Josh pointed me to this this morning. I laughed my ass off. Couldn't happen to a better company. Methinks it will cost more than 35 bucks (or however many quid) to get that domain back.

There was a full house for Caesar on Saturday night, and none were freebies. Very surprising, since we had about 7 folks on Thursday and 15-20 on Friday. Two more weeks, and I get my life back, such as it is. What I do with my life, I'm still figuring out.

And now, reviews two and three (scroll down to "Bay Area" for this one) for Caesar. Well, at least the S.F. Weekly review got the director's name right.

Another Sunday, enervated. It was an action-packed Saturday. My pal Mark, who I've known since high school, got married. A brief, sweet, high-styled (all '40s-vintage clothing for the wedding party), note-perfect ceremony – from Mark I would expect no less. His bachelorhood was long, glorious, and filled with numerous off-color achievements. About two or three years ago, he started talking earnestly about settling down. I swear, this is the first guy I knew with such a loudly ticking biological clock. From the couple of times I've met his new wife, I'd say without reservation that Mark and Kristin are well-suited. Jesus, my friends are growing up. Some of them, at least. (...he writes, from the bedroom he's lived in since he was 14.)

And so I got to mingle a short time at their reception before thespianic duty called. We're at the halfway point in the run. This week's attendance: sparse. Less than 10 people on Thursday night, maybe 15-20 the other two nights. It's slightly dispiriting to me, and to others in the cast, I think. And people in the cast and crew are having personality conflicts on top of it. To which I ask: who in this production has the right to have anything approaching an ego? Know your lines, hit your marks, be a professional, get over yourself, see you next week. On Wednesday, we're expecting more reviews: S.F. Weekly and possibly the Bay Guardian. (The BG reviewer came to see the Thursday show this week – I expect the review to have a meticulous attention to detail, since there wasn't an audience there to distract them.)

And now, 4 more days away from the pizzeria-basement theatre. Which means catching up on sleep and dry-cleaning my wardrobe. There are 3 DVDs from Netflix which have been gathering dust for months. (The unlimited-time rental can be a mixed blessing, especially for the busy and/or unmotivated such as myself.) I'm also trying to power through the book on Cascading Style Sheets I have, which would be the first tech book I'll have read cover to cover. Once Caesar ends its run, it'll give me more time to focus my energies: money conservation, apartment hunt, plans for a voiceover demo tape, sending my headshot and resume to theatre casting directors and talent agents, etc. We'll see if any of these ideas get accomplished. For now, rest. I think I'll see if Shibui Gardens has an open time to soak in one of their hot tubs.

The first review of Caesar is in. Whoo boy. If I decided to sell my mortal soul and become a smarmy PR flack, this is the blurb I'd put on our poster:

"Give SubShakes credit for having the guts to stage ... in a serious and thoughtful way!"

I woke up about a half an hour ago from one more dream in an occasionally recurring pattern: the travel-related stress dream. Usually it involves missing a flight, but this time it was more intricate and tortured than that. For some reason, I was with a theater troupe going to Amsterdam. At first I forgot a piece of baggage, so I had to go home from the airport and pick that up. Luckily, I had enough time. But when I came back, I was hustling through the international terminal at SFO when I suddenly realized – I didn't have a passport (which is also true in waking life). It was a punch-to-the-solar-plexus moment. I hate those kinds of dreams. And I have no idea what my subconscious is trying to tell me, either.

Mark Athitakis – whose work in the S.F. Weekly I've enjoyed over the years – makes an interesting case for Elimidate as the best dating show on TV. Personally, I find the show a depressing dogpile of surgically-altered drunken attention whores, but his breakdown of the show's format is something I hadn't thought of. I still rank Shipmates as the best show out there, if only for its hilariously vicious meta-commentary which runs rings around Blind Date and its attempts at same. My homie Greg Proops had a nice dating-show vehicle called Rendez View, but alas, that's been cancelled. (Yes, as a matter of fact, I do work from home 2 days a week and thus have watched these shows entirely too closely. Why do you ask?)

Warren Zevon has terminal lung cancer. Fucking awful. Like most everyone else in the Western world, my introduction to him was "Werewolves of London." From there, my old boss (and still occasional poker crony) Mitch turned me on to Sentimental Hygiene back in '86 or '87. Then I picked up A Quiet Normal Life, the first of a few greatest-hits releases (another one comes out next month), and I realized this guy was an incisive, individual songwriter and performer. There aren't too many people in rock music who got to jam with Igor Stravinsky, as Zevon did when he was a teenaged piano prodigy. Nor are there many musicians who write songs with Hunter S. Thompson, Carl Hiaasen, or Mitch Albom, either. His music is not decidedly accessible – one music critic famously wrote that he only writes two kind of songs, a slow march and a fast march – but he's absolutely one of my favorites.

The drive to work was the same as usual, with the exception of a temporary sign I saw as I was approaching the Golden Gate Bridge: ALL TRUCKS STOP AHEAD. That made me a tad nervous, but it quickly faded as I crossed over the bridge through a solid shroud of fog. Back to work.

An impressive thing, for those who know me: I turned off my TV today. With all these vague orange alerts and the obstreperous braying on the news, I don't need them. Especially considering that I'll be traveling over 3 bridges tomorrow. Even at my most cynical, I have to believe there are fewer people asleep at the switch than at this time last year. Besides, the element of surprise is just not there. But the news needs something to obsess on, to try to justify its self-importance. Gimme a fuckin' break. Too bad a day of quiet reflection won't be possible on the airwaves.

Well, it only took about 8 hours or so, but a lot of trash and old clothes have been removed, and the bed and one dresser have been situated in my room. It was a bitch and a half getting an old, useless dresser out of my room, but my bro-in-law is exceedingly good at figuring out how to get stuff moved. (It doesn't help that my bedroom is at the top of a narrow flight of stairs.) Today, while I'm working, I get to fill the new dresser. If I get time to go to the laundromat, I'll also do laundry. My back is sore as hell, though. I don't think I'll be doing anything too strenuous 'til Caesar runs again on Thursday.

The Sunday Shit That's Been Breaking List (updated):
1 washing machine
1 Michael Graves alarm clock
1 beloved paper shredder

This just in: right after I posted last, I detected an acrid smoky smell. That turned out to be emanating from our washing machine, where the agitator was immobilized and shit started breaking. New washer now needed. <cha-ching> Welcome to the House of Atreus in the Age of Modern Appliances.

Damn, I'm tired. After 6 straight nights of rehearsing and performing and midnight dinners and drifting off to 1950s-era To Tell the Truth at 1 in the morning, the first week of Caesar is done. <exhale> All things considered, it's jelled pretty well. I hope the momentum builds in successive weeks (5 more to go). My family attended last night – I should be getting their unvarnished opinions today. I expect some friends and co-workers to start seeing it next week.

Today, little rest for the wicked. We're moving some legacy furniture – sitting in the garage since my grandmother died 3 years ago – to make room for some new furniture my sister and brother-in-law bought (for the eventuality that they'll find a house they'll like and is only moderately insanely overpriced in this area). This will include moving a bedframe and a couple of dressers to my room. So the perpetual project of making my hovel of a bedroom more accessible begins anew. This may involve trips to Ikea and The Container Store to feint at organizing my vast storehouse of crap. Well, time to start, but a little breakfast for fortification first. Once more unto the breach... (Sorry – being in one of his shows, I find myself suffering from Shakespeare's Tourette's, blurting out random lines from his canon involuntarily. Zounds!)

Well, tonight's opening night for Caesar. Ye gods, I never thought it would come, but it has. By the way, if you want more info on the show, go here.

Also: Hanne's created a new collaborative blog on food and such. I'm a part of it. It's just in its nascent stages, and it's been great fun so far to read the riffings of some good writers from around the country (and one from the UK). Mangia, sucker!

Well, Sunday was an interesting day. Started out mundane and bourgeois enough – had my car washed (a painfully overdue task), grabbed a Frappuccino and a deli lunch and tried to stay out of the heat. It ended with an impromptu date at a local card club, where I played my first live game of $3-6 Hold 'em. After about 4 hours at the table, I cashed in $300 in the black. (My date ended up dropping about $100. It's hard to be chivalrous when you're both playing at the same table, and some of her chips end up in your stack. I offered to buy her a drink at least, but she was doing fine with her Chardonnay.) I was not expecting that to happen at all. And I think it'll be a while before I go back. I like going to Vegas a couple of times a year, but I consider gambling entertainment and not a compulsion, thank God. I sped home at 1:30, windows down; warm air blew in my face, Richmond's quasi-dormant factories and refineries provided the scenery as I cranked up The Stooges. Today, after the adrenaline wears off and I get some damn sleep, I hit my friend Mark's abode for a Labor Day barbeque, then to Berkeley for the third-to-last Caesar rehearsal. The week, much like the last two, will be an endurance contest. Sure, it beats the alternative, but I need to do laundry. My goals are so lofty.