Blogging the Fringe

Monday 13 August 2007

Dear Parents---An Open Letter


Dear Parents,

I’m truly sorry that in a fit of tequila-sunrise passion you and your mate failed to protect yourselves from breeding, but I don’t see why I should be forced to bear (or even see) the burden of your mistake(s).

Yes, yes, I know that YOU wouldn’t call them “mistakes” and profess to adore the hell-spawns we kindly refer to as your children and yet, how do I put this gently? There has to be some way of saying this tactfully? You see…well….the rest of decent society is barely restraining their hands from wrenching your entire family from both the seats of the theater, and the land of the living.

As a parent you may have noticed (and unfairly taken advantage of) the privileged position that you are inexplicably afforded. Mothers feel like a previously-used-womb gives them otherworldly insight into foreign policy and war, while proud fathers will talk your ear off on the mediocre accomplishments of their genetic progenies. I have no idea why the call it “procreation”…I for one, am squarely against it.

Surely, you may have a LEGAL right to parade the un-ripened nincompoops around the city streets (don’t blame me if they trip over my feet), but please show some MORAL self-respect when you decide to take them into places of commerce.

Now, I’m as liberal as the next bloke…my taxes are happily paid toward the state school systems. I consider “education” a convenient political façade for my gleeful sponsorship of what is essentially a mass daytime child-storage-unit. I like to be able to know that the hours of 8 am – 4 pm are relatively child-free, that the sounds of slurping or pre-teen bulimia won’t accompany my morning latté. I think we should go beyond this first step. I propose that all children are placed into locked boxes or other semi-permeable containers until age 18, and even then, their release should only occur on a reviewed case-by-case basis.

If I buy a ticket to a play or movie, here’s what I’m NOT doing:

  • Buying a ticket to a fantastic show called: “Watch me breastfeed my teething toddler without even the token show of covering my engorged bosom while you pretend to not notice. Watch me spend the rest of the show massaging aforementioned bosom, and complain loudly that it’s sore and there may even be bite marks around the nipples.”
  • Hoping to sit awkwardly through a comedy routine that would make Jenna Jameson blush, surrounded by eight year olds not only getting all the jokes, but also cracking their tiny, oversized little heads up. I’m unable to enjoy anything because I feel like a pedophile by association with the kind of “upbringing” you must be doling out at home. If you and your children want to watch dirty movies and tell each other perverted sex jokes, that’s your business entirely, just don’t do it in front of me, behind me, or anywhere where I am still haunted by their youthful squeals of pleasure.
  • Planning on missing out on essential parts of the production because your mentally-stunted offspring keeps asking questions about the plot narrative, and you think that NOW would be the PERFECT time to explain the concept of rising action, vengeance, ideological disputes, and the word “protagonist”. However, you leave out the equally relevant theory of “shut-the-hell-up,” so I may just have to do it myself. Also, I know that you may now be trained to ignore you crying baby, but the rest of us are NOT DEAF. Get up and take that child out of the theater. NOW.
  • Looking for a free back massage provided by a kicking and giggling 6 year-old with restless-leg. It seems that this was the reason why Ritalin was invented? You however, seem to not appreciate my advice.

So parents, here are your options, choose carefully:


  • Take your kids to kids’ shows. These are like dog parks; everyone who shows up is in a similar position and understands that sometimes the animals need to run free. Kids Shows are clearly marked and thus easily avoidable.
  • Buy a box.
  • Prepare for the repercussions. If your tyke screams, kicks, chews, whines, bellows, farts, or breastfeeds out of order and you decide that now is a good time to play the “ignoring the problem until it goes away” game, you should also a) back off while I spank your child, b) line up to get yours next. Everyone knows that a little discipline goes a long way.

Most sincerely,

Peeved Audience Member



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THEATER REVIEW- Skolka

Rarely, if ever, have I felt this embarrassed watching a performance. This show was a shrill high-pitched- over-the-top- rendition of every negative Russian mail-order-slut stereotype. The three young actresses were painfully earnest in their attempts to portray emotion through screaming. The plot was a loose storytelling of how each of the women came to find herself filling out a profile for an online dating site; their idealistic embrace of the cliché promises of a rich prince inside a white Mercedes.

Each story is tainted by the love of a lying, cheating, sexually abusive man, and of course it seems only natural that their efforts of escape are through more of the same. Though there was an attempt to give this show gravity through scenes of sexual exploitation and family rejection, they were rushed and represented the untapped potential of the subject matter. The gyrations of their miming were less provocative than pointless; atrocious accents served only to top off already sufficiently obnoxious caricatures.

It is an interesting topic, one that deserves to be explored in a more meaningful way.

Positive reviews online lead this humble blogger to suspect that someone was promised extra borscht.




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Meal Deal


While the rest of the world goes on a diet and tightens its equator, I have spent my days discovering the answer to the age-old question:

Can you REALLY make an entire meal out of four jam and cream donuts?

Answer: Yes, but only if they’re 45p each.

Piemaker (38 South Bridge) assures me that with every bite I add not only to my waistline, but to history. Their sign tells of Romans who packed their snacks in conch shells; these were, of course, the first lunch boxes.


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