WIL WHEATON dot NET: 1.5

Anne and I are having our house appraised later this week, so we're working to clean things up, and plant areas of the yard that we've left alone for almost a year . . . I remember how great I felt when we finished our lawn almost a year ago, and the picking out and planting all sorts of plants today was just as good.

I love it that Anne and I do these things together, for each other. It's corny, but I love being married to her more and more each day. I really believe that there's nothing we can't face together . . . and kick squarely in the nuts!

Thanks to her, we had an insanely productive holiday weekend, even though I was at LosCon on Friday and Saturday. The house looks incredible, and the yard is beautiful. I can't wait to clean out and reorganize our garage!

Here's a brief LosCon recap. It's not the best written thing in the world, but I want to put the information down while it's fresh in my mind. I'll make this better some other time.

Overall, I had a very good time. The LosCon is not like the shows I'm used to attending. There isn't much in the way of organized "entertainment" (like my sketch shows) or "actor talks" (like you see at a Creation show, for example.) This con is more oriented to Science Fiction in its purest and oldest form: books. The people who come to LosCon (even the *shudder* furries) are there to celebrate people like Niven, Pournelle, Heinlein, Ellison, and Herbert. The con features several panels, most of which are incredibly informative and worthwhile. I was on three of them.

Let's break it down into Friday and Saturday, mmmkay?

Friday:

First Panel - eBooks.

This panel was quite fun. I was about to be elected "moderator," until I told them all that if I was moderating, we were just going to play cards. It was an informative and entertaining 75 minutes, where we talked about eBooks and Print on Demand as publishing alternatives for hopeful writers. I talked a lot about MonolithPress, and shared my reasons for not choosing eBooks or POD. I was surprised at the turnout, too. There were about 11 people in the very small room, which was set up for about 20.

Event - Reading from Dancing Barefoot and Just A Geek.

This was the single greatest dissapointment of the entire show, and probably one of the greatest dissappointments of the entire year for me, because only 15 people turned out to hear me . . . and 7 of them were my family. I felt rejected, humiliated, and embarrassed.

I asked Anne to bring the kids out to watch me, and it was just awful to stand in a room built for over 100, and face them with no crowd.

"Where is everybody?" Nolan asked.

Out of the mouths of babes.

"Somewhere else," I said.

"Why?" he said.

"I don't know, kiddo," I said, with a brave smile.

"Break a leg," he said, as I walked up to the stage.

I struggled to put aside my personal feelings of rejection and give a good reading for the people who did show up, but my first three selections just sucked. All I wanted to do was cry. I was so let down, it was a real challenge to keep my focus. I just felt stupid standing on a huge stage, in a cavernous room, listening to my voice echo off the walls.

By the end, though, I read the WFS story, and I felt good about it.

When I finished, I bid my family farewell (hard though it was to face them) and headed to my next panel, which was about Linux. I wandered all over the convention center, until I betrayed all men in the world and asked for directions to the room. Turns out the room was in another building.

Panel 2 - Something about Linux

I was 10 minutes late when I walked into a room that was packed with about 75 people. It was hot, and smelled like a room packed with about 75 people. Many of them were shouting at each other.

I'm going to write a whole article about what a fiasco this panel was, so I'll just give this summary: it was a live version of a totally unmoderated UseNet flamewar, complete with trolls. My hope was that the non-Linux users (about 20% of the audience) would leave excited and curious about Linux. I told them in my introductory remarks that they'd want to race home and grab Knoppix right away. Instead, they (and I) left that room just wanting to get the hell out of there, and away from the zealots. If it had been my first exposure to the Linux Community, I would never have left Microsoft. It was the most frustrating panel I've ever been on in my life.

Evening Event: Hour 25 Talk Show

By 9pm, I was exhausted, but I was excited to be a guest on the Hour 25 talk show. I did Hour 25 way back in the late 80s when it was on KPFK and hosted by Joe Stracyzinski.

The same ballroom that was empty for my reading earlier in the day was packed to the walls. There was an excitement in the air, and it really felt like we were about to participate in something special.

Armin Shimmerman was interviewed before me, and held the stage in the palm of his hand. He was funny, insightful, and informative. His /. karma would have been excellent!

When Armin was done, it was my turn. I walked up on the stage, and stood behind the mic.

"Well, Wil," the host began, "looking at you right now, I just have to ask . . ."

He paused and looked at me.

"Have you saved any ships this week?"

Oh. This is just fucking perfect. was my first thought.

I'm so glad things have changed since I was last here, on the "Solving the Wesley Problem" panel 15 years ago. was my second.

Dude, you don't need this shit. Just walk away. was the third.

I hope the anger in my veins didn't make it into my voice. I don't think the host intended to embarrass me or make fun of me, but that's how I felt.

I tried to laugh it off, but I spent the next ten minutes trying not to be defensive. You can listen here for yourself and make up your own minds. I come on around the 19 minute mark, I think.

When I finally got home, it was after midnight, and it took me until well after two to fall asleep.

Saturday

Saturday was much, much better than Friday. I got there at 10 for an autograph session, and over the next couple of hours, I completely sold out the remaining copies of Dancing Barefoot. I did set aside a couple, and I'll eBay them next week, for anyone who wants to get one for Xmas.)

Panel 1 - Breaking Into Print

My only panel of the day was a total blast. I thought I would talk about how a hopeful author can self-publish their book, but I was with three insanely talented and experienced authors, so I just ended up asking them all sorts of questions about how I can be a better fiction writer. I learned so much, I don't even know where to begin. When I get some time, I will take my notes and turn them into a column here. I'll do my best to share what I learned with WWdN readers.

When that panel ended, so did the Con for me. I made it home in record time, and went out to dinner with my wife.

If you're a fan of SF and Fantasy, and not a collector, I highly recommend LosCon. The people who organize it want you to have a good time, meet people of a like mind, and have fun for a weekend. The panels are simply amazing, and the guests are all fans too, so they hang out in the lobbies and hallways, so it's really easy to get some one on one time with an author you have admired for years.

For example, it would have been very easy for me to stop Larry Niven and drive him crazy with Ringworld and N*Space questions, if I hadn't chickened out.

I will certainly go back again, but instead of attending as That Guy From Star Trek, I think I'll attend next year as just a geek.

Posted by Wil at 10:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (88)

Drew from Fark and I are doing this thing for Tech TV on December 9 (more details when the date gets closer) and TTV called today for a pre-interview.

All talk shows have a pre-interview. It's where a producer asks a future guest lots of questions, to detemine what the host will ask the guest when the guest is actually on the show. That's what's on those blue cards that Letterman is always smacking around, and it lets the host "control" the interview better.

(Big industry secret: on most of the late night talk shows, if a guest strays too far from the questions on that card, that guest will never be invited back to the show. I know people who have been shown the cards and told, "[Host] will ask you this, and you'll say this. Then [Host] will ask this, and you will say this, then [band leader] will say this, then [wacky character] will run in and say this . . ." it's almost as scripted as Average Joe.)

Well, here's how lame I am: the pre-interview used up all my creative energy for the day, and I just wasn't able to make any progress on my rewrite. Which is a bummer for me, because it's sort of like waiting for the next chapter in a serialized book to come out.

Well, I guess that's exactly what it is, isn't it?

I was determined to make some progress, but it was like standing at an old TV with one hand on the rabbit ears, and another on the fine tuning, trying to get enough of the static out of the way to see the show . . . but there was just no way to get a clear picture today.

Eventually, I gave up, and spent the afternoon playing with the server on my desk, breaking and fixing code and junk. I also wasted tons of time at TotalFark. Dudes, if you don't have a TotalFark membership, you missed out on one of the funniest threads in history today.

When I was done not making any progress installing qmail or understanding DNS, I thought I'd make myself a mix CD on my iBook, with some music to listen to while I did cooking and cleaning later on.

I started out with stuff like Flogging Molly, Radiohead, Get Up Kids, Tenacious D, Chixdiggit, The Cure, Underworld, Pixies, I was even going to put some Iron Maiden on it . . . oh yeah, it was gonna be an alternative rockathon.

But when I sat down to make the playlist, Anne called.

With Anne on my mind, here's the playlist that I ended up burning:

Pictures Of You -- The Cure

Fragile -- Sting

A Summer Song -- Chad and Jeremy

Jump -- Aztec Camera

See A Little Light -- Bob Mould

Under The Milky Way -- The Church

Going To California -- Led Zeppelin

Nothing In This World Can Stop Me Worryin' Bout That Girl -- The Kinks

Whenever You're On My Mind -- Marshall Crenshaw

I'm A Loner Dottie, A Rebel... -- The Get Up Kids

Texarkana -- R.E.M.

More Than This -- Roxy Music

Gold -- Spandau Ballet

I'd Rather Go Blind -- Etta James

Bad -- U2

Yeah. I am such a sissy. But don't let it get around, okay?

Posted by Wil at 06:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (71)

I just got the official announcement from Powell's . . .

Turns out that WWdN readers have sent Dancing Barefoot to the top of the Literature and Sci-Fi charts!!!

And, as if that wasn't exciting enough . . . because of you guys, Powell's is completely sold out!!

Now, the great thing is, Powell's is a member of the Booksense network of Independent bookstores, and they will report this great sales information to other Booksense members. This significantly increases the odds of other Booksense members carrying my book, or having me come to their stores for signings.

Dancing Barefoot would not exist without my lame website. My lame website would not exist without the people who read it . . . and the sales of Dancing Barefoot would be nothing without your support.

So please accept this enormous thank you, from the bottom of my geeky heart. :-)

Posted by Wil at 05:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (83)

Couple of announcements:

• I'm stunned, but thrilled that my autographed 1st edition of Dancing Barefoot went for over 400 bucks on eBay. Even better was how excited the buyer was to have the book!



• I saw that another guy has put up a signed first edition auction, of his own. So if you want one that's signed, and you don't need it personalized, it's a good opportunity for ya. It's authentic. He was one of the first buyers to order a bulk order from me a few months ago.



• I'm equally stunned and thrilled that my Borg9 shirt did so well, too. I have a few more of those, and that auction got quite a few bids, so I'll probably put up another one.



• My friend and former roommate, Chris Hardwick, is performing a 12 minute Rock Opera based on Tron tonight. I saw it on Sunday night, and it's one of the funniest things I've ever seen in my life.



• My schedule for LosCon this Friday and Saturday has been finalized, and I added all the details on the Conventions page. I am particularly excited about my reading on Friday afternoon.



• I found some copies of my book this morning. I'll bring them to LosCon to sign and sell. Lots of people have e-mailed asking if there is any chance they can get one, so if there are any left after the con, I'll put up a dutch auction.



• My favorite hockey team, the Los Angeles Kings, are currently sitting atop the Pacific (Smythe) Division!!



• On Monday Tuesday, I will have an epic announcement.

I don't know how much rewrite I'm going to get done today . . . we have a lot of preparation to do for Thursday, and I feel guilty writing while Anne does stuff around the house. I'll post whatever I get done.

Posted by Wil at 09:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (55)

I made some more progress on the rewrite today. It's not as much as I'd hoped for, but I've got a lot of plates spinning, and this juggling bear keeps dropping his balls.

Stupid bear.

I did some searching of that knot, and explored the strange ambivalence I had when Jonathan asked me about my sketch comedy. Here's the 1.7a version of that stuff:

"How did it go?"

"I took my sketch group out there and we did a show. It was really fun."

"Oh! I heard about that. I hear you're really funny."

"Yeah, I try to entertain the kids." I said. The knot nearly tightened so violently in my chest, it felt like a heart attack. I felt intensely uncomfortable and embarrassed. The feeling surprised me; here was the one thing that I'd been doing, and doing well, I was very proud of my sketch work, yet I didn't want to talk about it.

"I may be funny in some sketch comedy shows that hardly anyone ever sees," I thought, "but I'm struggling to pay my bills, I can't get hired for anything in Hollywood, and all of you guys have gone on to be rich and famous. I may be funny, but I sure fucked up the biggest opportunity of my career when I quit 'Star Trek.'"

I shoved several carrots in my mouth and I changed the subject.

"Have you been watching TNG on TNN?"

"Yeah," he said, "It's amazing how those old shows hold up."

"Except Angel One," I said.

"And Code of Honor," he said.

"No vaccine!" we said in unison, quoting one of the actors in that show and laughed. The knot loosened.

"It's so weird for me to watch them," I said, "because I was so young. It's like my high school yearbook has come to life."

"That's because you"ve actually grown up since then," he said, "the rest of us have just gotten fatter."

"Don't let Marina hear you say that," I said.

He thought for a moment, and added, "Okay, all of us except Marina."

He winked. I smiled. The knot untied itself.

It's not quite there, but it's better. Writing about it also forced me to open some doors that I'd rather leave closed: I quit Star Trek to do other things in my career, but ended up doing other things in my life. I can't say I regret that, because my life is really quite good. My career is in the shitter, but I'm not my career.

Yeah, right.

I keep telling myself that, but I still don't fully believe it. I often feel like I had so much promise in my career (life) but I squandered it. I suppose the good side of that is I managed to blow most of my chances because I was young and immature, unlike most of my peers who blew their chances (lives) with drug abuse. That's all well and good, but it's cold comfort when I miss out on yet another fantastic acting opportunity, or when my agents dropped me earlier this year. Of course, with the notable exception of Patrick, the rest of the cast hasn't exactly used Star Trek as a massive launching point for their acting careers, either. I suppose they don't need to, and I'm sure they're all content wherever they are in their lives (careers) . . . but I wonder if they ever feel like they missed any opportunities . . .

Woah. Got a little off-topic there. Sorry about that.

I spent some time today working on more of the story. I didn't get very far, but I'm fairly happy with what I accomplished:

"Did you get the latest draft of the script?" Jonathan said to Brent.

"Oh my god, they're talking about Nemesis!" My inner fanboy said.

'shut up!" I said, "You're not a fanboy here. You're a peer. Be cool."

I took my own advice and stood there, silent, and listened to them talk about the movie. Production hadn't started yet, but I could tell that they were excited about putting on their uniforms and getting back into character.

While they talked, I felt like a grounded kid, sitting at the living room window, watching his friends play kickball in the street.

"They want to make some substantial changes to the wedding," Brent said.

"I like it the way it is," Jonathan said.

"Well, I'm talking with Stuart and Logan about it," Brent said, "We'll see what happens."

"Is this really the last one?" I asked, in spite of myself.

"Yeah," Brent said.

"I think so," Jonathan said.

Illusions of returning to the bridge of the Enterprise, awoken just a month earlier on Star Trek: The Experience, quickly faded. In the hallway, the elevator bell rang again.

"That's really sad," I said, "It's like the end of an era."

"For all of us," I thought.

"We've done it for so long," Brent said, "I think it's time for me to do something new. I'm getting too old to play Data."

"I'm the only one who's changed. They've just gotten older." Jonathan's words echoed in my mind.

A deep, commanding voice bounced off the marble floor of the hallway, and filled the room before its creator crossed the threshold.

"Are there Star Trek people in this room?" it boomed, "I just love those Star Trek people!"

We all turned to the door, as Patrick Stewart walked in.

Patrick is one of the most disarming people I've ever met. If you only know him as Captain Picard, or Professor Xavier, his mirthful exuberance is shocking. Patrick is one of the most professional and talented actors I've ever known, but he's also one of the most fun.

"Bob Goulet" I haven't seen you in ages, man! You look great!" he said to Brent, and hugged him.

"Jonathan Frakes! I am a big fan," he smiled at Jonny and hugged him to.

He turned to me. "Who are you? You look familiar, but . . . I can't place you."

"Wil Wheaton, Mr. Stewart," I said.

He looked thoughtful for a moment and shook his head. "I'm sorry, but it doesn't ring a bell."

"I was Wesley on Next Generation," I said.

"Get out! You were never that young!" he said. "Do you know how old that makes me?"

"I do, sir," I replied, solemnly, "I believe we spent some time in a shuttlecraft together."

He nodded slowly, but remained unconvinced. "Go on . . ."

"That's all I've got, man," I laughed.

Patrick smiled broadly and said, "Wil, darling, you look wonderful." He held his arms wide, and pulled me into a warm embrace. "I am so happy to see you!"

"You too," I said.

He held me at arm's length, and looked at me. Even though Patrick and I are the same height, I felt, like always, that he towered above me.

"I like that shirt, Wil. It's very cool."

He looked at Jonathan, then at Brent. We all wore black shirts. Brent and Jonathan wore black pants. Patrick wore a blue shirt and khaki pants.

"I guess I didn't get the memo about wardrobe," he said.

"It's okay," I said, "I don't think anyone will notice."

"Gentlemen, we're ready for you downstairs," one of the convention volunteers said from the doorway.

I felt a surge of adrenaline as we walked to the elevator.

I've noticed that almost everything I write lately comes out with great ease. I don't have to search a lot of for words and feelings, and I spend considerably less time staring out the window at the Big Tree looking for them, like I did with Dancing Barefoot.

Something strikes me, as I recall these moments: the joy. I felt so much pure, unspoiled joy when I was around those guys, it was like being wired to a droud. I used to miss the chances at fame and fortune that were a consequence of my departure from Star Trek. Now, however, I just miss the joy that I should have embraced when I was there.

Posted by Wil at 04:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (98)

I'm making some little changes to Dancing Barefoot for the next printing. I've done lots of readings from the book in the past few months, and I've noticed certain passages that benefit from the addition of a word or phrase, or the removal of stuff that I thought was good when I wrote it, or for whatever reason has never connected with an audience.

Here's where you, dear reader (wow. I can't believe I said that) come in: if you've read Dancing Barefoot, and you've spotted a typo, you can help me catch anything that I've missed. I think it's pretty solid, but I know that the current printing has at least one.

Thnka yuo fro your're help!1

Posted by Wil at 06:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (63)

Several people have written in with the news of Jonathan Brandis's apparent suicide at age 27.

I guess many TV watchers put us in a category together, because we both played "The Kid" on a SF show. I've heard him called "The Wesley of SeaQuest" more than once, and not in a kind way. Jesus, I bet that sucked for him.

I didn't know him, though I did see him from time to time when we were kids, mostly at Big Bopper Teen Cheese-O-Rama parties at whatever 50s diner was currently trendy.

Anyway, I think it's terribly sad. I know how hard it is to make the transition from child to adult actor. I know how merciless Hollywood is. I know the pain, frustration, and depression that he must have felt. I know it intimately.

The thing is, if I'd turned right instead of left, if I'd taken the elevator instead of the stairs, if I'd chosen differently when faced with one of those 1 or 0 decisions . . . that could be me you're reading about today.

Afterthought: Several comments suggest that it's jumping the gun to assume that his death had anything to do with the struggles I associate with the child to adult actor thing, and that it's a pretty big assumption. I have to agree with that. I just wrote what came to my mind when I heard about his death. Whatever the reason, it's just awful whenever someone takes their own life. A very good friend of mine killed himself when he was just 23, and it haunts me to this day.

Posted by Wil at 12:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (169)

Last night, the phone rang while I was in my bathroom, doing my semi-annual flossing of my teeth.

I carefully unwrapped my fingers, and let the minty floss dangle between my first and second bicuspid.

Caller ID on the cordless said it was my parent's house. I pushed talk.

"Hello?"

"Hey Wil, It's Dad."

"Hi Dad. What's up?"

"Well, I hadn't read your site in a few days . . ." he said.

I immediately thought about those footlights from yesterday.

"Oh?" I said. "I wrote some stuff that totally doesn't suck."

"I know! Your mother was wondering why I hadn't finished making dinner," he said, "now she knows! I've been in my office laughing with you."

I was speechless. My dad doesn't make these calls. I sat down on the edge of my bathtub.

"Gee, dad," I said, "Thanks."

"When I listened --" He stopped himself, and said, "I mean, when I read what you wrote, I could --"

There was a long silence. I wondered if the phone had gone dead.

"Dad?"

"Yeah . . . sorry," he said, puzzled and with great effort, "I'm getting choked up and I don't know why."

"Maybe my dad is proud of me," I thought . . .

. . . but I didn't say it.

"It's like . . ." He trailed off. I felt like he was struggling to find the words.

"It's like I can hear their voices. You've captured them exactly the way I remember them." His voice was thick and distant.

Have you ever seen your father cry? You know how it makes you feel so . . . awkward? Like this invincible person is just as human as you are? I felt compelled to speak. The last time I saw my dad cry was at my grandfather's funeral.

"Gosh, Dad . . ." I said, " . . . thank you. It's been really fun to write the past couple of days. It makes me happy when I recall that day. When I write about it, I get to be there again."

"Well, it really comes across," he said. His voice had returned to normal. "It's really good, and I can't wait to read more."

"Thank you, " I said, "I'm so glad that you called to tell me."

"Me too." Now I have to go finish dinner or your mom is going to kill me."

He laughed. I smiled.

"I understand. Thanks, Dad."

"I love you, Wil," he said.

"I love you too, Dad."

I pushed talk to hang up the phone, and pulled the floss from my teeth.

I faced the mirror, and looked into his eyes.

Posted by Wil at 10:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (59)

More from the rewrite, with some overlap from yesterday:

A huge smile spread across his face as he stood up.

"W!" he said, "You look great, man!"

I love it when he calls me "W" (pronounced "double-you") -- my whole life I wanted a nickname, and it?s the closest I?ve ever come.

He closed the distance between us in two strides, and wrapped his arms around me in a big, fatherly bearhug.

"You too," I said.

"Have you eaten?" he said.

"Some coffee and toast this morning," I said. I didn't mention anything about my nervous stomach, and the barely-touched omelette I left on the table.

"Help yourself," he said, and pointed to a table where some food was set out. "They always give us too much food, you know?"

I haven't spent nearly enough time in green rooms to know how much food was normal, but I took his word for it.

I opened a ginger ale and picked up some veggies with a trembling hand. As I munched on a carrot, he said, "How have you been?"

It was the question that I always dreaded. I would always smile bravely, ignore the knot in my chest, and say something like,"Oh, you know . . . Things are slow, but I have an audition next week."

I spoke before that familiar knot could tighten.

"Not too bad. I haven't worked in ages, but I'm doing a really good sketch comedy show at ACME in Hollywood." I took a long drink.

"And I made myself a website where I write a lot of stuff. It's pretty fun."

"Have you been doing any cons?" He asked.

"A few," I said. "I did one in Vegas last month."

"Slanted Fedora?"

"Yeah," I said.

"How did it go?"

"I took my sketch group out there and we did a show. It was really fun."

"Oh! I heard about that. I hear you're really funny."

"Yeah, I try to entertain the kids." I said. I don't know why, but I didn't want to talk about it. Here was the one thing that I'd been doing, and doing well, yet I felt uncomfortable, almost embarrassed. I noticed that I'd been shoving carrots into my mouth. I changed the subject.

"Have you been watching TNG on TNN?"

"Yeah," he said, "it's amazing how those old shows hold up."

"Except Angel One," I said.

"And Code of Honor," he said.

"No vaccine!" we said in unison, imitating one of the actors in that show. It was a long-running inside joke, and we both laughed.

"It's so weird for me to watch them," I said, "because I was so young. It's like my high school yearbook has come to life."

"That's because you've actually grown up since then," he said, "the rest of us have just gotten fatter."

"Don't let Marina hear you say that," I said.

He thought for a moment, and added, "Okay, all of us except Marina."

He winked. I smiled.

"Seriously, though," he said, "we've just gotten older. You're the only one of us who's actually changed."

"I guess you're right," I said, "Did you know that I just turned 30?"

"You're thirty?!" If he'd been eating, he would have choked on his food. "Do you know how old that makes me?"

"Uh . . . 35?" I said cautiously, with a smile. I heard the elevator bell ring out in the hallway, and a familiar voice echoed down the hall.

"Man, I can't believe you're 30," he said, shaking his head in disbelief, "and you're married."

"With children," I said.

"Goddamn! Children? Plural?" he said, "how many do you have?"

Before I could answer, Brent Spiner entered the room like an actor taking the stage.

"Hello, boys!" he said.

"Data!" Jonathan said with a smile, "Do you know how old Wheaton here is?"

Brent didn't miss a beat.

"Of course, I do. He's 37!" He said, "But he doesn't look it."

I stifled a laugh, but I couldn't deny the huge smile that spread across my face. I was overjoyed to be there with them.

"Brent!" I said, "How did you know?! I've worked so hard to keep it a secret!"

"Wil, you were 22 when we started," he deadpanned, "Do the math."

Jonathan pointed at Brent's enormous goatee."You know what I just realized, Brent?"

"What's that, Jonny?"

"For the first time in history, you look more like Robert Goulet than I do!"

"Oh my god," I said, "you're right!"

Brent laughed. "It's for a character I'm playing called 'The Evil Devlin Bowman' in Dana Carvey's new movie Master of Disguise."

"Are you really evil?" I asked. I always admired Brent's ability to create and portray diverse characters. I was especially impressed with his comedic ability. I could just imagine him stroking that goatee, and stealing the spotlight from everyone else on the set.

"Oh yeah. It's a lot of fun," he said, "but the hours are long. I'm really tired."

"As long as Late Night With Les?" I asked. I referred to a director we used to work with on TNG who would always turn in good shows, but took forever to shoot them. It was common for us to be at Paramount until midnight when he directed us. It felt good to recall our Star Trek days together, and I didn't realize it then, but I can see now that I was looking for commonality, familiarity. I wanted to reconnect with a happier time as much as I wanted to reconnect with the two of them.

"Nothing is as late as Late Night With Les," he said with mock gravity.

We laughed together, and it was like I never left. I felt that knot start to form in my chest. This time, it wasn't the usual regret or humilation, though. It was sadness. I missed Jonathan. I missed Brent. I missed this.

"Did you get the latest draft of the script?" Jonathan said to Brent.

"Oh my god, they're talking about Nemesis!" My inner fanboy said.

"Shut up!" I snapped back, "You're not a fanboy here. You're a peer. Be cool!"

I took my own advice and stood there, silently, and listened to them talk about the movie. Production hadn't started yet, but I could tell that they were excited about putting on their uniforms and getting back into character.

While they talked about the sets, the story, and the production schedule, I felt like a grounded kid, sitting at the living room window, watching his friends play kickball in the street.

There's much more to come. This bit will be rewritten at least one more time before it's finalized, for sure. I need to search my feelings so I can figure out why I felt so embarrassed when Jonny asked me about my sketch group, and I'd like to explore that knot in my chest. There's some stuff hidden there, if I can untie it.

I talked with my mom this morning, and she told me that she read my rewrite yesterday and that she liked seeing the evolution from the first draft. She said it was like seeing "The Making of Just A Geek."

It's always weird for me to hear from people I know who read my site, especially my mother. It's always easier when the audience is hidden by the footlights, you know?

Posted by Wil at 12:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (90)

Okay, I promise this is not just an excuse for me to use another obscure 80s lyric as a title.

I've been working on the Just A Geek rewrite for the past few hours, and I thought it may be interesting to WWdN readers to see some of the progress I've made.

I think I mentioned a few weeks ago that I'm doing major rewrites, and it's taking a lot longer than I expected. I mean, I thought I'd have galleys out to reviewers by now, and I'm on page 101 instead. I think it's okay, though, because I get happier and happier with each rewrite, and that pleases my inner perfectionist.

I'm taking my time, because I don't know when I'll have this luxury again (that was some great advice someone else gave me -- I can't recall who, though.)

The biggest note I got from one of my friends (who is an award-winning author, so he knows what he's talking about) on my first draft was, "Expand the story! There's all this interesting stuff in here, and you totally gloss over it. If this is a confessional autobiography, be confessional!! Put us there. Let us feel what you felt!"

When I read Amarillo Slim's autobiography a few months ago, I grokked what he (my friend) was talking about. There's this legendary story of Slim playing dominoes with Willie Nelson, and kicking Willie Nelson's ass for something like a hundred thousand dollars. (It may be more than that, but my book is in the other room, and that sounds like walking which sounds like work.) The point is, Slim spent pages and pages building up to the game, and then spent less than a paragraph on the actual event! I felt so let down, I almost threw the book across the room. It was only my lazy aversion to walking that stopped me.

As I've worked on this rewrite, I've heeded my friend's advice, and dug deeper than I did in the draft he read. I think I've developed quite a bit as a writer since that draft, too, and I am grateful for the chance to call "do over" on most of that stuff. If only I could do that with some of my really poor movie choices . . .

So here is an example of some of the changes I've made. The original is first, and the rewrite follows.

When I worked on Star Trek, I always struggled to fit in with the adults around me. It was tough, because I could relate to them professionally, but on a personal level, no matter how hard I tried, I was still a kid and they were still adults. In November of 2001, I got to share the stage with Jonathan, Brent and Patrick, the so-called Big Three of Star Trek:The Next Generation. Though I had been performing in a very well-reviewed sketch comedy show for almost a year, and shared the stage with huge movie stars every week on the J. Keith vanStraaten Show, I felt incredibly nervous and uncertain as the da. I worried that with The Big Three present nobody would want to talk with The Kid.

Boy was I wrong.

I took more questions than the rest of the guys combined -- and most of them were about my website!

I felt sort of bad that I was getting so much attention, but I was also pleased. I felt like I'd finally grown up, and the reaction of the guys when we were backstage validated that.

That was the introduction to this weblog entry. In the rewrite, I've folded the entry into the body of the narrative, and added some new stuff:

When I worked on Star Trek, I always struggled to fit in with the adults around me. It was easy to relate to them professionally, but on a personal level, no matter how hard I tried, I was still a kid and they were still adults. I often thought that Wesley Crusher could have been a much richer and more interesting character if the writers had taken advantage of that very real turmoil that existed within me, and used it to add some humanity to Wesley in between the Nanite making and polarity reversing . . . but I guess it was more fun (and easier) to write for the robot. I can't say that I blame them.

For whatever reason, I was never been able to entirely lose that teenage angst, and whenever I attended a Star Trek event, or saw one of the cast members, I immediately felt like I was 16 again. Because of that feeling -- and, if I was willing to be truly, fearlessly honest with myself, the fact that I hadn't done very much with my career since leaving the show -- I avoided Star Trek events (and that inevitable feeling of shame and angst that accompanied them) for years. Of course there were exceptions, but they were few and far between.

In November of 2001, I was presented with an opportunity to share the stage with the Big Three of The Next Generation: Brent Spiner, Patrick Stewart and Jonathan Frakes, at an event called The Galaxy Ball. Robert Beltran, an actor who played Chakotay on Voyager, hosts it each year to benefit the Down Syndrome Association of Los Angeles, Doctors Without Borders, the Pediatric AIDS Foundation, and some other worthwhile charities. When I received the invitation, that familiar angst and apprehension sprung up immediately.

"What will I talk about? What have I done? How can I face them?" The doubts were relentless.

"Easy, I answered, "You've got your website. You've got the shows you do at ACME. You've got a wife and stepkids. You're not a kid anymore. You kicked ass in Vegas, and you can kick ass again. Besides, when will you have a chance to be on stage with these guys again?"

"You're right," I told myself, "but if you keep talking to yourself like this, they're going to throw you out of Starbucks."

I looked up, and offered a smile to the girl scouts who were staring at me. I bought several hundred dollars worth of Thin Mints to solidify my reputation as an eccentric millionaire playboy who hangs out at Starbucks in his Bermuda shorts.

When the day came to go to the ball, I dressed in my finest gown, and bid my wicked stepsisters goodbye as I got into my carri --

Wait. Sorry. That's not my story. That's Todd Bridges' story. I often get us confused.

On the morning of the ball, I had a major fashion crisis that reflected the nervousness and turmoil I felt. I was going to wear a suit, but I felt like I was playing dress up. I put on an ironic hipster T-shirt and black jeans, but then I felt like a child. I settled on this cool black cowboy shirt with eagles on the front and jeans. I looked at myself in the mirror that hangs on the back of my bedroom door, and thought I looked kind of cool. I ignored the explosion of discarded clothes that littered the rest of my room, and left the drawers open when I left.

The whole drive to the ball, I went over material in my head. I prepared jokes and did improv warm up exercises. By the time I got there, I felt like I'd been on stage for three hours.

I parked my car in the self-park garage. I convinced myself that it was stupid to cough up seven bucks for a valet to drive it forty feet, but the truth was all the other guys have luxury cars, and my VW seemed a little . . . unimpressive.

I made my way to the green room, and discovered Jonathan Frakes, who had arrived ahead of me.

"Hi, Johnny," I said. I felt my face get warm.

I huge smile spread across his face as he stood up.

"W!" he said, "You look great, man!"

He closed the distance between us in two strides, and wrapped his arms around me in a big bearhug.

"You too," I said, and waked over to a table where some food was set out. As I munched on a carrot, he said, "How have you been?"

It was the question that I always dreaded. I would always smile bravely, ignore the knot in my chest, and say something like,"Oh, you know . . . Things are slow, but I have an audition next week."

I just finished this bit of the rewrite in the last hour, so I haven't gone over it yet with my critical eye, so I'm sure I'll make some more rewrites to this before it's finally sent off to the printer.

There's more, (like what happened when Patrick and Brent arrived, and what happened while we were on stage, but I don't want to give it all away. :)

Posted by Wil at 02:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (93)

Lots of people have written emails in the past few days asking about Dancing Barefoot and when the next printing will be done. I guess some of you wanted it for a holiday gift, but didn't grab it before Monolith's stock ran out.

I don't have answer that question right now, but I just discovered a couple places online where you can still get copies of the book: Warehouse23 and Powell's.

I've just been informed that Warehouse23 and Powell's are sold out. Currently (November 25), You've made my book sit atop the Bestseller lists in Literature and Sci-Fi! Woo! Thanks for your support, everyone!

Yo Joe!

Posted by Wil at 12:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (21)

Oh my god. I am so tired this morning. Last night, I had really involved dreams, and when I woke up, I felt like I hadn't slept at all. Does that ever happen to any of you? You wake up, and you feel like you've been living another life in the Dreamscape, so you didn't get any rest?

Tired as I am, though, the only thing I remember is sitting on my knees on a skateboard, and using my hands to push myself down Lake Avenue in Pasadena. Weird.

Night before last, I had this dream that I was riding around in Air Force One with Bill Clinton (who was a really nice guy in my dream, incidentally), and every time I tried to enter a room, the Secret Service would search me and make me answer security questions. Really weird.

That sketch I put up at ACME? The "Hip Replacement" one? The rest of the company liked it, and so did the director! This means that my sketch is "on the list," which means that the director will work with me to refine it, and then we'll put it in front of an audience. If the audience likes it, my sketch (and I!) may make it into the show. It's still a long way from being back on the ACME stage every Saturday night, but at least I have started down that road again. I really hope I make the show, because just being there for a few hours on Saturday reminded me how much fun I have with that company, and how much I miss performing there.

After I pitched my material, I stuck around to watch the Bad Taste Show. It's a collection of sketches that are too dirty, or too offensive, or too "wrong" to be in a regular show, and they are hilarious! I'm totally pitching material for the next one we do.

Posted by Wil at 08:33 AM | Permalink | Comments (37)

Anne and I were listening to Fred while we were driving home from Burbank the other day. That stupid "Safety Dance" song came on, and I said to her, "This is the weirdest song, ever."

"Yeah, who thought this was a good idea?" she said.

"I mean, think about all the steps that went into this: someone wrote down all these words, then composed music, then produced the whole thing . . . and at every step of the way, they believed that this was a song worth releasing." I said.

"Hey, Neil," she said, in a really bad British accent, "Let's make a song about the Safety Dance!"

"Oh, that's brilliant!" I said, in my own bad accent, "We'll have them all hoppin' and dancin' and --"

I started to giggle, and was unable to continue.

"You can dance! You can dance! Everybody look at your hands!" I sang, involuntarily.

CLAP! CLAP! went Anne's hands.

"You can dance! You can dance! Everybody's taking the chaaaaa-HAAAAA-nnnncccceeeeee . . . " I continued.

"With the SAFETY DANCE!" We shouted out in unison.

"We are such dorks," Anne said.

"Yeah," I agreed.

We sang the remainder of the song with extreme gusto.

I should also point out that when we got home, Ryan told us that he wants to buy "Thriller."

I think there's something in the water here.

Posted by Wil at 08:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (69)

I put up a couple of eBay auctions yesterday afternoon.

They are:

1. Autographed Dancing Barefoot, for those of you who missed it, or who
   
   live outside of the USA (Note: this is a *real* "first edition." It's one of the first 250 I printed, and it comes complete with four typos! Can you feel the excitement?)
2. EarnestBorg9 MultiGalactic Tour T-shirt, from my improv / sketch comedy group

I have always been really lucky with eBay stuff. People seem happy to bid on my items, and I'm happy to send them off to good homes. If these auctions are a success, I'll find some other stuff around here and put it up for your bidding pleasure.

Update: Yeah, turns out I can't make links. They should work, now. Thanks to commenters who provided the correct links. That'll teach me to blog before I've had any coffee.

Posted by Wil at 08:16 AM | Permalink | Comments (32)

I am pitching material at ACME in about two hours. If the director likes my sketches, I'll make the show, and be able to give up the comedy to the threes of WWdN readers who can make it to a show once it opens.

Only problem is, I'm so focused on Just A Geek and a couple other side projects right now, my brain is about as far from "sketch comedy writing mode" as it can be.

I don't want to miss another show, so I sat down at my iBook this morning, and forced myself to write something . . . anything . . . that may be mildly amusing.

I was recalling this time when I was 16, and my parents took me shopping for my first car. I was on TNG at the time, so I was lucky enough to afford pretty much whatever I wanted, and my heart was set on the Honda Prelude si 4WS. My parents wanted to make sure that I shopped around, though, so they made me look around at lots of different places.

Of course, I was a huge fucking brat, and I went along, but I was totally sullen and lame the whole time. In retrospect, they could have taught me a valuable lesson if they'd just told me, "You're being a shit, so no car for you, Mr. Smart Guy. Try again in a few months."

Anyway . . .

We were out in Glendora at some Chevy dealership, where the oldest, most decrepit salesman in history tried to convince me that the Barretta was the ultimate in sportscar technology.

We shook hands and politely took his business cards before we left.

I spent the longest time today trying to convert that memory into a humorous sketch, but I just couldn't make it work. So I did a mental command:

[/wil/brain/]$ vim really.great.sketch.idea &

[/wil/brain/]$ konqueror occupy.the.conscious.mind.html

While my background process churned away, I ended up looking and laughing out loud at Hipster Bingo. An idea sprung, fully formed, into my head, and I wrote a sketch called "Hip Replacement."

Here's a tiny bit:

Jerry: Are you constantly denied access to hip Hollywood night clubs because you're too "suburban"? Are you called names like "frado," "fin," and "chipper?" Do you get "the fridigaire" when you try to get into a "deck" club?

If you have no idea what I'm talking about, then you need my new video series, "Too Hip for the Room."

Hi! I'm Jerry Avon, Harvard MBA, former WB network executive, and lifestyle coach. My video series "Too Hip for the Room," is your ticket out of Encino, and into Silverlake! It's easy to master the secrets of being a Hipster, and I'll show you how.

Tape One starts out with Basic Hipster, where you're introduced to fundamental Hipster concepts like "the ironic laugh," and "calculated disinterest." You'll learn how to utilize passive aggressive posturing: when it's deck to declare a deck band passe, and maximizing the sigh. You'll add words like "clothesline," "bronson," "sexpack" and "kale" to your hipster vocabulary.

With our proven techniques, you'll be able to secretly enjoy the concert you're attending, while making sure all your hipster buddies know you totally don't want to be there. After 30 short minutes, you'll know exactly when to proclaim your activity "tired," and "busted," for maximum hipster effectiveness.

I don't know if it will make the show, and I quite honestly expect it to be "The First Pancake" idea, but it surprised me and made me laugh when I wrote it . . . and as a bonus, I found this silly "How Hip Are You" quiz while I was looking up hipster lingo online. You can see my score by clicking "more."

Posted by Wil at 04:34 PM | Permalink

I guess my writing style is called "narrative non-fiction," because I take events from my life, and I recreate them in a hopefully interesting and dramatic fashion. That comes from reading a lot of David Sedaris, Dave Eggers, and other authors who get to swim in that great pool of writing while I watch through the fence. I can see that influence in the stories that I put in Dancing Barefoot, and in weblog entries like The Trade and Fireworks. It's a fine line that I dance across, where I allow myself to be inspired and compelled to write without just being derivative.

One of the great bits of advice Stephen King gives us in his "On Writing" book is to read and read and read, because it makes you a better writer. (I have always preferred reading to TV and movies . . . I wonder if that preference contributed to my lack of success in the entertainment industry? They say that actors should watch lots of other actors, and directors should watch lots of other directors . . . hrmmm. Interesting. But not what this post is about.)

I've always been a reader. When I was a kid, I was allowed to stay up as late as I wanted, as long as I was reading, so I still read every night before I go to bed. I often find myself sitting between a cold mug of tea and a dying fire well past midnight, lost in some other author's world, hours after I told Anne, "I'll be right there."

Night before last, I was reading "Wizard and Glass" (Part IV of The Dark Tower series) and I hit the book's point of no return; that place where something happens and I become consumed by the story. I can't put the book down, and when I am forced to, the characters live in my mind, sometimes to the point of serious distraction during my day.

All day yesterday, in an effort to leave Roland and Susan and Bert and Mid World behind for a few hours, I thought about other books I've read, and what their points of no return were. I share them now, off the top of my head, without going to the bookshelf to cheat. I think I'll recall the Point of Intrigue as well as the Point of No Return, because this is my blog and I say so. Nyahh.

Sandman: Preludes and Nocturnes

POI - the first time Morpheus spoke, and it was in such wonderful lettering, I knew that I was in for something wonderful.

PONR - When Morpheus goes into Hades, and all three incarnations of Satan speak to him, I was hooked.

Neverwhere:

POI - I can't recall. It must have happened when I read the back.

PONR - "Mind the Gap."

American Gods:

POI - When Shadow gets called into the Warden's office for early release.

PONR - On the airplane, when Odin addresses Shadow by name.

I swear, I've read stuff by authors who are not named Neil Gaiman. Witness:

Best American Non-Required Reading 2002

POI - "Edited by Dave Eggers."

PONR - In his introduction, Dave Eggers talks about floating in a stolen swimming pool at night. His description of the blue light shimmering on the walls was perfect.

The Gunslinger:

POI and PONR- "The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed." I love that line so much, I can quote it in my sleep.

Fables:

POI - You mean it's like fairy tales, but they live in the real world?

PONR - Bigby Wolf is a detective? Where do I sign?

Ringworld:

POI - It's a solid ring, one Earth-orbit in circumference.

PONR - Fist of God.

Hitchhiker's Guide:

POI - Don't Panic!

PONR - When the Vogons tell Arthur that the plans to demolish Earth are exactly the same as the plans to demolish his house.

Okay, I could easily go on for days like this, but I'll end now with the my current read, because I bet this is more interesting to me than anyone reading it.

Wizard and Glass:

POI - I had to find out how they beat Blaine the Mono.

PONR - Dinner at the Mayor's mansion, when Roland dances with Susan.

Have a great weekend everybody. If you need me, I'll be in my reading in my chair.

Posted by Wil at 12:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (58)

This is a really great bit of writing, that I discovered accidentally at Fark while I should have been working:

“Okay,” I said, and very carefully - carefully, because the rm -rf command should not be used when drunk; it's as dangerous as driving, and can destroy everything you love about your computer - I issued the statement. The hard drive made a noise, then was silent. “It's gone,” I said.

Posted by Wil at 10:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (17)

The two entries that follow were written this afternoon during a big old Thunderstorm. We've been without power for about 4 hours . . . and it's like 52 degrees, and it's even been raining with thunder for most of the day.

So all of us here in Los Angeles dug our battery-powered TVs out of the earthquake kit in the garage so we could watch TEAM WEATHER as they kept constant vigil on STORM WATCH!!!1 with SUPER DOPPLER RADAR 5000 all afternoon.

Anyhow, the power just came back on, so I have Internet again. It's been a terrifying few hours, but somehow we managed to get by, here in the City of Angels.

Posted by Wil at 08:21 PM | Permalink

Remember your favorite day of the week when you were a kid? For some, it was Friday, because that was the end of school for the week. Others chose Saturday, because it brought a seemingly endless parade of morning cartoons. In my entire childhood, I never once met someone who had any of the remaining five days as their favorite . . . but I'm sure there was some egghead who couldn't wait for Monday to roll around so he could get around to screwing up the curve for the rest of us in school.

Saturdays were always my favorite, because of the cartoons, unless it was a Friday that my brother and sister and I were spending with Aunt Val -- that meant sugar cereal, Love Boat, and Fantasy Island.. Many have pointed out that those shows were on Saturday, not Friday. I blame my memory lapse on the secondhand smoke that always billowed out of my parent's den on . . . Fridays? Saturdays? I don't remember. Now I need to eat some chips.

So it remained until just a few months ago, when Wednesdays became my favorite day of the week . . . because Wednesday is Spend The Day With My Wife Day.

I love it that we set a day aside for each other each week. I love it even more that we both have jobs that allow us to it!

We always make the most of our day together, too. We've been to the Huntington Library, on long hikes up to Henninger Flats, and down to the beach. We've just hung out at home and cleaned the house together, or walked the dogs around the neighborhood.

Today, we had breakfast together, and caught the first showing of Pieces of April over at the Laemmle near Lake. It's a truly wonderful movie, and I hope that it's a breakout for Katie Holmes. She's such a fantastic actor, she should be in more serious movies. I hope Hollywood is paying attention to her.

After the movie, we had time for coffee and some gingerbread before we picked up Nolan from school, who proudly showed us that he scored 104% on his math test.

Wednesdays rule.

Posted by Wil at 08:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (53)

This is not the weblog entry I sat down to write . . . but the rain is so cool right now, I just needed to mark this moment.

Earlier today, while I waited for Anne, I sat in my car and looked up at the clouds through my sun roof. It was the coolest thing to see these huge, cheerful, fluffy white clouds moving one way while dark, brooding, grey clouds behind them moved the other way. Occasionally, they'd cross each other at just the right moment, and a little blue sky would peek out.

Right now, an incredibly angry (for Pasadena) thunderstorm is raging over the mountains. It's just recently begun falling over our house, and each thunderclap is accompanied by --

Holy fuck. Thunder so loud the whole house just shook. It was concussive, like someone was launching artillery shells. Riley raced under the table, and Ferris just looked up at the window, head cocked to one side like, "What was that?"

Anyway, each time there's a thunderclap (except the most recent, too big, I guess) a murder of crows that hangs out in the tree behind our house takes to the air, and circles around for a moment before they return. They are black spots against the greenish-grey sky.

The last time they took flight, I watched them swirl around the sky above my house, and I wondered, wistfully . . .

Why the hell didn't I clean out my gutters when I had the chance?

WOAH!

Okay, that blast of thunder was bigger than the one before, and it's still rolling across the sky while I type this.

And the power just went out. Good thing I'm composing this on my iBook!

Hold on. I gotta light some candles. It's totally dark in my house.

Okay, the only candles I have are those smelly ones from Yankee Candle Company, so the house, while adequately lit, is this nauseating melange of Cotton, Pumpkin Pie, Cool Citrus and Basil, Midnight Rain (whatever the hell that is) and Ocean Breezes.

Yuck. Maybe I'll just sit in the dark.

Posted by Wil at 08:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (48)

I have often thought that if those who start wars had to fight in them, we'd live in a much more peaceful world.

Today, I honor everyone who has served, or is currently serving in the armed forces. Thank you for your sacrifice.

Posted by Wil at 10:37 AM | Permalink | Comments (54)

At long last, R2D2 has taken his rightful place next to HAL 9000 and Mars Pathfinder in the Robot Hall of Fame.





The jury cited R2's "ambling, lackadaisical manner," his "spontaneity, affability, and loyalty," and observed "R2-D2 is crucial is [sic] assisting Luke Skywalker in a rescue mission to free the Princess from the Death Star. The little droid navigates the complex computer system to provide the rescuers with timely assistance and status updates."

Posted by Wil at 10:23 AM | Permalink | Comments (29)

Anne and I spent a wonderful couple of days away, and enjoyed simply being Mr. and Mrs. Wheaton.

Thank you to everyone who shared such kind comments with us. I showed them to Anne, and we were both very touched your kindness.

Some highlights from our getaway:

• Playing Putt Putt golf together, like we do every year. Winner got a foot massage (that was me, for those of you keeping score at home. First time in four years I've won!)



• Walking down the pier, marveling at the beautiful clouds the whole way, then running back to the street when they opened up on us as soon as we got to the very end.



• Sleeping with the window open so we could hear the rain.



• Breakfast in bed two days in a row.



• Guinness and darts at the pub yesterday afternoon.



• Driving down PCH to Malibu to meet my family for brunch today.



• Loving each other's company

Before we left, I did an interview with Something Awful for a Teen Magazine parody that Frolixo put up on Saturday. I can't figure out how to link directly to SA stories, so you'll have to scroll down to Saturday the 8th to read more of this:Thanks to Max, who gave up the link in the comments.

additional note: I guess there's a Matrix spoiler around that interview, and more than a few people have seen the spoiler and freaked out. Sorry for not mentioning that when I originally posted this link. If you haven't seen Matrix III yet, you prolly shouldn't follow that link.

Exclusive Interview with Teen Heartthrob Wil Wheaton!

We were lucky enough to nab one of the hottest young stars of today for a one on one interview. Wil Wheaton has starred in a variety of movies like "Stand By Me", and TV shows like "Star Trek: The Next Generation". Recently has was involved in a scandal involving the accidental death of three prostitutes at his posh LA condo, but thankfully has been cleared of all charges. As we sat down for the interview, Wil seemed ill at ease, yet sipping on his rum and coke, and downing a few horse tranquilizers calmed him down. His towering bodyguards removed my belt and took my pencils away, a normal precaution against an assassination attempt against Wil.

SA: So Wil, let's get started. First off, what's your favorite color?

Wil:The color of money! Wait. That's "what movie did Tom Cruise most recently ruin." Sorry about that. My favorite color is something like the color of drying blood on the face of the ignorant in the moonlight, the silver rays reflecting off the crimson puddles. Oh, and before you look at it, it helps to huff a bunch of ether.

SA: Interesting. What's your favorite food?

Wil: Until you've eaten tapioca off the firm flat belly of a whore in Thailand, you haven't lived.

I told Frolixo that I was going to be a real profane bastard in the interview, and he totally got on board with that idea. It's not for the faint of heart (or my mom), but I think it's pretty goddamn funny.

Posted by Wil at 05:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (47)

When I was younger, I saw this movie. I think it was "Singles," but I could be mistaken. In that movie, these people are trying so hard to find each other and fall in love, and someone says, "You're the first thing I think of in the morning, and the last thing I think of before I go to sleep."

Anne and I had been dating for about three weeks when she became that person to me.

Eight years later, she's still the first person I think of in the morning, and the last person I think of before I fall asleep at night. I can't imagine my life without her.

Anne, the only thing better than falling in love with you is being in love with you.

Happy Anniversary, Mrs. Wheaton. I love you to the moon and back 59 times.

Posted by Wil at 01:08 AM | Permalink | Comments (166)

When I did uploaded all my road trip photos recently, I felt like there were several missing images, particularly from Cuervo and Tucumcari, New Mexico.

Last night, I found them! They were conveniently hidden on my iBook in the ~/roadtip/images directory. Clever, tricksey, wicked, filthy, stinking little jpegs! We hates them!

Anyway, I just added a them to the Eastbound -- New Mexico album, precious.

Posted by Wil at 11:38 AM | Permalink | Comments (26)

I just finished adding captions to all the Eastbound - Texas pictures in the Road Trip gallery.

I love working on those pictures, because it reminds me how happy Anne and I were on that trip.

Posted by Wil at 05:09 PM | Permalink | Comments (35)

Several people have e-mailed me this, which was in Neil Gaiman's journal this morning:

I'm going to be a guest at Penguincon next year, mostly because it struck me as something fun I could drag my son Mike to that he'd enjoy as much as, or more than, I would, and because Terry Pratchett had a great time last year. It won't be a usual SF convention, and the guests include lots of people I'm looking forward to meeting in the flesh, like the Slashdot people, and Wil Wheaton, who long before he was an uberblogger I knew of as The Guy Who Started the Sandman Discussion On Genie...

It blows my mind that he's looking forward to meeting me. Neil Gaiman's been transformed from A Guy Whose Work I Really Love into A Guy Who Has Inspired Me And Made Me Want To Be A Better Writer, so I'll be working extra hard to not be a complete geek when I'm there.

I love that he mentioned GEnie! That was my first ever Internet experience, in the old SF Roundtable.

The first time I logged on, I was sitting at a menu prompt, and I kept getting messages from people welcoming me to GEnie. I had no idea how the system worked, so I just typed (In all caps, of course) at the menu prompt. It looked something like this:

menu.prompt>HI THERE. I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO ANYTHING HERE. WHERE CAN I GO?

menu.prompt> Error! You didn't use a command!

menu.prompt>IT TOLD ME I DIDN'T USE A COMMAND. WHAT SHOULD I DO?

menu.prompt> Error! You didn't use a command!

It went on and on like that until I ended up in the GEnie version of irc, where I learned that typing in all caps wasn't cool like War Games, but was totally lame, like Short Circuit.

When I was using GEnie, I was the biggest Sandman fanboy on earth. I even created a character in GEnie's MUD-like thing called "Morpheus," who I described as "a tall thin man with black hair, pale skin, and piercing black eyes. You think you've seen him in a Dream."

Man, just the mention of GEnie brings back a flood of memories. I spent hundreds of hours on GEnie over the years, at speeds up to 2400 baud. I bet an archive of my sf roundtable discussions would be really horrifying to me, because I was at the hight of my teenage lameness then. I don't think I ever spoke in AOL kiddie-speak, but my idiocy and ignorance about everything in the world really shone through.

Posted by Wil at 08:49 AM | Permalink | Comments (54)

Well, one good night's sleep later, I really regret totally losing my cool last night. See, this guy struck a very exposed nerve, and that part of my brain that says, "Dude, are you sure you want to do this?" was completely shorted out. But I think I'll leave that post up, because it will serve as a reminder to me, (a scarlet letter, if you will) that it's fine to love my family, and it's fine to defend them when they are attacked . . . but sometimes it's better to just go take a long walk and cool off. I think it's fine to vent in one's blog, but sometimes it's just better to STFU and be a bigger person.

*Cue music for "The More You Know."*

Posted by Wil at 08:25 AM | Permalink | Comments (55)

Some mothefucker calling himself "Bruce Cook" thinks that it's okay to misrepresent me and my wife:

I had opportunity to go to a Star Trek Convention recently and Wil Wheaton was there. He has always been one of my favorite actors and I so looked forward to meeting him. Anyway, I did not know he sold his autograph. I bought a picture for $5 and,when it came time for me to meet him, he told me he needed $10 for the autograph. I was brought ,by my brother,in a wheelchair and it was explained we did not have $10. But,instead of showing compassion, his wife,who was there,said, "then wheel your crippled ass out of the way,we're here to make money,not give out charity!" I looked at Wil and he said "You heard her,now fork over the 10 or get the hell out of here!"

It's bad enough that this bastard made up some stupid lie about me. That I can ignore. But he crossed a line when he lied about my wife, who is the most loving, compassionate, caring and thoughtuful woman on this planet.

Bruce Cook, if you're reading this, you have one chance to set the record straight. Nobody tells lies about my wife and gets away with it, you son of a bitch.

UPDATE 11:46 PM PST: Now that I've managed to calm down, and my rage has cooled to just 500 degrees, rather than 500,000, I've removed this pigfucker's Yahoo profile info. As furious as I am, I think it would be pretty uncool to flood this idiot with e-mails and junk. For all I know, this could be some troll looking for lots of attention, in which case I've played right into his / her / its hands.

The thing is, when I perceive a threat against people I love, I tend to blast off and nuke the site for orbit. I just want this guy / gal / robot to set the record straight, then we can all get back to hanging out at the stick, looking at a thing in a bag.

Posted by Wil at 10:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (135)

On Friday, Nolan came racing into the living room and said, "Wil! I want to go to the LA Car Show this weekend! Just you and me, okay?!"

Nolan loves cars. When we see a cool sportscar, it's not enough for Nolan to tell me that it's a Nissan 350 Z. He needs to tell me exactly what size engine it has, how fast it does 0-60, and how it would do against a Ferrari.

Nolan has a subscription to Car and Driver, and was excited to have Project Gotham Racing because "It's the closest I'll get to racing a Mini for a few years, Wil."

I, on the other hand, have serious problems hanging an air freshener tree from my mirror ("You'll find one in every car, you'll see.") or adding washer fluid. but when the Car Show came to town last year, I saw an opportunity to do something with him, in an environment where I knew he'd enjoy himself. I had to seriously talk him into going, but I eventually succeeded, and we had a great time. So I was very excited when he came to me Friday and asked me if I'd take him again.

Yesterday, he had plans with friends all day, so we planned to go today.

At 11:30 a.m., we got into my car, and drove to the convention center. About ten miles into the drive, he said to me, "Do you ever listen to anything other than Fred when you drive?"

"Sure, I do," I said, "I listen to the jazz station, and Ethel, and Special X."

"Why don't you listen to the regular radio?"

"Because the regular radio sucks. It all sounds the same and the DJs are lame."

"You won't even listen to KIIS FM?"

KIIS is a local Top 40 station. I'm pretty sure it's one of those Clear Channel stations.

"I don't think so. I used to listen to KROQ, but nowadays --"

"KROQ just sucks, doesn't it?" He said.

"Mostly, yeah. Kevin and Bean are awesome, but the music on that station is just --"

"They play too many oldies," he said.

I nearly lost control of the car.

"Too many oldies?"

"Yeah! It's all from the eighties," he said, matter-of-factly.

Man, did I ever feel like I was 31 and squarely in a different generation. Squarely, man. Squarely.

"Well, I was thinking of all that Korn and System of a Down noise, but . . ." I couldn't even complete the thought.

"Do you think KIIS will be around in ten years?" He asked.

"Probably. It's been on the air since I can remember."

"Oh, that's good," he said, "I don't know what I'd listen to if KIIS went off the air."

Oh dear god. I am so out of touch with the kids today.

I reflexively turned up Fred, which was playing Joy Division, and self-consciously sang along.

The rest of the drive, Nolan spoke without stopping for breath about how excited he was to see cars from 2 Fast 2 Furious, and some new concept cars, and some Mitsubishi. I kept looking at him in the rearview mirror, but I was distracted by my steadily receeding hairline and the lines that have recently deepened around my eyes.

We pulled off the freeway at 9th street, and turned down Hope on the way to the convention center.

I was passing the Staples Center when I realized that there were no other cars around, and all the parking lots were empty.

"Nolan, did you say that the Car Show was at the Convention Center?"

"Yeah, it's the Los Angeles Auto Show at the LA Convention Center in Anaheim."

I pulled over and turned off the car.

"Nolan," I said, as my old heart sank, "Do you mean the Anaheim Convention Center?"

"Yeah! That's it!" He said, cheerfully.

"Nolan, that's in Orange County. This is the Los Angeles Convention Center."

"How far is the other one?"

"It's over an hour away. We can't go there."

His smile fell from his face.

"Why?"

"Because it's noon, and we have to be at my parent's house at four for dinner. We don't have time."

At a time like this, it would be totally normal for the kid to cry, but I felt like I was going to cry. I felt like I'd let him down by not double-checking the location, and now our big day together was a total loss.

"Well, can we do something else instead?" he offered.

"Are you okay with that?"

"Well, I was really looking forward to going to the car show, but we can still hang out together until dinner. That'll be cool."

I actually felt the heaviness lift from my heart. For the next few minutes, we talked about where we could go, and settled on Universal Citywalk. We figured there were lots of restaurants there, and maybe we could catch a movie.

A cold wind and the end of tourist season conspired to keep Citywalk mostly empty. Top-40 music blared from huge speakers echoed off the mostly-empty walkways. It sounded hollow and eerie, too warm for this chilly November afternoon.

We walked up to the theater, and scanned the showtimes.

"How about Texas Chainsaw Massacre?" Nolan said.

I opened my mouth to answer and he said, "Just kidding, Wil. How about School of Rock?"

"Haven't you already seen that?"

"Yeah, but I really liked it. I think you'll like it too."

"Okay," I said.

He turned to the girl in the ticket booth.

"One child, and one . . . " he paused and looked at me, ". . . senior for 'School of Rock at one."

"Senior?!" I said, "I don't think so!"

He giggled at me while I paid for one adult and one child.

The movie was mildly amusing to me, and though I enjoy Jack Black, I think he's better in a supporting role. I got serious Jack Black fatigue after about 40 minutes. During the film, though, I finally grokked why parents can sit through terrible movies like Anastasia because their kids want to see it. Nolan was rocking back and forth in his chair, and kept looking at me to make sure I was enjoying it as much as he was.

When the film was over, we had about 45 minutes to spend at Citywalk before we had to go up to my mom and dad's, so we checked out some of the junk shops they have up there.

Citywalk is this very strange, ultra-sanitized, fake version of a scaled-down Los Angeles. It's so hideous, it's sort of cool, and I must admit that I enjoy walking around up there.

"I remember coming up here when I was a teenager," I told him, "when none of this was here. There were just two themed restaurants, and the movie theater. And the theater only had 12 or so screens. "

"There was no Hard Rock Cafe?"

"Nope. But there was this place called Whomphoppers, which was a western-themed steak house, and this other place called Victoria Station, which was a train-themed steakhouse."

"No offense, Wil, but that sounds pretty lame."

"Yeah, it was . . . but it was the 80s so we didn't notice. We were distracted by the awful hair and leather ties."

"Yeah, what were you thinking?" he asked.

"Uhm. I don't know, but I can promise you that all your friends who wear their ironic trucker hats cocked to the side on their heads will have this conversation with their own kids in fifteen years."

We both laughed and walked into a blast of obnoxiously loud hip-hop music that poured out of a store.

"Man, I must be getting old," I said, "because I just can't stand this crap. I'm totally out of touch with you damn kids today."

"What do you mean, getting?" Nolan laughed.

"Dude!"

"I'm just kidding . . . " he said, and took my hand as we walked out, ". . . but you are."

I love that kid.

Posted by Wil at 10:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (96)