I’D like to say it’s not every Saturday night I spend laughing at a man’s penis but who am I kidding? It SO is. The only difference is that this time, it’s not one, but two penises (I feel the plural form should be peni?) at which I am chortling. Now, before you think I’ve gone all French on you, it was all work, I swear. And no, I am not supplementing my paltry freelance journalism income for prostitution. Yet. You see, I found myself in the curious position, if you’ll pardon the pun, of reviewing these penises for a story. Well, not exactly their penises, but they did form a rather huge (nudge nudge) part of the show about which I was writing. Yes, on Saturday night, I saw a performance called The Naked Magicians at the Brisbane Powerhouse.
I don’t want to spoil things for everyone who simply must go and see this show, so I’ll just share some of the more unusual highlights, including the set, upon which there’s a blow-up doll, a box suspended in chains, two fans (which prove absolutely hilarious at the finale), a magic curtain, and a table. Magicians Christopher Wayne and Mike Tyler don’t believe in props, and certainly don’t believe in clothes, which are shed throughout the performance.
Yes, it’s R-rated magic at its stunning best but while it’s naughty and a little rude, it’s not crude. The magic is simply superb but what makes this show really sing is the boys’ ability to ad-lib, create comedy and even without the tantalising prospect of their tricky dickies dangling before you, you’d have a fantastic time. There’s also plenty of audience participation, including at the start of the show when a giant pink penis is tossed around the audience with gay abandon (which secretly thrilled the New Farm boys in the front row). I screamed when it hit me in the face, and couldn’t offload that bad boy quick enough.
Naturally, I spent most of the night wondering when it was pants-off time (the boys do start the show fully clothed) and when the proverbial rabbit might get pulled out of the hat. And I was not disappointed. There are no actual penis tricks (this is not Puppetry of the Penis, people) and for the record, I’m still recovering from seeing “the hamburger” from that show anyway. It’s more two all-Aussie blokes, making marvelous magic, in the best way they know how. Naked. Or as they say: “Good magicians don’t need sleeves and great magicians don’t need pants”.
How the boys actually hatched the idea to create a magic show that they would perform naked is beyond me, but you can bet your bottom (wink wink) dollar, that every woman and gay man in the audience will now be expecting far more in bedrooms around Australia. As if we didn’t expect enough already. Yes, unless you can read my mind like these boys can, don’t call me, I’ll call you. Oh yeah, and there’s a fabulous phone trick too. The Naked Magicians, the best fun I’ve had in ages… with my pants on.
The Global Goddess was a guest of The Brisbane Powerhouse. The Naked Magicians is running until June 29 before heading to regional Queensland and on to Las Vegas. http://www.brisbanepowerhouse.org
FOR those of you who have been hiding under a rock or overseas this week, and believe me, you’ve been very, very lucky, news broke that Queensland Parliamentary Ethics Committee Chairman Peter Dowling has been caught with his pants down. And by this we don’t mean unable to answer a Dorothy Dixer. Well, there was a dixer, but not the Aussie slang for a pre-arranged question by a member of his own side to which I refer. We mean a bloke who thought it was acceptable to cheat on his wife. And as if that’s not bad enough, he decided to sext his mistress using tawdry techniques such as sending her a picture of his penis…dipped in a glass of wine.
Please don’t get me wrong. I love a bit of wine and on occasion I have also been known to appreciate a penis, but from where I’m sitting, the two just don’t go together, no matter how many salted peanuts you’ve had beforehand. Which leads me to wonder: what, exactly, was going through this politician’s head? (And I don’t mean the one in the wine glass).
Are you just sitting in the Parliamentary Annex one night, a bit lonely and tired from reading about this crazy business we like to call ethics here in Queensland, and you think, mmm, I might put just my penis in my Pinot? Were the showers not working? And what the hell did the caption say on the text? “Thirsty?” Worst of all, given he was texting this, it means he was on his own (hopefully, or some parliamentary secretary is being severely underpaid) and therefore was then going to drink that same glass of wine. As a male friend pointed out, “mmmm, nutty undertones.”
At this stage I have to confess no matter how drunk or stupid I have been, I have never, ever possessed the desire to put my vagina in my Verdelho. I’m not even sure how that works. And the fact he not only did this, but then sent a picture of his sausage in his Shiraz, is almost enough to put me off wine for life. On the upside, at least it didn’t fit in a shot glass. On the downside, if you were really trying to impress the mistress you strange, weird, little man, you might have chosen something more impressive – like a brandy balloon.
In those heady few years after my divorce I dated a lot of men and suffice to say, I was sent plenty of unsolicited photos of penises which always baffled me. It was a bit like running an online butcher shop. Did they not realise how ridiculous their schnitzel looks attached to their body, let alone unattached in a text message? Talk about laugh with my gay boy friends at the penis owner’s expense. At one stage, I had so many snaps of schlong of my phone I thought about staging an abstract art exhibition: Creatures from the Deep.
Apart from the abhorrent act of cheating on his wife, and his obvious lack of imagination, is the fact that apparently Queensland tax payers have been footing his affair. Which is kind of interesting. Last month I was out in Queensland wine country doing a series of stories on what a consortium of wine makers call their Strange Birds wines. Many wineries are starting to plant and harvest some of the exotic Italian varieties which are better suited to the Queensland climate. Think Tempranillo, Sangiovese, Barbero, Nebbiolo. And they are indeed top drops being produced by innovative, intelligent and hard-working wine makers.
Unfortunately what’s not so tops is the thought of a Queensland politician dipping his nib in my Nebbiolo or his testicles in my Tempranillo. Peter Dowling, get out of my Parliament, get down on your knees and beg your wife and the tax payers of Queensland for forgiveness. (Please, please, just don’t send me a bottle of wine). And for God’s sake man, keep your wiener out of my vino.
The Global Goddess makes no apologies for any egos which have been bruised in the compilation of this post.
“An awkward morning is better than a lonely night,” Graffiti on the toilet wall at The Woodford Folk Festival.
I’M in Bill’s Bar when the delightful Doreen takes my order. “He must be hot, young and smart,” I tell her. Doreen isn’t just any old waitress, she works at the Meet Market where dating dreams come true. “What else do I want?” I ask Doreen. “Someone who treats you like the Goddess that you are,” she replies. “How do you know I’m a Goddess?” I ask her in amazement. “Darl, when you’ve been in this game long enough, you just know.” And with that, she hands me a carbon copy of my order straight from her notebook.
Unfortunately, later that day, Doreen also accosts one of my gorgeous gay male friends and tells him she can find plenty of women for him. Gay-dars, it appears, don’t work quite so well out in the Australian bush.
I’m at the annual Woodford Folk Festival, about an hour and a half north-west of Brisbane, re-setting my soul for the year ahead. The previous evening in The Joy Luck Club tent I’ve already attended Jon Bennett’s show “Pretending Things are a Cock”, which is pretty much as the title suggests. Jon’s brother Tim used to be obsessed with his own penis, to the point he would put it in Jon’s ear. A childhood prank has since spawned a career for Jon, who now travels the globe, taking photos of all things phallic. You’ve never thought of the Statue of Liberty as a penis? Think again.
But if you think this is a sex fest, you’d be mistaken. Nor is it only for happy hippies. For one week between Christmas and New Year, Woodford is the place where ordinary people can simply suspend reality. Listen to some great music, participate in enlightening talks, meet random people, eat, dance, laugh and camp. A place for acrobrats and artists. And most of all, where you can open your mind. Shake off the cobwebs of the year just gone.
So successful is this festival, which has battled every challenge from stinking hot summers where crowd numbers wilted, to flooding rains which devastated the site, that former and current Prime Ministers make it their business to be there. Clad in t.shirt and jeans, Prime Minister Julia Gillard tells the packed Concert tent the story of a friend’s children, a little girl and a little boy. The little boy tells the little girl he wants to be Prime Minister when he grows up, to which the little girl responds: “You can’t. Only women in Australia can be Prime Minister.”
The crowd laughs, but nor is this a love fest. The dirty, smouldering issues like coal seam gas, fracking, climate change and whaling in the Southern Ocean simmer all week long in the Greenhouse tent where experts such as Professor Ian Lowe talks about the rise of the Eco Warrior.
In the middle of a sassy summer storm after a sultry day, a panel in The Blue Lotus tent is talking about bullying and examining how it may be linked to creating a creative class. Those kids that are picked on and socially isolated learn some pretty crafty tricks such as conjuring up imaginary friends with whom to play. Daydreaming of nicer, colourful worlds where everyone is kind. They become the masters of perceptiveness, awareness, intuition.
Under the canvas at The Grande, Spain meets surf music in the form of long-haired Latinos Los Coronas, a band which sounds like matadors have arrived in Maui. Acclaimed Aboriginal singer Archie Roach packs The Amphi & Hilltop stage as does the John Butler Trio. Kate Miller-Heidke kills it at The Concert and Women in Docs is in luck at The Duck.
Back in The Blue Lotus, Sunshine Coast Astrologer Lyvea Rose doles out the skinny on the year ahead. “Between 2013 and 2015, the corrupt kings will fall. The hippy movement which started in the 60s will be realised. Don’t attach to old structures like banks and bosses. It’s a revolution of the heart. Make love, not war. Become the king or queen of your own life. Simplify your life. It’s an excellent year for healers and artists.”
And best of all? Venus is apparently more laid-back this year. Women will be pursued by men. It is, according to Lyvea, a “sexy and stylish” year.
Happy 2013. May your most delicious dreams and wildest desires come true. I know what mine are. I’d love to hear some of yours…
To find out more about the Woodford Folk Festival go to www.woodfordfolkfestival.com