I'm done with theater. The playhouse is for dreamers. Look what the dream brought us.

Let me preempt this by saying I don't have some unhealthy obsession with masturbation. Really, the freak-show play was just a coincidence in timing with the whole battery-operated situation.

I won two tickets to the opera this week! I was so excited -- I've never been to an opera and its always been on the list of things to do, along with "jump out of a plane" and "eat chocolate covered grasshopers." Anyways, I was all pumped for last night's show, wore a friggin dress and everything. Opera was called "Siren Song" by a Dutch guy but performed in English.

Let's just say there are not enough shrooms in the world to convince me last night's performance was actually an opera. I mean, there was singing (and the female lead did have a nice voice) and a story and a stage. A play? Perhaps. A musical? Potentially. Wacked? Definitely.

So my buddy and I show up a few minutes late to the performance which means we don't get to sit in the super sweet row 9 seats I've won. I'm a bit bummed (but ultimately thankful), and we tuck up in the balconey and still have a nice view of the stage. They've done some modern thing where the musical accompaniment is actually up on the stage (though it doesn't end up being part of the play, which annoys me). And some chick is singing but off-stage and there is one guy is in jeans, a t-shirt and a sailor hat (red flag number one). On a gigantic screen behind the orchestra is a video of a woman's hair cascading like a Pantene comerical or something over and over and over again.

Next Davy the sailor is falling in love with the off-stage singing woman, named Diiiiaaaaannnnaaa, who he's never met or even seen a photo of (they exchange letters). His two compatriots with uh, nice bodies (we got to see them in speedos later - which was red flag like 1026), weave in and out of the scenes while Davy whines about love; these sailors never say anything, they are like moving props, also wearing sailor hats (red flag number two and three).

Then Davy gets a letter with Diana's supposed red panties and it goes from a "little different" to "fucking weird."

The screen in the background is no longer cascading hair but some naked chick in a sauna or something. First it's just her legs with sweat golblet, but then its her massaging her tits over and over and over again (you never see her face). Meanwhile, Davy is on-stage, supposedly yanking his chain but it looks more like he's having a seizure. This goes on for...too long. No full frontal chaci or anything, but my friend and I are like what.the.fuck. -- did we miss the sign for the opera and end up in experiemental erotica? Is this tryouts for the new Skinamax series? The music is heavy and violent sounding -- poor Davy looks more like he's getting tortured than getting off.

Thankfully, we weren't the only people attempting to stiffle laughs -- the woman next to us almost fell out of her chair and some prude in the front balcony walked out. The plot unfolds into something slightly more normal -- imaginary Diana "haaaaaaaas cancer" (sing it with me) and then its the typical gay-guy-as-con-man-tricks-innocent-sailor story.

Seeing an opera remains on the list of things to do in life.