Last night, me and a bunch of other fools watched a song cycle by Portland's Hand2Mouth Theater (based on the myth of Undine, occasionally feeling like a Regina Spektor/Tori Amos lounge show—and I don't mean that as an insult). Then I loosely captaineered a discussion about the state of theater and making new works vs. putting new eyes on old works (doing more Ibsen, etc.).

Sounds boring, doesn't it?

But it wasn't. We had Jen Zeyl and Paul Mullin and some other barnburners in the house. People drank and talked and got mad. Certain persons told other persons they were sellouts. Latter persons told former persons they had mortgages to pay. Former persons told latter persons they had mortgages to pay and managed not to sell out and to fuck off. I told everyone to be polite or shut up. Nobody did. Then there was a knife fight. I won.

We're going to go another round tonight—with a whole new crop of folks, so maybe it'll be boring.

Or maybe not.

Eight pm, Theater off Jackson. May I suggest Tsukushinbo for dinner beforehand? Plus, there's this to-do about Bart Sher.