I have ascended to the summit of my profession. My career goals have been met!

I’m now the Vice-President in charge of Regulatory Oversight and Compliance.

This is huge!!

I’m well-respected in my chosen field and have climbed the ladder to VP.

Six months later … I feel empty. It makes no sense. My firm has a great culture. My co-workers are nice people. My passion for regulatory excellence is as strong as ever.

Life should be great!

Yet something hollow persists.

Why am I not fulfilled?

Signed,

Unknown Negative Sensation Undermines Regulatory Enjoyment

Dear UNSURE,

In this line of work? My co-workers and I continually seek ovations and acclaim.

Call us vain, call us needy, call us attention whores: your words mean little.

The adoration of the crowd is a powerful elixir.

Thousands of people clap for me on a nightly basis and it is better than sex or drugs or money.

“Gadzooks!” you might exclaim. “Our sweet Rex? As craven a showman as any other?”

I must reply using my most favorite retort, which is this: Yes and No.

The key is balance! Knowing when enough is enough. In remembering that there is more to life than show-biz success.

Newer performers need to learn this harsh truth. They break out in a company and become stars. Happens so fast. They’ve “made it.”

What occurs next is what’s known in psychological terms as: Arrival Fallacy.

It means that once you achieve a specific goal or dream, you expect a lasting sense of accomplishment. That life will now seem different. You’ll enjoy deeper fulfillment.

Success may taste sweet, yes, but oh that taste is fleeting. Happiness cannot be conquered. You may improve your situation in life and still not feel it internally.

Satisfaction is an elusive and mercurial sensation.

Our brains are to blame! They rapidly adapt to new life events. They’re designed that way, to help us make sense of new situations.

The term for that is: Hedonic Adaptation.

We quickly settle into the new normal, time and time again, because it’s just in our nature.

What comes next? If we’re not careful, an uncertain negativity, ennui, or discontent can become the newest of the new normals.

Practicing mindfulness and gratitude will help avoid such an outcome. Find the small joy in every day. Keep learning for learning’s sake.

Perhaps share your passion for regulatory procedures with others, in the form of teaching or mentoring?

Volunteer your time and get involved with a worthy charity?

Only you can truly decide what constitutes your scope of personal fulfillment.

I measure my own each night! By the reactions and enjoyment of the audience.

The applause of the crowd validates my performance, giving me fresh exhilaration every show. I never take it for granted and I relish each wondrous experience.

Counterpoint commentary by …

Shandoleesa, Mistress of the Trapeze

Your question covers a topic that haunts me as well.

I am, of course, an international star. Amongst the very top at my profession.

I’m in peak physical condition; I’ve modeled professionally.

I step into the spotlight and perform acrobatic feats that 99.99% of people — even trained athletes — could never do.

Wealthy men buy me expensive jewelry. Some offer to buy me cars.

The crown prince of Luxembourg attempted to abdicate his throne if I would take his hand in marriage.

All of this, I must confess, is enjoyable at a surface level.

None of it ever impresses or touches my inner heart.

My beloved grandfather is long-since deceased. My mother used to join me on the road for a few weeks every year, but now she has become too frail. My siblings live far away. I have no children.

My two million social media followers? They are not my friends. A communications team writes all that content, anyway; I’m no friend to my online followers.

At some point, a dark day will come. I’ll be too old to perform acrobatic stunts at a high level. My remaining youth will fade, my body will age. My looks may also lose their high level.

Who will I be then? What exactly will I be?

These are the thoughts I grapple with late at night, as we are moving from city to city.

I do not believe it is Arrival Fallacy in my case, I do not think so.

I believe I am a girl in the woods with a broken compass; I do not know where to go next. Thus I move straight ahead, tightly on course, without varying even a degree off the way.

I see myself continuing to live in this current circus moment. Staying focused on my career. Choosing purposeful uncertainty.

Allowing the status quo to buffer me like an umbrella in a rainstorm.

But who knows?

Maybe one day I will actually decide to retire. Maybe I’ll know what it’s time for a change.

Maybe one day I’ll be satisfied, and successfully move on, and find happiness in a place somewhere else, in some faraway place just like Luxembourg.

The Good News: My husband and I are expecting our first child. It’s a boy!

The Bad News: He wants to give our son a ridiculous, science-fiction name.

My husband wants to name our child … Tiberius.

Tiberius!

Do you remember Captain Kirk, from the old Star Trek show? Apparently, his full name is James Tiberius Kirk. I’m not joking.

What will come next after this? Will we name our second kid ‘Mister Spock?’ Or maybe, who knows, Greepnar Fleepnar, or some dumb crap like that! It’s insane.

How can I convince him that Tiberius is a really, really bad idea?

I’m starting to regret marrying a nerd.

Signed,

Appalled Living In Egregious Nonsense

Dear ALIEN,

A new bundle of joy? You must be so happy! No doubt you are quite over the moon.

(No pun intended.)

Space is certainly not, as some claim, the final frontier. Not at all.

Marriage is!

Combining your life, your whole world, with another human? That is the ultimate challenge.

And not just “marriage,” of course. I mean living with someone. Taking that person whom you love as your partner.

It’s a wonderful and joyous experience.

An endeavor of faith and compassion and understanding.

Finding your stride moving side by side.

We all love our favorite childhood passions. They are magical totems, inspirations we carry all our lives.

Can we name our children after them?

People name their offspring for all number of reasons. After a beloved relative, after the city in which the child was conceived; after the captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise.

Only upon agreement, however! Only when both parties find the idea to their liking.

Might he be amenable to a compromise? Using Tiberius as a middle name, or maybe a ‘second’ middle name?

Or perhaps he chooses this time? And you’re guaranteed to choose next time?

There are all kinds of options, and none are inherently wrong. It’s only wrong if it’s something you just can’t abide.

Your spouse, just like the universe, is vast and dense and full of changing gravity.

You must navigate the occasional turbulence with great care and aplomb.

Counterpoint commentary by …

BOOMPLE the Clown

Kind of a weird name, huh?

Yeah, you can tell a lot by an oddball name.

That’s certainly true for clowns, oh, believe me on that.

It’s become a favorite subject of mine, if I’m bring honest. Terrible clown names.

I keep a running list in my mind.

A list of worst-named clowns I’ve ever encountered.

Here are some of the failed trainwrecks that truly defy belief:

• Huggy McDoodles

• Opie Spittoon

• Terry Antula, the Human Spider

• Pastor Tickle-Hands

• Bugsy Shortz

• Dingle Barry

• Deathgrowler

• Nipsy Pincher

• Salamander Hamilton

• Rare ‘N’ Burned

• George Wash This Thang

• Taye Bro-Ham Lincoln

• John Wilkes Tooth

• (After Hamilton, historical clown names were big! As evidenced by the past five examples. Alas, none proved a success.)

• Big-a-Tony Rigatoni

• Dapper Crawdaddy

• Sticky Melvin

• Smilin’ Adolf

• Ira Worm

• Billy-Bob Cosby

• Redd Pimpel

• Mason Flathead

• Larry the Creeper

• Rusty Baritone

• Wolfgang Zucchini

Failures! All complete failures! Each and every one. I can’t help but think they were doomed right out of the gate.

It all started with their choice of names.

Are you making the same mistake with your little Tiberius? That’s debatable.

And yet it’s nothing worse than the names I’ve just shared. Call him Ty for short! Works for me.

Uncommon names are more common than ever before.

You might be surprised how it grows on you over time.

But if your husband suddenly starts trying to teach him to speak Klingon?

Then I agree that that’s where we’ll have to draw the line.

The Kentucky Derby is this Saturday! Yes!!

I am quite excited.

I have scouted the horses, researched their profiles, and analyzed the field from every possible angle.

It’s time to bet big and make some scratch.

Two questions:

1. Do you think it’s wrong to profit from thoroughbreds being ridden around a track?

2. More importantly: what does Madame Zoltara have to say about predicting the winner?

Signed,

Relying On Speculative Equine Success

Dear ROSES,

Gambling money upon a horse race is your own business: I shall neither cajole nor condemn your choice.

I am not one to gamble.

Upon my own talents? Yes. Upon faith in others? All day long.

But not upon contests involving chance or fate or randomness.

And never upon the aggregate of a horse’s hindquarters at full gallop.

I’ve been horseback riding a few times, it’s an enjoyable experience.

Nominally, you are in charge. You do hold the reins.

But a horse can possess other ideas.

It might turn on a dime and bolt, or it can buck hard enough to unsettle your saddle.

Control is a vague and unspecified contract between two parties.

A contract prone to many repeated and unforeseen adjustments.

Gambling is also a system that exists outside of our control. Is that what makes it fun?

The uncertainty?

An outcome far beyond one’s understanding, or hard work, or your own wishes?

Perhaps I see the enjoyment!

With that in mind, let’s take a look at the field:

Longshots are a passion of mine, so I’ll choose a few for my trifecta:

Win: “Wonder Dean” at 30-1.

Place: “So Happy” at 15-1.

Show: (Coming out of nowhere to shock the world) “Six Speed” at 50-1!

May the skies be clear and may the mud be non-existent. May all fair horses run steady.

I hope all of you gamblers move safely as well, remembering this one axiom: “In horse racing, the hardest thing to do is win when you’re supposed to.” — Bill Shoemaker.

Counterpoint commentary by …

Madame Zoltara

The call of the spirit world guides me in all things, in all directions!

And yes, to be sure, in these contests of conquest or sport.

Prophesizing the results of the Kentucky Derby? As easy as predicting the winner of Tortoise versus Hare.

You just need to perceive — to truly see — the sights beyond the scope of human cognition.

It’s written in the stars, dear friends.

In the horoscopes of the jockeys who ride the race. Which I am able to interpret and parse for insight! Insight into secrets that only destiny holds.

Best of all these, the insights are freely shared to you. For only $29.99, you can receive my Official Jockey Horoscope newsletter!

Saturn is slowly ascending, while the far moon of Venus hides in shade. What does it mean?

Only Madame Zoltara knows for sure!

That is just the start, of course. To achieve maximum profit on your Daily Double without fail? You need the horoscopes for the horses as well!

My patented Horse-o-Scopes™ reveal how the cosmic balance of the universe impacts each and every thoroughbred. An example:

Incredibolt: With a birth date of April 4th, this horse exhibits a classic Aries personality, concerned with solving problems and shutting out the distractions of romance. Horses born under this sign respect traditional values while still wanting to trot on new trails. Their inner critic never lets them relax in peace. Their emotional state is usually closed off to newcomers, but offer up an apple or some oats and you’ll have a true friend for life.

You can read the Horse-o-Scopes™ of every entrant in the race for an additional $19.99 per month. No other tip line or website makes you privy to this important information. Can you afford not to know?

Madame Zoltara wishes you good luck as race day approaches.

(Disclaimer: Astrological readings do not constitute a guarantee of winning monetary gains, nor should they construe a contractual covenant into any specific pony’s emotional, intellectual or physiological state. All sales final.)

If optimism is so great? If it’s really the best way to approach life?

Then why is optimism’s success rate so low?

To quote Murphy’s Law: “Anything that can wrong, will go wrong.”

Pessimism has a much better record of documented and statistical accuracy.

I’m sick of all the positivity propaganda that glosses over this fact.

Signed,

My Optimism Plummets Every Year

Dear MOPEY,

You seem convinced of pessimism’s capacity for accurately chronically the universe.

To that opinion, I quickly take umbrage!

Although I do admit a certain bias, given my professional responsibilities. As the gregarious Master of Ceremonies? I must lead with optimism.

There is no other way. It is the ultimate job requirement.

One that I embrace daily and embody with zeal.

Murphy’s Law? A quick Internet search tells us it was named after Edward A. Murphy Jr., an aerospace engineer who worked on military defense designs.

His quote, however, has been mutated! The original phrasing reads far differently: “If a part can be installed in more than one position, it will be incorrectly installed in the field.”

He meant it as merely a design principle. A helpful tip to be imparted to co-workers.

With no connection to existential doubt, entropy, or the reason why bread always falls peanut-butter-side down.

That misconception now corrected, I say this: keep a running tally of your efforts at optimism. Document the results. Appy an academic rigor to your concerns.

And just as with me? There may be bias. In your case, confirmation bias! We too often focus on evidence which matches our own view. Let the raw data tell you new truths.

One last thought, if I may? And please note that this is neither propaganda nor ringmaster parlance.

This is just human to human.

You may suffer from depression. Or trauma. Or loneliness.

Or some similar but no less difficult matter.

A challenge that resides outside the bailiwick of optimism.

By being diligent and persevering, you may yet uncover solutions to your concerns.

For it does not seem that pessimism has provided any sufficient or useful answers.

Counterpoint commentary by …

Frieda Looke, the Tattooed Lady

The workings of the cosmos? The forces that shape and influence our lives?

Quite beyond my ability to comprehend.

I possess no unique clarity, no discerning talent for prophecy.

Except in one regard: that of the self-fulfilling prophecy.

I have two hundred and seventeen tattoos on my body. None of them came with insurance.

No guarantees or assurances of any kind.

None was needed!

For in truth, those tattoos WERE my insurance. My defense. Against a future I did not desire.

Against what some would call a “normal” existence.

I became a living tableau, a walking mural. I knew that if I made myself look different, in a way that could never pass for ordinary? I’d be shaping the course of my life.

It would be my self-fulfilling prophecy.

“Regular” life and I would never have reason to converse.

I did not know where it would lead. All I knew for sure was what I was running from.

How does this relate to optimism and pessimism?

I don’t believe that either is particularly important. Not to me. Just go hard in a direction. Any direction.

Hope is sometimes the unexpected byproduct of effort.

Do your best, hold on tight, and stay away from that which you know you don’t want.

I recently attended an odd gathering. An intervention-slash-ambush in my parent’s living room. Surprise!

They want to send me to rehab.

My family and friends and their collection of serious expressions.

They all agreed that I needed to get help.

Due to a long-smoldering romance with gin, vodka, beer and cannabis.

I’m quite happy with the relationship. I know it’s unhealthy, yeah thanks everyone, no kidding. But it works for me.

The thought of trying to rawdog reality, like every single day? Chills me to the bone.

Can’t I just keep on keepin’ on?

Signed,

Hello It’s Grand Hearing Overly Nervous Lectures Involving Frivolity’s Evils

Dear HIGH ON LIFE,

Your letter uses humor to lull me to your side, but please take note!

I’ll not be swayed by (although I do appreciate) a friendly wit.

And in this matter, at least, the evidence is abundantly clear.

Your entire social circle has stated that you (yes, you) have a serious problem abusing alcohol and cannabis.

You do not even object to this allegation! You seem to agree with it.

That is not the issue, is it? No.

You’re afraid of what comes next.

If you make the change. What will life be like?

Without a crutch, without a defense. With just yourself.

It’s a leap of faith. To believe you can end this toxic romance with depressants and substances.

To believe you have the strength to be your best self.

It might take support, of course. Great things are not done alone.

I believe there is a saying: One day at a time.

Trust your family and friends to point you toward a better future.

Give it a try, you may rise above your problems and pains. It’s true!

Unexpected and unanticipated joys will make themselves available to a healthier version of you.

Counterpoint commentary by …

Wyatt Aussome & His Aussome Hogs

Getting the proper care, which seems easy, is not always so abundant.

I’m talking now about hog hemorrhoids.

It should be a breeze, right? We know how to treat the problem.

The veterinarian writes a prescription for hog suppositories. The ones with hydroclateine and aloe-orbithal.

Simple as can be.

Then some fella on the radio starts saying that hydroclateine is safe for people as well as hogs. And not just hemorrhoids, but erectile dysfunction!

Things got a little crazy after that. Soon we couldn’t get our hands on the stuff.

And then there I am, having come up with alternate methods of care. Try getting a hog to stay still in a sitz bath!

Just an exercise in futility.

After a while, folks finally smartened up and stopped taking the anal swine medicine.

And now I can get my hogs the help they require.

You don’t have that problem, do you?

The treatment that you need, it’s readily available. Practically holding out its arms to you.

Don’t reject it. You’re fortunate to have people that care about you.

Or maybe … I shouldn’t say that? Is that like shaming you or something? I don’t know, I don’t mean to be negative.

But give it a try, at least. The rehab.

Take the treatment they’re offering and get healthy, if you can.

And the moral of the story? Well, that sitz bath from years yonder, it all worked out in the end.

Wasn’t easy, but with love and support we got through it.

I have to believe you’re operating with at least as much sense as a hemorrhoid-suffering hog.

I am a madwoman. Every holiday, every event, any situation! I need to have it planned to the second. Rigidly set on schedule.

Something always messes up the plan, always, at some point. I lose my freaking mind! There’s a cascade of misery for all.

My husband seems resigned to it. I’m at my breaking point. Organization and consensus, yes, but I take it to the Nth degree.

I can’t help it. I’m stuck in place.

Signed,

Feeling Really Edgy, Each Family Occasion Means Ruckus

Dear FREEFORM,

I bid you esteemed congratulations! You have identified and even accepted the problem. Those are not easy things to do.

I commend you for acknowledging your need for change.

Accepting that you’re not in complete control of everything is not easy.

No less an expert on the need for plans? The famous World War II general (and U.S president) Dwight D. Eisenhower. And yet later in life, he said this: “Plans are worthless, but planning is everything.”

What did he mean by that? Plans are worthless?

I take it as a clever suggestion to consider, in some way, the unseen, unknowable variables. The possibilities that can’t be accounted for.

Trust me, it happens in live performance! Scenes don’t always go as planned. All we can do is be present, stay in the moment, and adapt with good humor.

Don’t let fear be the driver. Accept imperfections in others and yourself.

Surrender. To your own unique place within reality.

Don’t just take my word for it! Criminal mastermind Leonard Snart (aka “Captain Cold”) has strong thoughts on the subject, shared in a memorable episode of The Flash:

Counterpoint commentary by …

Marzonk! the Strong-Man

Marzonk! has detailed training plans all worked out for each day. His meals measured to the ounce!

Details are no joke to Marzonk!. We achieve best according to plan.

You are one who knows what I’m saying. You understand benefits of structure. Of strong preparation.

Same with Marzonk!. If not enough time in gym? If muscles not trained right?

Disaster!

Body is literally money-maker. Marzonk! never takes for granted.

Although there was time last year … one day when gym was closed.

Gym had gas leak!

Nothing to do with hours. Went to movies! Saw comedy, with funny lady named Melissa McCarthy. Marzonk! like her! Had such good time, bought ticket for another movie, Bond James Bond. Like that too. Ate bucket of buttered popcorn plus chocolate Sno-Caps.

A day without training, without rules, was pretty fun. Memorable for Marzonk!.

But now schedule calls. Back to bench press. Back to the next set.

Heavy plates in need lifting.

Marzonk! stick to plan. Stick to proven methods and times and regimen.

Except day when gas leak at gym lead to some movies and treats in the dark.

It seems, maybe, that could also be yes good thing too.

My boyfriend is a minor-league baseball player. Right now he’s at the Single A level, still a few years from the majors. But we’re hoping!

I recently found out he has a lover in every city in the Carolina league. He barely tried to hide it! Some women, some men, all of it cheating.

The other players’ girlfriends, they say this is just the way it is. And as long as he (and his signing bonus) come home to me, I should keep my mouth shut.

My BF was a 3rd-round draft pick, that means he’s pretty good. Has a decent shot at a good career. Millions of dollars, living the high life. I’d never have to work again.

My dream was a fairy tale romance. Maybe it’s time to grow up and be happy with what I’ve got? I’d love him even without the money.

Signed,

Stadium Life Is Disappointing, Envisioning Regrets

Dear SLIDER,

You are free to choose any relationship you like. Monogamous, committed but open, independent, long-distance.

A relationship can even be transactional in nature. Who am I to judge?

The only person you need to answer to is yourself.

I’m guessing you are both young. High school sweethearts? And now the real world has thrown things into a different light.

I see new performers make their way to the circus tent. Starry-eyed but untested. The circus is a magical place, yes, but to some it’s also tedious, and repetitive, and lonely. Not every situation meets expectations.

As I said, it is up to you to determine the type of life you desire.

But staying for the money is often the wrong choice.

Focus on yourself. Perhaps further your education? At the least, figure out who YOU are, and what you want out of a relationship.

The game of your life is still in its early innings. Make sure to cover all your bases.

When you finally step up to the plate, keep your eye on the ball, and believe, deep down, that you’re a heavy hitter.

Counterpoint commentary by …

Lindi Dee DuVerne, Fire Breather

You’re wonderin’ if you should stay with a double-dealin’, two-timin’ cheater?

Girl that’s as dumb as eatin’ a soup sandwich in a leaky boat. And then expectin’ you’ll stay dry.

What do you think’s gonna happen?

Some people just can’t be true. Believe me, I know! No names mentioned, of course. (Lookin’ at you Casey Wilson of Charlesburg, Texas.)

Casey was somethin’ else, let me tell ya. Fine as a man could be. Whoo-ee! Wearin’ pants so tight you could just about see his religion.

But he had a wife, and I was just a sidepiece. That was a fate I couldn’t abide.

Them other gals, they say this is the way life is? To get used to it?

You just hangin’ in there like a loose tooth. While every other cutie in the Carolina League is drilled and filled.

Are you for real?

That’s a Queen playin’ poker in an outhouse and thinkin’ she’s got a Royal Flush.

Let me ask you one question: if you were to take lovers in all them cities? Would your man be stickin’ around?

We both know the answer to that particular idea.

Right now you got about as much chance of happiness as a bullfighter in a tight red dress.

Best to jump out of the way and let that steer go mount all the trouble he so deserves.

Which of these vertebrates do you think is more likely to be proven real: Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster? I feel we are very close on both.

Signed,

Anomalous Creatures Exist

Dear ACE,

The imagination is a marvelous device! Capable of summoning all manner of strange beasts or frightful spectres.

We can concoct any concepts or detailed scenarios.

However, these fantasies are no match for the wonders of real life:

Elephants and earthquakes! Lightning bugs and platypuses and towering tidal waves! Meteorites and planets and far-away distant stars!

Do you understand what I am saying?

“The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible.” - Oscar Wilde.

There is nothing wrong, of course, in considering the whims of the fantastic. They are the stuff of dreams!

Giving equal credence, at the least, to the real world all around you.

Although this is not the answer you were seeking, correct? You expected a literal answer regarding this quandary.

If I must choose, I’ll select: the Yeti! They’re hidden away in snowy mountains. Far from human eyes? Who can say what lives deep in the Himalayas?

You are quite welcome to agree with my choice, of course, but then again I won’t blame you if you find it abominable.

Counterpoint commentary by …

Shandoleesa, Mistress of the Trapeze

Growing up in Brazil, my siblings and I agreed on one thing: The Chupacabra.

It was the common fear that united us in the dark.

We knew it was out there. Creeping in the fields. Feasting on livestock. On goats and chickens and sheep. And maybe even, occasionally, a missing boy or girl.

For the Chupacabra … they were not of normal life.

Prowling on two legs. Sharp spines of spikes and fur. Teeth long and dripping blood.

We would discuss endlessly such tales of horror. Always laced with the closeness of death. Aware that a looming finality lurked somewhere and could arrive instantly.

People seem to need such things. Such terrors. Creatures to unsettle, to upset, to unravel reality.

A boogeyman, if you will, existing in a pure fear of death.

I grew older, grew up, and realized there were no mythological beasts. No unknown monsters roaming the lands.

But along the way, something funny happened.

A transformation that I did not expect.

Now I am the Chupacabra.

I am that reminder of death.

For my trapeze act carries explicit risk. The disaster of a violent fall.

And since I refuse to use a net? One slip means my extinction.

People watch me with wonder, I believe, but also with that fatal thought along the periphery.

Viewing a sight that unsettles them. Some peeking through hands. Wondering if death will reveal itself, finally, in its barest form.

I create the sound of hushed unease.

I unleash unnerving, discomforting energy.

For I am not of normal life.

The Chupacabra and I, you might glimpse us but once. You may not even believe we’re real.

But rest assured, we’ll linger long in your mind just the same.

I hate jokes. They are almost never funny. I always feel pressured to laugh.

My uncle is an air traffic controller. His I.Q. towers mine and most other people’s. But intelligent in a very left-brain, detailed, analytical way.

He takes those same talents and applies them to comedy, with disastrous results.

By memorizing a million jokes, none funny, and spitting them out in staccato bursts of awful comedy. Punctuated each time with a giant, sh*t-eating grin.

(“Did you hear the one about the guy who drank five gallons of tea? He drowned in his own teepee!”)

Every holiday as long as I can remember, I just plaster on a rictus grim and keep trying to squirm out of any room we’re both in.

I’m now 37 years old and I’m ready for it to stop.

Please tell me I’m not the only joke hater.

Signed,

Suffering In Groaner Hell

Dear SIGH,

What is the minimum level of entrance to attempt something?

Must one be good at it? Must we succeed to the high heavens?

Or is it enough that we strive, that we make a sincere effort. Regardless our own talents. Regardless of our inadequacies and even lack of competencies.

Would you spurn the spring bluebird whose song is not in tune?

Isn’t enough that it opened its mouth and called out to the morning breeze?

I suspect there is something else at play in this scenario. Family dynamics! That is where we shall look further.

If you were to encounter a similar fellow at work, or in your leisure time? I bet you’d might him odd, but generally acceptable.

You are trapped in a family cycle. You need to reset the relationship. Remind him that you’re an adult, an equal.

Learn and tell as many corny jokes as humanly possible! Stuff your brain with one-liners and punchlines, make a cheat sheet if you must.

I dare say, he might be pleasantly surprised. You never know, you might even connect a little more. You might connect a little better.

Did you ever hear the one about the guy who stole the toilet seat from the police station?

The cops have nothing to go on.

You see! It’s not that difficult.

And the best part, you can make any face afterwards that you choose.

Counterpoint commentary by …

BOOMPLE the Clown

I feel your pain, friend.

Oh, believe me. I do.

In my business, we have a saying: “Everybody’s a comedian.”

On one hand, I give the guy credit. He’s trying to make people laugh. Trying to spread joy.

The problem is that he sucks horrifically. Absolutely has no business attempting it. He’s terrible! And he must be stopped.

He must be stopped by any means necessary.

If you’re a plumber? You get certified. Cop? You need a badge. Lawyer? Juris Doctorate.

But to claim you’re funny? No degree required. No defined proof of skills needed.

Everyone (and I mean everyone) thinks they’re working with a full deck of comedy cards.

I do have a degree, by the way. I didn’t just walk in off the street!

I’m a proud graduate of the Cole Bennerman College of Clowning Arts.

And Cole Bennerman, he viewed the world beyond humor. Shared a lot of thoughts about creating beauty. Embracing life. Taught us to always share our gifts openly.

He’d also issue warnings. Get all serious. Told us to beware imposters. To guard against phonies and frauds.

Pinchers, he’d call them. “Watch out for pinchers.” And he loved this one Shakespeare quote: “Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.”

So yeah, you’re asking me about this pincher uncle of yours?

Let’s just say I think he’s on my bad side.

Here’s what you do: next time he cracks a joke, yell out a big “Hey-O!” Do it every single time after. Make the “Hey-O’s” longer and louder as the evening goes on.

Annoy him until it comes to fisticuffs!

Or at least harsh words are spoken.

To be honest, I’m not sure if this will help much at all.

But if he’s trying to taketh a beauty that’s not his? Let’s provoketh him clean out the door.

All my life I’ve had a problem with handling stress. It sucks. I fold under pressure.

Day-to-day stuff, I’m usually okay. Mostly. But in a big moment, I crack.

Why am I like this?

How can I learn to be better under pressure?

Signed,

Will I Learn Tenacity

Dear WILT,

You frame this issue as a moral failing, as a personal frailty.

That is not a fair representation of the truth.

Some things in life are outside our control.

Let me introduce you to a concept called the Window of Tolerance. This refers to a state of being when you feel safe, at peace, emotionally open. Able to react appropriately to any given moment or situation.

Some people have large Windows of Tolerance. Others do not.

What something occurs to nudge you beyond your Window of Tolerance, you enter a state of hyperarousal. Your palms get sweaty. Your breath gets short. You might freeze or seek to flee.

Again, not your fault. Childhood trauma may have left you an unwitting player in a terrible game.

There is hope! Strategies exist you might employ.

• Breathe! Controlling your breath is of utmost importance. Deep, slow breathing can help break the cycle.

• Take up daily meditation or yoga. Attune your body to your mind. Train yourself to be centered and calm.

• Be in the moment. Observe your environment slowly. Literally acknowledge, one-by-one, what you see. It will get you out of your head.

• Exercise regularly. The more you exercise, the better you will feel, not just physically, but emotionally.

Last but not least: be kind to yourself. And do give a look into the remedies I’ve suggested.

Tenacity is merely the act of being determined in a pursuit, which it sounds like you already are.

As we say in the circus: Yesterday’s performance can get better by tomorrow.

All it takes is a little practice.

Counterpoint commentary by …

Dexter O’ Droit, Master Lead Head Juggler

(Yes, I’ve changed my title again. I’m going with Master Juggler. Does that work? Or too much like being a Master Debater, if you catch my drift. Don’t need that nickname!)

On to your question, and the question is … PRESSURE.

Well, pressure is something I know a lot about. Try juggling three chain saws at one time! Not much margin of error in that deal. (Check out Seven-Finger Sven if you have doubts, he’s living proof.)1

The worst advice I got when starting out? ‘Imagine everyone in the audience in their underwear.’ How is that supposed to help me? I think that idea comes from dudes who secretly want to get caught with their pants down.2

The trick of it, though, is that pressure keeps you sharp. Don’t be too cool. Take the Civil War example of Gen. John Sedgewick. When faced with enemy sharpshooters, he literally said, “They couldn't hit an elephant at this distance.” He was lethally rebutted seconds later.3

Let’s find a more cheerful note! My current outlook? It inclines more philosophical. I’ve just embraced the Japanese concept of Wabi-Sabi. In short, it teaches how to accept your flaws, accept a feeling of imperfection. I’ve found new harmony beside the impermanent and the asymmetrical. Pretty deep stuff.4

One last thought on the matter, if I may? Your situation calls to mind the term “hothouse flower.” Meaning someone who thrives only in certain conditions …

As in Nero Wolfe! From the famous detective novels, he was a genius crime-solver who detested leaving his home. Because he was a hothouse flower. And the best part: he was an avid plant-lover, his hobby was growing orchids, he literally installed a hothouse for his precious flowers. I read every tale in my youth.5

I think that covers everything I have to say about pressure. This topic is of great interest to me! Good luck to you as you juggle your cares and concerns.

I’ll let a modern-day poet offer this final thought on the subject:

“You have to learn to pace yourself,
Pressure.
You're just like everybody else,
Pressure.
You've only had to run so far,
So good.
But you will come to a place,
Where the only thing you feel,
Are loaded guns in your face,
And you'll have to deal with,
Pressure.”6

A lady at work was selling Girl Scout cookies for her granddaughter. I ordered two boxes of Thin Mints and two boxes of Lemon-Ups.

My co-worker came in today and gave me one box of Thin Mints and one box of Lemon-Ups.

I said, “But I bought two boxes of each.” She said, “No you didn’t, the order is right here.”

I feel like I’m taking crazy pills. Is this lady scamming me?

I don’t know what to do! It’s like the perfect crime.

Signed,

Cookies Have Obliterated My Psyche

Dear CHOMP,

Surely you imply no chicanery on the part of the Girl Scouts as an organization. For that would be tantamount to slander or libel! Of which we certainly want no involvement.

However, it seems your accusation is aimed solely at your co-worker, and under that premise is how we shall now proceed.

Is it possible that you erred at the time of ordering? Indicated one box each, instead of two? That seems like the most likely case.

Otherwise, an ugly truth remains.

You were swindled.

If that is the truth, I fear your options are limited.

You have no proof. No evidence that a crime has taken place.

And you are at work. Escalating this simple matter to a full-blown conflict might not be the best career choice.

Is it worth the trouble?

Of course not. Outside the principle of fairness, there is no reason to pursue the matter.

Whether through accident or malice, you did not get your cookies.

The crumbs of this encounter, however, will be of small concern in the overall meal of your life.

Counterpoint commentary by …

Frieda Looke, the Tattooed Lady

As a girl in my early teens, I would often go fishing at a creek near my house.

I’d go to the creek a lot; my options of places were few. Anything to get out.

There was this old guy who was always there, rain or shine. I mean he was always there. Knit cap, flannel shirt. White beard, kinda big but not Santa big.

Hardly said a word.

But he’d share his nightcrawlers with me. They were from a bait shop, by the looks, and as we stood on the shore, he’d let me take as many as needed.

I started calling him Mr. Fish. I’d say, “Hello, Mister Fish,” and he’d nod and smile without making eye contact.

Never acted weird or pervy toward me. I always felt comfortable around him.

We wouldn’t say much, but I spent many hours with Mr. Fish.

Then one day he wasn’t there. The next day, gone as well. Never saw him again.

Years later, I got contacted by an attorney. Mr. Fish had passed away. He had come from a rich family. His real name was Charles Morton Dellengault. He had left me one hundred thousand dollars.

I was eeking out a studio apartment by that time, living on small-town diner-waitress tips.

His money changed my life.

I invested most of it, kept waitressing, and started getting tattoos.

Today, my salary in the circus (no complaints) is near the bottom end. I get it. I don’t really have a circus talent, except looking visually interesting.

But Mr. Fish — Charles Dellengault — made it possible for me to live this life. Money is not my first concern. Happiness is.

The point to that story?

In life, you will meet people whose decisions seem difficult to fathom. Whose actions are impossible to predict.

People who can (and might) do things that catch you completely off guard.

I take comfort in trusting to the rhythms of the natural world. The sun will rise, the sun will set.

The creek keeps rushing ahead, simply flowing.

Rolling along without ever once concerned about who stands watching from beside its banks.

I got up in the night to pee and along the way I stepped on a LEGO.

A rush of pain pounded up my heel!

I hobbled to the right and banged into a wall, causing the picture that was hung there to crash to the ground; I yelled out in anger.

“These fckn’ LEGOs! I hate them!!”

My daughter immediately woke up crying. I went in and got her back to sleep, but I felt really bad.

My husband is still mad the next day, pouting and saying that I “don’t respect him.” Saying that I “don’t respect his hobby.”

Hey, build all the limited-edition spaceships and lore-accurate castle battlements that you want, but let a lady make a pee run in peace, am I right?

Seriously, am I right?

Signed,

Pretty Ornery Damsel

Dear P.O.’d,

Oh, the sacrifices we make for our companion or betrothed!

Even trips to the restroom can suffer love’s slings and arrows.

While I, myself, have never experienced a LEGO, the feeling is rumored to be equal to a root canal, shark attack, or stepping on hot lava.

Any fair soul would wince and recoil (and maybe scream profanity) in such a moment.

You immediately tended to your child. That is the important thing. Priorities remained intact.

Your husband must take responsibility for being a messy hobbyist. Most collectors would not leave stray pieces strewn about the floor.

That is surface level, however.

The real truth lies hidden underneath, as it often does.

You resent the time or money he spends on his hobby. He feels this resentment, to the point it quietly chaffs and annoys him.

Some might label this as an inflection point. I am one such labeler.

You could have shouted anything in your moment of discomfort. But the first thing on your mind? ‘I hate them.’

You hate the way he spends his leisure time. That feeling? It should be addressed. For it is strong.

This negotiation is a private matter between you and your husband.

Enter into these talks with a generous heart, if you are able.

Perhaps tell him that you wish to connect deeper? To lock in more with one other?

If he is a worthy fellow, he will see the benefit of a strong foundation.

We build our relationships one piece at a time, on and on, until the construct steers toward the proper and most pleasant shape.

Counterpoint commentary by …

Marzonk! the Strong-Man

Marzonk! have similar experience. Woke up in night once for same reason.

Use toilet!

But there was object lurking in night, leading to fateful toe stub. On dumbbell! A dumbbell that Marzonk! had put there on purpose, put by bed, as reminder to work extra on deltoids next way.

So angry!

Marzonk! still lived alone then, no Mrs. Marzonk! yet. And in quiet of night, Marzonk! raged like red-curtain bull.

Broke many things. Punched mirror. Smashed hole in wall. Hit own self in head with picture frame of dead grandfather.

Marzonk! learned true strength of anger that night. (Also learned truth of steroid influence on human body.)

Never took any supplement or muscle stimulant ever again.

Go to all-natural training!

Later, Marzonk! meet Mrs. Marzonk!. Find happiness for first time.

Coincidence? Not coincidence, truth! Cause and effect, and truth. Good change bring good change.

You must find your own good change.

No more smashing grandfather’s face!

No more steroids!

Build LEGOs with happy partner and you step ahead on nothing but joy.

But first, some business:

Next Stop: Hot Springs, AR

Venue: Galrland Municpal Arts Center

• Thurs, March 26, 2026, 8:00 pm.

• Fri, March 27, 2026, 8:00 pm.

  (Good Grades Night! $2.00 off a child’s ticket with proof of valid report card.)

• Sat, March 28, 2026, 2:00 & 8:00 pm.

• Sun, March 29, 2026, 2:00 pm.

Come see us live and in-person!

Sherrié Austin, Circus Girl

Hey would you look at her on the trapeze,
Up so high.
Bet nobody ever told the trapeze lady,
She can’t fly.
And she’s not afraid, she never looks down,
Never looks down …

Sherrié Austin is an Australian singer and actress. She performed as an opening act for Johnny Cash when she was just 14!

Her musical take on the circus is at once charming, romantic, melancholic and hopeful.

I’d most certainly welcome her on tour with us if she ever wanted to join the Zaboni caravan.

“Looks like everybody's had
Enough magic for one day.
But the magic doesn't have to fade away, fade away ….
When the crowd’s gone home,
And we’re all alone,
You’re holding my cotton candy hand.
And the tent comes down,
And the freaks leave town,
There’ll be two more clowns in that caravan.
‘Cause there’s no place in an ordinary world,
For a lost boy,
And a circus girl.”

Question: How do you keep your costumes clean while on tour? Do you all go to laundromats or something? What if they get ripped?

-Janice Cladderly, White River Junction, VT

It’s a little-known secret, Janice, but we travel with a wardrobe department. Well, really, it’s basically just Dottie and Jöhar. Married couple, been doing this about 30 years. They wash, press and prepare all our outfits, with help from interns or temps.

Dottie’s a seamstress, by trade; Jöhar knows boots and shoes. Can’t imagine life without them.

Let it be known that not every member of our circus team performs under the lights!

Some work diligently behind the scenes, making sure our show continues to enchant and thrill audiences around the world.

Wrapping things up for us is some comedy from Beetle Bailey and friends. One programming note: Sunday Special will be going on hiatus as of today. It may be back, on occasion! Never fear, the regular advice column remains as usual: every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

Have a great week! May you always wander toward the wonder.

Have you ever seen those insurance commercials with Limu Emu & Doug? The Liberty Mutual ones?

Here’s what I don’t understand about them.

You know that guy Jake, the one in the red shirt? The one from State Farm. Comes across as a good dude, right? Like he really seems to like people.

Then there’s Flo, from Progressive. She never annoys me! I’m always curious to see what Flo is up to.

The all-time king? That’s the Gecko, for sure. His voice actor is just perfect! I even have a Christmas ornament of that character, I like him so much.

Which leads us back to Limu Emu & Doug. Not at all charming. Not watchable. I groan whenever the ads start to play.

Is that the point? Like, they’re making them to NOT be enjoyable? As a way of standing out? Differentiating their brand by being lame? Just terrible. The AFLAC duck laughs at the quality.

I’ve never seen something so inoffensively boring and yet oft putting.

Signed,

Calmly Relating Input Toward Insurance Commercials

Dear CRITIC,

Forgive my uncertainty, but are you soliciting my creative opinions about TV ads?

I accept the challenge!

However, as the circus is my passion and purview, we will need to change our focus.

We shall advance to discussing a different product.

A product that once embraced a circus theme!

Allow me to introduce Sugar Rice Krinkles: “The greatest cereal treat on Earth.”

The brand made its debut in 1950, named just Sugar Krinkles at first. They added Rice to the name not long after.

Clearly excited about their new cereal, the execs soon ordered a television commercial. The creatives brainstormed! Who better to make the sales pitch than a live-action, flesh-and-blood Krinkles the Clown?

The answer to that question: literally anyone other than this fellow.

Behold:

As you can see, it begins with a weathervane atop a barn, rooster crowing, on a peaceful morning.

Until a godzilla-sized clown attacks the city! Crashing through the entire scene! Roaring out “I’M HUNGRY!!”

At this point, rename the cereal Sugar Rice Childhood Trauma, because that’s where we’re headed for the next 60 seconds.

At one point, he starts blinking a lot, and it doesn’t really feel that good? In the middle part. It’s almost as if he’s trying to mesmerize his young fans?

Let us hope not!

For my money, perhaps the most absurd (i.e. awesome) part is at the end.

This might be the best call-to-action statement ever spoken: “Crinkle on down to the store for Post Sugar Rice Krispies!”

I realize that the word crinkle is a verb. But I’ve never heard it used to express independent human locomotion. Excelsior!

Alas, this version of Krinkles the Clown did not make it to the sequel. A new clown took on the role, one terrifying in his own way. This time, the producers did not let him speak, having an announcer do the talking.

Also: this new Krinkles eats the cereal by use of chopsticks! Because it is made of rice.

This would be a harbinger of things to come.

At this point in the story, the decision was made to abandon the clown mascot altogether. The time had come for change.

At first, it seemed like a good idea.

OUT: Circus-themed clown folderol.

IN: Rice, rice, and more rice.

Meet our new mascot: So-Hi! A teeny-tiny Asian character who stands only “so high.”

Flaunting traditional garb and an incredible accent.

Also: the cereal now comes with a free rickshaw! A rickshaw racer, to be precise. Race your brother or sister.

So-Hi remained as the company mascot throughout the 60’s. The cereal was discontinued in 1969.

Sugar Rice Crinkles was replaced by Fruity Pebbles and Cocoa Pebbles, two cereals still in production today.

Crinkles the Clown was never seen again, except maybe in dreams.

(Also: possibly that area of Rt. 41 through the mountains known as “the drifter’s graveyard.”)

Here is a print ad from the New York Daily News, circa 1953.

I’m not sure Jack and Snack would have done any better.

Counterpoint commentary by …

Wyatt Aussome & His Aussome Hogs

The big news around here was that we got our first big corporate sponsorship!

Me’n the hogs, that is. Got our own deal, outside of the Zaboni Brothers Circus. I cleared it with legal first, of course.

I wanted to do things right, all proper’n all. It was a big opportunity.

Dean’s Discount Auto Sales! The biggest car dealer in six counties. Dean had hired Wyatt Aussome and the Aussome Hogs to be official representatives. The plan was we’d be in all of their commercials, plus make occasional appearances at the sales lot.

It was all systems go, then the marketing team shared the slogan:

“Come on down to Dean’s! Our prices are so good they’ll make you squeal.”

I quickly expressed my opinion on the matter. I didn’t want to be negative, but it felt wrong somehow. Not the image we wanted to project.

Then Dean told me about the extra promotion they were doing. Every customer who financed their purchase through the dealership? As a bonus, they’ll receive a free copy of the movie Deliverance.

There were some hard words said after that, right in those moments, I’m not gonna lie. There may have even been a scuffle if you wanna call it that.

Long story short, we’re not in business with any discount car lots anymore.

Better for all parties, if you ask me.

On a side note, my former business manager and I have recently parted ways.

Wyatt Aussome & His Aussome Hogs are now seeking new professional managerial representation.

My son’s 3rd-grade homework has me annoyed. The assignment? Learning the names of animal units. A gaggle of geese, a herd of antelope, a colony of bats, etc.

For vultures, the correct answer was listed as a committee of vultures.

That is incorrect! Vultures are a committee only when settled on the ground. They’re called a kettle of vultures once in flight, and a wake of vultures while picking at a carcass.

Why three different terms? I do not know. But facts are facts!

I contacted his teacher. It escalated to the principal. Now I have a call in to the superintendent.

Dumbing down knowledge for simplicity’s sake is not allowable by me.

Is this an instance of having high standards, or am I too nitpicky and pedantic?

Signed,

Being Exacting About Knowledge

Dear BEAK,

For questions relating to mathematics, I would certainly agree with your position!

The answers need to be achieved and expressed in precise terms.

For an elementary school homework lesson? A tad more leeway is robustly allowable.

I am no educator, but I view this exercise as a way to start exploring the animal kingdom. To ignite young minds with joy and wonder! To teach them that animals have classifications, which later on leads to taxonomies.

All worthwhile endeavors! Even if not every appellation of vulture is duly represented.

My larger concern is your way of seeking a resolution. For this is not an injustice. This is not a human rights issue.

To keep escalating the matter until you get what you want?

Your child is learning from this, most assuredly. Something far more erroneous than an omitted fact.

I applaud your concern for education. You are an involved parent.

Both traits are worthy of praise.

Take caution, though, to aim more toward the way of the wise owl, lest someday you become nothing but a silly goose.

Counterpoint commentary by …

Shandoleesa, Mistress of the Trapeze

I learned most of my skills under the tutelage of a strong taskmaster.

Boss Cardiñal was strict and demanding. He never once handed me a “participation trophy.”

These children can learn only one designation per animal group? Forgive my eyebrow for cocking in scoff.

A lesson in failure is what I’d call it. Precision is the precursor of greatness. Difficulty level should be of little concern in the quest for excellence.

The same advice does apply to you as well. For teachers in school cannot teach everything, surely we know that.

The time you spent pestering? That is time when you could have been useful.

Teach your child to learn all three of the vulture groups; teach them that the school requires only one; teach them that it can be worthwhile to go beyond the basics.

Give their mind as much nourishment as you can.

A hungry student will keep learning until there is no meat left on the bone.

My father passed away recently, at 84. It’s hitting us all pretty hard.

My Mom keeps Dad’s ashes in an urn in the living room. My sister and I have both expressed a desire for some of his remains.

Mom steadfastly refuses to share any of them. She says “it wouldn’t be right,” as they’d been married for 52 years.

His ashes will be interred at a ceremony later this summer. They won’t be in that living room forever, so what does it matter?

I’m very disappointed she won’t let her two daughters have a little bit of their father while mourning.

What should I do?

Signed,

Bottled Up Remains, No Tenderness

Dear BURNT,

A season of sorrow and loss is upon you. My condolences! I can only imagine your heartbreak.

It is not a contest of suffering, of course. You are all hurting. But your mom has lost her companion of more than 50 years.

She might also be struggling with the awareness that her time, sadly, is not long. Life’s approaching finality is staring her straight in the face.

Occasionally, one of our competing travelling circuses will face a sudden tragedy. Unsurprising, I suppose: we are all in the daredevil business.

The casualty is not only saddening, but a reminder. That stunts and flips and death-defying feats do not possess a 100% success rate.

It can happen to anyone. Even ringmasters! A spotlight rigging broke free from its truss at the O’Key Circus a few years back. Still too difficult to discuss.

No is completely safe. How do we handle that knowledge?

How do we honor those who have left us?

In your case, I propose a compromise.

It seems unlikely your mom can give you and your sister what you most desire.

Perhaps you could request an item of clothing? Like one of his favorite shirts, or a specific necktie, or a trusty wristwatch.

Maybe you just want something to hold onto, something that makes you still feel a connection.

Please be understanding of your mother’s feelings, if you can.

Your family still has each other to grasp and hug!

That is more important, to my eye, than any possessions or items or ashes.

Counterpoint commentary by …

BOOMPLE the Clown

What do exotic pole dancers and clowns have in common?

Scratch beneath the surface, you’ll find the same resemblance.

Daddy Issues.

Think I’m joking?

We both wear too much makeup, we both wear elaborate footwear, and when we hear the music — our inner freak comes out to play.

I should know. A strained relationship with an Air Force Colonel father is enough to push anyone to seek the limelight.

Moving regularly from base to base. Asking for shorter and shorter crew cuts, all to please the one person whose attention you want the most.

And still not getting it.

That’s just an example, of course. Not tied to any specific performer.

But it’s no wonder that clowns — and pole dancers — are willing to drop their pants to gain a hungry crowd’s notice.

At my Dad’s funeral, I tried to do some of my routine. Show him all I’d achieved.

Uncle Austin and Uncle Clark rushed me before I’d finished my tribute. Dragged me from the pulpit.

I sprayed seltzer in both of their faces. No regrets! They were both bad fathers. Distant and self-centered.

No different from their brother.

Their brother … a man who never saw the talent right before his eyes.

These days? I keep that promise I made to myself.

To keep on getting dressed up and showing off my (comedy) assets, bringing delight to every satisfied stranger! Just like my compatriots working the pole.

We shake our money-makers, oh yes!

Because we cannot shake the holes in our hearts.

Bringing this back to your story — you have a father who is now dead. But you liked him, huh?

Then what are you really grousing about? A bunch of ashes?

Crispy corpse bits that truly equate to nothing.

Until the day comes when you’re called to the main stage, seeking affirmation and money and love?

Until then, you’ve got no business complaining about anything ever at all.

But first, some business:

Next Stop: Tulsa, OK

Venue: The Wills Stage & Song Center

• Thurs, March 19, 2026, 8:00 pm.

• Fri, March 20, 2026, 8:00 pm.

• Sat, March 21, 2026, 2:00 & 8:00 pm.

• Sun, March 22, 2026, 2:00 pm.

Come see us live and in-person!

Hannah Grace, Try

“What if it wasn’t in your nature?
To stay in the same place?
What if you knew you could change it,
Knew that you could take up space?
What if the whole world was waiting,
For someone just like you?
Right where you are,
No waiting for stars to line up perfect,
All you have to do is try … ”

While not technically a circus song, this composition works well for any mindset or situation.

The encouraging message is not only uplifting but honest. Though there are many songs of this type, a lot tend to ring of empty platitudes or banal insights. Hannah Grace’s Try is a cut above the rest. Worthy of aspiring circus performers as well as aspiring dreamers everywhere.

Her vocals shine with sincerity, almost resembling a pep talk from a trusted friend. You can almost feel an arm around your shoulder as you listen.

If you need a boost of encouragement or positivity in your life, this is a wonderful track to add to a playlist.

Question: Does Madame Zoltara have any predictions for the upcoming Academy Awards?

-Reed McGuiness, Tacoma, WA

Well, Reed, if we’re speaking of the psychic world, let’s turn this into a full edition of Spirit Speak! Take it away, Madame Z.

Hollywood crackles with growing energy in anticipation of tonight’s ceremony!

I sense invisible waves rippling through the empyreal ether of the entertainment world.

And why should I not? Phantasmagoric sensations cloak me as if dreamy furs of chinchilla or mink or ermine.

All of which are mine to show off and parade as I choose.

There is one caveat I must add: the true best picture of the past year went criminally unacknowledged.

I speak of course of Coven of Witches 4: The Payback, in which I had an impactful (though uncredited) cameo as “Woman at the seance wearing magenta.”

Sadly, we went unrecognized by the Academy.

I am hoping to return for Coven of Witches 5: Resurrection, in which perhaps my many script ideas will be considered.

But enough! The time to make my predictions has arrived. My mind’s eye stares with inscrutable clarity! Let me tell you what it sees …

Lead actor: Michael B. Jordan, Sinners.

Lead actress: Emma Stone, Bugonia.

Director: Paul Thomas Anderson, One Battle After Another.

Best Picture: One Battle After Another.

Thus concludes the prescient prognostication of Madame Zoltara for today!

*These selections should not be considered as an endorsement or enticement for gambling.

However, should you place a wager, remember to use discount code ZOLTARA at check out to receive a free $5.00 in your online account.

Not eligible in South Dakota or Guam.

With the start of spring just a few days away, we’ll close up shop today with this New Yorker cartoon by Ali Solomon.

Have a great week! May you always wander toward the wonder.

There is a secretary at work. I like her and I think she likes me.

Except … dating is not allowed between employees at my company. Verboten.

She’s not even on my team, she works in accounting. Nothing seems wrong about us dating.

Should I take the chance? A risk for love! She’s perfect for me.

Signed,

Risking Occupation Making Egregious Offer

Dear ROMEO,

Love is indeed a most splendid occurrence!

The power of l’amour can sway giants and kings and yes, even circus folk.

Romance (or at least some proxy or imitation) often blossoms under the Big Top.

Arthur “Tippietoes” Grant was a tightrope walker. I worked with him in my early days. Gifted entertainer, had real aplomb.

He threw it all away for love. Quit the business, settled in Vegas and started a ventriloquist act. “Tippietoes and Cornrows.”

Cornrows was the name of his puppet: a sassy Jamaican woman with, yes, corn rows.

Did I mention that Tippietoes is a white guy? His act drew criticism and protests over the stereotypical accent. Eventually he had trouble booking gigs.

I told him that voice was a terrible idea!

He tried going back to circus life. But he’d been away too long. The skills, the precision, the body control. Just wasn’t the same.

Last I heard, he was working in the insurance industry (or some other such horror.) Hope he finds his way back to the arts.

In conclusion: There is risk. There can be reward. And there can be FAFO worse than you’ve ever imagined.

Make sure that when this is over, you weren’t the dummy all along.

Counterpoint commentary by …

Crushed Velvet (assistant to Nigel Knives)

Everyday I get texts and DMs from men who’ve seen our show and “fell in love with me.”

Not that I think I’m a ten or anything. I’m not.

But I’m thin, wear a skimpy costume, and let a man throw knives at me.

Tends to bring out the weirdos. Sad but true.

A few of the messages are nice, I suppose. I guess I should find it flattering? But I would never date a fan.

The nice ones are rare. Most are rude, some are gross, some are over-the-top pornographic, and one guy offered to buy my used bathwater.

Truly I live to entertain the masses.

You describe your situation as taking a risk for love. But really, you are taking a risk for a date. You have no idea if it’s love.

Maybe you just want to take a risk?

I think about it, too. Doing daring things. I could risk it. I get offers from both the weridos and the nice ones. Money could be made. Money could really be made. Maybe almost as much as my salary.

But I’ve never said yes, not once. Not even to beauty photos with clothes on! And I need the money. I keep thinking ‘Let’s go, what’s the harm?’

Something always stops me from going over that line.

You, on the other hand, seem ready to vault clear past the line.

I hope you stick the landing, I guess.

I’m going to stay in my conscience’s comfort zone for as long as I can.

Throw knives at my head? That’s fine.

My soul I guard with a much higher level of vigilance.

Today, my doorknob broke. The knob on the front door to my house. Useless!

It still twists when you turn it, you know, but does nothing. The little piece won’t retract. The door won’t open.

You have no idea how infuriating this is.

It had been acting weird for a while, but I was like, really? Really? I have nothing else to worry about?

I’ve never heard of this happening to anyone else. Screw it, maybe I’m cursed.

Things went downhill afterwards.

I drank three strawberry White Claws and then I threw the air fryer (that my ex-husband’s aunt gave us) straight toward the door and I hadn’t cleaned it in a while and it exploded in a shower of crumbs all over the carpet.

This really sucks. Wish I could win just once in a while.

Signed,

Big Loser, Unhappy Existence

Dear BLUE,

I am sorry you are having a tough go of it lately.

Let’s see how I may humbly be of assistance!

You sound overwhelmed. Unable to make time to fix a doorknob. Unable to find space to be your best self.

Of course, you must acknowledge some red flags waving in the breeze.

The anger! Not a healthy situation. Meditation or exercise or counseling. You must get a handle on the feelings circulating within.

On a similar note. The drinking? While okay in moderation, I get the sense you are relying on or abusing such beverages. Would you concur?

This task is not beyond you. Fix your door. Get help with it — as well as the drinking — should you need.

Stay strong in the face of fear. Life can get better.

Figure out the changes you need to make in order to reach a happier future.

With a little work, the path to happiness can be found beneath your feet.

Counterpoint commentary by …

Dexter O’Droit, Lead Head Juggler

As you can see, I went ahead and changed my professional title.

But I don’t know if this is any better. Head Juggler? Does it maybe suggest that I juggle skulls, or like, craniums?

I think that it does.

Going to workshop my title a little bit more. Still not quite right.

As to your question? Well, history has many examples of mistakes and blunders.

Take for example, Abraham Lincoln. A slew of setbacks! Failed at business, lost a bunch of elections, had a nervous breakdown. Despite these defeats, he regrouped and became one of our greatest presidents.1

In 1908, the famous “Merkle’s Boner” game took place. Fred Merkle’s base-running gaffe cost the New York Giants a chance at the World Series! His life got better. He enjoyed a 42-year marriage to his wife Ethel and fathered three kids. His hometown’s (Watertown, WI) baseball team plays at Fred Merkle Field.2

In 1993, the vocal group Girls Tyme competed on Star Search (the popular talent show of its day.) Girls Tyme did not win. One of its members, Beyoncé Knowles, later achieved a modicum of success.3

More recently, a major film studio (no names) made three sequels to a beloved outer-space series. They were terrible! A beloved brand ruined with mediocre drek. Yet they still get to make more. Awful failures don’t always equal doom.4

To point the lens at myself, even I misstep on rare occasions. Last year in Baltimore, I had a drop on the famous 7-ball behind-the-back twist!

Humiliating, yes. But I overcame the conditions and perservered.5

With all this in mind, I offer a final thought:

Forgive yourself for your failure.

You wrote into this column for advice. Meaning that you know you messed up.

You want to be better than this.

Keep juggling life’s challenges, don’t stop! Try your best at handling everything tossed your way.

My girlfriend (Tinslee) and I have been together nearly two years. So far, really good.

Today … I learned why.

I’m what’s known as a Golden Retriever Boyfriend!

The hallmarks of a GRB: Loyal, guileless, happy just to be there. Energetic, positive, uncomplicated. Blindly and completely devoted.

Is that so terrible? That’s how I was raised. It comes naturally to put her before myself.

She’s funny and a good listener and quite pretty. Tinslee treats me well, I think.

But now I wonder. Does she see me as a loyal dog?

I’m starting to wish I was more of a bad boy.

Signed,

Really Unhappy, Feeling Foolish

Dear RUFF,

You raise an interesting yet perplexing conundrum.

You are content in your relationship? You say your paramour treats you satisfactorily?

Yet there is suddenly: a problem.

The new dilemma is that you are too nice? Not assertive enough? Not an alpha bro?

From the outside looking in, you seem to have a successful connection.

If you are happy and she’s also happy? From my vantage point, that’s a win.

You fear she likes you merely for your pliable, accommodating nature?

But that IS your nature! There isn’t anything to fault, either in her or yourself.

Yes, it’s wise to examine situations with a fresh eye. Which is what it appears you are doing.

This line of inquiry, however, may lead you to undeserved worry.

In other words: don’t look for trouble where there is none.

The stoic philosopher Seneca once said: “A man who suffers before it is necessary, suffers more than is necessary.”

Centuries later, the poet Ogden Nash expressed that same sentiment like this: “If called by a panther, don’t anther.”

You have found someone who loves you for yourself.

I feel confident saying this is much, much more than puppy love.

Counterpoint commentary by …

Marzonk! the Strong-Man

As young boy, Marzonk! really wanted dog. Wanted new puppy, Golden Retriever!

There was reason, oh yes.

Marzonk! thought Golden Retriever could find gold. You know, like furry leprechaun.

Told friends at school about it. All kids laugh at Marzonk!. Dumb-dumb.

Marzonk! never want pet after that day.

Animals stupid. Sad memory. Until.

Marzonk! start dating future Mrs. Marzonk!. She had two cats.

Trixie and Pixie.

World opened for Marzonk! He feel love of animals.

Change outlook on great many things.

Still do not know about Golden Retriever. Or if good boyfriend type.

Idea, though. What about leprechaun?

Maybe act like Leprechaun Boyfriend!

Be good luck charm every day. Help partner find gold. Buy cereal with little tasty marshmallows.

That could be nice way to love.

Any boyfriend with happy girlfriend seems like good boyfriend to Marzonk!.