Nothing makes me laugh harder than when people come to my blog for all the wrong reasons. Checking my log files the past two days, my mention of The Brown Bunny and new wave Sodomite genius Vincent Gallo has spiked my traffic through the roof. People have visited here coming from Google/Yahoo searches on any and all combinations of the words "Vincent Gallo," "Chloë Sevigny," "Brown Bunny," and "blowjob." From all over the planet - Canada, Brazil, Venezuela, Argentina, Italy, Spain, France. I am never so gratified as when I get to disappoint people on a global scale. They come looking for celebrity sword-swallowing (or bixini wax photos or the latest Terilyn Joe whereabouts) and instead get the terse relaying of my boring-ass existence. God bless the misguided perverts of the world.

And now I am a guppy in the vast, skanky pool of rock stardom. It was great fun. (And yes, "Kitty in a Coma" went over pretty well.) I had a nice little posse show up - Dan and Laura, my pal Doug (who was stage manager of last summer's Julius Caesar in the basement of the pizza joint), and Gina arrived with two of her friends in tow. Smallish crowd that got larger, alas, after we were finished - we were done shortly before 9, after all. Dan took a few photos - if I don't look too dorky in them, I'll post them. I ducked out shortly after I was done and took Gina and her pals out to dinner as a thank-you. G's nearing the end of a long, hectic month - as a school administrator, she's been at work day and night, taking care of all sorts of end-of-year matters and functions.

In completely unrelated news, I have a new hero. His name is Vincent Gallo. I must admit I've only seen one movie in which he's acted (Truth or Consequences, NM, which was written by my ex-brother-in-law), and none which he's directed, so I can't fairly comment first-hand on his auteur cred. But his new film, The Brown Bunny, is notable for two reasons:

1. Roger Ebert has declared it the "worst film in the history of the [Cannes film] festival." This, coming from the guy who co-wrote 2 Russ Meyer movies, is no small bit of damnation.
2. In the midst of a long movie about a guy's solitary road trip to a bike race, he got to film a 3-minute hardcore scene where Chloë Sevigny gave him a blowjob.

So to sum it up: steals money from film investors, gets an on-camera hummer from an Oscar-nominated actress. Pure, untainted genius, I tell you.

Alert the press, Mr. Flake is posting again. My singing gig is tonight (see sidebar for details). I decided on these 4 songs (short MP3 links below):

• "Cherry, Cherry" by Neil Diamond
• "Here Today, Gone Tomorrow" by the Ramones
• "Perfect Day" by Lou Reed
• "Kitty in a Coma" by James Kochalka Superstar

I think that's an eclectic enough set list - mwahaha. I hope the crowd gets behind "Kitty in a Coma," or it may be the longest 2 minutes of my life.

I've also been cast again, in another musical - Little Mary Sunshine, a straight-faced but gently satiric take on the old Nelson Eddy-Jeanette MacDonald films, with a tip of the cap to Gilbert & Sullivan. If you guessed this is something I normally would not gravitate towards, you're damn tootin'. But it's being produced by the same folks who did Tomfoolery, so it should be fun. Again, info's in the sidebar. It opens in slightly more than 4 weeks. Nearly 20 actors stuffed onto the diminutive stage of Goat Hall. Ha ha, ho ho, such a merry party...

Work is complete on one of our bathrooms. Everything was torn out down to the beams, and new shower/tub, sink/vanity, toilet, cabinets, drywall, insulation, vent fan, tile were put in. It was essentially rebuilt in the span of about 4 weekends, at a fantastic price. These guys who did the work are damn good. Looks like work on the other bathroom will commence in a couple of weeks. Ye gods, I never thought I'd see the day. And this week, my amazing little cousin Dalene singlehandedly tore out the faux-parquet tiles from our entryway floor, removed the glue from and sanded down the wood that was underneath the tiles. As we speak, I think she's staining the wood. I wouldn't have had the slightest idea of how to do any of that - she's a resourceful one. I really think she could punk Bob Vila in a DIYer street fight.

We've got a nice little wish list of home improvements - kitchen, fence, etc. - that we hope will be realized in a piecemeal fashion. We're hoping to do these things as we can afford them, without taking money out of the house. Also, our guest bedroom will become a home office - my sister's job is changing to where she'll be telecommuting 3 weeks out of the month and traveling the other week. My bedroom could use a thorough workover, too - the faux-wood paneling and fluorescent overhead lights were cool when I was 14, not so cool now - but I'll wait on that until, you know, I move the hell out. (Now that progress has been made on renovations, I think it'll happen by end of year. But don't bet on anything yet. Ask my friends; they've threatened an intervention - replete with U-Haul drive-by - for years.)

Gina is great. We've just marked 5 months together. Things are going swimmingly - more than swimmingly, but I shan't gush. Plans are afoot for a trip once my show has wrapped. I think it's gonna be New Orleans. As always, subject to change. Now that I have a passport, there are considerably fewer boundaries.

I got a smidge of sleep last night and groggily awakened this morning to schlep the Altima to Novato for its scheduled maintenance. It was 7:15 (early for me) and the gentleman laying the tile in the downstairs bathroom already started his work.

Slight digression: Yes, the long-awaited bathroom overhauls have started - and these guys are quick. The downstairs WC should be finished in the next 1-2 weeks. New fixtures, new toilet, new shower/tub, new sheetrock and drywall, new everything. Impressive. Perhaps the upstairs bathroom - used by me, sister and brother-in-law - will be overhauled by end of summer. Gives me hope now that change has actually been effected.

In Novato, I dropped off the car and started my time-killing ritual when the car is worked on: walking over to indulge in a leisurely breakfast at The Golden Egg, a resturant with a staggering number of variations on your garden variety omelette. Ambling down an empty Grant Avenue, I noticed one business with the door boarded up, then another, and finally The Golden Egg. I peered through the window and saw tables missing and banquettes torn out. I wondered what happened to the joint. I got the answer about 15 feet down the street in a newsrack. On the front page of today's Marin Independent Journal, there was a photo of... The Golden Egg, which was one of the businesses damaged in a 5-alarm fire that happened yesterday. Looked at the restaurant... viewing news. Looked at the newsrack... reading news. Viewing news... reading news... head hurts... need coffee...

I settled on a joint around the corner called Pepper's, which used to be a Denny's and still bears the architecture of said chain. The waitress filled my mug every 2 minutes, seemingly - zinggggg! I downed the 10W30 java (2 half-and-half, 2 Equal) and got your prototypical diner breakfast: chicken fried steak with country gravy, scrambled eggs, hash browns, sourdough toast (with blackberry jam, strawberry preserves, orange marmalade and mixed berry jelly). My body may smack me for it later, but damn it was tasty. I tried to ingest something good for me, though - I started reading the premiere issue of The Believer, the first article about the decline of the art of book reviewing in America. I took care of a few pages in between bites, then strolled back and picked up the chariot.

And now I have to pick some songs I'm going to perform. In public. I've been invited to sit in with my company's de facto house band in a couple of weeks. I sang a couple of songs with them last Halloween, so I guess they liked my work. This'll be on May 22 (a Thursday) at the Triangle Lounge in the Cow Hollow/Marina area in S.F. Some sort of benefit, I've been told. I was asked to pick a few songs to play. Tarnation, I don't know what to pick. It's one thing to goof around and sing Barry White at the karaoke bar. This is a whole different milieu.

My initial ideas of what to sing (keep in mind that this will be a bare-bones sorta thing - 1 or 2 guitars, bass, no drums, probably some sort of percussion):

• "Here Today, Gone Tomorrow" by the Ramones
• "Cherry, Cherry" by Neil Diamond
• "Santa Monica" by Everclear
• "Wild Child" by Lou Reed
• "I'll Be Your Mirror" by Velvet Underground

I know there are some of you out there who have heard me sing. Send suggestions, stat.

I was at a Theatre Bay Area's Theatrefest event on Monday, and I happened to run into a few folks; a couple from Tomfoolery, and a couple of old classmates from UC Santa Cruz. One of the classmates (my friend Jessica) said, "I'm still waiting for your one-man show."

I asked her, "What one-man show?"

"You know, the one about your fan club."

OK, this is a doozy of a story, and it would likely take a good evening and a few drinks to relay all the salacious info. The thumbnail sketch:

Back in '97, my pal Moxie wrote a short profile of me in the 'zine FAT!SO?, wedged between profiles of Robbie Coltrane (the actor best known as Hagrid in the Harry Potter films, as well as the British TV show Cracker) and Dan Blocker (the late actor you may remember as Hoss Cartwright on Bonanza). Title of the profiles: "Chubby Guys We Love."

This snowballed into a great deal of completely unanticipated female attention including, yes, a "fan club" (actually, a topic back in the day on FAT!SO?'s online bulletin board). Out of this, I traveled for dates to: Missoula, MT; Las Vegas; Redmond, OR; and Chicago. I also dated a few ladies locally, but I did log quite a few air miles.

My friends found it insane. I found it by turns exhilirating, naughty, and occasionally an existential poke in the eye. (Spend 4 days in Missoula and you'll know what I mean by the latter.) The fan club ran out of steam long ago, but it was well-milked for 2 years or so. If anything, it affirmed a perception of desirability about me that I never would have conceived.

Jessica put a bug in my ear about this at Theatrefest. Could this be turned into a compelling piece of solo theater? Egads, I have no idea, but it made for a great light bulb/"ah ha!" moment. She said I should work on it at The Marsh, a performance space in the Mission that kind of specializes in solo pieces among other things - they offer classes on creating and honing one-person shows. I only hesitate because this deals with a lot of other people on a sometimes-intimate level, and because this would lay the balance of my love life bare in a very public forum. (Let's see how your ego would remain intact if The Little Man slept through a retelling of your assorted dalliances.) Nevertheless, if this wouldn't be a natural subject to revive my moribund writing, I don't know what would be.

After a good six weeks of relative acting inactivity (besides the few auditions I had shortly after Tomfoolery closed), I'm itching to get going again. On Monday, I audition for OpenStage's next production, Little Mary Sunshine. This weekend, I have a voiceover class which will focus on crafting proposals for books-on-tape recording. I'm thinking of taking classes on disciplines I haven't pursued in the acting field, particularly vocal lessons and acting on camera. And I'd like to find an agent, which is much easier said than done, but to start I need to submit my headshot and résumé to the agencies around town. Wine Country Bacchanalia was sweet, but it's time to get back to business.