The power of laughter…and Ted Sawyer

I will never again sniff at all those perky little “power of laughter over pain” people. By golly (or in my case, by gum), it works.

Earlier tonight I was having trouble seeing over the knot of pain in my jaw caused by an infected tooth. I came yay-close to bagging the evening’s entertainment–Robyn had snagged tickets to a play in the Pearl–and thought of just going home to sob in my pillow.

In the end, I couldn’t figure out a way to decline without sounding whiny. We ate a fast dinner at Life of Riley, distinguished for slow service, salty so-so food and rather large checks, considering it was happy hour. Not really worth reviewing.

Then we scooted over to the Armory building, to the Portland Center Stage, and saw “Little Dog Laughed.” Fifteen minutes into the first act I was laughing so hard that it took another 15 minutes before I realized that I was pain-free for the first time in four days.

I wouldn’t say this play’s for everyone (it’s about a man deciding whether or not to ruin his movie star career by coming out of the closet), but the writing was superb, the actors just as good as the writing, and the venue (a tiny theatre in the round) perfect. It was one of the better plays I’ve seen in Portland. About the only complaint I had was that if you understand the title you automatically know how it’s going to turn out, but that’s not much of a complaint, especially when all that laughter alleviated my tooth pain.

At intermission, we popped out to the lobby and ran smack dab into Ted Sawyer, or rather, the art of Ted Sawyer. On two floors, even–the first held work I’d only seen online, the second offered new stuff (or new to me). Both were exquisite. (Robyn said “this is glass?”) Really lovely stuff, and it had a bunch of admirers.

Ted’s sort of becoming a recurring theme on our restaurant tours, popping up on a bike, on a wall, off in the distance. Be interesting to see where he turns up next.

I did finally get to see the Tess/Celeste/Corbett wall, while talking with the bouncy 8-year old nephew of a friend of Robyn’s. “This,” he said solemnly, pointing to the garnet-cranberry squares spanning two stories, “looks like glass except it has bubbles, so it’s probably not glass.” I assured him that it was, and he clearly thought me unhinged.

Great night out, most fun. Thanks, Robyn.

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