Today's unexpected Joys:

The weather!! Fucking beautiful!!

Watching re-runs of The Newlywed Game on the Game Show Network. I know the seventies were cheesy and backward, but watching these fresh-faced, upbeat, less-than-perfect-looking couples frankly and guiltlessly discussing their sex lives and relationship dynamics . . . I wonder . . . has our "cooler, more sexually and culturally aware" society gotten perhaps a little overly self-conscious, or even - dare I say - pretentious in its public discourse?

Finding $100 in an old Christmas card that I completely forgot about.

Finding a copy of a letter I wrote twelve years ago to a friend, Rona Figueroa. We had both just started college, and neither of us was very sure where our lives were going. I promised her in that letter that I would never "grow up." I'm proud to be able to say that I've kept that promise. (A few months after I sent her that letter, she was "discovered" and became a big, fabulous Broadway Star . . . giving our high school production of "You're a Good Man Charlie Brown" the great distinction of being listed as a credit in the program of a Broadway show! I should try to track her down . . . send her a copy of the letter . . . see how she's doing these days . . . see if she's grown up.)

Today's unexpected Terrors:

Seeing a commercial that described a maxi-pad as being "More secure than an e-mail password." Whaaaat?

Hearing a "news update" about THE WAR on an all-music radio station, and feeling disconnected and removed and generally apathetic . . . like it was the new season of Survivor, and I missed the first few episodes, so, you know, what's the point of trying to follow it now?

I loved Casey's subtly ironic April Fools frolic.

And of course, Min Jung, that naughty Jesuit fetishist, had everyone convinced her life was falling apart.

I didn't stage any April Fools jokes myself, but two struck close to home.

First, my husband called me, very excited, and said he'd gotten a new job.

In Australia.

He half-way got me. I told him I would have totally fallen for it . . . if he didn't make up stuff like that all the time. As he said, "It's April Fool's Day every day at our house!"

Usually, the made-up stuff is a little more obvious, though. Like when he says, "Honey?"

"What?"

"The Martians are here."

"Oh."

"They want to talk to you."

"Mmmm."

"Don't you want to talk to the Martians?"

"No."

"But they need to talk to you."

"Tell them to go to hell."

And then there's our fake dog. Every so often, my husband asks, "Where's the puppy? Honey, did you walk the puppy today? Does the puppy need to be fed?"

But of course, we have no puppy.

Lately, there's been a hamster as well. "Honey? I can't find the hamster. Do you know where the hamster is?"

What can I say? Things never get boring.

The second April Fools joke was the incredibly well-engineered "firing" of local DJ's Sarah and No Name from the Radio Alice morning show.

Back when I lived in the suburbs and drove to work, I listened to this morning show all the time. When my husband first heard them, he turned up his nose and said they were nothing but "dirty potty mouths." (I failed to see anything wrong with this.)

Now that he drives to work, he has become addicted to them. They're the only thing that can keep him awake on those mornings where he has to hit the road at 6:15am. So the day before April Fool's day, when Sarah and No Name disappeared after a long week of publicly criticizing their management, he called me, distraught. He totally fell for it, and was furious with "faceless conservative corporate radio management." He was ready to stage a revolution.

But of course, by the end of the April 1st show with the "replacement" DJ's, it was revealed that it was all an elaborately executed charade. Long Live Sarah and No Name!!

It's funny, all that time I listened to them, I never went to their website to see pictures of them . . .

A few dates to put on your calendar . . .

I just started rehearsing for a Jerome Kern musical, "Roberta", which opens later this month at the Eureka Theater in San Francisco.

Our Special Guest Star - doesn't that sound so very "Love Boat"? - is the wonderful Kathryn Crosby. As in, wife of Bing. I get to serenade her, actually, in my role as an exiled Russian prince-turned-doorman.

Hot boys. Beautiful music. Polish scat singing. Me.

Something to satisfy everyone!!

And then . . . well . . . let's just say that there is a Birthday coming up . . . namely mine . . . and it looks like there will be a party involved. I'm worried, though . . . if I invite my theater friends, my psychic friends, and my blogging friends . . . well, I'm a little concerned that the world might just implode from the sheer magic of it all.

Hahahahaha.

You know what happened today?

My "to do" list disappeared.

I was asking for it, I guess. I was using a cheesy little freeware program that put a collapsable sticky note on my computer desktop. What can I say? It was easy, and it looked kind of cute.

My "to do" list is my number one sanity tool at work. (That and my little boom box.) Whenever anything pops up that I need to do, I just slap it onto my "to do" list, and then I don't have to keep it bouncing around in my brain, I don't have to have extraneous e-mails cluttering up my inbox, I don't have to keep files and papers on my desk to remind me of tasks that need to be done, and I don't have to worry about forgetting something.

It was a complex list . . . multiple categories, projects digested down to their individual steps and mapped out with time frames, indicators for whether it was something I needed to do or something I needed to follow up with someone else to do.

There were easily more than 150 tasks on my "to do" list as of yesterday.

And now it's gone.

Whatever file it was that stored the data on that goddamn sticky note was vaporized.

I am so screwed. I literally don't know what to do.

But I can't stop laughing. All of a sudden, I feel like I'm on this great amusement park ride, and I have NO CLUE what's around the next corner.

This last week has been one of extreme movie bliss.

I just saw A Mighty Wind, and let me tell you . . . having been involved in show business pursuits that many would consider a little bit on the Velveeta (i.e. cheesy) side - can you say Christian pop? How about Show Choir? - and having a husband who actually once performed regularly at AstroWorld themepark, the folk musicians portrayed in this movie are not only ludicrously funny, they are also heartbreakingly and terrifyingly realistic in a way that I'm not sure the general public is equipped to understand. If you see this movie and you think it's one big joke, think again. These people exist.

I mean, I don't want to give anything away, but let's just say . . . the flower arrangement drama? Far stranger things happen in your average professional theater on a regular basis.

From the ridiculous to the sublime . . . I also saw Spirited Away and Princess Mononoke last week on DVD for the first time. Oh. My. God. My world has totally changed. What is there to say besides SEE THESE MOVIES and rediscover a part of yourself you lost long ago.

So, yes, I've been feeling very Clarissa Dalloway lately, with my birthday party coming up. Lesson learned . . . e-vite is way cool, but not quite as effortless as I imagined. See, just 'cause you SEND the e-vite doesn't mean people will actually GET the e-vite. So you may think you've invited people when you really haven't.

So if you are reading this, you are definitely e-vited to my birthday party!! And if your personal e-vite never showed up in your inbox, just click here to tell me you're coming! (Or just to check out the vibe of the party-to-be!!)

Oh, yeah, tonight is also opening night of my show, which is another reason why I've probably seemed a little pre-occupied lately. And . . . if you're feeling all incense-and-crystals this weekend, you can find me at the New Living Expo in San Francisco most of the day Saturday . . . hangin' with my Psychic Posse.

I have to say, one of my favorite parts of the aftermath of my party is the writing it has inspired . . .

There's Chey's poetic account (with photos!) . . .

Angelina's rockin' recap . . .

Jhames' series, starting here . . .

And this poem, which I found in one of my birthday cards . . .

Bloggers, psychics, actors, geeks . . .

Kristar and Estar

So I was just doing dishes . . . which, um, haven't been done in a while, 'cause, you know, I've had things to do. And I commented to my husband, "Man, some of these dishes . . . I feel like I'm in the Sea of Corruption. Surrounded by the Miasma."

"Don't breathe in the spores!!" he suggested.

OK, I don't expect too many people to get that. But it was really funny at the time.

See, we've both been reading Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind, the manga by Hayao Miyazaki.

Our video store has the movie version, but only in Japanese without subtitles. So we're reading the manga first so that we'll know what's happening when we see the movie.

I'm worried, though . . . Nausicaa may end up toppling Lord of the Rings from it's lifelong designation in my mind as the Best Story Ever.

It's that good.

OK, I am totally going to cry from the sheer beauty of it all. I am typing this as I walk down Spear St. in downtown SF. (Just crossed Mission.)

I am typing on my new Handspring Treo PDA / phone - with wireless internet. (Approching Market St.)

The future is now, and my life is complete.

I am now going to beam this off into the ether before I go down into the BART station.

God bless Handspring, Movable Type, and Sprint PCS. God bless them, every one.

(Added later: So, still a few glitches. I can write and post to MT from anywhere in the world - well, I mean, anywhere on the Sprint PCS network - but somehow the poor little PDA can't give MT the proper input to actually rebuild the site so that all you fabulous peeps can read what I blog remotely. It took me two days to figure this out. Oh, well . . . I'm sure there's a fix. It's still pretty awesome.)

"Is that the internet in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

Surreal moments in a wireless internet life . . .

* Reading blogs . . . on the toilet . . . in a public restroom . . .

* Looking up movie times on Fandango . . . without even getting out of bed . . .

* The gloriously liberating realization that I will never be lost again . . . I have Yahoo Maps and Mapquest watching over me at all times. (This is an incredible boon for someone like myself, tragically born without a sense of direction.) I also never again have to say - as I'm running out the door, already late - "Oh, shit! I forgot to print out the directions!"

* Being able to type this entry during a terribly boring auction fundraiser for an extremely worthy arts organization.

You know, another reason I think I really love blogging is the ability to ironically distance myself from otherwise banal realities. No matter how pointless, rediculous, disconcerting or insignificant an event, as soon as I think, "Oh, I MUST blog about this," it becomes . . . art. Instead of letting the experience inflict itself upon me, I get to inflict myself upon the experience .

Having the internet in my pocket takes this perspective to an entirely new level. It's not just a mental excercise any more . . . I can actually, physically blog IN THE MOMENT.

That's power.

Having the internet in your pocket means never having to say, "I'm bored!"

I saw two yellow butterflies yesterday, swirling around, bumping into each other . . . trying to mate, right over the intersection of Stockton and Battery.

They were oblivious to the traffic and the noise and the garbage cans and the overly-serious suits and suit-ettes trudging distractedly toward their business lunches.

And I thought to myself . . . (Louis Armstrong voice) . . . what a wonderful world . . .

Yesterday was QUITE a day. All of our "Very Special Guest Stars" came into town to prepare for tonight's concert.

Leslie Caron is divine. And she gave us vocal coaching on how the song "Gigi" (from the movie of the same name) ought to be sung. To paraphrase her: "I know the rhythm was written the way you are singing it, but it REALLY goes like this . . ."

Cute "behind-the-scenes" story: We were rehearsing at the John Sims Center for the Arts, near the Van Ness Salvation Army store. John Sims was the founder of the Gay Men's Chorus, and the studios are a fabulous haven for the queer and queer-friendly arts. The walls these days are covered with . . . um . . . rather explicit paintings of men and their exposed genitals in all sorts of interesting positions and situations. There was some concern that Ms. Caron - who was raised in a French convent - might be a little taken aback. So . . . don't tell anyone! . . . the paintings were discretely and carefully removed for the few hours that Ms. Caron was "in the house."

I got to catch up with my buddy Davis Gaines, who I sang with last year in Connecticut Yankee. He rocks so hard.

And I'm totally in love with Annie Morrison. She was the original "Mary" in Sondheim's "Merrily We Roll Along." That show holds a unique place, not only in musical theater history, but in my personal history as well . . . a good chunk of my first date with my husband was spend discussing that particular show and it's quirks.

At a bar after rehearsal, Annie said, "I don't drink. I don't need to any more. I can just match the vibration of all the people around me who are drinking, have fun, and still drive home!!" This, of course, totally tripped me out because - as some of you know - this is exactly what I say about why I don't drink. I never imagined someone else in the world had discovered this trick!!

Andrea Marcovicci will also be singing with us tonight. I only saw her briefly yesterday, and she looked fabulous.

Well folks . . . I'm off for the theater. Think good thoughts . . . it's SHOWTIME!!

You know those shopping trips where you start out trying on a 33-inch waist . . . and end up buying a 36-inch waist?

Going to Yosemite for four days. New story installment when I get back!

The evolution of a Halloween costume . . .

So I was going to be a vampire. But I kind of wanted to be contemporary and sexy so I decided I'd be a biker vampire. Studded leather arm bands, a black fishnet mesh sleeveless shirt, a fake leather vest with studs and buckles, black jeans, boots, black nail-polish, pale makeup, lots of eyeliner, black lipstick. As an extra touch, I sprayed my hair blonde.

But the fangs I bought don't work. They come with these little putty packets that are supposed to customize them to your teeth, but my teeth are weird, and the fangs don't stay on. Without the fangs . . . I can't really be a vampire.

So I don't really know what I am. I'm kind of the bastard love child of a goth club and a biker bar . . . with a little 70's-era glam rocker thrown in, and a generous helping of the femmier side of Folsom Street.

But that's kind of hard to explain to people.

So I guess when people ask "What are you?" I'll just say . . .

"Tonight, I'm whatever you want me to be, baby."

Happy Halloween!

It's 7:30pm on a Friday night . . . do you know where your William Ted is?

Still at the office.

The truly sad part is . . . I don't have to be. There was truly nothing so urgent going on that it couldn't wait until Monday.

But, you know, I get wrapped up in a project, and I just keep going . . .

And I didn't really have anywhere else to be . . .

Yeah, my life is unbelievably exciting sometimes.

So I'm standing in line at McDonalds because even though I thought I would have sushi this morning, or maybe a crepe, the extremely well-engineered smell of McEverything wafted out on the street like Satan's pheremones and drew me in against my will.

So a couple of bacon McGriddles (yes, I know I'm the only one on earth that kind of likes those maple-laced abominations), a trip to the comic store (where I will look at the DC rack on my way to the Marvel rack and wonder, "Who reads that crap?"), and then pick up my tux for tonight. (Formal event. Psychics in tuxes. It ought to be legendary.)

Then off to a day of rehearsal. First read-thru. Much fun in store.

I swear, I walked by the (closed) See's Candy store on Market Street, and the window display of Autumn Peanut Brittle looked so tasty, I wanted to pull a smash 'n grab on ol' Sweet Mary.

And I don't even like peanut brittle that much.

So lately I've been going to put on my shoes and finding one by the front door, and one like, stuffed under the bed or somewhere equally far away.

And I think . . . how the hell did these shoes get on opposite sides of the house? I mean, the only way I can think of it that I kicked one off when I came home, and then walked around the house with only one shoe on until eventually I removed the other.

But I don't have any memory of walking around one-shoed. You'd think that's something you'd remember.

Do these things happen to anyone else?

A little quiet lately because I'm working on this (scroll down . . . it's the show called "Fifty Million Frenchman"). Opening night is right around the corner!

I've got some free tickets for the performances this coming Wednesday (8:00pm) and Friday (2:00pm and 8:00pm). Just comment if you're interested!! The theater is a few blocks from the Embarcadero BART Station.

Thoughts create reality. This is not some wishful New Age mantra . . . it is an inescapable fact of reality for anyone who is paying attention.

I’ve known it all my life, personally. I first remember experiencing it through books. Even before I could read, my mother’s bedtime stories showed me how the thoughts of an author could transport me to Dr. Doolittle’s workshop, the Lorax’s forest, Winnie-the Pooh’s tree-house. Then, in subsequent years, I ran away and joined the circus with Toby Tyler, solved mysteries with Encyclopedia Brown, climbed up the side of Mount Doom with Frodo, flew to the stars with any number of Heinlein juvenile heroes, and visited Narnia repeatedly. I even went to Hawaii with Donnie and Marie.

(This last adventure sticks out in my mind because the novelization of the Osmond movie “Goin’ Coconuts” was the first “big person” book I ever read. I saw it in the Walgreens at our local mall, thought it looked cool, and asked my mom to buy it for me. She said something like, “You can’t read that. The print is too small.” I persisted, because, god help me, I guess I really wanted to visit that world.)

Each adventure was relatively brief . . . once the book was done, I was forced to return to my own world rather quickly. But each time I came back, I felt a little different. The thoughts of the author, and my thoughts about the author, had changed me, changed my reality.

Later, watching Shirley MacLaine on TV in the 80’s and purifying my quartz crystals with salt-water between Tarot readings and channeling sessions, it was easy for me to take the power of thought on faith. In the early 90’s, when I went to Mass every day and prayed the rosary compulsively, I became further convinced of the creative power of a strong mental intention.

Working through college, reading every major philosophical work of the Western Tradition, I learned that this phenomenon was not unique to my experience, nor even a twentieth-century innovation. Every major thinker of the last two-thousand years has ultimately come to the conclusion that it is not the thing “out there” which is real (if, in fact, such a thing even exists), but the thing “in here” . . . the thought. Thoughts are the hard, fixed tools that we use to create reality out of the malleable mass of fantasy stuff surrounding us.

Four years in psychic school fleshed out my theoretical understanding of this principle with many, many successful experiments in creating reality out of thoughts. And to cap it all off, my recent adventures in the world of cognative-behavioral psychotherapy have enlightened me to the fact that the medical/scientific world has now come around to the same conclusion that artists, mystics, philosophers and religious devotees have always known . . . THOUGHTS CREATE REALITY.

Even the physicists have been forced to admit, though they are still struggling to explain it, that “impartial scientific observers” affect the movements of quantum particles by the very power of their mental attention.

So if thoughts create reality, as all the smart people seem to agree, why do we still fear the world around us? Why do we still act as if some President, some terrorist, some multi-national corporation controls our fate?

What are we waiting for?