The above picture is an advertisement for a show in the Philadelphia Fringe Festival. I believe the show is called The Adventures of Trixie Little & The Evil Hate Monkey.
I can think of nothing less appealing than the Fringe Festival. For me, anyway. I can intellectually understand that there is value in the Fringe Festival, that art is subjective and that this venue allows creativity and performance that otherwise would have no outlet to survive. But I drive a red volvo. I live in the suburbs, I can watch MTV all day, every day. Laguna Beach marathon...I am in. What I am saying is that I am as Ann Taylor as it gets my friends, and anything outside the very mainest of the mainstream is not really my bag.
It isn't that the art is alternative. I can deal with alternative for a night. I'll put on something trendy and stomach down Tappas and Mojito's with the best of them. My problem is that the Fringe Festival involves raunchy, sexual acts to a large degree. So while I am game for swimming outside the current once in a while, the thought of anything sexual being portrayed in public gives me hives. But we are going. Following a lengthy and hard fought battle between my husband and I, we are going to Fringe. I am leaving the center to hang out on the fringe for a while. And I have hives. Is it un-fringe to wear calamyne lotion under my trendy top?
What is worse it that we have been to the Fringe before, and caught the riveting performance of a puppet master who puts on the show from out of her vagina. HER VAGINA! I almost had a heart attack. No, I don't want to see your vagina, I don't want to know what turns you on, or what turns your friends on, I don't want to see your underwear, or worse, any of your private parts. I don't want you to tell me about the time you and your wife got drunk and tried that...and I don't want to tell you about anything that I may or may not do with my husband in our private intimate moments. I don't even like typing "private intimate moments"...
Do these people have parents, or any shame for that matter? Aren't they worried the store clerk from Ann Taylor will see a picture of them in their underwear on the Fringe website? How could you ever go in to buy a cardigan twinset again?
I would like to fake an epileptic seizure on the sidewalk to get out of going to the show, but people would probably mistake it for performance art...