It’s here and then – just like that. It’s gone.
Holy frijoles. Did anyone get the number on that truck? Or was it a van?
You know – the one that just rampaged all over Portland, Ore-gone, blowing the minds of thousands nightly and daily for a week and a half straight.
I got a few letters off the license plate – something like “TBA…”?
Ladies and gentlemen, blow your trumpets, ignite your rockets, dash your champagne glasses in the fireplace and pop your vast, glitter-filled balloons tied together by satin ribbons while ye crowd surf o’er delirious, beauty-besotted, glam-burned revelers. At 2 AM.
For she is gone – GONE I TELL YOU!!! – and we will not see her like again.
For at least another 349 days.
sound effect: **KABOOM**
That’s a wrap.
And THEN that’s a wrap.
Et voila. TBA brings them – THOSE PEOPLE – out of the woodwork. The audience. TBA causes citizens to stand in line (sometimes for seemingly half the performance but no matter) like they’re hoping to score a WHO ticket in the late 1970’s. TBA fills every single fixed seat in Lincoln Hall as well as every discretely placed, fire code-challenging folding chair. WHAT?? And then there are people sitting on steps and standing in the back. TBA causes perfectly reasonable Portlanders to settle for way too little sleep night after night after night. Because the schedule doesn’t let up.
Every September, Portland awakens to the on season with a super-charged display of what’s current and exciting – and of what is possible with vision. For ten days, PDX is ablaze with the vital energy of performance that spills out of sanctioned spaces and infects the city.
TBA, you (in the words of an Annie Baker character) are a triple dimensional superstar.
Bravo, PICA. Keep on keepin’ on…
But don’t answer yet. You also get…