Portland can’t wait for the first-ever Bridgetown Comedy Festival, from March 6-8! There is a HUGE roster of West Coast comedians, headlined by the star of the Oscar-winning food-cooking rat movie, PATTON OSWALT- and I believe that there’s some time in there for yours truly.
My Sets Are: Thursday, March 6th: Mount Tabor Legacy Lounge, 8:00 PM Friday, March 7th: Mount Tabor “Big Room”, 7:00 PM Saturday, March 8th: Bar of the Gods, 8:00 PM.
POSTSCRIPT: It was fantastic. I got to see, meet, and point at so many funny, funny people. I was particularly knocked out by Kyle Kinane and Tig Notaro, and James Adomian, Jason Nash, and the lithe David Cope. Thanks to all who attended.
The hilarious Mr. Oswalt cuddles a puppy onstage. Don’t tell Grumpus.
James Adomian’s amazing George W. Bush was the surprise hit of the festival.
The only real record of me in the festival was a throwaway line about wrist-slitting, recorded in the Mercury blog.
I got to see one of my favorite people at the Crystal Ballroom last night. He made a Depeche Mode joke, got one of his fans onstage to do part of a song, and wore every jeweled brooch available in the Pacific Northwest. He claims to love Portland as much as we love him. Answers to unasked questions:
Q. Who is winning in the Rufus fanbase, gay men or poetry-writing teenaged girls?
A. Do you want that answer based on individual number or combined weight?
Q. Who is slightly more gay than Rufus Wainwright?
A. Rufus Wainwright dressed as Judy Garland.
Q. What will a line of people waiting to get into the Crystal Ballroom steadfastly refuse to chant?
A. “The Roof! The Roof! The Rufus on Fire!”
Anyway, it was wonderful and very theatrical. Another musician’s son opened, his name was Lemon or Lenin or something. He did one song that sounded like the Muppet Show hit, The Rainbow Connection. What’s he trying to do, out-gay Rufus? I don’t think so, brother.
Oh! Wikipedia claims that Rufus is a descendant of Dutch colonist Peter Stuyvestant, and according to my family, so am I. O cousin Rufus!
Postscript: A handsome gentleman let me know that after the show let out at one ayem, Rufus serenaded the late-night crowd at Silverado with karaoke until closing time. I wish I had the energy of young people!
DJ’s Retrograde and Retrovirus have received their DJ slots for Convergence 13. There are a lot of good things about playing the opening slots on weeknights. You get to deal with any technical difficulties with the setup yourself. You don’t have to stay up too late. You don’t have to worry about overcrowding on the dance floor. You can be sure that no-one else has played the “I’m Dead, I’m Dead” song. On the other hand, getting in a car with a face fulla clown white in the cruel, truthful sunlight is always a time for soul-searching and remorse.
I hope any spooky early birds will come visit us at the Fez, opening and closing the convention! We’ll be serving up a delicious selection of little-heard deathrock, post-punk, and new-wave songs to nostalgically transport listeners to a time before they were born.
Postscript: It was a ton of fun, by which I mean it was a most dark and magickal time nestling in the bosom of my velvet-clad mistress, and I’ll have the playlist up later.
The spooky, velvet-caped Powers That Be have blacklit New Rotic DJ’s Retrograde and Retrovirus for a DJ slot at the Convergence 13, in sinister Portland, over the weekend of May 25-27. We will be dusting off the black vinyl, and the records too. Keep your glassy, web-worn orbs here for details on when you can catch a set of time-tested D-rock and forgotten goffic dance hits. We’d love to see you there. Or, your presence might bring a wry smile to play on these world-weary lips. Or something.
Over the long weekend, we took the opportunity to take in a spooky, sinister goth nite at Hive at Lola’s room, and we dressed appropriately as a chubby French Maid doll and a transvestite military man. Walking up to the bar, I wondered- Aren’t I getting a little old for this shit? If the reader has an opinion, I would kindly ask them to keep it to themselves.
I have survived hosting Christmas- it was my two sisters, their British boyfriends who are also brothers, their boyfriends’ parents, and my mother and my brother in my tiny house
The Trip There
It was. An. Adventure. Their dad wandered onto the tarmac while waiting for their flight out from Austin, and was detained for being a terrorist. He claims that no-one told him he couldn’t go walking on the airstrip. He also liked to kneel on the floor and splash himself with bath water instead of taking a shower, which has the overall effect of soaking the whole bathroom. He is obsessed with Boddington’s pub ale and hot chocolate, but refuses to pay more than $1.50 for anything.
We had a little party, and this was the first family party I have ever been to that went on past 3 AM. I went to bed at two to the sound of my future father-in-law swishing soy milk around in his Egg Nog (really Advocaat) bottle to get the last dregs of whiskey and milk out, and my sister Laura singing to the detuned piano on the back porch, and my spouse singing as Tom Waits in the front room.
Laura Ryan: Oh, I was playing that piano last night, it is sounding so creepy and awesome. Me: Yes, I heard you. Laura: You could hear that? Me: It’s right outside my bedroom. There’s not, you know, any kind of soundproofing out on the patio. You’re just a drunk person singing outside.
I love family time.
(A month after they left, we discovered that the in-laws had opened a window in the guest room that then stayed open, just wafting heated air out into the yard)
Postscript: the marriage ended in divorce, the father in law ended in death, but I still shiver thinking about this Christmas.