Jessica Elsas, Angélique Dubé, Alexandra Johnson, Ira Lopez, David Lloyd Rabig in “Three Sisters Who Are Not Sisters” See More photos from this night>>

We were going to be late as usual to Anna D’Agrosa’s Seven-Diamond Evening variety show, even though she wanted us there 15 minutes early. But we’re always late to everything. Surprisingly, though, we got there 10 minutes early…which is sort of 5 minutes late if you take the request into account.

For some reason I thought the Bushwick Starr was the whole building. Apparently it’s just one of several loft spaces in an otherwise blah warehouse, on lovely Starr Street here in Bushwick. I gave the door man — Paul Rome — all the money in my wallet ($20 for entry for two) and walked into a space befitting a performance. It was all blacked out for proper theater, and had four tiers of seating — all black and accessed by rickety, shallow stairs. Not good for the drunk. Yes, they have beer.

So as we surveyed the joint, we hear screams from the rafters. “Hey boys, over here!” It was our favorite couple, the perpetually unkempt Queens-Irish/South Floridian brainiac artist and my favorite musician-soprano-gourmet chef-commercial mortgage rater-Houstonian Jewess, who share an entire old knitting factory on Knickerbocker. It wasn’t two minutes before K suggested we get beer. We carefully clodded down the steps — I really don’t think they’re all fixed in place — behind the stage curtain, out a door, and on to the coolest roof deck I have yet experienced in the hood. New York makes itself seen in a big way from up there, especially on that orange night. Midtown was a silver-edged silhouette.

K mused, “I can’t believe this is happening two blocks from my house.” We donated the rest of the cash in Luis’ wallet in exchange for a couple of Brooklyn Browns and headed back to our perch to watch the show.

To begin the night, Anna directed a short play by Gertrude Stein called “Three Sisters Who Are Not Sisters.” The audience chuckled its way through the existential dialogue, but none of the actors gave away so much as a twinkle of amusement. Angélique Dubé was perfect as the main sister. I asked her later if she meant to channel Mae West — she smiled and said, “no, but that’s appropriate, eh?” When it was over, and all the sisters and brothers had died or pretended to die, Luis, the English major, gave a 20-second critique. Paraphrasing: “that play is not meant to be acted and laughed at, it’s meant to be read and studied.” Mr. Snob still thought the acting was great.

After a brief recess for technical difficulties, we were shown Gloss Your Lips, a hysterical film by Mark Fratello. In stupidly short summary: girl in the Manhattan singles scene finds a guy she likes but ends up killing a friend with a hair dryer. Other “diamonds” included: a sketch by Ira Lopez and David Lloyd Rabig about a murderous marmot that was performed in four parts throughout the show; poems by Pat Nugent, one that used a Three Sisters template to protest the war; Cha Buk!, a dance performed by Alexandra Johnson and Sidra Bell, two beautiful ladies in olive drab tights; and Elana Wertkin doing interesting poses on her trapeze.

“You’ll stay for Pass Kontrol, right?” asked Anna with her big doe eyes. “Yeah, of course,” I said, frankly sick of her bugging me about these dudes. What I didn’t even know was that Culture girl (and one of the Three Sisters) Jessica Elsas’ boyfriend Oliver Ralli was IN the band. Like, lead guitar and singer, in. And that they truly are amazing. I don’t even know how Oliver got those sounds to come out of the guitar. We bounced for a bit there and then due to our grumbling bellies had to take our leave, thus apparently missing Anna and Jessica singing. I’m still not sure if we were poorly timed…or lucky.

Had foie gras on toast at NEK, and my regular good salad. Luis had corned veal that was insane. Good cherry pie.

Brava, Anna. It was an impressive and entertaining night.