the crowd drunken hysteria, nudity and vomiting


before the show is over.





First up is Otto Mann.  Otto starts out with a cute stage ball routine


with three, four and five balls to music he supposedly composed


himself.  The juggling is respectable, but the music is great!  I make


a mental note to quiz him on the music later.  Then Otto moves on to a


series of impressive three and four club tricks, before finishing with


the requisite five club run.





It appears that Paul's futuristic headset is actually a cordless mic,


which doesn't explain why I've seen it on his head at all times, in


the gym, the parking lot and everywhere in between this week.  Perhaps


I hallucinated all of that.  The DTs will do that to you.  Paul's foot


spontaneously combusts while sharing the unnecessarily personal


details about his foot itch problem.





Next up is the Spin Doctor.  The Doctor tutors us on diablo


terminology before going into his series of "Stupid Diablo Tricks". 


He starts out with whacking himself in the ass with the diablo and it


just gets stupider from there.  Spin finishes with Mark Faje's help


(can't that guy stay off the stage for even 10 minutes?) with the


"Assisted Suicide" trick, which is your standard diablo "Suicide",


with the hold stick being placed in Mark's mouth.





Paul comes out and coaches the smokers in the audience on how to quit.


 After acquiring a pack of smokes from one of the sound and light


booth guys, Paul starts demonstrating his negative reinforcement


techniques by breaking several cigs in half and shoving them in


unappealing places.  Finally, Paul punishes the pack's owner for


protesting the fouling of all his cigarettes by forcing him to hold a


cig in his mouth while Paul shreds it with a whip that he produced


from his pants with the accompanying line "Is that a whip in your


pants, or are you just happy to see me?  Both!"





Up next is Marcus Wilson.  Marcus tells several bad jokes while


competing with the kitchen's food pick up announcements that share the


same PA as the sound from the stage.  Then Marcus continues the stupid


trick parade by threatening to do the stupidest juggling trick ever


performed on the Renegade stage.  After a brief build up, he juggles a


plunger, a toilet brush and a bag of poop.  I am temporarily blinded


by no less than three drunks and a camera person standing right in my


sight lines during this bit, so I miss what, if any, poop gags or


mishaps that may have transpired.   Marcus moves on to doing  a


musical number that cannot be done  justice in print in less than 500


words and this is already going to be too long, so screw it.  Then he


treats us to the balloon in through the nose and out the mouth trick,


with both ends partially inflated.  Yuck.





Slammin' Andy returns to give another lengthy pitch for the Carmine


Street IJA Competition Pool.  After the awkward and inappropriate


Slingerzz pitch at the Youth Showcase, it's nice to see someone so


amped about something that he isn't drawing a direct profit from. 


Keep it up Andy.





Next, Paul treats us to the "artsy" part of his act, which consists of


lengthy story telling that culminates in a brief, "faggy" Japanese fan


manipulation bit.





David Smith comes up next.  David claims that he will bend both legs


behind his head and then lift himself up.  This sparks a hilarious


round of heckling from all directions as David assumes the position. 


Mark Faje offers him $50 if he'll lick his own asshole.  David manages


to lift himself up despite a veritable hurricane of gay porn themed


heckling and Mark Faje's pet scorpion on his crotch.  Then David


nearly starts an unbridled, heckling riot by doing the Macarena. 


Despite having completely lost control of his act, David moves on to


juggling three clubs and playing a tune on the guitar, all the while


in the uncomfortable position.  He finally departs and receives hearty


applause for having toughed out the crowd.





Juggler Bob joins us next with a display of his body building poses


and then makes the 312,674th Leo Bassi reference of the week by


breaking a glass picture frame on his back, blood-free.  Then Bob cuts


off some poor sucker's ponytail in tribute to Mark Faje's ponytail cut


from the night before, only to find out that Mark's hair cut was just


a gag and he'd never actually grown the hair back after the Madfest


hatchet job.  Oops.





Then Steve Brown, at the direction of his therapist, unloads the


frustration of his job duties, that include performing yo-yo shows for


unappreciative, bastard children.  Then Steve cleanses his pent up


anger by performing his tribute to all of the bastard kids of the


world by doing a series of yo-yo tricks highlighting his middle


digits.





Mark Faje drops his scorpion down his pants for the requisite danger


element while attempting a throw behind the back into a head balance


with a 2 liter vodka bottle.  Not wanting to let us dick joke


aficionados down, Mark mentions that "whatever" the scorpion stings


will swell to three times it's normal size, to which Paul responds by


holding his thumb and index finger about two inches apart.





Continuing with Mark Hayward's dating tips theme from the night


before, Paul attempts to teach the crowd a card trick that will


facilitate picking up babes.  Paul does the classic pick the card and


produce it bit with a twist by using Steve Brown's tongue to find the


chosen card after the shuffle.  Three paper cuts later and with Mark's


scorpion down his pants, the chick pick-up pointer is all but


forgotten as Steve is badgered into holding a pile of cards in his


mouth and getting them whipped out by Paul, leaving the chosen card


dangling from his lips.  A very nice bit, but what about my goddamn


pick up line?





The Flair Co guys come up next to flip and flair their way into our


hearts (and if you believe them, into a few ladies' pants) with liquor


bottles, shaker cups, glasses, lemons and chunks of ice.





At this point, my laptop battery dies and with my memory being what it


has been lately, I have no vivid recollection of what happened next


other than the trauma of Paul tormenting a Norwegian guy, on his first


trip to the States and an IJA festival, into stripping together with


him to their bare asses on stage.  So, technically, I guess we got our


nudity, but frankly I'd rather have been whipped to death with


Slingerzz.








------------------------- oooOOOooo ----------------------------------








THURSDAY NIGHT





After sitting for four hours and 45 minutes watching an endless,


albeit talented, parade of jugglers and seeing Jason Garfield abuse


and alienate everyone he's ever met, the mental exhaustion of the


Renegade audience is as palpable as the pain in my ass from having


been sitting for a cumulative 12 hours today.  Although I had only


juggled for grand total 15 minutes, I am juggled-out, not to mention


sitting-around-watching-other-people-talked-out too.  However, since


Wednesday's Renegade was so awesome, I feel obligated to drag my


tender ass across the beltway to Badger Bowl and gamble with the


potential for lost sleep to see more of the same.  Upon arriving at


Badger Bowl, I am informed that Mark Faje is MCing the show.  Awright!


 I love Mark Faje!  I would like to be Mark Faje if I didn't have the


pain tolerance threshold of a two year old.  Nevertheless, I am


psyched.  Bring on the flaming dildos, man!!!





Woozy from having not eaten for about 8 hours, I am forced to order


the world's nastiest seasoned fries from the bar, risking greasing up


my keyboard, to keep from collapsing during the show.





Mark's starts things off with his standard comedy club routine,


culminating in the awesome Bobby May cigarette and match toss behind


the back and catch in the mouth trick.  This is one of my favorite


Mark Faje tricks, but the crowd is shockingly underwhelmed by the


stunt.  The polite smattering of applause that this great trick earns


is the undeniable sign that the rest of the performers are doomed.  If


the audience barely has the strength to chuckle while Mark nearly


burns his facial hair off, nothing other than perhaps a naked Claudia


Schiffer is going to bring them out of this stupor.





The first victim of the night is Matt Burn (?).  I lose interest


immediately due to him using Dave Matthews for his background music. 


I f*cking hate Dave Matthews.  Matt does some stuff with rings, balls


and cigar boxes, but I am much more interested in whether or not my


food is ready.





I get my fries.





Mark pulls up some drunken yokel who turns out to be the bar's


requisite loud, belligerent idiot.  After abandoning a bit with a


machete due to the very high probability that the yokel was going to


inadvertently kill him, Mark attempts to do the whip the cigarette out


of the mouth trick.  Unfortunately, the hick is so uncooperative that


Mark has to bail out by simply knocking the cig out with the butt of


the whip, for fear of getting his ass kicked out in the parking lot


after the show by the yokel and ten of his friends.





Jammin' Jim comes out of hiding from wherever he was Tuesday night to


do some foot bag stuff and three ball work.  The crowd is still very


cool, but polite.  I am stuffing my face.





Mark does another classic, the flaming bowling ball, with steak knives


sticking out of it, kick up to the face.  The idiot yokel, who thinks


he is still on stage, will not shut the hell up.  Mark hits him with


one of his standard heckler killer lines.  This silences the yokel


while he tries to figure out whether or not he was just insulted.





Matthew Hall does his tennis ball and can routine.  Having just seen


this bit at Madfest, I have my face buried in my basket of seasoned


fries for much of the routine.





Mark pulls out Super Baby for the flaming fart bit and the kick up to


the mouth stick.  I have to admit, the audience lethargy has infected


me by this point, compounded with the fry grease clouding my ability


to get excited about anything other than a shower and a bed.





The Flair guys come up again to play "Drops" with each other and


whoever dares to come up from the audience.  Basically, anyone who


feels brave enough can play with the bottles until they drop twice. 


This gets a luke-warm reception.  The crowd is fading quickly and so


is my ability to type.





Things briefly perk up when Mark brings out his knife throwing


assistant Dante, who appears to be wearing an outfit consisting of


some beads held together by two pieces of sewing thread.  Dante has my


undivided attention for this entire routine.  I think Mark did


something here, but hell if I can remember what it was.





We are presented with a slide show and monologue by someone who's name


I forget in the time it takes me to turn around to type it, due to my


waking coma.  The audience begins to shake off the thrill of the Dante


Effect and turns ugly.   Too tired to even clap this guy off, audience


member's heads start bobbing and the slide show drags on for what


seems like two hours.  The same slide show might have been


entertaining at 7:30, but at 1:30 in the morning, it was like general


anesthesia.





Mark tries to revitalize the audience with the disappearing penis bit


and then earns the ire of the room by pulling out his shaker cups.  He


eventually manages to win moderate applause with a few big tricks.





Magnus the Nude Norwegian from Wednesday night returns to the stage to


do his spoon balance trick and then performs a back flip while blind


folded.  Despite this lasting far too long, he gets warm applause.





Next up is Mark's friend Thomas.  Having seen Thomas before I knew


something twisted was about to happen.  Thomas starts off by somehow


swallowing a fully inflated sculpting balloon.   This is a bit we saw


at Madfest.  I still want to know how the hell he does it.  Then


Thomas tells a very lengthy story peppered with minor card tricks. 


Finally, he moves onto the Eating Twelve Cigarettes trick that we also


saw at Madfest.  This guy must have the colon of steel.





Steve Brown returns for the second night in a row and instigates a


dart blowing fight between himself, Robert Nelson and Mark Faje. 


Several people get stuck in an incomprehensible and lengthy series of


back and forth shots with the blow gun which I cannot follow due to no


one aside from Faje being mic-ed and me sitting in the worst seat in


the house.





Dante returns and provides the relative highlight of the evening by


doing a feather dance and disrobing down to pasties and a thong that


almost makes the entire evening worth it.  Dante is probably used to


hoots and cries of joy during this routine, but she doesn't get it.  I


try to be excited.  I want to be excited, but along with the rest of


the crowd, I had lost the capacity to make noise of any kind about 45


minutes ago.  To Dante's credit, I don't even notice until the end


that she was dancing to Dave Matthews the entire time.  Goddamn, I


hate Dave Matthews.











------------------------- oooOOOooo ----------------------------------











FRIDAY NIGHT





After Thursday's Renegade totally demoralized me, I am barely able to


bring myself to cross the beltway tonight.  But then I run into Dave


Walbridge who promises me that Renegade will be great because he has


given Mark Faje some material that he has written and it will,


undoubtedly, be hilarious.  Also, knowing that there will be no


Renegade Saturday night, I suck it up and trudge (or the driving


equivalent to trudging, which is not easy on the clutch…) to Badger


Bowl.





Due probably in large part to the mass, group lethargy from Thursday,


Robert Nelson is dispatched to get the night started by berating


everyone for not being animated enough.  Then he introduces tonight's


returning MC, Paul Nathen and his 2010 Time/Life Operator Headset.





Paul gets right to work and brings out Poi Boy Dave, who swings his


flaming poi.  I must admit, I think poi is about as appealing as self


serving, non-youthful, vendors who somehow get on the bill at the


Youth Showcase to promote their shit product.  Amazingly, Poi Boy Dave


manages to wow the audience to the point where the crowd actually


chants his name and gives him hearty applause at the end.  I'm a


little gullible, but it seemed genuine.





"Jay Gilligan" (Loon in disguise) comes out next and parodies one of


the real Jay Gilligan routines with a Fischer Price, ball drop, maze


toy.  The bit is brilliant and appropriately brief.





Zabina (Spl?) from Germany comes up next and performs "Singing in the


Rain" with a tap dance interlude at the end.  Everyone loves her.  The


crowd is about 10 times livelier tonight than Thursday.  They love


everyone.  This is most likely due to everyone being afraid that if


they don't show enough appreciation that Robert Nelson will come over


and make an example out of them.





Hiroshi from Japan, who could not even get in the bar two nights ago,


leaps up next and does probably one of the best devil stick routines


that I have every seen, aside from Brian Wendling.  Not surprisingly,


he kills.





Paul must have used up all of his material Wednesday night, because


other than a quick joke or two, he doesn't dilly dally between acts at


all.  He immediately calls up Sven, who starts his act off with the


ill-advise announcement that he is totally unprepared.  You can almost


hear the hecklers reloading their ammo clips and unscrewing their


silencers.  He does a series of bad impressions without a mic, so he


is easily drowned out by the shit storm of rips that start raining


down on him.  Then Sven makes the grievous error of trying to


Butterfly Man the hecklers.  This backfires in a big way and the crowd


gets medieval on his ass.  The heckling reaches a crescendo as the act


drags on far too long and gets progressively less funny.  The audience


goes wild for all the wrong reasons when he finally leaves.





Reed Belstock bobs onto the stage next and starts out by throwing


himself to the ground in a full body spasm of physical comedy.  Then


he yanks a woman out of the audience.  Reed explains that he will run


across the stage, dive head first over the kneeling woman, into a hat


on the floor and come up wearing the hat.  His volunteer appears to


panic.  Reed gives the woman a legitimate chance to bail out of her


duties as the obstacle.  She screws on the courage to remain on stage


and Reed nails the trick on the first try, while only slightly mussing


up his volunteer's hair.





Local magician, Mark Bond is invited up and earns wild applause for an


impressive series of slight of hand magic with cards and a cigarette. 


Then he pulls up two men and a woman and does the standard rope


cutting and restoring tricks.  Just when I think Mark is deteriorating


into the generic, restaurant table act, he changes gears and has the


volunteers tie up his hands, which is followed by a quick series of


escapes from the restraint.  Finally, he moves back into stock,


magician material by doing the razor blade swallowing, followed by a


length of dental floss and pulls the blades out of his mouth, threaded


on the floss.





Paul recites a poem to a female volunteer while whipping her around in


a forced dance, making a hilarious break in the middle to pick up his


food from the kitchen.





Steve Brown returns for the third night in a row.  He dodges food


thrown by Mark Faje for a few minutes, before moving on to show off


his favorite obscene yo-yo tricks, with a running, Mark Faje (and his


mom) deprecating theme.





Paul and Mark take about 10 minutes to hook up a video camera to the


projector, then Paul does an up-close, on camera, card trick that he


doesn't finish and I don't feel like describing.  To compensate for


the anti-climactic ending, Paul badgers his 19 year old volunteer


camera person to strip to his boxers.





Matt Henry, Crash and Lenore Thomas (Mark Hayward's "little woman",<


Mark's quote, not mine>) get on stage next.  Mark's wife pierces


Crash's eyebrow, then Matt hooks a string between his nipple ring and


Crash's new eyebrow ring and they run a diablo on it.  They both


appear to be drunk as hell, so it takes forever to pull the bit off.





Mark Faje caps off the vomit and nudity-free evening in classic Jim


Rose style, by juggling two balls and a table saw with a handle bolted


onto it.





------------------------- oooOOOooo ----------------------------------





CONCLUSION





I am still kicking myself for deciding that I drink too much and


jumping on the sobriety wagon the week before festival and not at a


more convenient time, like, for example, the week after festival. 


Without a doubt, Renegade is about five times funnier after about


three ciders than after, say, a glass of ice water.  I've made a long


and painful tradition out of learning everything the hard way and this


was no exception.  It's hard to come to grips with the concept that a


sober Renegade is only mildly entertaining, on average, than my


memories of the laugh riot of demented humor and questionable stunts


that I remember.  Having not been to an IJA festival in four years, I


know I was not witness to the official "cooling off" of the Renegade


atmosphere, but despite the grudging persistence of the off-site,


unofficial Renegade show, it seems to me that the unhinged spirit of


Renegade has suffered a blow that has affected it's overall


entertainment value.  But, as I've said before, it's free so I won't


complain, much.





The statements above are merely the opinions of a newly sober and


harder to please Leif Pettersen.  They do not by any means reflect the


views or opinions of anyone else at this festival.  If you don't


agree, please save yourself the time it would take to flame me,


because I do not care.





Besides, you're ugly.  (Oops, Jason Garfield has really been a bad


influence on me this week.)





-Leif Pettersen