Children's books banned in USA

I keep telling myself this is a nightmare and I'll wake up soon.

Under the Consumer Product Safety Improvement Act (CPSIA), products for children age 12 and under that contain lead cannot be distributed in the USA (sold, loaned, given - shared in any way). Books printed before 1985 may contain lead in the ink. Therefore, those books must be destroyed. Even libraries may have to comply (the Consumer Protection Agency has asked libraries to remove the books from circulation until the final ruling on libraries next year).

I am not making this up.

Read the Article in The New Atlantis. Or go to
Overlawyered and follow the progress of the Act.

Or just Google: children's books prior to 1985 lead ink.

The Act passed in August 2008 and went into effect in February this year. How could it have flown under the radar for so long? Why didn't I see an alert in the county library newsletter? in Willamette Week? the Oregonian? from Powell's? From my publisher or writer friends? Did Wordstock put people up in arms about this?

I think about the books I read and loved as a child; they helped shape my values, my character, my sense of humor... Many are probably still in print, but even so - to think that every copy printed before 1985 will be removed from bookshelves, tossed in a dumpster... and that this has already been going on for months... And what about those that are no longer in print?

Write your members of Congress. Donate to organizations that are fighting this.

Unbelievable.

Rewriting history

I went to the library recently to pick up some books on hold for my sweetie. Among them was The Mote in God's Eye, a first-contact novel by Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle. I sat reading in the car for a bit, to see if I'd like it. I couldn't remember reading a Niven/Pournelle novel. They tend to write hard science fiction, and while I love hard science, I generally like to get it in short nonfiction articles rather than book-length works, and I haven't often found hard sf captivating.

The first few chapters kept me going, but I never reached that level of absorption where time seems suspended. Mote was interesting, but not impossible to put down. Maybe there were more characters than I could track; maybe I had trouble conjuring a mental image of the aliens; maybe I tried too hard to puzzle out the backstory (which I hadn't read); perhaps I was feeling impatient for the payoff of what seemed to me an overlong setup. Maybe a combination. I got halfway through the book before resorting to the Web for a synopsis.

Once I read the synopsis and knew how the story turned out, I was eager to get back to the book and finish reading it. (And, having finished it, I'm looking forward to reading the sequel.)

This started me thinking about "spoilers," the cheat sheets of popular media. You can find spoiler pages for TV shows, movies, books, games, you name it. Sometimes I don't want to be "spoiled." I want to come to a work fresh and open. I want the suspense to last for as long as the author can draw it out. I want to take my time as it unfolds.

At other times, spoilers renew my interest when it starts to flag. And once I've read a book, or seen a movie, what then? Well, I've read Pride & Prejudice and Atlas Shrugged and War for the Oaks and The Beekeeper's Apprentice about a bazillion times each, and each time, I love them more. Something new opens up, even in that familiar experience.

Life can be like that. Retrospect can reveal patterns imperceptible when I was in the thick of things. Imagining the ultimate results ahead can help me re-engage and can carry me forward.

And there's power in retelling the past, or telling it differently. If history is written by the victors, I possess the privilege of rewriting my own history. I can go back with a new perspective, emphasize different details, come to different conclusions, and change the lessons I learn to more empowering or entertaining ones.

May his memory be for a blessing

I had never heard of Lee Lacey before his obituary appeared in the Sunday Oregonian. His is one of those life stories that makes you realize the reaches of the human spirit are more vast than we are often led to believe. He inspired many who needed inspiration. He brought people together despite horrendous obstacles. He worked persistantly on behalf the community he loved. My heart goes out to those who knew and loved him.

Epic adventure returns to PST

I want to pass on an invitation to those folks interested in resilience, leadership, achievement in the face of adversity, and maybe even the miraculous. I reviewed this show when it debuted last year, and no words do it justice. I have no doubt it will sell out again. Since you already know what I think, I'll let the author and performer invite you himself. Lawrence Howard of Portland Story Theater wrote:

It is with great pleasure that I invite you to the return engagement of my one-man show, Shackleton's Antarctic Nightmare, opening for a run of two weekends in January. I will once again be telling the epic, true story of British Antarctic explorer Ernest Shackleton and the 1914 voyage of The Endurance.

Shackleton's dream of being the first man to traverse the Antarctic continent on foot became a nightmare when his valiant ship was trapped in the pack ice of the Weddell Sea and crushed by the pressure of the ice period. The tale of how he and the 27 men of the British Imperial Trans-Antarctic Expedition survived on the ice and eventually came to safety is one that has fascinated me for as long as I can remember. This story is especially important to me because my dad and I shared a life-long interest and passion for the Shackleton saga, and I like to weave a few threads about my father into the telling.

This is a story that speaks to something very deep and primal within the human psyche. It's about courage and fortitude and determination. It's about a glorious failure. It's a story that will renew your faith in the indomitable power of the human spirit.

"I had the pleasure of seeing your show with some friends this weekend. Exquisite! I have lived with the tale for 20 years and so hearing it again in the hands of a talented teller was a real treat!" Roderick Smith, 2008 audience member

"That was better than any book or movie or anything!" Eric Orem, 2008 audience member

All four performances of last year's run were sold out. Many who saw the show said they would come see it again; many who missed it have begged for a return engagement. Because there is so much general interest in the Shackleton story, this particular program appeals to an even wider audience that PST's regular, loyal storytelling fans. The Hipbone Studio venue seats a maximum of about 75 people, and I fully expect it to sell out for all four shows, as it did last year, so I encourage you to call or email and reserve your seats early.

Happy Birthday, PST!

Portland Story Theater continues to overdeliver with a terrific troupe of guest storytellers (this time it's Penny Walter returning) and core tellers Lynne Duddy and Lawrence Howard with My Favorite Pair, the opening show of their 2008-09 season. If the gloom of current affairs has you longing for an uplifting night out, look no further than PST's current show.

Opening again for PST is The Tuesday Group, which continues to defy description. Are they singers? dancers? poets? comedians? They describe themselves as "improv," so I'll go with it. They pose and sway in a quirky Cupid's tale of unlikely love and its rocky course as a couple of meddlers chart their course by tangling up a couple of chairs. (Yes, I know. It's weird. It works.)

Lynne Duddy tells about crossing the public/Catholic school divide with the help of a friend, and when that friend disappears, Lynne persists in unraveling the mystery. For me, this was one of those shining moments of story, where a tiny detail -- almost an afterthought -- provides an axis of emotional resonance that rings long after the story's over. It's one of those tales that's personal, universal, and asserts that yes, all the vast forces of the world are indeed conspiring to comfort and sustain us. Lynne's second story, about the peripatetic and sometimes scary life of a young single mom, had a similar mixture of uncertainty and stability. (It also contained one of those odd hallucinations that occasionally pop up in storytelling trances, where I saw something that definitely wasn't there.)

I never suspected Lawrence Howard of being a nerd. I'd never picked up on that facet of him, especially not in his previous stories of camping, fishing, and open-road adventures. (For me, those things are the antithesis of being a nerd.) But no, school cliques identified him as I could not. I laughed as he confessed the parental conspiracy that contributed to his nerdiness (nerdentity?), and I even laughed as he reached that zenith of bully-targeted terror that had me horrified beneath my giggles. (It's really hard for me to listen to stories of school taunting and not have flashbacks.) His second story focused on his romance with the martial arts. I would have doubted the choice in the hands of a lesser talent, but Lawrence has a singular voice and obstinant refusal to set foot into cliched territory.

When I first heard Penny Walter at her last appearance with PST, she did what I thought was impossible: She made me care about athletes. This time around, her stories were just as far removed from my own experiences (how could anyone not like standardized tests?) and just as astonishing. Her tale of a scheming younger self with a roller-skate fetish made me think that even Winston Churchhill -- "Never, never give in!" -- might have quailed before her. She also closes the evening with a story that reminded me of G.B. Shaw's warning that there are two great tragedies in life: Not to get your heart's desire, and to get it. Penny describes a dream come true, the unforeseen consequences, and how a dream moment in a sweat lodge carried the guidance she needed to turn things around.

The show runs another two weekends (Fri and Sat through Nov 8), with special Halloween pricing (come as a pair for $20 for two tickets on 10/31 and 11/1) and a prize giveaway. (Go to their Web site and sign up for their newsletter to learn about cool stuff like this!) Plenty of opportunities to see them again. And if you've never seen them, it's about time you do.

What a gift an insult can be

Cleaning out e-mail, I found this story about one of Greg Tamblyn's excruciatingly embarrassing moments. I love it, because it really highlights the power we all have to choose what something will mean for us. As Shakespeare said, "There's nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so." Or, from Richard Bach: "Argue for your limitations, and sure enough, they're yours."

The original was forwarded to me by John Brown, one of the Portland NVC team members. I encourage you to check out Tamblyn's site. He describes himself as a Transformational Humorist, and he's a terrific writer.

CHAIRMAN MAO'S LIGHTER

Ever had a brilliant gift idea that turned out to be the most embarrassing and humiliating thing you could have brought to the party?

At a conference on consciousness we were told to bring a small,wrapped present to exchange as a means of getting to know each other. The gift was supposed to be related to something significant in our lives. After wracking my brains for awhile, and looking around the house, I found the perfect thing: a lighter I had brought back from China. It was a souvenir from the first time I ever hosted a group tour, which has become a yearly event since then.

Ah, but this was no ordinary lighter. It was a solid lighter with some heft to it, covered in bright red enamel. On one side, the imposing face of Chairman Mao stares out at you, totally out of context on this goofy trinket. Sort of like Abraham Lincoln on a box of Wheaties. But the kicker is that when you open the top, it plays a silly (and quite frankly annoying) Chinese marching song, which squeals on and on -- lit or not -- until you close it. Or until the battery runs out, should you leave it open for a few days as a sort of Chinese torture for the unlucky people you live with. In short, it's pretty funny. And it kind of reduces Mao to the status of a cartoon, which I like.

I've given a few of these away to friends, and everybody gets a kick out of them. My brother likes to walk down the grocery store aisle with his lighter held aloft, music blaring and people staring. I think he does it to embarrass his daughter. But I digress...

So I felt quite proud of myself for bringing this funny, clever gift that I knew everyone at the conference would find amusing. That first night, all 120 of us were sorted into small circles of eight, and instructed to put our presents in the middle. One by one we took turns choosing a gift that someone else had brought, and then we took turns unwrapping them. When someone opened the gift you brought, you explained what it meant to you, and so we'd get to know a bit about each other.

But what happened in our little circle was a kind of cosmic joke.

Imagine: out of all the 120 people at this event, the one person who ended up with my little wrapped package containing this incredibly funny, brilliantly clever, totally unique Chairman Mao lighter, just happened to be the childhood/lifelong friend, as well as the official biographer of.........the Dalai Lama.

I'm not kidding.

He was seated just to my left. As soon as I saw him pick up the little package, I felt myself shrink about five sizes. What I really wanted was to disappear altogether. If humiliation was a color, I would have been a bright orange 4th of July smoke bomb, just fizzing away into nothing. I didn't know there would be a Tibetan at this conference. I didn't know there would be a man who, as I later found out, actually fought Chinese soldiers and was forced to flee into exile as they took over and brutalized his country.

All the time we were going around the circle opening presents, I was sitting there, completely freaked out at the fact that I'd brought the most insulting gift I possibly could have, and it was going to be unbearably awkward when this gentle, elderly, dignified, much-loved man opened it. Unbelievably embarrassing. Life-shattering buckets of shame. For once in my life, I'd been just a little too clever, and my sick sense of humor had come back to haunt me. How could I possibly explain this to him? What could I say? Especially when all the other gifts were so thoughtful and beautiful. What would he say? What would he do?

When it got to be my turn, I suggested we switch presents.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because I don't think you'll like it. I want you to have something you'll like."

"No," he said. "I chose this one."

Slowly and calmly, he unwrapped the lighter. He turned it over, and for a minute just looked at the picture of Mao. I can't remember if he opened the top and played the little song.

After what seemed like forever, during which time I would have gladly traded my whole life to be somewhere else, he spoke.

"Oh," he said firmly. "This is karma."

He looked at me with steady, sincere eyes and said, "This will help me remember to practice compassion."

POSTSCRIPT #1

The next morning, I was relating this episode to one of the conference organizers, and she insisted I tell the entire gathering about it. So I got up in front of the group and told this story. When I mentioned who got the lighter, everybody gasped. And then when I told them what Kuno (his nickname) had said, Kuno stood up, smiled and bowed low, and everybody laughed. And right then we all got it that he was really okay about it.

During the week of this conference, every time I saw Kuno he would shake my hand and thank me for the lighter. So by the end of the week, we had kind of become buddies. On the last morning, he sat next to me at lunch. We talked about Dharmsala, where the Tibetan refugees live with the Dalai Lama, and about life in India. I told him I'd always wanted to go there, and about hosting my group tours. Kuno picked up on this immediately. He invited me to Dharmsala, and said he had friends who would handle all the travel arrangements for us. We could even do some kind of a concert with myself and some Tibetan musicians. He was really into the whole idea, and I got all excited at the prospect too.

It's amazing how things work out sometimes.

POSTSCRIPT #2

(A letter from a friend at the conference, reporting how Kuno described this experience.)

"Dear Greg,

I love that you tell the story about your lighter, but you must tell more of the story. The way you ended it made it sound like he was being polite--but it was MUCH more than that. It was huge, and wonderful.

You should have heard Kuno's talk at the International House after the Conference. He began to talk about his history and connection with the Dalai Lama, and he briefly mentioned his important role as a general in the war. He spoke about how the Chinese killed his parents, family members, and so many of his friends. He talked about his anger at the Chinese--so much anger. He talked about how the Dalai Lama told him many times, he needed to make peace with the Chinese, to not hate them, to have love in his heart, compassion, forgiveness. He saw no way to do this, it was impossible, he hated them all to such an extent that he wouldn't even eat Chinese food. The Dalai Lama would laugh at this and tell him that Chinese food is very good and his anger is making him miss out on some very good things.

Well, before the conference Kuno was visiting a site of one of the bloody battles between China and Tibet where he lost many friends. He was at the memorial, trying to make peace, but only feeling anger, pain and sadness. He began to cry. A couple was there, crying also. They and Kuno started talking about their losses, and began bonding. After a while they decided to go to a place for some food and to talk more. During the meal each asked where the other was from, and it turned out that the couple were Chinese! He had thought they were on his side, not theirs. Karma again. They continued their meal together with new understanding. This experience totally changed his perspective.

He wanted to continue healing so he then started trying to get to know Chinese people. He tried Chinese food and liked it. When the conference organizer invited Kuno to be with us, he also wanted to set up some lectures for Kuno in the area and offered to let him stay at his house. Kuno told him that he would like to do the lectures, but he wanted to stay with a Chinese family, if possible. The organizer said that would be very easy to organize since his foreign-exchange student host family lived nearby, and they just happen to be Chinese! (Coincidence? I think not.) Kuno stayed with the Chinese family before and after the conference and had a wonderful time in their home.

After a couple of days with them, he came to our conference and received your lighter. At this point in his lecture, he held up your lighter, lit it, and played the little song. He told the story of getting the lighter at the conference, of all the groups he could have been with, of all the wrapped gifts he could have picked, he picked you and yours.

It was a gift, supporting his new path to healing. At the time you picked the gift, you didn't know about his new found attempts at healing this pain in his heart, but you helped the process and supported his new path.

I bet the Dalai Lama had a big belly laugh when Kuno told the full story to him.

It's a full circle thing.

If I were you, I'd be honored to be part of that healing circle.

And the lesson for you? Trust your instincts. There is a reason for everything. There's probably even a reason you were put in that situation so you could fidget and feel such nervousness--but only you know the answer to that.

Love and Peace to you, Greg,
Alison Sheafor-Joy"

A FINAL WORD:
Forgiveness has always been my biggest personal challenge, so yes, there's a LOT in this for me. Please feel free to send this to anyone you think it may uplift.

~ Greg Tamblyn
Transformational Humorist ~ Musical Laf-ologist
http://www.gregtamblyn.com

Portland Story Theater Closes

Lynne Duddy closes the 2007-08 series of Portland Story Theater's season with dark matter, running Friday and Saturday, this weekend and next, at Hipbone Studios.

I think Lynne assembles a terrific collection of stories here. They range from personal to mythic to factual, and they're accentuated by Emily Post, an a capella group that adds background music and sound effects.

There's the mythical story of the Amazonian Anaconda birthing the world through singing and scales (both kinds). There's stories of parents and partly parents; dead, alive, and in-between. In between light and dark is twilight.

There are neighbors and blood brothers. Did you ever have friends who had the parents you wanted? Or did you ever finally meet the parents of a friend and wonder how such an amazing kid could come from such a nasty family? The things that are there in the light are also there in the dark, but our perceptions change.

There's the story of Dr. Vera Rubin, who developed pioneering theories of astronomy when she was young and found it impossible to be taken seriously. Fortunately, she kept going.

There's not a lot of time -- it's a two-weekend show, as usual -- so hustle out and listen.

Portland Story Theater, Part Three of Four

Last Friday, Portland Story Theater opened its third show of 2008 with Rick Huddle's On Sale Now! Rick is one of my favorite tellers; nevertheless, I was nervous, because the theme of consumerism can be so polarizing. I steeled myself for an evening that, for all I knew, could have been subtitled Money Is Evil. I needn't have worried.

Rick doesn't tell safe stories (one of the things I like about him), but I always feel safe with him (another thing I like). He takes care of his audience.

What else do I like about Rick? He's physical. He skips, hops, preens, and teaches audience members to flip through catalog pages as he shares a game from his childhood. He projects a captivating childlike energy, an irresistable invitation to come out and play. He has a Puckish, mischievous air that's both grounding and exciting. Kind of like watching a seven-year-old balance atop a wall.

And his stories touch universal human preoccupations: respect, inner worth, relationships, cultural values, work, dreams, family.

I arrived at Hipbone Studios before the doors opened, but I could hear Rick laughing inside. After confirming my reservation and purchasing my ticket, I was handed some Monopoly money and urged to go buy a snack. I wandered over to the concession table, where a variety of chips and sodas were on display. I bought a copy of Rick's CD and signed the unique On Sale Now! guest book (what a nifty idea!).

Alton Chung had composer and pianist Mike Van Liew accompany him, and Rick had the Tuesday Group open for him with their Stimulus Package. What a kick! But boy, am I glad I'm not their agent. How to describe them! "Hi there, I've got three men and two women in business suites performing a choreographed, a capella, be bop, interactive indictment of consumerism that will have your audience laughing, cringing, and tapping their feet!" I don't know. Might be a hard sell, which is a pity. They were wonderful.

As usual, Huddle's performance was stellar. He takes the most mundane events and arranges and polishes them into treasures. It's truly a coal-into diamond effect, and I always marvel.

Hypnosis sometimes involves storytelling, and storytelling frequently evokes trance. For me, the most memorable story of the night reminded me of some of Milton Erickson's work. Rick described the first time he identified with clothing: a pair of green Converse Chuck Taylor tennis shoes he owned as a kid. From having his foot measured (I thought I was the only child enchanted by those metal things that had that little sliding gizmo that pressed up against the ball of your foot) to the way the shoes almost magically transform his world to the sad end of the relationship, it's a sweet and penetrating portrayal of identity, autonomy, personal symbols, and personal power.

Are sweatshops evil? And what about Wal Mart? What happens when our dream jobs become brain drains? Is it impossible to imagine that something as simple and transitory as a coconut cupcake could be a legitimate source of happiness? Huddle poses more questions than answers, thank goodness, giving the audience the opportunity to explore as they pursue their own journeys.

On Sale Now! closes this weekend. Next up for Portland Story Theater: Lynne Duddy's dark matter, April 11-12 and 18-19.

Portland Story Theater, Part Two of Four

Portland Story Theater's opened the second show of its 2008 series with Alton Chung's solo storytelling concert. Unfortunately, I was out of town opening weekend (I like opening nights), and tied up Friday of the following week, but I slipped in under the wire and caught the closing night. Okage Sama De (I am what I am because of you) recounts the stories of five men -- four of Japanese descent and one Jewish -- and their experiences during World War II.

The tales are fascinating in their exploration of assumptions, preconceptions, and resentments, not only those of white and Japanese Americans, but of mainland and Hawaiian Americans of Japanese descent, and encounters between Japanese Americans and Germans. But they are also deeply moving tales of heroes that bring to mind the Greek myths of heroes and gods.

I had never heard of the 100th Battalion/442nd Regimental Combat Team (RCT), which was composed entirely of Japanese American. Chung describes it reverently, saying that for its size and duration of service, it is the most highly decorated unit in all of US Military history. I am trying to remember if I have ever gotten through one of Alton's concerts completely dry-eyed. If I have, it wasn't this one. Fortunately, I'd planned ahead and had plenty of tissue. To think that those young men, many barely out of high school, volunteered for military service while their families were in internment camps... wow.

Chung augments the first-person stories with photos of the men represented. Five folding chairs sit on the stage, and as a preamble to each story, Chung unrolls a photo of the man portrayed in the tale. He assumes the character of each narrator with unique tonality, tempo, vocabulary, gestures, and posture, personifying each man as he remembers his experiences of the war.

Chung gave a remarkable performance, and he's performing portions of the show around the USA. Check his Web site at www.altonchung.com and don't forget to check out Rick Huddle's upcoming solo show with Portland Story Theater. If I know Rick, his performance will be as unforgettable as the other solo shows have been.

Portland Story Theater - Nov 2007 review

It's no secret: I'm addicted to Portland Story Theater. Rick Huddle and Alton Chung will return for performances in 2008, but founding members Lynne Duddy and Lawrence Howard continue to anchor the group, and this month's show brings the delightful addition of Penny Walter, who shines in her stories, plus guests Robin Bady (November 2-3) and Rebecca Cohen (November 9-10).

Licking the Plate is about "wanting it bad and getting it good," about nourishment and cravings -- for food and for family, for direction and identity, for joy and power.

Duddy opens the current show, reminiscing about a 1962 outing to the Space Needle, one of those special, family, dress-up excursions where children thwart the vision parents have of the how the day will unfold. The megalomaniacal symbolism of finger food has never been so deftly portrayed, and the silent conspiracy of neighboring dining guests -- separated in age by decades -- provides equal measures of amusement and victorious satisfaction. Her second piece is a deft adaptation about an attempted robbery and assault foiled by that turned cheek we hear so much about, but rarely encounter.

Bady (Nov. 2-3) resurrects her grandparents' lower east side tenement in New York in a tale about her mother's childhood obsession (and disenchantment) with maraschino cherries. There's rhythm, humor, and intensity in Bady's telling, and she has skillfully crafted a narrative of innocence, idealism, willfulness, drive, and denial. It's a rich, heady mixture rivaling the spread of delicacies at the milk bar in which the story is set. Bady's second piece addresses the vagaries of perception as she riffs on Aesop.

Howard continues to construct a solid body of work with each successive show, chaining links in a personal history that's tender, earthy, learned, and loving. I can only hope the Six Gods of the Universe in their flaming rainbow teepee bless me before I die with a collection of his stories. "The Night on the Island" describes a coming-of-age when you had to be ten years old and know how to swim; and another transition at 16, when all you needed were a flock of migrating geese and the guts to follow. There are dads, uncles, and brothers; warm liquor and limericks; and an excruciating (and hilarious) lake crossing in a canoe.

Walter joins PST for the first time, and I certainly hope it's not the last. She brings an energetic playfulness to the table that's sometimes rueful but never self-indulgent. I am still grinning at her recollection of family dynamics, growing up the baby on eastern Washington farmland, when a milkshake could remedy just about anything... and some of the challenges were dire indeed. Walter's tale of going from apathetic truancy in first grade to finally hitting her stride in high school is one that will stay with me for a long, long time. It's hard for me to imagine this sparkling, wry teller as a puppeteer, where I (probably mistakenly) imagine her in sort of a backstage role. I hope to see a lot more of her at storytelling showcases.

Once again, this is a short run: two weekends, and then it's gone. And Robin Bady is only appearing one more night. And the next four productions are all solo shows, rather than the ensemble. So get to Hipbone Studies (oh, crap, I forgot to write about the venue -- but it's late, and I'm tired, so I'll just say it's warmer and more inviting than the perfectly fine but somewhat industrial Brooklyn Bay).

October (and November) fun!

Maybe it's from so many years of school -- K-12, then junior college, then college proper -- but for me, September always seems like the start of the new year. There's change in the air. Autumn is coming, with the equinox, the harvest, the weather changes. New projects get traction after the easygoing summer. Schools, churches, businesses, nonprofits -- they all seem to ripen with a final-quarter burst of energy.

But October really takes off like a rubber band in the hands of a practical jokester. ZING!

FRIGHTTOWN OPENS as of October 6. Woo-hoo!

Baron von Goolo's Museum of Horrors and the Robot Slavechicks from Mars is this year's incarnation of Portland's most ambitious haunted house. What can I say? I love it. I'm a sporadic volunteer, dressing up and scaring the wits out of too-cool-for-school teens and grown-ups. But even behind the scenes, the place creeps me out. I went through as a member of the paying public once; never again. I froze halfway through and had to be escorted out.

FrightTown's Tim Burton Meets George Romero sensibility splatters itself over the walls of Portland's Memorial Coliseum through Halloween. This place won't just fill a couple hours of your evening with BOO. It will have you wishing for some of that eternal sunshine of the spotless mind. I still can't get the Karaoke Nuns out of my head. If your nightmares had nightmares, they would be on exhibit at this museum. Go see.

October 24 Comedy Hypnosis Show with Michelle De Lude at The Porterhouse Restaurant, 14611 SE McLoughlin Blvd., Milwaukie. Show starts at 8:00 p.m.; with the show, you get a $5.00 discount off dinner. Yum! Just think, a comedy hypnosis show without a fairground corn dog. What is the world coming to? A fun dinner show! Tickets are $7 or two for $10, and seating is limited, so reservations are recommended. Two-drink minimum. And if you get tickets at the door on the night of the show, they are $10.

Portland Story Theater announces its 2007-08 season, so save the first and second weekends in November for their first show, Licking the Plate. I'll have a review up November 3 or 4.

And look for my November 15 Comedy Hypnosis Show at Duff's Garage in SE Portland.

Portland Story Theater Wraps

Portland Story Theater is wrapping up its 2006-07 season. *sniff* It's going to be a long wait until the 2007-08 season commences. September? October? I so look forward to the shows. I'm especially enjoying Lawrence Howard's contributions, because although they aren't exactly a serial, there are recurring characters, so each story evokes memories of a previous story. I really enjoy the continuity; also, the slow revelation of history and connections. Lovely and compelling.

Birth of an Addiction

I remember precisely when I became hooked on Portland Story Theater. During their 2004 production of Love, Death & Other Scary Stuff, I had a moment of being utterly astonished and transported - as though I'd just come face to face with impossible beauty, like a Georgia O'Keefe painting or one of those first-snow mornings in a forest that seems like stepping into Narnia.

And Then the Bed Broke, Portland Story Theater's current production at Brooklyn Bay, links these moments into a chain that invites the audience into a don't-miss evening of storytelling that's seamless, energetic, bright, and funny as hell.

Olga Sanchez is ultimately responsible for the theme and title of the program, and the ensemble opening tale frames the evening with real-world whimsy.

Sanchez's closing story examines online dating with similar realism and whimsy. Drama, enlightenment, humor, despair, how an elaborate fantasy of wedded bliss can bloom from a simple e-mail: It's all there. Tightly constructed, with the diction and rhythm of a poet, Sanchez is a jewel.

Alton Chung opened the Portland Storytellers Guild's 2005 season with stories about "lo lo" (stupid) that had me laughing so hard I was sucking on my asthma inhaler for the next three days. Last Valentine's Day, his stories evoked a sense of loneliness and longing. He never fails to surprise me with his range, and this show was no different.

Chung takes the audience on a cross-country plane trip that describes a 20-year friendship at a turning point. As Chung recalls meetings, decisions, and the families we choose, he dips into scenes from memory and re-members them fully in the present. Like Dumbledore's pensieve from the Harry Potter novels - a device which stores memories for later reflection - these are moments of magic. Transitions are generally a storyteller's bane, but Chung showcases them here with the deft mastery of an artist.

In another story, he adds to my vocabulary once again (I owe him thanks for "lo lo"), this time describing hysterical euphemisms for... no, I'd better not go there.

Lynne Duddy and Lawrence Howard have their solo pieces: Duddy adds her own perspective to an e-mail describing how to decode women's expressions, and Howard, in a blend of Bob Dylan meets Spike Jones, recounts a relationship's development and demise in the time it takes to run the Kentucky Derby.

Duddy and Lawrence really shine, however, in their tandem telling of a marriage shared for 25 years. Male and female, husband and wife, the two also elicit a stylistic point and counterpoint, simultaneously telling two stories, one in the voice of a traditional mythology of the beginnings of men and women; and the other in a contemporary voice, memories of synchronicity, overalls and mistletoe, of hippies and cultural roles, of identity, conflict, honor and devotion. Their delivery is so conversational, intimate and generous that you'd swear you were hearing the tale at their dining room table over coffee. They display the expert's mark of making a difficult craft seem effortless.

My only complaint about the show is its two-weekend run... blink and it's gone. Don't wait. Give yourself a gift and add this evening to memories you'll cherish.

Portland Story Theater Season Opens

Anita Bryant said a day without orange juice was like a day without sunshine. Here in the Pacific Northwest, we can do without either -- but don't ever get between us and our coffee.

Portland Story Theater opened its 2006-07 season last night with Who am I and Where is My Coffee?. The original stories, based on life events of the tellers, provide a memorable evening of gentle humor, adventure, and even moments of horror -- although not the kind you'd traditionally expect in October. While earlier productions have featured a quartet, the show's core trio of Lynne Duddy, Lawrence Howard and Rick Huddle tightly sustain the solid string of tales.

In a city overflowing with coffee shops, you wouldn't think finding a regular hangout would involve high drama in a grocery store aisle, but that's what Rick Huddle delivers in "The Fix." Part travelogue, part love story, not one false note, Huddle describes his search for an oasis of belonging -- one of those warm, grounded places where "a regular" can get "his usual." What he finds is both transitory and timeless.

Self-proclaimed "Drama Queen" Lynne Duddy is surprised by the powerful consequences of an 18-month-old cup of coffee she never got. Crater Lake was always a symbol of serenity for me. No more. It's a miracle there aren't two craters there now, after the scorched-earth reaction to a vacation gone terribly wrong. But Duddy also finds -- in the midst of identity theft -- that the world is conspiring to shower her with blessings.

Lawrence Howard's "Night Blues" may not convey the mystic power of John Masefield's lonely sea and the sky, but it rocks in a river dreaminess all its own. Boys on boats have a long and respected pedigree in storytelling, and Howard's contribution to the field speaks of adolescence, honor, and playfulness, and a job well done. "I Dream of Jeannie" also draws on on-the-job camaraderie, but also on isolation, and those situations when you wisely draw the line and walk away.

Who am I and Where is My Coffee? runs through October 28. Future performances are already scheduled for February and April (so far away!). Get season tickets. It's delicious work worth savoring.

New Portland Story Theater Performance!

I remember when I had to wait six months (or more) for a performance by Portland Story Theater. God must really love me, because I've seen them perform twice in the last three months - once around Valentine's Day and once last weekend, for their Mother's Day show: "Everybody's Got One."

If I were the sort of person given to hyperbole (heaven forfend!), I'd say, I wish every storytelling concert could be like this! To me, it seemed perfectly paced - the humor, the heartbreak, the mindboggling "Wow, I wish I'D seen that!" and the cringing "Yeesh, I'm glad that wasn't ME!"

I'm a huge fan of original material. There is something about personal narrative that engages me like nothing else. Maybe that's why the stories of childhood and adolescence had me rapt on the edge of my chair. So often, I hear people telling stories about childhood experiences, and they haven't really gained much emotional distance. The stories have become engraved and enshrined as part of a personal mythology. The meaning of those events has remained the same over the years. In the stories I heard last Friday, the tellers revealed how the meanings of their stories had changed; how their understanding of events had shifted, sometimes gradually, over years, and sometimes in a flash. Wow.

There's one more weekend to see "Everybody's Got One" - Friday and Saturday, May 12 and 13. I don't know when the next PST performance is planned, but I do know you don't want to wait six months. Lynne Duddy, Anne Penfound, Lawrence Howard and Rick Huddle have really put together something special. Go see!

Location, time, and other info is at their Web site, www.portlandstorytheater.com.