2001-07-23
Dear Diary:

In preparation for our trip to Oz this fall, I've been reading everything I can about Australia. I just found out that they practice the ancient Australian art of genital origami .:cough:. Down Under .:cough:.

You can imagine my excitement.

Practitioners of this ancient craft have been in Montreal this week for the Just for Laughs Festival. "Puppetry of the Penis" has been such a huge hit the run has been extended and the daughter and I will be in attendance on Wednesday night.

I mean, what could be more fun than hanging out with mom for a night watching nekkid foreign men play with their wedding tackle?

If ever an activity had "Mom And Me" written all over it, it would be Puppetry of the Penis, right?

When I called the Place des Arts box office this morning to reserve tickets, the woman said her best friend had seen the show and loved it. She recommended we sit a ways back from the stage so we could get a good view of the jumbo screens.

Jumbo screens.

Oh my.

Jumbo screens.

Now that I've heard about this ancient craft, of course I have many questions. I'm hoping that my Aussie readers will help me get a handle on this, eh.

Is genital origami something handed down from father to son or is it a routine part of the Australian school curriculum?

Does it involve dress-up?

Will we be seeing the equivalent of balloon animals? Will Australian fauna be involved? Let's face it, a snake would be fairly simple to do, but a kangaroo ... yep, I'm willing to pay good money to see THAT.

Expect a complete review after the show.

--Marn

Old Drivel - New Drivel


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This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

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2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.