The holidays are past and January is settling in with a vengeance--it's all leftover fruitcake and gift returns for the foreseeable future. Spring seems a bright, distant promise from a demented uncle who never tells the truth--how will we pass the time in the depths of winter?
I will be at Powell's. If you've been to Portland, you've probably been to Powell's--it's a labyrinthine edifice filled with every last book known to man, stacked and heaped atop one another, drowning the good people of the Pacific Northwest who love bookstores, record stores and coffee shops more than they love their children.
But the rest of the time, when I am not at Powell's, I will be at Portland Center Stage performing 21 DOG YEARS, a monologue of cubicle life and the pointed and pointless follies of the corporate world. Details on the run may be found at pcs.org, or directly by clicking here.
Come on down and see the show as it will help you shake off the blues, or send word to folks you know in Portland--they could use a night away from the bookstores, record stores and coffee shops.