What It's LIke

It's like slow-motion, the rest of the world passing 'round you, oblivious, in blurred color, you in black and white.

It's a piece of a music like a razor, flashing out of nowhere, and you can't stop bleeding memories.

It's not being able to come down.

It's not all right.

It's aching with all your heart for a soft, warm summer night, sitting outside and drinking good wine with old friends, and all you see is snow on frozen ground. It's slowly watching your friends lose interest.

It's yearning for things that will never come again.

It's not being sure, at any given time, whether or not you can really keep it together.

It's everyone wanting things you can't give.

It's knowing things others never will and which you can never truly explain.

It's like nothing anyone can really do or say, despite their best intentions.

It's like silence.

It's like this.

They Walk Among Us

Oh dear...now I've done it.

We've recently had a dust-up with some local censors putting the screws to a middle school play about--of all ironies--bullies. The upshot, some parents whined, the school administrators caved, the play gets cancelled. Typical fascism.

Anyway, Bob Hicks, former lead theatre critic for The Oregonian, wrote a perfectly well reasoned piece on the subject:

arts-scatter

Which was fine, except I, in full-puffed gills, Keith Richards waving a ratchetknife, take-no-prisoners mode, took exception with Bob's statement that "censors have the best intentions."

Expect heavy rain.

Here's my response, along with the illustration I would have posted had art-scatter had that option:

I know you’re a gracious, polite guy, Bob. I can be too. But sometimes I’m not, and this is one of those times: censors do not have the best intentions.

What they have is a jones for power. They crush those who disagree the slightest with their orthodoxy because nothing must interfere with the fragile little snowglobes in which they make their fragile nests. Here’s what the pecksniffs, hypermoralists, and others bloated with a delusional sense of importance teach kids: pretend to be creative and we’ll praise you and make you feel all cuddly inside, and everything will be mondo groovy, and we’ll give you a brown felt unicorn and a cup of cocoa. Color outside the lines, and we’ll make you you wish you’d never been born, you snotty little clot of rancid waste.

Censors are agents of the thought police.

Whatever Happened to Huckabee Hound?

Not much has been heard from mutant Christian candidate Mike Huckabee of late, mostly because John McCain's beating his ass like a brass gong, but the Huck resurfaced today in one of the most pathetic press conferences on record. The following is presented purely for scientific purposes...don't try this at home.

CLEVELAND, Ohio -- Huckabee said his campaign has been asking the McCain campaign to debate them and suggested questions surrounding McCain’s adherence to campaign finance laws raises doubts about his viability.

Speaking at a press conference that drew no reporters other than the six who travel with the candidate -- despite the national press corps in town for the Democratic debate -- the candidate said he wants to debate McCain.

“There's a race going on, and I wish Sen. McCain was debating me this weekend,” Huckabee said. “I wish we were gonna be in Cleveland tonight on stage or in Dallas or in Houston or San Antonio or Austin or somewhere between now and Tuesday having a debate.”

He said Republicans deserve a debate and that he was “disappointed” a forum between the remaining candidates hadn't been planned.

“We've made it very clear that we would love to have," he said, "whether it's a debate or a forum or Q and A, where both of us are there. I think any type of format would be acceptable to us and any location would be acceptable to us.”

Huckabee said the race remained open while the McCain questions about his spending were in the air. “What can John McCain actually spend?” Huckabee asked. “And he seems to be almost being bitten by his own campaign finance reform act, and there are a lot of issues to be settled with what happens in his spending limits.”

Huckabee added that McCain may have to “go completely dark between virtually now and the nomination convention.”

Huckabee did not hold a public event in Cleveland, but did receive a private tour of the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, before traveling to Columbus and Mason for rallies as well as a fundraiser in Dayton.

Open Thread:Where Y'at?

It's always kind of a kick to pull up my blog's site meter and see how many of you are reading my demented scribbing and where you're from. Of late, I've noticed a lot more folks checking in from outside the United States: England, France, Portugal, China, even the exotic, far-off, mythical kindom of Canada. So I thought I'd offer this post to give readers a chance to say hello, introduce yourself, tell us where you're from, and why on earth you chose to read the blog of a goofy U.S. playwright and terminal political junkie.

So, if you're so moved, give us a shout out. Hello, Finland!

Steve

Winding the Shroud

It's our final weekend of "Dead of Winter," which looks like it'll sellout anyway, but we did get a nice little last minute review from the Portland Tribune:

Dead of Winter
Lurking behind this evening of ghost stories is local playwright Steve Patterson, whose collaboration with actor Chris Harder led to a Drammy-winning one-man show in 2006.

Here, he presents three well-crafted tales that produce some genuinely chilling moments, helped by solid performances from Ben Plont and Trisha Egan and some simple but effective stage trickery. This is the final weekend.

— EB

8 p.m. FRIDAY and SATURDAY, Feb. 22-23, Performance Works NorthWest, 4625 S.E. 67th Ave., 503-777-2771, www.theblustockings.com, $10-$12


An odd run regarding the press. There were scads of shows opening this February, which is good, I suppose, in that it indicates the vibrancy of Portland theatre: for a mid-sized city, there's just a hell of a lot of production going on here. We started off with a 'top five' pick from the Oregonian, and then they completely forgot about us until today (closing weekend, alas), when they gave us a listing but no review. Followspot, a Portland theatre blog, gave us a spot-on perfect review for the show. We did an interview on KBOO radio--thank you, Dmae Roberts--got listed in the Tribune in a favorable way, popped up with listings in a lot of small papers, and got a fun review from Lewis & Clark College's student paper, The Pioneer Log. Got a lousy review from the Willamette Week (though sometimes that plays in your favor), and the Mercury ignored us except for a listing on their website and a brief mention in their blog. I can usually squeak out a little more press coverage than that, but I think there was just too much stuff going on; everyone was competing for ink.

We did do a lot of Internet marketing with the this piece (including a very popular short online video clip), and that and some pretty good word of mouth (which is always the most effective promotion channel) lead to a solid run with a couple sold-out nights and only one small house.
All in all, good times.

Lunacy

Two political posts in one day...I don't know, might be a sign of a dangerous addiction. It's just been, well...there's a big shadow crossing the moon this evening, and the city has fallen silent except for all these dogs inexplicably howling. Plus Mercury's in retrograde of some such shit, and Mayans say time ends in four years.

Four years?

So the president, who's romping around Africa, being entertained by lovely native dancers wearing his face on their asses (not making that up), has hit the all-time lowest approval rating in history. To put 19% in perspective, mental health professionals estimate as much as 17% of the population suffers from psychiatric disorders, so Bush is 2 points ahead of crazy. (Still better than Cheney.)

Meanwhile, Shiite militia leader al-Sadr said he'll decide Saturday whether the cease fire he instituted will continue. If he say yes, the truce continues. If he doesn't say anything...game on. And there goes that much vaunted improvement the troop surge was supposedly responsible for, because the next thing you know, the Shiites and Sunnis are going to be drawing down on each other again. Maybe why all that talk about bringing guys home has...just...kind of...tapered away....

Meanwhile, the Clinton camp is walking around like someone's just struck them all in the head with baseball bats and they're trying to catch their equilibrium, which they do now and then to wave their arms and yell "He's not presidential! He just talks good!" Uh huh. Even Mr. Bill and James "Serpenthead" Carville are saying Clinton's got to win either Ohio, Texas, or maybe both, and number wizards are saying she has to win them decisively. Like by, uh, 20 points. Meanwhile, the newest polls in those states show Obama continuing to close the gap. People were a little worried about Michelle Obama's remark that for the first time in her adult life, she was proud of America--ruh roh--until Bill O'Reilly, actually trying to defend her from some right-wing caller, said, "Look, I'm not going to round up a lynching party until I learn the facts."

Oops. Either he knew what he was doing and was stupid, or his unconscious took over and revealed who he really was. Either way, the heat's off Michelle.

And then...oh God. You really can't...you just really make this stuff up much less hope it'll happen, but New Yorkers, when they sip their coffee and blearily snap open the Times tomorrow are going to be confronted with a big headline that John McCain was making nicey-nice back in 2000--when he was 63, kids--with a 40-year-old female lobbyist who just happened to have business with several of McCain's committees, and whose clients contributed to John "unimpeachable ethics" McCain's campaign. Which really comes as no surprise for those of us who remember that dingbat when he was one of the Keating Five, but it's coming as a rude awakening for the GOP establishment to be dealing with their own "bimbo eruption." Pat Buchanan reportedly had a public meltdown on MSNBC earlier this evening.

Ah irony. Irony is a sweet, sharp liquor that goes down ice cold then kicks your brain right out its skull. Irony's a keeper.

This one day after David Letterman said of McCain, "Doesn't he remind you of a greeter at Wal-Mart? He reminds you a mall wanderer. He reminds you of that guy who gets confused by the automatic door at the supermarket."

Yay!

New poll has Bush at a 19% approval rating! Lower than Grant! Lower than Harding! Lower than Nixon when he quit! We knew you could do it!

So proud....

And the living become the dead....

This Saturday, "Dead of Winter" fades into the ether, with a tinge of brimstone and an echoing laugh. Tickets are going fast for the closer, so, if you want to see the show, I suggest you get your reservations in sooner than later as the house is small, and there's a good chance we'll sell out. Some press follows below. "Dead of Winter" has also received a "critic's choice" note on Oregonlive.com. Call 503-777-2771 for reservations: tickets are $12 at the door, $10 for seniors and students. Or you can buy advance tickets for $10 at blustockings.com

Thanks everyone for your support (and for a wonderful cast and crew). After a couple of years of having my plays produced out of town, from Canada to New Zealand, it's been great fun to come home again.

--------------------

Followspot:
Three ghost-story style plays use familiar themes of séance, morgue, and clairvoyance. Still, tales presented from a different, often humorous, angle, making them intriguing and creepy. Sparse, specific design elements parallel style of show, leaving much to the imagination. Unusual location adds to haunting atmosphere. A fun and chilling evening.

An auience member:
Last night, I saw Dead of Winter, a collection of three short plays, ghost stories, really. It was like attending Le Grand Guignol in February. Each of the vignettes were short on gore and special effects, but still managed to be creepy as all hell and present a couple of good "jump" moments. I'd love to see this same crew put together something in a similar vein for Halloween. I'm a sucker for small-scale theater like this. I really enjoy seeing what can be done in a modest space, without a lot of flash to spend, with local playwrights and actors.

Oregonian:
"Dead of Winter" The Bluestockings (fresh off their invigorating "Spirits to Enforce") team up with Pavement Productions to mount this trio of ghost stories by Portland playwright Steve Patterson. Opens 8 p.m. Friday, continues 8 p.m. Thursdays-Saturdays, through Feb. 23, Performance Works Northwest, 4625 S.E. 67th Ave.; $10-$12; www.theblustockings.com, 503-777-2771.

Portland Tribune:
Lurking behind this evening of ghost stories is local playwright Steve
Patterson, whose 2006 collaboration with actor Chris Harder led to a
Drammy-winning one-man show.

Dead of Winter delivers deliciously lo-fi spooks
by Caitlin McCarthy // arts editor, Pioneer Log, on 02/08 at 07:45 PM

Ghost story plays should most certainly be staged at SE Foster and 67th Ave. Foster Road (the closer it gets to 82nd Avenue, the smuttier) is a haven for warehouses, laundromats and pawnshops, so prepare to be spooked when you finally stumble upon Performance Works Northwest, nuzzled between a Russian bakery and a Sav-a-Lot. The three different worlds presented in the theatre’s current production, collectively titled Dead of Winter, will transport you from the dreary, rain-soaked, and all-too-realistic land of Foster Road straight into the fantastic and beyond.

What do Jack the Ripper, séances and the talking dead all have in common? Besides all being rather bone chilling, each is the topic of Dead of Winter’s trio of ghostly plays. The production is a conjoined effort by two Portland theatre companies, Pavement Productions and The Bluestockings. Co-founder of Pavement Productions, Steve Patterson is the playwright; co-Artistic Director of the same company, Lisa Abbott, directs.

Audience members are made to practically walk through the small set to get to their seats in Performance Works NW’s converted garage—or is it a hangar?—of a stage. Fold-up chairs and old pews, replete with cushions for optimum comfort, are crammed onto one side, making it quite the intimate experience. Potential theatre-goers should not be scared away—this is lo-fi theatre at its best, and the stifling setting makes the psychological twinge of terror in the air that much more palpable.

All of these ghost stories work just as well as whodunit tales of mystery. It’s up to the audience to figure out whether the characters’ perceptions are reality or an intense, but purely psychological, mystical experience. In Whitechapel, we meet Camellia Johnson, an American transplant living in London’s Whitechapel district; one-time stomping grounds of Jack the Ripper. A pompous English boyfriend, a blind medium and a few very stubborn spirits pepper this ghost hunt for Mr. Ripper himself.

Rowdy ghosts feature in the second play, Wet Paint. Set in “A House in a Small Northwest Town,” it tells the story of Bev, trying but not succeeding to renovate the second storey of her old, supernaturally drafty house. A séance turns from a half-joking suggestion to a production of very real results. The last scene is the strongest, but only can it be seen to be believed.

The Body, more than the other two, straddles the line between what is real and what are merely the twisted inner workings of an exhausted coroner. His newest corpse looks a little too much like his recently dead wife, but everyone knows the dead tell no tales…

Dead of Winter revels in its lo-fi production, making impressively minimal use of light and sound to scare us silly. Less emphasis is put on fancy props while more is given to dialogue and expressions—this coupled with the intimate setting made it reminiscent of old radio programming.” This atmosphere was perhaps also helped by the general age range in the room: this play’s so good, only adults go to it! So, go ahead, grow up with the ghost stories of Dead of Winter.

Dead of Winter is showing through February 23, Thurs-Sat, 8:00 p.m. at Performance Works Northwest, 4625 SE 67th Ave. $10 advance, $12 door, $10 student/senior; call 503-777-2771.

bad moon rising

Kosovo, a province in Serbia, declared independence yesterday.

I see the bad moon arising.
I see trouble on the way.
I see earthquakes and lightnin.
I see bad times today.

This is the district that in 1999 gave rise to NATO bombing, as Serbs attemped to hold on to part of their ancestral homeland. The problem being, of course, the native Albanians in the province predate the Serbs, going all the way back to the Ilrians. Don't try to figure it out. Let's just say a grudge in the Balkans less than 500 years old is a tiff.

dont go around tonight,
Well, its bound to take your life,
Theres a bad moon on the rise.

So the question is whether Serbia will bow to the inevitable and allow Kosovo's independence, or whether they'll fight. Since the announcement of Kosovo's independence was greeted with hand grenades tossed at the U.S. embassy and U.N.'s mission, I have my suspicions.

I hear hurricanes a-blowing.
I know the end is coming soon.
I fear rivers over flowing.
I hear the voice of rage and ruin.

On the other hand, Slobodan Milosovic is out of the picture, so the pols in Belgrade may decide it's the better part of valour to accept the motion of history. They still must deal with nationalistic factions that have never seen justice after the Bosnian War, and the Russians are backing the Serbs, fearing the situation in Kosovo could lead to uprisings in their own restive republics.

Dont go around tonight,
Well, its bound to take your life,
Theres a bad moon on the rise.
All right!

I wrote about this evil, crazy shit in a play called "Liberation" (recently published by Original Works Publishing), born of my fury regarding NATO's inaction as Sarajevo, a great city, died a shabby death. I'm afraid I have even less faith in the current administration's will to do right. I fear for the future. Ironically, "Liberation" opened the week NATO began bombing the Serbs in the Kosovo conflict. It was eerie. In 2003, another production coincided with our invasion of Iraq.

Hope you got your things together.
Hope you are quite prepared to die.
Looks like were in for nasty weather.
One eye is taken for an eye.

Any play honest about war is an anti-war play. Any play honest about what modern weapons do to people has to oppose those weapons. It's inherent in looking at conflict unflinchingly. My heroes are Robert Capa, Ernie Pyle, Tim Page, James Natchwey--reporters who risked their life to bring back pictures you don't want to see. In my writing about war, I've tried to live up to their example. I don't know if I've managed, but that's been the intention.

Dont go around tonight,
Well, its bound to take your life,
Theres a bad moon on the rise.

So I'm hoping, with all my soul, that cool heads prevail in Kosovo. But I have my doubts.

Dont go around tonight,
Well, its bound to take your life,
Theres a bad moon on the rise.

I "Heart" Wonkette...or...Don't Make Any Long-Term Plans

So, like, there's this huge sattelite, see, that we put up last year, but, like everything this administration does, it doesn't work for shit, and it turns out it's going to, like, enter the atmosphere or something, and, like, the fuel tank's full of this really toxic crap because, well, it makes sense to use really toxic crap when you're putting up something that rotates around the world and burns up into zillion pieces if it re-enters the atmosphere because we screwed it up or something, and so the really, really simplest way to deal with it is the way Americans have always dealt with shit that goes wrong: we're going to blow it up into a zillion million pieces on March 6th so all those pieces can re-enter the atmosphere like everywhere. This is called supply-side aeronautics (and that's an economics joke, so nevermind).

Which normally would kind of upset me--the idea that burning hunks of space junk are going to be falling from the sky and we don't know where--but the Wonkette and her readers are so absolutely cynical and funny about the whole thing that it somehow makes me feel better: kind of like the surgeons in the film version of M*A*S*H who could crack jokes while arteries are spurting.

The Lovely Wonkette

It just goes to show, snark will get you through burning hydrazine every time.

The Weight

I pulled into Nazareth, I was feelin' about half past dead;
I just need some place where I can lay my head.
"Hey, mister, can you tell me where a man might find a bed?"
He just grinned and shook my hand, and "No!", was all he said.

How do Chris Coleman, Allen Nause, Olga Sanchez,* or any other artistic director with a full season do it?

Which is to say, I've been a producer off and on since 1990, really forgotten how many shows I've helmed (of other writers works as well, not just mine), and every time I forget how much stuff goes into a show, how many phone calls, e-mails, meetings, late nights working on press. The director does the really heavy lifting of pulling the show together and making it work on stage, but the producer is there to focus on publicity, logistics, and coordination. And problem solving, if necessary. Frankly, it's exhausting. Not so much because it's such hard work but because it demands one be constantly present, paying attention and staying on top of details, large and small.

That said, "Dead of Winter" has gone well. We've struggled with the press--there are so many shows up and running or opening in Portland that everyone's been competing for ink--but we have excellent word-of-mouth, and I think we'll finish strong. This weekend looks to be filling up, and the final weekend tends to be solid because it's the last chance to see the show. The cast and crew are having a good time, and audiences are enjoying themselves. As am I, though I'm wearing down.

Once the show closes, I can kind of breathe for awhile, focus on writing and submitting plays. In April, "Waiting on Sean Flynn" opens in Detroit, and in May "Rain," a short piece I wrote for Rude Guerrilla Theatre Company's "Seven Deadly Sins" show, opens, but "Flynn" is an established piece and "Rain" probably won't require more than a couple line tweaks arising out of production. I'll be producing again in June--TBA at this point--and that's more than enough, but I just think of those folks who are looking down the road, opening one show while they're starting production of another and programming next year's season, and my eyes glaze. I get the thousand-yard stare. The phone rings and I just look at it, thinking: who are you? This time? What do you want from me?

That's what producing will do to you. The trick--the real trick, I think--is maintaining your passion for the project while retaining a sense of humor and staying human with your fellow artists and audience. Then the burden becomes a gift. But I still marvel at the long-term, full-time producer. I know they have staffs to do much of what I do, but they also have obligations that extend far beyond mine.

I suspect, at this point, they do it partly out of compulsion, partly out of obligation, and partly, one hopes, out of love.
Take a load off Fannie, take a load for free;
Take a load off Fannie, And...and...and....
You can put the load right on me.

*For readers outside Portland, the aforementioned are the artistic directors of, respectively, Portland Center Stage, Artists Repertory Theatre, and Miracle Theatre Company.

Fire on the Horizon

Leave it to Robert Brustein to mix it up and take no prisoners in the ongoing new play development/prodution debate. This from the current edition of American Theatre:

It's not that there are no playwrights in this country--I think there are more playwrights in this country of high quality than ever before in my memory. They just don't have a place to have their plays produced. Broadway has turned away from them altogether, as has even the resident theatre movement, which is no longer supported by the National Endowment for the Arts or the Ford Foundation or the Rockefeller Foundation.... Therefore, [the resident theatres] have begun to turn themselves into commercial producing organizations. And they're putting on things that have been successful elsewhere and ot taking chances on the new. As a result we have succeeded ourselves out of existence, I think.

Which is enough of a shot across the bow, but Brustein can't help himeself; he goes on to say:

And if that playwright does write that play, he or she is told, "We'll give you a reading, a workshop, another reading, another workshop." They never get productions. Richard Nelson wrote a very inflammatory speech about this recently, in which he complained that the playwright is always being helped to write his play by dramaturgs and by artistic directors, but he or she is never allowed to put the play on.

Ahh. I can't help it: I love the guy. Makes me feel better about the stack of rejections on my desk too.

Original Blogworks

Original Works Publishing (publisher of, ahem, "Liberation" among other plays) has started a blog about the theatre biz. You can check it out at: Sink or Swim

Steve

My friends....

My friends, Help, I have done it again
My friends, I have been here many times before
My friends, Hurt myself again today
And, My friends, the worst part is there's no-one else to blame

My friends, Be my friend
My friends, Hold me, wrap me up
My friends, Unfold me
I am small,My friends,
and needy
Warm me up, My friends,
And breathe me

Ouch My friends, I have lost myself again
My friends, Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found,
Yeah My friends, I think that I might break
Lost myself again My friends, and I feel unsafe

Be my friend, My friends,
Hold me, My friends, wrap me up
My friends, Unfold me
I am small, My friends,
and, My friends, needy
Warm me up, My friends,
And, My friends, breathe me

My friends, Be my friend
My friends, Hold me, wrap me up
My friends, Unfold me
I am small,My friends,
and needy
Warm me up, My friends,
And breathe me
My friends....

The Sting of the Icepick

So John McCain was trying to stay awake as they steered him down the plane ramp and Hillary Clinton was eating Xanax the way Reagan ate jellybeans, when both felt an icy sting in their spines, and suddenly they were paralyzed and sprawled across, in McCain's case, a sticky jet tarmac and, in Clinton's case, a Marriot short-wired carpet.

Then the icepick wielder slipped off his military-issue sniper gloves and replaced them with elegant leather that matched his overcoat and suit, and Colin Powell, desperate to rehabilitate his formerly-stellar reputation after squandering it as Bush's "good soldier" before the U.N., crisply told reporters that he might actually vote for a Democrat this year, then went on to praise Barack Obama.

Which blew the shit out of McCain's rep with the military and independents and croaked Clinton's increasingly weird attempts to explain that she's an agent of change having been in public life for 35 years, and, in short, gave Obama a huge credibility boost.

The times they are a-changing....

Ah, Baby Boomers. Live by the song, die by the song.

Lo-Fi Dead

"Dead of Winter" received kind of a nifty little review from The Pioneer Log, the student paper at Lewis & Clark College. I especially like the line "lo-fi theatre at its best." It fits with Pavement Production's unofficial motto "quality on a shoestring." (As opposed to our offcial motto: "This'll be great...if it works.")

Dead of Winter delivers deliciously lo-fi spooks

Whole Lotta' Dead

Ah. "Dead of Winter" completely sold-out last night--actually had to turn away two last minute theatre-goers without reservations, and the audience was with us every step of the way and left with smiles.

When you're down in the trenches, trying to put this stuff together, it's easy to lose sight of the rewards, but nights like that remind you what the struggle's all about...and why working in theatre is so addictive.

Today, I'm just riding it.

S

"Dead of Winter": Reaction so Far

As a completely unbiased source,* I must say, Portland readers do not want to miss this show....we run tonight, tomorrow and then for two more thursday/friday/saturdays. Please come join us.... And please pass on the good word.

Steve

*(i.e., more or less)

Followspot:
Three ghost-story style plays use familiar themes of séance, morgue, and clairvoyance. Still, tales presented from a different, often humorous, angle, making them intriguing and creepy. Sparse, specific design elements parallel style of show, leaving much to the imagination. Unusual location adds to haunting atmosphere. A fun and chilling evening.

An auience member:
Last night, I saw Dead of Winter, a collection of three short plays, ghost stories, really. It was like attending Le Grand Guignol in February. Each of the vignettes were short on gore and special effects, but still managed to be creepy as all hell and present a couple of good "jump" moments. I'd love to see this same crew put together something in a similar vein for Halloween. I'm a sucker for small-scale theater like this. I really enjoy seeing what can be done in a modest space, without a lot of flash to spend, with local playwrights and actors.

Oregonian:
"Dead of Winter" The Bluestockings (fresh off their invigorating "Spirits to Enforce") team up with Pavement Productions to mount this trio of ghost stories by Portland playwright Steve Patterson. Opens 8 p.m. Friday, continues 8 p.m. Thursdays-Saturdays, through Feb. 23, Performance Works Northwest, 4625 S.E. 67th Ave.; $10-$12; www.theblustockings.com, 503-777-2771.

Portland Tribune:
Lurking behind this evening of ghost stories is local playwright Steve
Patterson, whose 2006 collaboration with actor Chris Harder led to a
Drammy-winning one-man show.

What's the weird sucking sound?

Ewww. It sounds like...the baby in "Eraserhead." Ewww.

Due to techincal difficulties....

...we bring you a musical interlude in lieu of a regular post today. [Commercial Annoucement...come see Dead of Winter this weekend...tonight is sliding scale/pay what you will].

A RUSH OF BLOOD TO THE HEAD

He said Im gonna buy this place and burn it down
Im gonna put it six feet underground
He said Im gonna buy this place and watch it fall
Stand here beside me baby in the crumbling walls

Oh Im gonna buy this place and start a fire
Stand here until I fill all your hearts desires
Because Im gonna buy this place and see it burn
Do back the things it did to you in return

He said oh Im gonna buy a gun and start a war
If you can tell me something worth fighting for
Oh and Im gonna buy this place, thats what I said
Blame it upon a rush of blood to the head

And honey
All the movements youre starting to make
See me crumble and fall on my face
And I know the mistakes that I made
See it all disappear without a trace
And they call as they beckon you on
They say start as you mean to go on
Start as you mean to go on

He said Im gonna buy this place and see it go
Stand here beside me baby watch the orange glow
Some'll laugh and some just sit and cry
But you just sit down there and you wonder why

So Im gonna buy a gun and start a war
If you can tell me something worth fighting for
Im gonna buy this place, thats what I said
Blame it upon a rush of blood to the head

And honey
All the movements youre starting to make
See me crumble and fall on my face
And I know the mistakes that I made
See it all disappear without a trace
And they call as they beckon you on
They said start as you mean to go on
As you mean to go on
As you mean to go on

So meet me by the bridge, meet me by the lane
When am I going to see that pretty face again
Meet me on the road, meet me where I said
Blame it all upon
A rush of blood to the head

Looking to November

What we know now, after yesterday's primary swarm, is that McCain will probably be the Republican nominee and that Obama and Clinton are tied. Obama's better set to win the next handful of primaries--Virginina, D.C., Maryland, and Wisconsin--then Clinton's well placed to win Texas and Ohio. Which means the nomination might be settled at the convention by superdelegates, which tend to be establishment figures and trend toward Clinton unless something changes between now and then.

In other words, we're in for a long summer. Conceivably, so's John McCain because, even though he's winning primaries, he's losing conservatives, and, even if he pulls from the center, he needs conservatives to win. He may even face a revolt in his party, though no one's talking about that yet; so we could see both parties in a donnybrook before this is over. And it's...just...going...to...get...unrealHere's what's interesting to me. McCain's winning in largely Democratic states, pulling from independents and moderate Republicans, but the advantage in those states still goes to the Democrats. McCain's going to need to do something to bring conservatives on board, else they stay home on election day and he loses, but to do so risks alienating moderates. If Clinton is nominated, hatred for her is so strong among conservatives that she might rally the base, but Obama, tacking toward center, has been winning traditionally Republican states, which actually puts him in a stronger position to win in November because he'll get the traditional Democratic vote and pull from the center. I think. Unless I'm wrong. Or something else happens.
Oh hell. We'll get down to the last week or so of campaigning, when everyone's so exhausted that they're stepping all over themselves, and McCain is looking older than God, and he'll start snapping and snarling at people and having Hanoi Hilton flashbacks, and reporters waving microphones will all start to look like they're wearing black pajamas and aiming AK-47s, and at some point someone will hand him a baby to kiss, and he'll bite its head off on camera, and they'll run pictures over and over of McCain with blood running down his chin, and the Democrat will beat him like a gong because McCain not only hates children but eats them, and, on a dark, moonless night, McCain will take that long walk out into the Arizona desert and chock a round into his good old reliable Vietnam-era service weapon, and a lonely, hollow shot will ring out amid the saguaros, followed by silence.Or something like that.

A Word from the Audience

You can tell whether or not an audience likes a show not just from the amount and intensity of applause but also whether they're smiling when the lights come up, how much chatter there is about the show, and how long they hang out in the space before dispersing, and so far audiences have been great with "Dead of Winter."

Sometimes people will tell you if they like it or not (especially if they know you), and you can tell whether or not they're being sincere or just polite. But it's unusual to hear what an audience member directly thinks. The following is from a poster on livejournal, and I hope he doesn't mind my reproducing his post (I'm assuming not since he put it on the Internet to begin with)...he even went so far as to include ticket info, and the guy has no connection to the cast or crew (whoever you are, thank you):

Dead of Winter
Last night, I saw Dead of Winter, a collection of three short plays, ghost stories, really. It was like attending Le Grand Guignol in February. Each of the vignettes were short on gore and special effects, but still managed to be creepy as all hell and present a couple of good "jump" moments. I'd love to see this same crew put together something in a similar vein for Halloween.

I'm a sucker for small-scale theater like this. I really enjoy seeing what can be done in a modest space, without a lot of flash to spend, with local playwrights and actors.

The venue was Performance Works Northwest, 4625 SE 67th Avenue, off of Foster. The show runs Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays through February 23rd. Tickets are $10 in advance, $12 at the door, and $10 for students and seniors. Thursdays are sliding scale. Tickets can be purchased online at www.theblustockings.com. For reservations, call 503-777-2771.

Followspot Digs the Dead

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Dead of Winter
The Bluestockings
February 1 - February 23, 2008

Review by Thursday

Three ghost-story style plays use familiar themes of séance, morgue, and clairvoyance. Still, tales presented from a different, often humorous, angle, making them intriguing and creepy. Sparse, specific design elements parallel style of show, leaving much to the imagination. Unusual location adds to haunting atmosphere. A fun and chilling evening.

Then again....

"Uh, well what makes you think we're, uh, going to have an, uh, election? Grrrrowl."

Barack, JFK, and 911

I think it's pretty fair, given the pollsters and pundits track record this year, that no one knows how Tuesday's mega-primary will come out--I've lost track of how many states are in play, but it comes out to something like half the parties' nominating delegates. The general consensus is that McCain's well positioned among Republicans, though I'm not sure, given the antipathy against McCain by the hardcore right, that a lot of Republicans aren't going to just stay home.

The latest polls (see previous caveat) have Obama and Clinton running neck and neck, and since the Democratic primaries are proportional, it could be that they split the delegates, and the battle continues right up to the convention. But, after a good bit of introspection, I've finally decided that, when it comes down to it, I prefer Obama.

I'm of an odd age, coming in at the tail end of the Baby Boom, where I was too young to really remember JFK (I remember the funeral) or be part of the "youth movement," and too old to be a member of Generation X (whatever that really is). I guess that means I can dig the Stones, the Clash, and Nirvana. I do remember Bobby Kennedy, however, and I can't even listen to his voice without feeling a deep wound inside, in that he held the promise of healing a deeply divided country in 1968 and ending a disasterous war. And his death gave us Nixon, who--despite the incumbent's qualifications--is still probably the worst president in history.

But I watched the Democrats, for years, yearn for a new JFK only to nominate, over and over, competent, non-charismatic policy wonks and be defeated by the Republicans. Bill Clinton, smartly, ran towards the center and tapped into a Kennedylike spirit of hope (in the nihilistic winter of Bush I), and gave one of the most exciting, inspiring inaugural addresses I can remember, only to get smacked down by his hubris and run the country like a moderate Republican.

And here we are in even a darker winter with a worse Bush, the pendulum is distinctly swinging towards the Democrats, and, if there was any time that I've truly felt this, it seems the country is hungry for unity. There was, for a brief moment following 911, a sense of the nation as one and of the world in sympathy with its customary punching bag, and I don't need to explicate how thoroughly Bush squandered that opportunity. I think the hunger's still there, and I think the right candidate, with charisma, intelligence, and nerve, can tap into that spirit and the hunger for optimism that characterized the early 1960s before it all went thoroughly to hell in Dallas.

McCain, assuming he gets the nomination, may have an appeal to independents, but, brass tacks, if he won, he'd be the oldest sitting president in history. He has a nasty temper, disheartens the Republican rank and file at a time when they're demoralized to begin with, and his goofy humor and military freakishness about Iraq (read: still fighting Vietnam, that crazy steel glint in his eyes) would be a pretty damn interesting contrast with Obama's poise and wit. Whereas running against Clinton would essentially be refighting Bill's impeachment battle, which might invigorate the conservatives and turn off the moderates. I know a lot of hardcore Democrats want a battler in the White House, and that's what they think they'll get with Hillary, but you need the center to govern in this country, and I think the Republicans, who are poised to lose more seats in November, might be off their game when faced with a statesman rather than a warrior. When you fight warriors, you look tough. When you belittle statesmen, you look churlish.

An Obama nomination still seems like a long-shot. But it's an exciting long-shot. And maybe, just maybe, one that genuinely wears the mantle of hope.

The Casket Opens....

Pretty blown out--this'll be short, but Dead of Winter opened very successfully last night to a sold-out house and a very enthusiastic audience. All the cast and crew really pulled amazing things together this week--I remain in awe of all that actors and techs do and the elegant solutions designers come up with for problems that leave me clueless. (Though having been a producer for quite awhile, I occasionally resolve an issue or two.)

From a playwright's point of view, it's extremely satisfying to watch a play connect with the audience, to feel them leaning in, drawn by the story. And, in the case of this show, occasionally shrink back. It tells me the stories are solid and engaging.

And fun. You get so damned wrapped up in details that it isn't until opening night that you remember what you enjoyed about writing the pieces and the enthusiastic response the piece originally prompted from your actors.

This journey began on a beautiful summery day, sitting in a coffeehouse garden and knocking ideas around with my partners in Pavement Productions and my new co-conspirators, The Bluestockings, and it took me to a literally dark and stormy night, with a full capacity crowd and extended applause.

Doesn't get better than that.