WIL WHEATON dot NET: 1.5

TrekWeb has given Dancing Barefoot an amazing review that made me squeal like a little girl.

My little book earned 5 out of 5 stars (!), but my very favorite part of the whole review is this:

Accompanying Wheaton's book are illustrations by Ben Claassen III. Like Wheaton's tales, each illustration is a story unto itself that serve well in accompanying the stories. If I could visualize what Wheaton is thinking along the way, these illustrations would be among those thoughts.

Way to effing go, Ben!! I'm proud of my words, but they're only part of the whole "experience" that I hope readers have, and I'm thrilled that the first review I've seen since O'Reilly published my book gives Ben the attention and credit that he so deeply deserves.

Posted by Wil at 07:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (53)

A week or so ago, I did an interview with Developershed about WWdN, Dancing Barefoot, D&D, Nethack, and Sammy Hagar vs. David Lee Roth.

It just hit the web this morning, in their magazine called Plugin.

I'm very happy with the way the interview ended up, and the graphic design of of the piece is fantastic. There are lots of nifty pictures in there that made me feel sort of cool for 25 seconds.

Warning: when you read it, you will discover that, like, when I talk, it's, like, really clear that I'm all, like, from the San Fernando Valley and stuff. Sorry about that.

Posted by Wil at 10:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (58)

I'm supposed to turn in my JAG manuscript on Friday, and I'm still poking away at the Dancing Barefoot chapter, and I haven't even gotten to that part when I print it out double-spaced and make all those "red pen" changes that I'd like to make before my editor sees it. Plus, I have been given the honor of writing the foreward foreword (see how I finally spelled that right? \m/ sigh. ) for a Knights of the Dinner Table collection, which I need to turn in tomorrow.

It's a good thing that I like to be busy, because . . . HOLY CRAP I JUST GOT TWO TEEN TITANS SCRIPTS FOR FRIDAY!!

I'm beyond excited. I get to be Aqualad in a two-part episode! It's a full-on cliffhanger, even, and one of them is written by Marv Wolfman!

You know, I am the luckiest guy in the world. I wake up next to a beautiful woman who loves me every single day, I have two wonderful stepkids, I get paid to do what I love, and I get to share my good fortune with WWdN readers all over the world -- I know for a *fact* that without your support and encouragement over the years, none of this career success would be happening.

When I was a teenager, I'd always sign pictures with the phrase, "Follow your dreams." How cool is it that I am doing exactly that?!

Now is the time on the website when WE DANCE!

Posted by Wil at 09:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (76)

I am still recovering from the convention this weekend, so I don't know if this entry is going to make a lot of sense. I think it does, but I'm having a hard time feeling my fingers today, so . . . consider yourself warned.

I always write and talk about the positive aspects of conventions, but I want to open the door onto some of the realities of what it takes for me to give fans what I think they deserve at one of these things:

When I signed on for the Grand Slam convention, Adam Malin (one half of the Big Bosses™ at Creation) asked me if I'd participate in this dessert party thing they do on Saturday night. He said that it was sort of a "meet and greet" thing, where a few actors would spend a little time (no more than an hour) with a few fans, who had paid a little extra for the opportunity to get "up close" with them.

I told Adam that I thought it was silly for me to do that, since I hang out at the con all day, and just about anyone who wants to can get "up close" with me for no additional cost, but he thought it would be cool for me to come to this party thing. The fans would really like it, he told me, and he would appreciate it if I participated, as a favor to him. His assistant told me that all the other actors would also be there, and that it was always a very fun experience for everyone involved.

Against my better judgment, I agreed.

When the dessert party started at 9PM on Saturday night, I was physically and emotionally exhausted. The adrenaline surge that came with and followed my reading, and the eight hours of signing and posing and stuff that went along with it had left me totally drained. In my "emotional well," I was sucking dirt.

I wrote something about the whole autograph and picture experience in Dancing Barefoot that may help explain why signing is so draining:

. . . I'm ready to be witty, charming and friendly. I am ready to make these fans feel like the autograph I'm currently signing is the only one I've signed all day, maybe the only one I've signed in my whole life, though the actual number of autographs I've signed over the years is probably closer to half a million.

Over the years, I've learned something from this [autograph signing] experience: it's never about the signature. It's about that brief moment, that brief encounter with a Star Trek cast member, that is so important to the fans. That 30 seconds or so of hopefully undivided attention is what they're really paying for, and I always do my best to make sure they get their money's worth. Contrary to popular belief, sitting at a table signing autographs for several hours without a break is hard. It's not just mindlessly scrawling my name; it's stopping and listening to the always excited, sometimes shaking, always sweating, sometimes scary dude who wants to know exactly why I did “X” on episode “Y” and would I please sign his picture in silver, because Marina signed it in gold and now he wants the men in silver and the women in gold, and I hated your character and here are 25 reasons why and I expect an answer for each one of them and I'm not leaving until I'm satisfied.

This goes on and on for hours at a time. The fans come down what amounts to an assembly line, stopping at a table, enjoying their 30 seconds of attention and trading a ticket for an autograph. They move to the next table, and repeat.

I personally think that this “assembly line” method, while the only one that really works, has the potential to totally suck for the fans. The first one hundred or so who come through the line will get to see a smiling, effusive, friendly actor, and will leave feeling happy and satisfied. Those unlucky ones who are at the end of the line risk seeing actors who are tired, with cramped hands and degraded signatures. We've often lost our voices, and have probably had to deal with at least one scary person. It is a challenge for me, but I always try to remind myself that the last fans through the line have paid as much as the first fans, and they've also waited a LONG time, so they are the ones that I need to give the most attention to when I am the most drained.

I'm not always successful, but I do my best. I know that as I get toward the end of the line, my signature degrades, my humor slows down, I feel tired and worn out and I just don't have what the fans deserve. I know it and it sucks and I work VERY hard to treat the last 150 the same as the first 150, but sometimes, I am simply not physically able.

That passage is from the Saga of SpongeBob Vega$ Pants, and it refers to the traditional set up for signing pictures and stuff at a huge con. This particular "assembly line" method really applies more to headliner guests than it does to someone like me, though.

What I do now is very different: I set up my books and some WWdN junk at a table around a bunch of other actors and I hang out there pretty much all day. Fans come over to visit with me, I sign their books, and their pictures and stuff, and I spend a LOT of time talking to them about WWdN, TNG, and some of my other work. It's that 30 or 60 seconds of hopefully undivided attention for five or six hours in a row, and sometimes a fan who is . . . uh . . . well, let's just say "enthusiastic" will hang out for an hour, and manage to ask me every single question I've ever been asked before. I really can't get away, and I knew the job was dangerous when I took it . . . but mothercrap, man, that can suck the life right out of me.

This year I was next to my friend Rob's wife Alana, and between Ray Park (Nicest guy in the world), Jeremy Bulloch, and about fifteen feet from some Harry Potter kids and Lord Of The Rings actors. Yes, I geeked out when Sala Baker, who played Sauron, gave me an autographed picture. It was very cool.

Aside: You know what's cool? Since I started this site three and a half years ago, each time I go to a convention (and I've only gone to two or three a year) the ratio of Trekkies to Readers has shifted dramatically in favor of Readers. That makes me very happy. I'm calling this the Best Grand Slam EVER, because the reading was so unbelievably successful -- for the audience and for me. I felt like it was the best it's ever been, and I'm even toying with turning some of the material into a one man show. Think Patrick Stewart doing "A Christmas Carol," but it's me doing "Just A Geek." There's enough non-Trek material there to build a show that would work beyond the convention circuit, I think. Well, I hope, anyway.

So I spend all day with people, and I really don't get a break. I do this for two reasons:

1. The convention promoters refuse to accept that I am a "headline draw." I am working to change that perception, by bringing new and interesting material to every show I do, so I'm not just reciting the same old jokes, and same old stories about working on the show. So far, they are very reluctant to give me time on the main stage these days. This also means that they don't give me a speaker's fee(I know that idea of "getting paid for it" pisses some people off, but if you think Shatner is up there because he loves the fans, think again), so if I want to take advantage of the opportunity to support my family a little bit, I have to put in the hours at my table.



2. I've said this before, but I feel like I spent many years at conventions just being an idiot. I was an unhappy, confused, sometimes angry teenager, and I regret those years. I have an opportunity now, after taking for many years, to give something back to the fans.

This is a very long-winded way of saying that by 9PM on Saturday night, when I thought I was just going to "meet a few people and take a few pictures," I was the Walking Dead. The slow kind of Walking Dead, not the new, improved, Super-Fast Zombies of the last few years. I was so tired, many people commented on it, and I felt a little embarrassed.

I met Adam, and walked into a room with somewhere between 30 and 40 tables, I guess. Each table had about 12 people around it. Adam asked me if I'd go from table to table, and say hello, and pose for pictures. I looked around for "all the other actors," but I only saw a few people from Enterprise and Dead Zone. It was a far cry from "all the other actors."

Oh shit. This is going to be really hard.

Everyone I saw there was incredibly kind, and very happy and excited to see me, and I felt compelled to be charming, and funny, and friendly . . . but it was like going to 40 mini-conventions, after I'd spent the entire day at one really big one, and it was one of the hardest, most draining things I've ever done. After just a few tables, I realized that I had gotten myself into something very different than what I was expecting, and I told Adam, "I can't do this any more. I'm so drained and exhausted, I feel like I'm going to cry." He told me that the pictures were really important to the fans, but if I had to go, I had to go. Somehow, I sucked it up and hit all the tables . . . but I can't even recall the last 10 or so. To be totally honest, I felt a little mislead, a little taken advantage of, and even though Adam thanked me many times for sticking around on Saturday night and making sure everyone there got what they wanted, I don't think I'll do it again.

When I finally got home, and fell into bed, I could still see 500 tiny blue rectangles when I closed my eyes, and I slept badly. It was one of those "wake up every two hours singing songs in my head while my eye twitches and my legs ache" nights. I was over-tired from the day, I think, (and I have a LOT of anxiety about Just A Geek, which is the root of all my sleeplessness and stuff right now, but that's another post entirely.)

When I woke up Sunday morning, I felt like . . . well, how's this analogy: The dessert party was the drink that set me over the edge after a night of raising hell with the boys, and I felt "hungover" for most of the morning on Sunday. Does that make sense? Anne says it doesn't. Check yes or no.

It took me several hours and a big lunch to get my head "back in the game" on Sunday, but by the middle of the afternoon, I felt better. Many, many people came to talk with me about the reading / performance, and many of them had already finished my book. I realize it's unlikely that someone will come up to me and say, "Your book sucks, Wheaton," but everyone told me they'd really liked it. People keep telling me that it's very clear, and very easy to read. A woman told me that she didn't expect to be so emotionally affected by it. That was cool.

The highlight of the con, however, was near the end of the day on Sunday. Brent Spiner had just finished his talk on stage, and he was coming over to the "photo-op" thingy, which was about 30 feet from my table. I guess they weren't ready for him, so he came over and talked to me while he was waiting.

"Hey, Wil," he said. He embraced me as hundreds of flashbulbs popped.

"Hey, Brent. It's great to see you."

"How are you doing?"

"Really well," I said. "For the first time in years I don't feel like a loser. I wrote a book --"

"Yes! I heard that you have a three book deal! Is that true?"

Holy fucking shit. Brent heard that I have a three book deal! HOLY FUCKING SHIT!

"Yeah. And I think I'm going to pitch two more to my publisher soon."

"So are you just a writer now?"

I thought for a second. "I think so. I'm so happy, and right now, I have more work than I can handle. I'm riding this wave as long as I can stay on my board, you know?"

He smiled. "That's fantastic." He reached into his pocket, and pulled out this silver box, that was about 2x4x1 inches. It turns out it was a digital camera.

"Look at this," he said, with the same mirthful glint in his eye that I miss from our TNG days.

He turned on the camera, and showed me several pictures of his son, who is the most adorable little guy you've ever seen. He looks just like Brent.

We talked for a few minutes before a convention staffer came over and told him they were ready for him.

"Brent, can I give you one of my books?" I said.

"Wil, I would love to have one of your books." He said.

"Will you read it?" I said.

He looked puzzled, and said, "Of course I'll read it!"

"Cool!" I said. "You're in it, you know."

"Well, in that case, I promise you I will read it."

"That's cool, Brent. I hope you like it."

"I'm sure I will." He said.

The staffer cleared his throat.

"I have to go," he said. "It's fantastic to see you, Willie. I'm glad you're doing well."

I should point out right now that Brent Spiner is the only person in the world who can call me Willie without getting a cock-punch, so don't even think about it.

"Thanks, Brent." I said.

I smiled as I watched him go, but in my mind, I was throwing the goat.

1. I was very impressed with Adam at this convention, especially at this dessert party. It was very important to him that everyone who was there was having a good time, and he went out of his way to stop and talk to everyone who had questions, complaints, concerns, or just friendly comments. I think Adam and Gary are working to turn around the reputation they have in some circles of fandom. Since about 2002, I've seen two guys who are concerned about running a good show, and making sure that the fans in attendance get their money's worth.
2. I just want to clarify one more thing: the dessert party wasn't "bad," at all. Every single fan there was wonderful, and I could tell that they were all having a very good time, and it was really an event. If I hadn't been doing essentially the same thing for most of the day, I bet I would have really enjoyed it, and maybe even spent some extra time hanging out.

   But at the end of a long day, it was just one thing too many. I want to be very clear that I am an adult, and I am responsible for all of my actions. I could have left at any time if I had wanted to, and I am not resentful toward Creation, Adam, the fans, or anything like that.

   I was just very, very tired. :)

Posted by Wil at 01:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (115)

I'm working on a recap of some convention highlights, before the memories sink to the bottom of a pint of Guinness. While I take care of that, check this out . . .

I have a few selections in this new anthology that came out today called Never Threaten To Eat Your Co-Workers - The Best of the Blogs.

It's co-edited by fellow O'Reilly Author (okay, that sounds too cool!) Alan Graham, and Bonnie Burton.

Alan is the guest blogger at bOINGbOING this month, and he announced the book this morning.

Best Blogs has more information about the book:

The Best of Blogs features the most provocative online writing by unknown writers and underground celebs. MTV's The Real World's cast member Neil Forrester gives new meaning to the phrase "Bite your tongue." Star Trek: The Next Generation actor Wil Wheaton gives his take on the Hollywood system and fleeting stardom. Web designer Heather Hamilton finds herself in the unemployment line after publishing work stories in her blog, Dooce.com. Humorist Choire Sicha gives advice on broken hearts and timeshares. Illustrator Mark Frauenfelder throws out his cell phone and uproots his family from Los Angeles to the sandy beaches of Rarotonga. Plus tales of creepy video store customers, online love lies, Iraqi politics, office pranks gone wrong, jury duty, a childhood meeting with Darth Vader and so much more.

Sounds cool, doesn't it? Well, you should really read the Forward by Doc Searls, which Alan sent to me when he asked me if I'd be part of the book. Here's the part that grabbed my interest:

A lot of what I write is about journalism, which I am pleased to see reequipped and transformed by weblog technologies. By transforming millions of passive users into active journalists, blog tech is equipping the Huns to overrun Rome. It’s a wonderful thing to watch. I hated Rome.

Amazingly, Big-J journalism hardly knows it’s being sacked and taken over by all these little-j journalist because Big-J media, on the whole, hardly know what to make of the Web that’s been around since 1995, much less of the latest developments there. So they trivialize blogging and dismiss it as “noise.” I still haven’t seen a good major media story about blogging that isn’t by a blogger.

Even my favorite broadcast journalist, Scott Simon of NPR, had an essay on blogging last November that was wrong and dumb from start to finish. In the absence of knowledge he offered nothing but dismissive prejudice. It was disappointing but understandable. He’s a Roman, doing what the Romans do.

I guess the "literary elite" (Alan's words, not mine) totally blew off this book as "just a lame collection of online ramblings" (my words, not Alan's), and I think that Doc Searls is onto something in his forward up there: this whole blogging phenomenon threatens to shake up the accepted order of things (see: Dean, Howard -- Campaign of) and the Establishment doesn't understand it, but they know they should be a little afraid of it. (I was recently contacted by a major magazine writer, who was looking for very negative stories about blogging: do I know any bloggers who have lost their jobs becase of their blog, or eaten any dead babies, or set fire to any churches . . . because, you know, they're bloggers.) I'm all about shaking up The Establishment (and stopping The Man from keepin' me down, yo. \m/), and even though I am nowhere NEAR the top in this group, I'm proud to be collected alongside these writers.

Check it out.

. . .

Go on, do it. Do it.

/stiller

Posted by Wil at 11:33 AM | Permalink | Comments (23)

I love it when I hit command-Q when I mean to hit command-W, and Camino doesn't say something like, "Hey, stupid! Are you sure you want to close down the entire operation? You sure you don't just mean 'close the Fark tab, so I can finish up the weblog entry?'" I heart my iBook, but I REALLY need to get it together and fix whatever the gdm / kdm issue is on my RedHat machine, so I can go back to using Konqueror.

Oh well. It's my fault for not composing offline like I usually do. Let's blame my tired little brain, mmmkay?

Here's the incredibly brief version of what I just sent off to the depths of nowhere:

I had a fantastic time at the convention yesterday. I performed material from Just A Geek and Dancing Barefoot to a mostly-full theatre, and I think it was my best performance to date. I took material from both books, and I put it together in what I hoped would be a dramatically interesting order. I started out with two pieces from Just A Geek: the "Didn't you used to be an actor?" story, which is a good introduction to me and my material, followed by a selection from "Still Cool."

After that, I read "Can't See Useless, which isn't in any book (yet), but I think it's cool, and I wanted to see how an audience reacted to it, especially an audience that expected mostly Star Trek material. (I think they liked it. It got some good laughs, and applause that was more than just polite when I finished.)

I read a selection from SpongeBob Vega$ Pants that I call "If you lived here you'd be home now." It's about the first time I went on Star Trek: The Experience in Las Vegas, and how it affected me. Then I read "Spare Us the Cutter" from JAG.

The auction thing that preceeded me ran way long (I was supposed to start at 2:10, and I don't think I started until around 2:30) so I stopped at this point in my reading and told the audience, "I know that I'm running late, and William Shatner is about to start his talk in the big room, so if you want to go catch that, you should probably head out now."

A couple of people got up, and a woman about 15 rows back shouted out, "I'd rather listen to five hours of you than five minutes of him!"

Applause. Applause. Applause. I'm pretty sure I blushed, and I thanked her . . . I was a little embarrassed . . . but I must admit, that felt pretty fuckin' cool!

Most of the audience that started had left by this point, but there were still between 30 and 40 people in the room, so I took a moment look to look out at them.

These people are here to see you, Wil. That's awesome!

"Can I read you one more?" I said.

"YES!!11!" They called back, in one mighty voice. (It was insanely cool, but not as cool as what happened next.)

"Okay. Cool!" I said, and turned to a new page in my notes.

"I first met William Shatner on the set of Star Trek V in 1988 . . . " I said, as I started the WFS story from Dancing Barefoot, but that's as far as I got, because they went NUTS!

Screaming, hollering, clapping, whistling . . . it was one of those Rock Star moments that happens from time to time, and I'd be the biggest liar in the world if I said I didn't love it. I don't feel "cool" very often, but I did when that happened, if only for a few seconds. I think it's okay to enjoy that feeling when it happens, as long as I don't let it consume me the way it would have when I was 18.

I finished the story, and then ended my performance with an epilogue from Just A Geek called "Hooters 2: Electric Boogaloo."



Throughout the whole performance, I felt like the audience was 100% "with me." I never felt like I was working to keep their attention, or that I wasn't giving them what they expected. I had a wonderful time, and I'm grateful to everyone who showed up, even if it was only for a few minutes, to listen to me.

There is also a brief recap of some other stuff in my AudioBlog.

Posted by Wil at 11:03 AM | Permalink | Comments (56)

What an amazing day!

I got up at 5:30 so I could to an East Coast radio interview. The DJs totally "got" me, and seemed very excited about my book, and my website. It went really well, and the day just got better from there.

The convention today was AMAZING. I guess there were about 500 or 700 people there, and I think I saw all of them at least once.

The whole thing is (more or less) wrapped up in . . . a new AudioBlog post!

Now I'm home, and I'm going to watch Futurama with Anne for as long as I can stay awake.

It looks like I'm going to get a little more than 60 minutes tomorrow for my performance, and I may be able to push it to 75 . . . which means I can do material from Barefoot, Geek, and even something . . . unpublished. \m/

Yeah, today totally went to eleven.

Posted by Wil at 06:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (51)

Hey, if you're into hearing the sound of my smooth chocolately voice, point your browser to Taste of the Goods tonight at 7PM Eastern Standard Time, and tune in.

I'm talking about Dancing Barefoot, Shark vs. Croc, and some other stuff that's so top secret, I don't even know what it is.

Posted by Wil at 02:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (47)

And now, another entry from the "I really need a break from the Just A Geek rewrite" department . . .

Last Wednesday, I had the awesome session for Super Robot Monkey Hyper Force Terrific Mega Madness Hella Hella Bitchin GO! That session led to an audition on Friday for the freakin' head of voice over casting at Disney Feature Animation for a new Disney project. If I book that job, I'll be one of two leads on the show!

It was a very different experience from what I'm used to in the "on-camera" world, and I think I may have cost myself the job by tensing up, but I won't know for sure for another few days.

Here's how on-camera auditions work: I walk into the room, hope they don't immediately hate me, then read the scene. Usually, there are several scenes I have to prepare, and if the casting people don't hate me after one of them, they tell me to read another one. (Of course, I have to prepare all seven scenes, or whatever, just to be sure. Can I tell you how much I love it when I spend the time it takes to put together seven scenes, and then they only let me do one of them? Almost as much as I love it when I prepare seven scenes, they only let me do one, and then they never take three fucking minutes to call us back and give us any feedback. That's the best.)

Lots of things can happen during that one scene that sort of tip me off that they may not be giving me maximum love: talking to each other, looking out the window, flipping through other people's headshots and resumes -- oh, sighing heavily is my personal favorite. When something like that happens, I know I'm done, and everyone's time has been wasted.

Because it's like that in on-camera auditions, I have to be a perfectly oiled fighting machine when I go into that room. If I'm Voltron with five lions, I'm good. But if I'm Voltron with all those little spaceships, I'm doomed. If I'm Donkey Kong on Colecovison, I'm in like flynn (from Tron, of course.) But if I'm Pac Man on Atari 2600, I am on my way to the landfill of ET cartridges in the middle of the desert.

I've done enough of these on-camera auditions to perfectly read the room. I have a Sixth Sense about things that lets me know if the Signs tell me I'm Unbreakable.

Go ahead. I'll wait.

Okay. The point of all that is, if people look at each other, or talk, or whatever, I know I'm sunk.

Let's contrast this with my very limited experience in Voice Over calls, shall we?

On Thursday afternoon last week, I got the sides for Friday's audition. They contained a picture of the character, accompanied by a written description of his personality (13 years old, thinks he's tough, sort of sarcastic, give his partner lots of shit but is ready to defend her in an instant, etc.) and two pages of sides that I am supposed to prepare and perform. Before the session on Wednesday, I would have been way too scared to attempt a character voice, but I felt confident, and I gave myself permission to do one.

I walked around my neighborhood, with one hand cupped to my ear, and just fooled around with different voices. One was too pinched, another sounded too much like Beast Boy, still another was just too "mature."

After about a mile or so, I found one that I liked. I went home and tried it out for Ryan and Nolan, and they thought it sounded cool, so that's the voice I took with me into the booth on Friday afternoon.

When I walked in, it was the same thing as Wednesday's session: a lone music stand, headphones and a microphone to keep me company on my side of the glass. A director, a casting director, and a producer sat on the other side.

This time, I remembered to put my headphones on right away.

The director talked to me a bit, and one of the producers told me that he'd bought an old game of mine at a game shop in Burbank. (Okay -- that was really weird.)

I read my first line, and waited for someone to read the other part. After an awkward pause, I looked up, and they were all looking back.

Oh fuck. I'm supposed to just keep going. Way to look like an amateur, Wheaton.

Now, if this was an on-camera audition, that would have been the mistake that extinguished my torch, and sent me off the island, but I just cleared my throat, apologized, and started over. I read the entire script, performing the other character's voice in my head between my lines.

When I was done, the director told me I'd done well, and they all began talking. It was the most disconcerting thing in the world to watch them talk about me, see their lips moving, and have no idea what they were saying.

I felt a slight tightness begin in my chest when she pushed the TALK button.

"We're going to go through the whole thing now, bit by bit. Let's just start with lines one through four." She gave me some direction, and I took it. The tightness in my chest relaxed.

We did this all the way through the rest of the script. After a few unsuccessful tries on line . . . I think it was eight, that tightness came back, and my eye began to twitch (it's been doing that a lot the last week or so, as the JAG deadline draws looms closer.) The old Voice of Self-Doubt, that's always ready to jump in and whisper in my ear when the voice of Calm Reason would be so much more useful said, "Dude, you suck at this. You know that your voice sounds too deep, they know your voice sounds too deep, and they're getting impatient with you. Just do the fucking line and let's go home."

I read the line again, and the director said, kindly, "Wil, your voice is getting a little tense and pinched. See if you can relax it some more."

It wasn't until later, when I was driving home, that I realized how I'd screwed myself. I listened to the Voice of Self-Doubt, and when I became tense and nervous, so did my voice. It's a good learning experience, and I won't repeat the mistake on other VO auditions, but I wish I'd learned this lesson in a risk-free environment, instead of an audition for the head of freakin' voice casting at Disney Feature Animation.

After each take, they'd tell me to hold on, then conference with each other. By this time, I was so totally insecure, I was certain that I could read their lips: "Forget it. He's just not right." "His voice is too deep." "He's fine for on-camera, but he doesn't have what it takes to be a voice actor."

Of course, they weren't saying anything like that, but the good old Voice of Self-Doubt was doing a great job of dubbing them. With each conference, I grew less and less confident, but I ultimately finished the audition.

I looked at my watch, and noticed that I'd been in there for almost 35 minutes. That's unheard of in on-camera auditions. I realized then that they must have been into what I was doing, and they were trying to help me sound my best, to do my best work.

I punched the Voice of Self-Doubt squarely in the fucking nuts when I walked out of the booth, and saw my friend Hynden, from Teen Titans, sitting in the waiting room.

"How did it go?" She said.

I told her all about the stupid Voice of Self-Doubt, and asked her what it meant if they kept someone in the room for a long time. She told me that it meant they liked what I was doing as an actor, and they were trying to help me iron out a few kinks, and settle into the character's voice.

I told her about my experiences in on-camera auditions, and she said that VO auditions are completely different.

I was so stupid, man. I was SofaKing stupid. I'm chalking it up to inexperience, though. Now that I know what to expect, the fucking Voice of Self-Doubt can just stay wrapped up in electrical tape and bailing wire in the trunk, next to Corey Haim.

So here's what happens now: They'll take all the takes I did, and cut together the very best performance they can. They'll do the same for the other actors they saw for this part, and then they'll all sit down and listen to all our tapes. After this Aural Thunderdome, one of us will get the part. I honestly don't think I'll get it. I had to work very hard to stay in this character's voice when I freaked out, and if it came down to me (who had to talk around the stupid Voice of Self-Doubt) and someone else who didn't, they'd obviously hire the other guy.

But I think I did a decent enough job taking their direction to at least remain in consideration for other parts.

In other news, I've been asked to write for another magazine. If that happens, I think I'll be ready to officially call myself a writer, because I'll have more things to do than write this weblog and work on a book. I'll have actual regular deadlines and everything! It's crazy, isn't it? Just a year ago I never would have thought any of this would be possible . . . but here I am. :)

On top of that, I've just been added as a contributor to VH1's Best Week Ever blog (maybe I'll end up on the show more, too. I mean, c'mon, "Liquid Ice . . . also known as water?" You should see the stuff that didn't make it. Seriously. I slay me. Or something. Heh.)

I would like to close by pointing out that I haven't made a single Pixies reference in this entire post, even though I typed it with Bony Fingers.

(d'oh.)

Posted by Wil at 01:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (69)

I've been meaning to talk about this . . . but it's such an incredibly divisive issue, I've really kept my thoughts private.

I have seen this on TV just about every day for weeks, and it's really heated up since Sunday . . . and I can't just sit here silently any longer.

I have to live with myself, and living with the knowledge that I was silent about this is much worse than enduring some short-term controversy.

Posted by Wil at 05:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (134)

I just got my schedule from Creation for the convention this weekend.

Now, I'll be honest: I'm mostly posting this here because I'm too lazy to call my friends and family and tell them what's up. (Crap. I just realized that writing it all out takes longer than making six phone calls. Shit.)

Well, here it is, anyway:

Schedule for Saturday, March 27.

• 2:10 PM Performance of material from JAG and Barefoot



• 5:30 PM Photo Op



• 9:00 PM Dessert Party

At all other times, I'll be in some autograph area hawkin' my shit signing things, unless there's someone really cool on stage, in which case I will be in the auditorium going fanboy.

This year, I hope to get closer to one hour, and I'll perform Hooters (It's a good intro), the WFS story from Barefoot, and something else TBA from JAG.

Guess what I get to do now? If you said "Go see Dawn of the Dead with Darin, give yourself a prize, and GET OUT OF MY HEAD!

UPDATE: Just got back.

Huge plot holes, and a little "over shot," but still a really good time, and a great break from the eye-twitch-inducing stress of the JAG deadline. I certainly enjoyed it more than The Shining Part II The Dark Half Strikes Back Secret Window.

I didn't think of it as a remake, or even a retelling of the original. It just seemed to take the "there's lots of zombies who can only be killed by head wounds, so let's go to the mall" idea, and ran with it.

But, uhm . . . when the hell did zombies suddenly get to run fast? Did I miss a memo?

Posted by Wil at 11:38 AM | Permalink | Comments (54)

You know those little buttons that are all over people's websites? The ones that look just like the TON of buttons you see below?

I guess they're called "stickers," and today I found a totally badass UI to make them. I've always thought these little things were spiffy, kind of a different way to say "I like this stuff," and be a little creative while you're at it. I just wasted spent an hour or so making stickers, to give my brain a rest after writing all day.

Here are some stuff about me, or stuff I like ones:

And some that could be nifty for links:

How about some love for XM?

And of course, we've got to have some Star Trek stickers:

Okay, so consider yourself inspired! Get outta here and make some that are cooler than these . . . you know you want to.

Posted by Wil at 07:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (48)

About a month ago, I announced that I'd be attending Creation's Grand Slam convention in Pasadena this weekend.

I just wanted to remind WWdN readers about the event, and give you some fun details:

• I will have copies of Dancing Barefoot available to sign!



• I will be there Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.



• On Saturday, I'll be doing a short (1 hour) performance of material from Dancing Barefoot and Just A Geek. If you're planning on attending, and there's a story you'd like to hear me read, leave it in the comments, and I'll see what I can do.



• There's some sort of party thing on Saturday night. I'll be attending that, too.



• I really do have other CDs that aren't The Pixies. That's got nothing to do with the convention, but I thought you may want to know.



• My friend Kathleen and I met up in Old Town last night and totally made a punk rock, DIY-style 'zine out of our work at The Cult of the One Eyed Cat. We'll have them at the convention, too. We didn't make that many, though, so you should start lining up now, and then fight over them. That would be totally punk rock. \m/.



• I have a few EarnestBorg9 T-shirts, and some OBEY WWDN shirts. I'll bring them, too.

It should be a good time. We're expecting rain this weekend, and there's nothing quite like the smell of wet Klingon costumes. I'm really looking forward to that, yo.

Posted by Wil at 11:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (49)

I'm almost finished with my first *real* rewrite of Just A Geek. I'm right up to just about the end, when I found out that I got cut from Nemesis, and how I dealt with it. After that, there's really just two brief chapters to clean up (mostly cutting a LOT of stuff out, plus some minor rewriting) before I write a whole new chapter that talks about Dancing Barefoot, and some of the stuff that's happened since I finished the first draft of Just A Geek over a year ago.

It looks like I'm going to make my April 2 deadline! w00t!

So. I am a little fuzzy on some stuff, and I've been reading lots of old comment threads, to help jog my memory. I noticed a TON of comment spam in some of the old stuff, so I was manually deleting some things . . . and I just now came across an entry that I started, marked as a "draft" and never finished.

I have no idea what story I was going to tell here, but I thought it was kind of cool. An "unfinished symphony," if I may be so bold.

It looks like I wrote this on June 21, 2002, at 11PM. It's untitled.

Growing up, we never had very much.

We were poor white trash from The Valley, but my parents never let us know that. They never once made us aware of precisely how little we had, or how many sacrifices they must have made just to give my brother, sister and me birthday and Christmas presents.

I lived in a small and very unassuming house in the northeastern San Fernando valley community called Sunland/Tujunga. Back in the late 70s and early to mid 80s, our claim to fame was being a regular location for the hit TV series CHiPs.

Around 1982, one of the numerous times CHiPs was filming in our neighborhood, the kid next door (Steven, who was always putting his hand in his pants) rode his Huffy over The Big Hill, went over to the set, and returned with autographed photos of Larry "John Baker" Wilcox and Erik "Ponch" Estrada. Steven's sister Tina was a few years older than we were and she was quite taken with Ponch. So I sold my autographed picture of Ponch to her for 5 bucks.

I guess 5 bucks had become synonymous with real wealth in my young mind, since it was the value of my precious Death Star, and I felt great pride shaking down Tina, extorting 5 glorious dollars from her in exchange for the picture that I didn't care about having, anyway.

That 5 bucks went into a fund, which eventually was used to purchase an Atari 2600 at KMART. It came with Combat and 2 joystick controllers, and Invisible Tank Pong with the most walls remains one of my favorite games to this day.

I tell you this because I've just been hit with a painfully lucid memory of being 10 years old, sitting on the shag carpeting of our family's den in Sunland, playing that Atari 2600.

That memory was brought on when I was sitting here, just an hour ago, playing Circus Atari on an Atari 2600 emulator.

I loved Circus Atari, but we didn't have it, because playing it required the purchase of paddle controllers, which my parents just couldn't afford.

But Kent Purser, one of The Cool Kids, had Circus Atari, and I always hoped for the casual invitation to come to his house on the weekend, and play it with him...

Maybe I was going to talk about Atari? Or how I never fit in with the cool kids? I can't recall if I was invited to Kent's house or not. I *do* remember an invite to this kid Steven's house to watch Jaws on Beta, where the Cool Kids all ended up playing Atari and never gave me a turn (and we never watched the movie) . . . Maybe it was going to be something about how we were super poor White Trash when I was a kid, but my parents never let us "feel" poor? I have no idea. But I thought, "Hey, this is kind of cool," when I saw it.

So there.

Goddammit. I'm supposed to be working, and all I want to do is go play Yars Revenge.

Posted by Wil at 04:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (70)

I had the best time ever when I recorded Super Robot Monkey Team Hyper Force Go.

I got there a few minutes ahead of my call, because it's the first time I've ever worked for Walt Disney Feature Animation, and there was a ton of paperwork to fill out.

Filling out the forms was a challenge, because I kept losing my focus when I'd hear the voice of Brain, as in "Pinky and the" come out of the guy sitting across from me. Then there was the jaw-droopingly beautiful Tia Carrere, who positively floated into the lobby to work on Lilo and Stitch.

The fact is, the lobby at that studio was filled with a "who's who" of voice talent, and I was just stunned that I got to be around them.

I got my forms filled out, signed in for the session, and sat there, breathing deeply and repeating to myself, over and over again, "Don't go fanboy. Don't go fanboy. Don't go fanboy. Don't go fanboy."

By the time I was called into my session, I was (more or less) calmed down. Well, as calm as one would expect, given the circumstances.

I walked down a long hallway, and into the recording studio. It looked just like you'd expect: Two engineers sat at a huge desk covered with dials and faders, a producer sat on a small couch, and another producer sat near him at a table covered with pages from the script, character drawings, and a sweating can of Diet Coke. The whole room is dominated by a large glass window that looks into the sound booth, which is empty except for a music stand, headphones, and microphone.

When I walked in, I shook hands with the producers, who introduced me to the actor who had just finished. You wouldn't know his name, but you'd sure know his voice! He said to me, "It's great to meet you! I've been seeing your name all over town."

"In a good way?" I said.

"Yeah! You're on voice sheets all over the place. What have you been working on?"

"Well, I'm Aqualad on Teen Titans . . . "

He snapped his fingers. "Yes! That's it! I was just over there. Man, they love you!"

I had to bite down on my lip to prevent a Howard Dean Scream from escaping. I smiled, and hoped nobody noticed my trembling hands.

"That is so cool!"

One of the producers said, "Did you see the Master of Games episode that was just on?"

"Oh, you mean the one where Aqualad gets punked by Speedy?" I said with a laugh. "No, I was out at a show the night it was on. But I think they're sending me a tape."

He laughed along with me. "That was my episode."

Uh-oh. Did I just piss him off?

I tried to save it with a joke. "Why you gotta be hating on Aqualad?"

"It was part of setting up Speedy," he said, "but I tried to make Aqualad as scary and tough and cool as possible."

"Rock." I said, and threw a little, mini-goat by my waist. I noticed that my pinky was still shaking, so I put it down quickly.

"Well, I've got to get out of here," the actor said. "It was great to meet you!"

"You too," I said.

The producer called me over to his table, and showed me the character sketches. He gave me a run down on the show, and then he said, "I really like your voice, so just do whatever you want to do with this."

"Really? Cool!!"

"Yeah. When Disney asked me who I wanted to play this role, I told them to get you, because I knew you as Aqualad."

This is where I would have done a backflip, just like Todd Bridges on Diff'rent Strokes, if I was able to do that sort of thing. See, until he said that, I didn't know why I'd gotten this job. I thought it may have been because I used to be on Star Trek, or because I was a minor celebrity, or something like that. Those are okay reasons to get a job, I guess, but he just told me that I earned this job because of my work on Teen Titans,and that's the greatest feeling in the world.

"Gosh, thanks, man. That's so cool! I hope I don't disappoint you."

The session director, a young woman who immediately puts me at ease, tells me that they're ready, so I walk into the booth.

When the door closes behind me, it's like I'm standing in the Cone of Silence. The only sound I hear besides the ringing in my ears is the excited pounding in my heart. On the other side of the glass, I watch the director press a button on top of what looks like a garage door opener. Her mouth moves as she looks at her script. A moment passes, and she looks up at me, expectantly.

I realize that, in my excitement, I've forgotten to put on my headphones. Whoops.

"I guess I can hear you better with these on," I say with a laugh, and they laugh back.

The producer and director talk a little bit about the character, and give me incredible creative freedom to play around with different voices.

This is the most amazing thing in the world. I can feel their confidence in me, and it creates twice as much confidence in myself. I feel like I can do no wrong, so I clench my hands into fists, grit my teeth, tense up my whole body, and deliver some lines into the mic in this voice that I think sounds kind of cool.

"Hold on, Wil." She says, and turns to the producer. Her thumb slips off the "talk" button, and all now I can see them talking, but I can't hear a thing they're saying. Judging by their body language, they're happy. There's a lot of nodding and smiling.

Wow. This rules!

I watch as the director nods vigorously, and thumbs the "talk" button. "That's fantastic, Wil," she says, "Let's record this."

What? I hit it on my first try? Really?! Cool!

This is the same thing that happens when I work on Titans: all the people involved, from the producers to the director to the actors, are super supportive, and encourage a creative environment, so I feel comfortable taking huge risks and playing characters that I'd never try on my own. I know it probably seems like it would always be like this, and maybe it is in the voice over world, but for the past several years, the bulk of my on-camera "acting" has been in auditions where that supportive, creative environment simply doesn't exist.

We roll tape, and start recording. After most of my lines, I watch through the glass as the producers and the director talk with each other. I can tell that they're happy with what I'm doing, and my spirits just soar. I totally haven't let them down, and a few times, the producer talks to me himself. "That's just awesome, Wil," he says, "That was really, really cool."

Man, I wish I could do that backflip. This is really fun.

I only have 17 lines in this show, plus some crowd voices, a few random kids, and stuff like that, so I'm finished in less than an hour. When I take my headphones off, and step back into the Cone of Silence, I understand why so many people work so hard to make it into the voice acting world, and how lucky I am to be here.

When I walk out of the recording booth, one of the producers, who has been sitting on the far side of the room with a sketchpad, (either looking at character models to see if the voice I'm doing matches up, or sketching character models based on my voice -- I'm not sure) jumps up and meets me at the door. He extends his hand, and tells me how much he liked what I did, and says, several times, "We're going to have you back. We're going to work with you again."

I try to remain professional, but I can't completely contain my enthusiasm. I tell them how much fun I had, and that I hope to come back for more shows in the future. They all assure me that I will.

Posted by Wil at 09:43 AM | Permalink | Comments (115)

Anne worked late tonight, and I was too lazy to cook dinner, so I took the kids to a local hole-in-the-wall Mexican joint where we all love to eat. Especially when it means an opportunity to get away from "all that stupid healthfood" I like to cook (according to Nolan).

Ryan told me about a debate he had in school about media, and how media influences people, especially children. I realize that I'm not the most impartial observer here, but I was very impressed with the clarity of his arguments, and his responses to my challenges. In the end, we decided that media is a big influence in kid's lives, but so are their parents (or at least, they should be.)

Nolan tuned us out most of dinner, and watched the NCAA tournament on a TV that hangs in the back of the restaurant, but he did add, "I think that kids want to be cool, and they see these people on MTV, like Outkast and Britney Spears, and the kids see how much attention they are getting, so they want to be like them. So the kids can think they're cool."

Like I said, I'm not the most impartial observer here, but I was impressed again by the depth of his thinking.

On the way to the car after dinner, Ryan said, "Hey, Wil, can we go . . . somewhere?"

"Somewhere? What do you mean?"

"I mean, anywhere that's not home. I just want to hang out."

"Yeah," Nolan said, "I want to just hang out, too."

I thought for a second about where we could go to just hang out. Before I could answer, Ryan said, "Hey! Why don't we go home and play D&D?!"

I winced. "Oh man, I would love to do that, but I have been working so much, I haven't had time to finish the adventure. I'll work on it over the weekend, I promise."

"Are you working a lot, now?" Nolan asked.

"Yeah, I guess I am." The answer surprised me. "I'm on a deadline for Just A Geek, and I'm doing publicity for Dancing Barefoot . Plus, I got a job writing a monthly column for a magazine, and a bi-monthly column for another one."

"Wow. That's a lot of work," he said.

I smiled. "Yeah, it is, isn't it?! I didn't realize that. Plus, this animation thing seems to be picking up."

"That's cool," Nolan said, as we all piled into my car. "Does that mean we get to put air conditioning in our house?"

We've suffered through five brutal summers without A/C, and every time we think we're going to get it, something unexpected comes up, and we buy a 15 dollar fan instead.

"Yeah. I think it does. We'll have to see what the royalties are next quarter." I pulled away from the curb.

"So . . . can we go do something? Ryan said.

"Yes. Yes we can." I said.

"Oh! What?!" He said.

"Yeah! What?!" Nolan said.

"We can . . ." I paused dramatically, "Go to," another pause, "the carwash!"

In unison, they said, "Oh man!"

I laughed. "C'mon! It'll be an event. I haven't washed my car in two months."

Before they could say anything, I dug up the most saccharine voice I could muster and said, "I really want you guys to be part of this."

We all laughed, and turned up XM. It was Rush played "Limelight" on Top Tracks.

"What the hel-- er, heck is this?" Ryan said.

I affected a gasp. "Ryan, it's RUSH! Your mom hates Rush, so whenever she's not in the car, I crank it up."

And I did. I cranked it up, and sang:

"Living in the limelight

The universal dream

For those who wish to seem

Those who wish to be

Must put aside the alienation,

Get on with the fascination,

The real relation,

The underlying theme."

Then there was much air guitar, and drumming on my dashboard.

In a dry voice, Ryan said, "Yeah, you see, this sort of undermines your whole, 'your parents influence you' thing that you said at dinner."

I held up a finger, finished a drum solo, and turned the radio down.

"What do you mean?" I said.

"I mean . . ." he paused. I looked over at him and saw his brow furrow. "I mean, kids at school tell me I'm funny, and my teachers tell me I'm a good writer. I obviously get that from you."

He said it with total nonchalance, like it was just an accepted fact.

It took every ounce of self-control I have in my body and soul to not burst into tears. Ryan's never told me that he gets anything from me. For most of our life together, there's been an unspoken distance, a gap that I didn't open, but could only be closed by him. In that moment, Ryan built a bridge. I don't know how long it will stay there, but I intend to cross it every chance I get.

"Wil?"

"What?"

"Did you hear me?"

Of course, I was off in the magic land of Stepparentia, and I did not.

"Sorry, I was . . . thinking about something," I said. "Tell me again."

"I said that I obviously get my musical tastes from my mom. Except for the emo stuff that you like, and Cake." He frowned. "Okay, so maybe I just get my 80s musical tastes from my mom." He frowned again. "Okay, what I mean is, I have gotten a lot of influences from both of you."

From both of you.

I nodded my head, and swallowed around the lump in my throat. "I think I get it."

"Hey, when this song is over, can I put in a CD?" He said.

"Yeah! Put in a CD!" Nolan said.

I looked back at him in the rearview mirror. "Sorry, Wil," he said, "but Rush sucks."

I chuckled. "You are totally your mother's son."

The song ended, and Ryan put Comfort Eagle into the CD player. He skipped ahead to the title track, and the three of us sang along together.

"He is in the music business

He is calling you DUDE!"

We pulled into the Chevron station where the carwash is located.

"I'll be right back, you guys." I hopped out of the car, and ran in to buy my ticket.

I wish I could hear the attendant tell the story of the guy who came in tonight and wiped tears from his eyes while he ordered "The Works."

Posted by Wil at 08:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (168)

Poker Blogger Grubette (inventor the The Hammer Challenge) sent me this informative and hilarious breakdown of poker players as Star Trek aliens:

Alien race #1: The Klingons. Even people who don't like Star Trek have heard of the Klingons, those ferocious warriors whose foreheads grew considerably lumpier in the interim between the original Star Trek show and Next Generation.

The Klingons represent the ultimate in aggression and courage, two traits that grow more and more important to success the higher you go up the poker ladder (that is, as the opposition grows tougher or the stakes get higher). The Klingon saying, "Today is a good day to die," doesn't mean they have a death wish. It means that they aren't going to let the fear of death interfere with their best efforts as a warrior.

As a poker player, you're constantly faced with situations that generate fear: surprises, famous opponents, the huge payoffs that get close as you advance far into a big tournament, and more. How you face that fear will have a lot to say about how successful you become. You can't play poker scared. You can't be worried that your opponent always has the best possible hand, or that a Famous Player is so much better than you that you have no chance.

He also covers Betazoids, Romulans, Vulcans . . . even the Borg make an appearance.

Posted by Wil at 09:37 AM | Permalink | Comments (29)

I've got a Saint Patrick's Day story up at the old Cult of the One Eyed Cat

Here's a taste:

I was well into my fifth Guinness when I saw the leprechaun. He sat at the edge of the bar, gazing sadly at something in his wee hand.

I looked around the pub. Nobody else seemed to notice him, so I casually stood up, held onto the bar for balance, and moved to the seat next to him.

"Excuse me," I said, "but are you a leprechaun?

He quickly closed his wee hand into a wee fist, and looked up at me. In a wee voice he said, "Aye, laddie. Me name's O'Malley."

I looked around again. It was only ten in the morning, so the only other people in the bar were three professional drunks and the barkeep, who was watching Arsenal beat the crap out of Blackburn on the TV.

"Can anyone else see you?" I said.

He sighed a wee sigh. "There used to be a time when the whole world could see me. But now, I'm only visible to people who are drinking Guinness."

BUT! Before you read mine, you simply must read Kathleen's How to Survive a Pub Crawl with Real Irishmen:

St. Patrick's Day is almost upon us. It's a glorious holiday, filled with song, dance, green beer, and even greener vomit. Many of you have plans to celebrate this fantastic holiday by driving the snakes out of Ireland, or wearing a shamrock to signify your solidarity with the Irish people. Or, like most of us, you're planning to get so drunk that you forget you have opposable thumbs.

But if you're up for a real challenge, something that will require you to gather all the strength, courage, and liver fortitude you can muster, we've got you covered. We give you: the guide to surviving a pub crawl with real Irishmen.

Oh, and I just want to add one editorial comment for everyone out drinking today: putting green dye into Corona doesn't make it IRISH, you fokkin' bastards. Hoist a pint of Guinness, or get the hell out of my bar.

Posted by Wil at 03:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (39)

There are few things I look forward to as much as working on Teen Titans. It's fun, it's relatively easy, and it's incredibly satisfying. I've had such a great time doing it, and I had such a great time when I voiced several characters for the Xbox port of Crimson Skies, I've been making a sacrifice to the voice over gods nighty, and wishing for more VO work.

Today, I get my wish. (Which is a good thing, because all those frozen weasels were getting expensive.)Walt Disney Television Animation came to my voice over agent last week, and requested me for a new show they're doing called -- get this -- Super Robot Monkey Team Hyperforce Go!

It reads like a crazy anime-styled show for younger kids, and I get to play "Skurg" the evil leader of a Soturix 7, who wears armor of bone.

Heh. It's going to be a lot of fun.

In Dancing Barefoot news, I watched it climb Amazon's charts yesterday, peaking at 188 (!) around midnight when I went to bed. I hear that it went all the way up to 177 after I went to bed. Right now, it's at 210, with an average review of 4.5 stars!!! I am deeply grateful to everyone who has made this happen.

Posted by Wil at 08:27 AM | Permalink | Comments (62)

If you're as big a fan of Homestarrunner as I am, you're anxiously awaiting Strong Bad E-mail number 100.

Yesterday at TotalFark (the best 5 bucks you'll spend in any month), I found the Not The 100th Email.

UPDATE: Mars pointed out that The Real ahundred e-mail was just released.

On a scale of 1 to 10, I give it Totally Awesome.

Check it out, then celebrate with a Kick The Cheat The Cheat plush toy.

Posted by Wil at 08:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (39)

Good advice from Iggy, via Tao of Poker:

My three little low-limit online tips:

1. Other players bad play will make me far more money than my fancy or brilliant plays.



2. The guy that leads with a bet on the turn after not betting previously, typically has a big hand.



3. Folding costs me nothing pre-flop. If it's a close decision, I can't go far wrong by folding.

Posted by Wil at 07:57 AM | Permalink | Comments (22)

The David Lawrence Show was quite possibly the greatest 3 hour radio interview I've ever done. Seriously. It was AWESOME.

David and Lili did an outstanding job of making me feel welcome. I felt like David and I had fantastic give and take, and he'd actually read my book! All the other shows I do have a pretty high standard to live up to, now.

David asked me if I'd come back another time, so we can talk about other stuff, and I agreed. I think we could have some awesome conversations.

When I drove home, I checked XM 152, and my interview was being rebroadcast. It was very weird to hear myself just a few hours ago, because I could still visualize the studio, but I'd already forgotten what I said -- that's a great thing, because when I can't remember what I talked about, or I can't clearly remember what happened during any sort of performance, it means that I was totally focused and "in the moment," as Meisner would say.

This was the first official O'Reilly-version interview to support Dancing Barefoot, and it could not have gone any better. Thank you, David Lawrence, for putting me at ease, and guiding me though an amazing interview. I can't wait to do it again.

And thank you also to everyone who tuned in, or sent IMs and e-mails, and stuff. Thank you for continuing to be part of this amazing . . . thing.

Programming note: If you're in Seattle, you can hear me on the Bob Harris Rivers* Show on KZOK 102.5 radio at 8:40 tomorrow morning (That's Tuesday)

*Too much Lost In Translation. Sorry, Bob.

UPDATE: As of 0725 PST on March 16, Dancing Barefoot is ranked 480 at Amazon.com.

Holy.

Crap.

Of all the books they carry, it's at 480. It was in the 3,000 area just a couple of days ago.

This is just amazing, and I'm positive that my appearance on the David Lawrence Show last night contributed to this.

And on that "It's better together" thing? It's "better" with Neverwhere!!! NEVERWHERE!!

ROCK! \m/

Posted by Wil at 11:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (66)

The Dancing Barefoot publicity explosion officially begins today!

Well, tonight, to be more specific.

At 7PM PST, I'm going to be on a show called The David Lawrence Show to talk about

. . . acting, screaming Japanese girls, writing, screaming German girls, blogging, wedded bliss, belligerent Klingon fans, improv at ACME, Star Trek, open source and more; we take your calls at 1-888-488-DAVID, your emails at david@onlinetonight.net and instant messages at screen name Lawrence on America Online on anything you want to talk about.

You can listen live online, but it looks like they make you sign up for this bitpass thing. The good part is I think it costs 25 cents to listen for an hour. The bad part is, you have to sign up for this bitpass thing.

Update: Ana points out in the comments that KBNP in Portland simulcasts the show live, and they have a stream at their site that you can listen to. It's annoying .wmv format, but it's free. If anyone else finds other live stations, leave it in the comments, won't you? You'll be glad you did.

Update Two: Electric Boogaloo: David Lawrence himself says:

Some listening notes: we're heard live in 55 markets, including Phoenix, Boston, Detroit, Phildelphia, Portland, Denver, Dallas, Minneapolis, Jacksonville and more, and we're on both satellite radio networks (on XM, we're on Extreme XM, Channel 152, and on Sirius, we're on Talk Central, Stream 144)

Wil's hour will also be repeated on both satellite channels (and on several of our stations that carry the first hour repeated) at 10p PT.

You can also listen, for free, online to the streams of several of our radio affiliates. Most people listen to KBNP in Portland, Oregon - www.kbnp.com. The BitPass is there only for downloading the show after the fact, and it's 25c for the 9 meg MP3 file for Wil's hour, and 50c for the 30 meg file of the whole 3 hour show.

BitPass rocks, by the way. They've really made micropayments (and macropayments, actually) a snap.

The toll free number to call in with questions at 7p PT is 888-488-DAVID (888-488-3284), and the lines fill up quickly when I announce the number, so set a reminder, and we'll see you tonight!

Tune in, if you can. It would be sofakingcool if WWdN readers called in tonight.

Posted by Wil at 09:50 AM | Permalink | Comments (61)

Yesterday, I had more fun watching Wrestlemania dos equis than I thought possible. I haven't followed WWE since it was WWF, but thanks to some Cliffs notes from my brother, I was able to pick up right where I left off.

The whole show was surprisingly exciting, with the notable exception of the Goldberg vs. Brock Lesner match, which was quite possibly the most boring match I've ever seen in my life. And I used to watch WCW, so that's saying something.

I still remember watching Wrestlemania uno, while my 90 pound, 11 year-old body quaked with Hulkamania, so there was some nostalgia value wrapped up in yesterday's event, too.

An incomplete list of highlights for me, in no particular order:

• Return of the Classic Undertaker. That new, "I'm on Harley" Undertaker was the suckiest bunch of sucks that ever sucked.



• Three words: Evening. Gown. Match.



• That "Dragon" Cruiserweight guy who kept falling down. That was priceless comedy.



• Bobby The Brain Weasel Heenan an Mean Gene doing something behind the green door with Mona. That was hilarious.



• The Triple-Threat title match -- one of the best PPV matches I've ever seen. Not quite sure if I'd rank it with the '98 SS Hell in a Cell, but still pretty damn fun to watch.



• Spending four hours with my brother, totally acting like dorks, and cheering like we believed it was real.

Everyone involved with WWE should be very proud of themselves. The commentators, the writers, Vince McMahon, and especially the performers put on a fantastically entertaining event. Now I'm sort of excited for Backlash.

Posted by Wil at 09:32 AM | Permalink | Comments (36)

This morning over breakfast, I said to my wife, "Happy π day!"

"Happy pie day? What the hell are you talking about?"

"No, not 'pie'," I said. "'π'."

"Not 'pie,' but 'pie.'" She was clearly not amused. "Isn't it a little early to be drinking?"

"Anne, look at the date on the calendar."

"Yes it's march 14th, and you're going to watch WrestleMania dos equis* with your brother." She frowned. "Are you trying to tell me that you're taking a pie to Jeremy's house? Because if you expect me to make you a pie . . ."

"No, I don't expect you to make me a pie." I said, well into that area where you've explained the joke so much, it's never going to be funny.

"Today is March fourteenth. That makes it 3.14 on the calendar. 3.14 is also known as π."

She blinked a few times.

"Oh. It's π day."

"Yes!" I said. "And at 1:59 pm, it will be even more π day. Isn't that cool!?"

She took a long, thoughtful drink from her coffee mug, carefully set it down and said, "You are such a nerd."

Posted by Wil at 11:29 AM | Permalink | Comments (130)

Que se oiga nuestra condena de esta masacre. Despreciamos a eta, despreciamos toda forma de violencia y de terrorismo. Solo queremos vivir en paz.

Que la paz prevalezca en la tierra.

(image and link via boingboing)

Posted by Wil at 01:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (63)

Tonight, I'm giving a talk to the San Gabriel Valley Linux User's Group about weblogging. I'm focusing my talk on Movable Type (because that's what I use) and Six Apart's fantastic hosted service, TypePad.

I'm doing some homework, and I just came across this gallery of really beautiful pictures in someone's blog.

I thought, "Wow. That's really cool. I bet WWdN would like that."

So there you go.

Posted by Wil at 04:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (48)

If you just felt a huge disturbance in The Force, that was me checking my e-mail and sending out an Akira-like Neo-Tokyo-destroying mental explosion of joy.

This is really happening!

For Immediate Release

For more information, a review copy, cover art, or an interview with

the author, contact:

Kathryn Barrett (707) 827-7094 or kathrynb@oreilly.com



Geek + Blogger + Actor = Author Wil Wheaton

O'Reilly Releases "Dancing Barefoot"

Sebastopol, CA--Not all geeks are into sci-fi, and not all sci-fi fans are geeks, but there's enough of a crossover to explain the appeal of Wil Wheaton -- self-proclaimed geek, blogger, and former ensign Wesley Crusher on "Star Trek: The Next Generation." Even non-sci-fi fans have been drawn to the candid, highly personal, and occasionally opinionated account of his life that Wheaton offers on his blog at www.wilwheaton.net. The reason? While it's true that in the grand scheme of things, the reflections and musings of the typical blogger-geek-actor-turned-book-author are not expected to be momentous, Wheaton writes with an honesty and disarming humanity that resonates with geeks and non-geeks alike.

In his book "Dancing Barefoot" (O'Reilly, US $14.95), Wheaton offers a collection of five short but true stories about life in the so-called space age. Based on pieces first published in his blog, the stories in "Dancing Barefoot" chronicle a teen TV star's journey to maturity and self-acceptance. Far from the usual celebrity tell-all, the book is a vivid account of one man's version of that universal story--the search for self. If you've ever fallen in love, wondered what goes on behind the scenes at a Star Trek convention, or thought hard about the meaning of life, you'll find a kindred soul in the pages of "Dancing Barefoot." In the process of uncovering his true geek self, Wil Wheaton speaks to the inner geek in all of us.

Like many authors, Wheaton hadn't considered writing a book until the idea was suggested to him, and even then he resisted. As he explains, "I sort of know Dan Perkins, who draws 'This Modern World.' I linked to one of his brilliant comics on my web site, and he emailed me about it. We exchanged several notes over a few months, and one day he said, 'You ought to write a book about your experiences.'

"I never considered myself a writer, and told him that. Dan pointed out that I'd been writing for my weblog almost daily. This fact sat in my brain for a long time, and I did everything I could to ignore it." In spite of his intentions, many visitors to his site encouraged Wheaton to write a book, and the suggestion became harder to disregard. He finally decided to collect a year's worth of blog entries from WWdN (Wil Wheaton dot Net) and publish it. "I figured I'd sell ten, maybe even fifteen of them at a Star Trek convention or something," says Wheaton.

"I cut and pasted the web site for a few days, and then wrote some behind the scenes stuff to tie all the weblog ideas together, narrative-style," Wheaton recalls. "In my head, I heard some strange voice -- it was like Danny Stern's 'Wonder Years' VO meets the 'Behind the Music' guy.

"I worked on that for about a week, and I had about 50,000 words. I realized that there was sort of a character arc in there, where 'Wil' went on this quest to cast off Wesley Crusher and find out exactly who he was. A few weeks later, I had several hundred thousand words, and it was looking like a freakin' phone book. My friend Andrew said, 'Don't put all your best work in your first book.' It was very good advice, and I cut out a bunch of stories that I liked, but weren't central to the story. Those stories became 'Dancing Barefoot.'"

The five stories in "Dancing Barefoot" are:

Houses in Motion--Memories fill the emptiness left within a childhood

home, and saying goodbye brings them to life.

Ready Or Not Here I Come--A game of hide-n-seek with the kids works as a

time machine, taking Wil on a tour of the hiding and seeking of years gone by.

Inferno--Two fifteen-year-olds pass in the night leaving behind pleasant

memories and a perfumed Car Wars Deluxe Edition Box Set.

We Close Our Eyes--A few beautiful moments spent dancing in the rain.

The Saga of SpongeBob VegasPants--A story of love, hate, laughter, and the

acceptance of all things Trek.

First self-published by Wheaton in May 2003, available only on the Internet and in select independent bookstores, "Dancing Barefoot" quickly sold out of its first run of 3,000. Wheaton's next, longer work, "Just a Geek" will be released in early summer 2004.

Praise for "Dancing Barefoot":

"I just put down Dancing Barefoot. Simply put, it was terrific. If you are a fan of Wil's Weblog, WWdN, then you will love this book. It's only 117 pages from cover to cover, but it is definitely worth getting...I really want to talk about the stories a lot more, but I think it would be cruel to take away anyone's chance to read it for themselves. I give the weblog 4 spuds out of 4. Enjoy!"

--Mitch Malone, BananasOnToast.org, December 2003

http://www.bananasontoast.org/archives/000124.html

Further reviews can be found at:

http://www.oreilly.com/catalog/barefoot/reviews.html

Additional Resources:

For more information about the book, including table of contents, index,

author bio, and samples, see:

http://www.oreilly.com/catalog/barefoot/

For a cover graphic in JPEG format, go to:

ftp://ftp.ora.com/pub/graphics/book_covers/hi-res/0596006748.jpg

Dancing Barefoot

Wil Wheaton

ISBN 0-596-00674-8, 115 pages, $14.95 US, $21.95 CA

order@oreilly.com

1-800-998-9938

1-707-827-7000

http://www.oreilly.com

About O'Reilly

O'Reilly & Associates is the premier information source for leading-edge computer technologies. The company's books, conferences, and web sites bring to light the knowledge of technology innovators. O'Reilly books, known for the animals on their covers, occupy a treasured place on the shelves of the developers building the next generation of software. O'Reilly conferences and summits bring alpha geeks and forward-thinking business leaders together to shape the revolutionary ideas that spark new industries. From the Internet to XML, open source, .NET, Java, and web services, O'Reilly puts technologies on the map. For more information:

http://www.oreilly.com

# # #

O'Reilly is a registered trademark of O'Reilly Media, Inc. All other trademarks are property of their respective owners.

Posted by Wil at 10:13 AM | Permalink | Comments (94)

Note from Wil: You can read Anne's Previous Entries here and here.

For the past couple of weeks, I've been on an emotional and physical roller coaster. Several times I have wanted to write about how Kris is doing, but there just hasn't been time. The day after my last post I went to see Kris at City of Hope to check on her after her stem cell transplant and meet a friend to donate platelets together.

I walked into Kris's room just minutes after she received her transplant. I had no idea how it was done. But it's just like receiving a blood transfusion. And for some reason, it smells like garlic through your skin. So I walked into a room that smelled like she just enjoyed Chinese food for lunch. Although I like the smell of Chinese food, I'd been fighting off a huge headache all day so it was a little unsettling.

The stem cells they harvested from Kris had been frozen until she finished her chemo and radiation and was ready to receive the transfusion. Then they do a "flash defrost" and donate them back to her. They were able to get two bags of cells from her so that's what they gave back. They were still a little cold and lowered her body temperature one degree and gave her a huge headache, along with a big wave of nausea. But she made it through. Next was the anticipated sickness and pain she was told she would experience because of all the chemo and radiation she got. It was all done so fast that her body wouldn't catch up to it for a few days. Well, it definitely did.

She spent the past two weeks dealing with major stomach and intestinal issues. Her mouth, throat, stomach and intestines were full of open sores. Her tongue looked like it had been badly burned; almost like parts of it were missing. She could barely open her mouth to talk. She was losing the hair she had been growing back. It was terrible to see her going through all this. But she remained optimistic. Always asking me how our training was going. How the donations were. Making plans to come to San Diego to see us cross the finish line.

While Kris was dealing with all this, I wanted to continue to do everything I could to help. I went in to donate platelets to her the day of her transfusion. Unfortunately, my huge headache stood in the way of them wanting to do it. They told me that if I already didn't feel that well, I'd only feel worse afterwards, so I should just reschedule. I was really disappointed, but I was feeling a bit nauseaus because of my headache, so that was probably the best decision. I rescheduled for that Wednesday.

I was very excited to show up for my appointment. My headache was gone and I was feeling great. They took blood from my left arm to make sure my iron level was alright, then hooked me up on my right arm. If you've never done this before, (that would be me) the needle is attached to a tube that's split in half. The blood comes out in one tube, goes through a machine to separate the platelets, then goes back into you in the other tube. It's amazing to me that they've figured out how to do this. Kris said this is the same way they got her stem cells. I asked the nurse why they can't just do the same thing to separate the cancer out of the blood. She said it really is amazing how far they've come in research, but at the same time be so limited. I told her we were doing this marathon to raise money for research. She thought it was a great idea and that stem cell research really needed more attention. I agreed.

I got started donating platelets, even asking the nurse to take my picture for the website. But about 15 minutes into it, my vein wasn't too happy with the pressure of the blood coming back in. It was causing a big lump and the needle had to be removed. They would try on my left arm. They had commented after my blood test that I was a great candidate for donating platelets (average count is 150 to 350, mine was 358). Unfortuately, those great platelets were making it impossible for them to go back into my left arm vein for anything. So again, I had to reschedule. But it had to be at least five days away because I would have big time bruising (boy were they right about that!). My next try would have me hooked up with both arms. One side to take the blood, the other side to receive it back. I was bummed, but determined to help Kris, so I came back five days later.

Again, I showed up. Excited to help, a little nervous that it wouldn't work. But I figured it would all be fine. I filled out the wierd questionairre again ("have you had sex with a man who's had sex with another drug using man since 1977?" What? Yea, I was in second grade in 1977. But I know they have to be cautious.). The nurses recognized me because now I was on round three. They hooked me up on my right arm to receive the blood back. Then, they hooked up my left arm to take the blood. Everything was good! Veins were looking great! Just start the machine!

Immediately, the machine beeped: "access point pressure low".

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"It means the machine is having a hard time sucking the blood from your vein." She called another nurse over to fidget with the needle and see if it would change. It beeped again. She moved the needle around again. More beeping. She decided to pull the needle part way out and re-stick my vein. Well, the first four times she did this, it was alright, but after the fifth and sixth time, it was really hurting. I didn't want to complain. After all, what's a little bruising compared to what Kris is going through?

"Your veins just don't want to do this." the nurse said. "It's more common in women than men. You just can't donate platelets. Sorry." She sent me on my way with an icepack for the HUGE lump and bruise I would grow over the next hour. So again, vein failure.

Fortunately, my friend Amy, who I met through this whole marathon experience, has successfully donated platelets, and had several friends do the same. So even though it didn't come directly from me, Kris still got her much needed platelets. Thanks Amy!

So I've been walking like crazy (when it's not raining), and visiting Kris as much as possible. I talked to Kris on the phone Monday since I couldn't get in to see her. She said they had taken her off of one of her medications, and may take her off another one on Tuesday. The thing is, Kris has been hooked up to a million tubes and bags. Actually, more like eight or so. So weaning her off all those things was a good sign. Her white cell count was going up. That meant she was able to fight off infection. She was really worried about getting pneumonia. (Her friend went through the same ordeal a year and a half ago. She even donated platelets for him. He made it through all of his treatment and his transplant. Unfortunately, he got chemical pneumonia from the radiation and died.) She made sure she got lung plates to cover her lungs during her radiation. So I'm sure that won't be a problem for her. She said her doctor was hoping to have her home by the weekend! I was so excited for her, and very motivated. I walked fifteen miles over the past two days, constantly thinking about how great it will be for Kris to be home.

I was out running errands today when I called Kris's cell phone. She always leaves it on, right next to her bed. It rang and rang, then the voice mail picked up.

"It's me. I'm out running errands and I wanted to come by and visit. Just wanted to call and make sure you're feeling ok before I come in. Call me back!"

Kris has been feeling pretty pukey, so I didn't want to show up if that was going on. She has wanted me to call her first in case she wasn't up for visitors.

About five minutes later, my phone rang. It was Kris.

"I didn't answer my phone because I was talking to my doctor." She said.

"Oh? And what does your doctor have to say?" I asked.

"He said I can go home at 4:00!"

"Today?" I yelled. "Oh my god! I can't believe you can go home!!"

Her white count was up. She was off all her medication. No more pukey. She was ready to go home.

"Does Taylor know?" I asked. (that's her son).

"NO! I called you as soon as the doctor left!"

She made it.

She's going home.

I am so happy. So happy I went out and walked two more miles.

I called her at home a few minutes ago. The radiation caused blisters on her hands and feet. It hurts her feet to walk. But she's walking in her own house.

All the great emails and mojo worked. Her positive outlook definitely got her through this much quicker than I ever thought. I can't wait to go see her at home tomorrow.

Thank you so much for all of your support. I know it made all the difference!

Posted by Wil at 08:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (80)

Yesterday, I taped another Best Week Ever, which will air this Friday. I had a wonderful time. I made myself laugh, and I made everyone else at the taping laugh. I really hope that I get to be a more regular part of that show, because it's so much fun.

But check out This totally cool thing that happened in the parking garage when I was waiting for the elevator:

I gave my ID to the security guard and told him I was going to tape Best Week Ever. While he signed me in, the elevator doors opened, and a really cute girl walked out. (I only mention that she was really cute because . . . let's face it, I'm a guy, and guys notice these things.)

She looked right at me and said, "I love your website." She said it simply, and matter-of-factly,

I felt like I'd just won a million dollars, man. I didn't even know what to say, so I just said, "Thank you so much!"

She walked past me and the security guard, and disappeared into the garage.

I felt like I was in this bubble of joy, where the rest of the world didn't exist. She didn't say that she liked this movie I did twenty years ago, or this TV show that I did fifteen years ago. She didn't even say "You know, I don't think Python sucked that bad . . ." She said that she loved my website, this thing that I'm doing now. Like I mentioned last week, I haven't done much in the acting world over the last few years that I'm proud of . . . but I'm very proud of my website.

Is it okay to say that? I don't want to come off as a dick, and I'm keenly aware of the Pride coming before the Fall . . . but I really do like what I've been able to do here.

My whole life I wanted to write, but I never did because I thought I was supposed to be an actor. But every morning, I get up, drink way too much coffee, and spend the next three or four hours doing what I love: I work on Just A Geek, or I write something for my website, or something for ACME . . . most of the stuff I write I don't even publish. I just do it so I write every day . . . and it rules. Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's utter crap, most of the time it's just sort of there . . . but it's mine, and when that girl said that she loved my website, I felt like I could own the joy her comments brought me, because what you read here is really me. I'm not playing a character, or trying to make a shitty script into something worth watching . . . I'm creating images and recreating scenes from my life, without a director or a producer or a studio getting between what I want to create and what the audience gets to see.

If I stare at this much longer, I'm going to lose my nerve and not publish it, so I'll just say: If I wasn't writing, I'd be a nervous wreck right now, waiting for feedback from that audition, and freaking out about why they aren't calling back . . . but I've got other stuff going on now.

A few days ago, I bought the 2004 Writer's Market, because I'm going to face my fears of rejection and see if some magazines or anthologies are interested in publishing some of my stories. I never would have even dreamed about doing that last year, but you guys who read this site have given me so much support and encouragement, and O'Reilly is so excited about Dancing Barefoot, it seems like the risk is justified. I don't want to get too excited about stuff that hasn't happened yet, but I'm happy right now.

I guess that's what this post is about: I'm really happy right now. It feels like some of the risks I've taken in the last few years are starting to pay off, and I wanted to share that with anyone who reads WWdN, because without you guys, none of this would be happening.

Posted by Wil at 10:29 AM | Permalink | Comments (177)

I just got hellabusy, so I know that if I wait until I have the time and focus to write all about my audition I'll never do it, so I'll just hit some of the highlights, because I think there are 10 readers scattered across the 'net who really want to know:

• I haven't gotten any feedback, so I don't know what they thought. Usually, if they like what I did, I get a call the same day, or (at the latest,) the next working day. It's been two days, and I haven't heard anything, so I am pretty sure they didn't like what I did, or found someone else who they like more.



• The character description was "uptight conservative," but the script seemed to contradict that. My take on this guy is that he was just a tool. He was trying really hard to be cool, and overcompensated like crazy. He calls everyone "dude," "bro" and "hombre," and gets really excited to put on his Creed CD . . . which I thought was extremely funny. I played him very big. Maybe a little TOO big. Normally, if they are interested in me, I'll get a little direction if I go too big or not big enough, but I didn't get any of that. Which means I was right-on, or I was so far off it wasn't worth their time.



• I had a really good time. Everyone in the room was actually quite nice, except for the guy who was really put out that I didn't bring in a resume (I thought they already had one,) and they all laughed very hard at all my ad-libs. There's a difference between "laugh track" laughter, and genuine "oh wow! I wasn't expecting that and it amused me" laughter, and I felt like there was much more of the latter than the former.



• I got to see my friend Maureen there. Seeing people I like when I'm on auditions is always a good time.



• Unless I am totally off, I made a good impression on the casting people, which means they'll consider me again for other roles.

Sorry that it's not the cool narrative style I wanted to use for the report, but I gotta work on Just A Geek so I can turn it in by the end of the month.

It rules the MOST that so many people shared encouragement and stuff, and I wish I had something more definitive to report . . . but this not-knowing is a BIG part of being an actor, so you get to share that with me instead. I'll post more details when I have them. :)

Posted by Wil at 02:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (73)

Darin and I stood in Old Town, on the corner of DeLacy and Green. It was a magnificent night: eighty degrees, clear skies, the slightest breeze stirring the young leaves on the trees behind us.

The whole area was packed with people who were taking advantage of the unseasonably warm March evening: families and young couples crowded the sidewalks, as a nearly-full moon slowly climbed the Eastern sky.

"Hey, what are you doing tomorrow?" I said.

"Getting the tires changed on my Jeep."

"Want to get together and have a cigar? I haven't had a smoke in months, and I'd like to celebrate the release of my book."

"Sure. How's the afternoon sound?"

"Perfect! I'll write in the morning, and then we can goof off later in the day."

We jumped out of the way as several little kids flew around us, their bemused parents half a block behind them.

"Do you have any cigars?" He said.

"No, the last few in my humidor are all crispy and old."

"Well, why don't we go into that shop across the street, get a couple, and smoke them by my pool?" He said.

"I think that's the best idea I've ever heard."

We crossed the street, and walked into the shop. Four guys sat on overstuffed leather chairs and watched the basketball game on a flat screen TV. A cloud of delicious blue smoke hung heavily in the room.

I breathed deeply as we passed through it and entered the walk-in humidor: 70 degrees and 70 percent humidity never felt so wonderful.

"You like the Avos?" Darin said.

I shook my head. "No, I think they're grossly overpriced."

"Griffins?"

"Never had one."

The door opened, and the young clerk, straight from the pages of Details magazine, walked in.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" He said. He wasn't quite condescending, but he was heading that way.

I looked at the Davidoffs and Arturo Fuentes. I lingered over a bunch of Romeo y Julietas. Number One, Number Three, Number Four . . . but no Number Two.

"Do you have any Number Twos?" I asked.

He looked down at the boxes and said, "No, I don't think we do."

He clicked his tongue several times and challenged me. "Why do you want the number two? Why not the number three?"

Oh, there's the condescending.

"When I bought my first box of cigars, it was R&J number two," I said, "so that's what I like to smoke."

He looked at me.

"What about the Avos?"

Darin laughed.

"I'm not a big fan of them," I said. I started to feel like I was dealing with a car salesman.

"Well, what about this one here?" He picked up a Churchill-sized cigar in a natural wrapper. Of course it was the most expensive cigar in the store.

"This one is very popular with the ladies," he began.

"Wait." I said.

Well, I think I said it. Maybe it was the Guinness I had with dinner.

"Are you trying to sell me a girlie cigar?"

He looked puzzled, and said, "Oh no, I mean that this is a nice, light cigar, and --"

"And it's perfect for little bitches like me, right?"

"Well, sir, what I mean is --"

"Is that I'm a sissy little bitch who likes wussy cigars with his lemondrop martinis and Sex In The City DVDs?"

Darin laughed again, and I joined him. "I'm just fuckin' with you, man," I said, "I'll just have an 8-5-8."

The clerk looked like he'd just found out the gun wasn't loaded after all.

"I think it's a cosmopolitan that goes with Sex In The City," he said.

"Oh? Well, I hear there's a cigar in here that's perfect for you."

He laughed. "I'll ring you guys up when you're ready."

Posted by Wil at 08:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (72)

I'll post full details of my audition on Monday (short version: I had fun, and made them laugh a whole bunch, but I don't know if I'm what they are looking for), but I just saw something in the Mysterious Future at Slashdot, and this is too insanely cool to wait:

Peter Jackson Will Direct "The Hobbit"!!!111one one one bang one

According to this news item, there's some question about who will distribute the film, but Peter Jackson has the rights to direct it, and wants to make it feel just like the Lord of the Rings trilogy.

NEW YORK (AP) - Peter Jackson won't be returning to the Shire any time soon. The Oscar-winning director is planning to film "The Hobbit," the prequel to "The Lord of the Rings," trilogy by J.R.R. Tolkien, but two studios must first fight over legal rights to the film.

Jackson said New Line Cinema has the rights to make the movie, but MGM has the rights to distribute it.

"I guess MGM's lawyers and New Line's lawyers are going to have a huge amount of fun over the next few years trying to work it all out," he told reporters recently in Los Angeles, according to AP Radio. "I'm obviously busy for a couple of years on 'King Kong' so those lawyers can just go at it for a long time."

Here is my first Open Letter to Peter Jackson, written with tongue planted firmly in cheek:



Dear Mr. Jackson,

PS- Please please please please. Thank you.

Posted by Wil at 03:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (90)

Holy crap.

I have an actual Audition tomorrow, for a pilot!

This show sounds hilarious, and right up my alley: It's about a married couple in their early 30s, and how they reconcile their punk rock past with their pottery barn present.

Funniest thing: I'm not reading for the husband with the punk rock past . . . I'm reading for the part of his new neighbor . . . who is an uptight conservative, whose idea of a good time is discussing the latest mid-sized SUV.

Talk about playing against type!

Posted by Wil at 10:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (176)

Calling all Teen Titans fans!

This weekend's new episode "Winner Take All," airs at 9PM on Cartoon Network, and features everyone's favorite underwater-fish-talking-guy, Aqualad!

I can't recall if I wrote about this, or if I just talked about it with some friends, but I am incredibly proud of the work I've done on Teen Titans, and I am so grateful that I get to be part of it.

The last time I was over there, when I was walking from my car to the studio, someone called out to me, "Hey! Aqualad!" and the biggest smile filled my face. It was quite a contrast: when someone calls out, "Hey! Wesley!" I sort of look at the ground and wish I was invisible . . . but when this unseen person called me "Aqualad" my heart jumped, and I looked around to see who said it.

You know, I could probably sell my soul and work all the time on shitty low budget genre films that nobody cares about. I could probably make a decent living doing it, too. I mean, you'd tune in if I was on some late night erotic thriller, right?

Wait. Don't answer that. As a matter of fact, let's forget I ever brought that up. (Although . . . it would be nice to see Lisa Boyle up close and in person.)

Uhhh . . . let's forget I said that, too, okay?

The point is, I care about the work that I do, and if I can help it, I don't want to contribute to the stinking pile of garbage that passes for popular entertainment these days.

When I get to be part of something that's consistently good, something that I can be totally proud of, and heartily endorse, I feel like I'm doing something worthwhile. It's just awesome that I can tell people to watch Teen Titans without any of the standard disclaimers that have accompanied just about everything I've acted in over the last few years.

Now, if I can just get Las Vegas, The West Wing, Arrested Development, and Family Guy to give me a chance . . .

Seriously. Tune in on Saturday. Teen Titans is superfuckingcool.

Posted by Wil at 09:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (84)

Note: readers who are unfamiliar with hold-em rules can find them at ultimate bet dot com. Readers who are unfamiliar with poker terminology may want to read This glossary from CNN first. Or don't. I'm not the boss of you.

Part one of this story is here.

Part two of this story is here.

Part three of this story is here.

"He's . . . babysitting."

"Babysitting?! Who?"

I tell her that I'm not sure. Mr. Director offers the name of a fairly prominent studio executive, well-known for his tantrums.

"I really don't know." I'm sort of glad I don't.

For the next several hands I get nothing but a bunch of small off-suit junk. The only pair I get is crabs, so I let Mr. director and Mrs. Beautiful beat up on each other while I lose enough in blinds to drop back to third. When the blinds go up to 500-1000, my short stack looks a lot shorter. I have just enough to cover one or two more blind bets, and I'm hoping for a miracle.

Mrs. Beautiful is on the button, Mr. Director is the small blind, and I'm the big blind. She calls. Mr. Director folds, and I look at my cards. There's my miracle: A-10 hearts. My heart thumps hard in my chest. If I remember what I've learned from Doyle Brunson correctly, these are good cards to play 3 handed. It's time to make my move.

I wrap my left hand around my small stacks of chips, and push them toward the center of the table.

"I'm all in." I know the words come out of my mouth, but they sound distant.

Mrs. Beautiful studies her pocket cards. "Call."

Visions of doubling up and making a strong run at second, or even first, begin to dance in my head.

I stand up, and turn over my cards. Mrs. Beautiful bites her lip, and turns over Siegfried and Roy.

Two. Fucking. Queens.

With a gentle smile, she says, "I'm sorry."

Oh fuck me.

The dealer knocks the table, slides the top card under the the muck, and deals out three cards. He spreads them out with a flourish, just like on TV. He flips them over and the flop is revealed: 9 hearts - 10 diamonds - 5 clubs. I make a pair, but her queens still beat me.

I'm not good enough at math to know what my odds are, but I know that I'm looking at twelve outs -- twelve cards out of forty-something that can make my hand: eight hearts put me one off a flush, (One of Mrs. Beautiful's queens is a heart, but my ace beats her if we make it) one of the two tens makes trips, and either ace would give me two pair. I'm not out . . . yet.

The dealer burns and turns . . . a red deuce . . . is it hearts of diamonds? It's a heart! The lowly two of hearts. It's the most beautiful card I've seen tonight. Eleven cards left now in this deck that can keep me in this game.

The busted out players who have stuck around to drink surround us like railbirds. A wave of excitement ripples through them.

"Come on, Wil!" Yells Mr. Drunk Guy.

Ever since I played my first game of Hold'em in high school, and learned about the World Series of Poker sometime during my junior year, I've entertained notions of playing in the big one. But every time I go to Vegas, I look into those poker rooms, and lose my nerve. Before tonight, I've never had the balls to play in anything bigger than a home game with friends . . . I doubt I'll ever play in the WSOP, but the way I feel right now, I could be at the final table, staring across the felt at Johnny Chan.

I take a deep breath, and grab the back of my chair tightly, I don't have to look at my knuckles to know that they're white. Here comes fifth street, and the whole thing is in slow motion: the dealer knocks three times with one knuckle, grabs the red-backed corner of the top card, his thumb covering the little Bicycle cherub, and burns it away. Was that one of my outs? I'll never know. His hand rests atop the deck, and it feels like an eternity before the river is revealed . . .

. . and it's the queen of clubs. I go out in third place.

Mrs. Beautiful stands up and hugs me. She smells good. Mr. Director shakes my hand, and tells me that I played well. Mr. Drunk Guy tells me how much he loves me.

I am slow to pick up my jacket. I'm conflicted: in the haze of elimination, I wonder if I made a mistake moving all-in, but I've just finished third in my first-ever real money tournament! Before I can walk away from the table, the next hand is dealt. Mr. Director, who has an almost 2-1 chip lead on Mrs. Beautiful even after she wiped me out, says, "Let's finish this," and puts her all-in.

She calls. He's got a pair of jacks, she's got K-Q.

"What are the odds? If I wasn't here, I wouldn't believe it."

The flop is A spades - Q spades - 4 clubs. Mrs. Beautiful leans forward, and looks intensely at the board. Mr. Director stands up, his hands thrust deep into his pockets.

A king (clubs) comes on fourth street, and Mrs. Beautiful takes the lead in the hand with two pair. The excitement level from the fourteen or so people who are in the club rivals the poker room at Binion's.

Mr. Director and Mrs. Beautiful look at each other. She is chewing furiously on her bottom lip, and it's incredibly sexy. I wish I was in this hand.

The dealer knocks the table, burns the top card, and the jack of hearts -- one of my outs, one hand too late -- comes down the river. Mr. Director makes three of a kind, and wins it all on a suck out.

I can't tell who's more stunned between them. Mrs. Beautiful reaches across the table and shakes his hand. I look down at the green felt table: nine cards turned up, the rest of the pack spread out next to the dealer. A mountain of chips. I wish I had a camera. This would make a great book cover.

When I look up, they're both cashing out. The railbirds have wandered away, and music starts to fill the room. The dealer scoops the chips into a bag, and the felt top is carried away under one very large Samoan arm.

I look at my watch: it's after midnight. Since Sean and I worked together on Toy Soldiers, our careers have taken wildly different paths, and each time I look at this innocent timepiece, I feel a twinge of sadness and regret. Occasionally jealousy. I wear it because it was a generous gift. It's also a reminder. I watch the second hand sweep slowly around past the 8, and for the first time in ages, I don't feel like a loser. I feel good. Maybe I'll finally get up the nerve to call Sean. Maybe I'll ask him over to play cards. I pick up my coat, and go collect my money.

The girl at the bar counts out a stack of bills. Blue eyes. Pale skin. Jet black hair down her back. Goddamn.

"You've never played here before." She says.

"Nope. I didn't even know this place existed until two weeks ago."

"You should come in on a weekend night. It gets crazy in here."

"Plato's Retreat crazy?" I ask.

She gives me a blank look. I realize that she can't be older than 22.

"It was a 70s sex club in New York," I say. "Not that I went there when I was eight, or anything."

"Oh." She smiles. "Well, it gets crazy in here." She hands me my money. "Your finish gets you a free seat at the next game in two weeks." There's a very subtle flirtation. I wonder for the briefest second if it's me or the cash I am stuffing into my pocket.

"Oh? Cool. I'll be back then."

"And don't forget the weekend." She takes out a shiny black business card with "Odessa" stamped on the back in red ink, and writes "Jessie" on it. "This will get you in." She smiles, puts it in my hand, and holds on a little too long.

I'm enjoying this entirely too much. "I usually spend the weekends with my wife and stepkids," I say, "but I'll hold onto this."

"You do that." She says. "You want anything for the road?"

Do I.

"A bottle of water would be great," I say.

She turns around and reaches down into a box against the back of the bar. Her shirt lifts up, and reveals a tattoo of ribbon, tied into a bow, just above the top of her black and red --

I really need to get out of here.

"Here you go." She says.

"Thanks. Bye." I take the bottle, and walk to the door. Mr. Webmaster is waiting for me.

"Hey, you played really well." He says.

"Thanks. Too bad I got clobbered by those fucking queens."

"It happens. Can I ask you a question?"

Oh good. He wants me to introduce him to the agent I don't have.

"Sure."

"Why didn't you play on Celebrity Poker Showdown?"

"Because I'm not a celebrity," I say. "At least, not in the way it matters to Bravo."

"Aw, fuck them. You can play here whenever you want."

"Thanks, man. I appreciate that."

"Just bring Shane and his money next time."

I laugh and shake his hand.

"Will do."

I walk out the door, and discover a long line of hipsters down the alley, behind a velvet rope. They have no idea about the game. The Odessa keeps a good poker face.

Posted by Wil at 09:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (138)

Note: readers who are unfamiliar with hold-em rules can find them at ultimate bet dot com. Readers who are unfamiliar with poker terminology may want to read This glossary from CNN first. Or don't. I'm not the boss of you.

Part one of this story is here.

Part two of this story is here.

"Too late," I say.

"Oh. That sucks. Well, don't worry about it. I'll see you when you get home. I love you."

"I love you, too." I say. We hang up.

For some reason, the conversation settles me down, and I return with new focus. I decide that I am the only person at this table who can beat me, even if the cards aren't helping me win.

I keep getting junk, so I throw away the next several hands. Mr. Lawyer busts out Mr. Magician and Mr. Webmaster. Mrs. Beautiful takes care of Mr. Agent's Assistant, and there are just five of us left at the table: Mr. Lawyer, Mrs. Funnypants, me, Mrs. Beautiful, and Mr. I'm In The Music Industry.

Finally, my cards start to come. I stick to my plan, and double through Mrs. Funnypants, the well-known comedienne. On the next hand, Mr. I'm In The Music Industry goes all-in against me with pocket tens. I've got a good chip lead on him, so I loosen up and call him with K-9. There's a king on the flop, it holds up, and I bust him out. It's the first time I've ever busted anyone out, and I feel like Howard Fucking Lederer. I sneak a look at Mr. Lawyer as I rake in the pot. He's busy shuffling his chips.

When the blinds are up to 50-100, I'm briefly the chip leader, and I tighten up again. Maybe it's not the best strategy, but . . . I'm the chip leader for the first time in my life, in my first real tournament. Where the hell is Shane?

Mr. Lawyer comes over the top of Mrs. Beautiful, all-in pre-flop. Mrs. Beautiful calls him before he's done pushing his chips in. It goes something like this:

Mr. Laywer: "I'm all i--"

Mrs. Beautiful: "Call."

Mr. Lawyer blanches, and turns over 8-9 clubs. Mrs. Beautiful flashes him a smile, and turns over KK.

"You do not have two kings!" Mr. Lawyer says. I wonder if that's his "I object!" voice.

"I'm pretty sure I do," she says. Overruled.

Mr. Lawyer stands up, and a vein throbs in his forehead. I could kiss Mrs. Beautiful right now.

He pairs his 8 on the flop, but that's it. Mrs. Beautiful sends Mr. Lawyer home.

He looks at me, and says, "I had to take my shot."

"Tough break," I say, "Guy."

Now it's his turn to shrug. "Next time. Next time."

I feel like a fucking rockstar for outlasting him.

When there are seven of us left, we take a break before we move to one table. The other players go to the bar, the bathroom, or just meander around the mostly-empty club. I walk outside and call Shane. He picks up on the first ring.

"Hey, Wil. What's up?"

"I'm at the Odessa. Where the hell are you?"

"Have you seen the news recently? I've been babysitting executives all week." He says.

"At ten o'clock on a Wednesday?"

"Yes. It's that bad. So how are you doing?"

"Better than I thought," I say. "I made it to the final table. The regulars wish your money was here."

He laughs.

"Maybe I'll play next time." I hear a voice in the background. He puts his hand over the mouthpiece, and says something back. "Look, I gotta go. Good luck."

"Thanks. Bye."

The door opens behind me, and one of the big Samoan guys raises his fist at me. I wince, until I realize that he's holding up his thumb, directing me back into the club.

"They're ready for you," he says, and walks back inside. I catch the door inches before it closes. It's incredibly heavy.

We sit down, and the cards come out. On the first hand, I bust out Mr. Circus Clown. A few hands later, I bust out Mr. Drunk Guy. Goddammit, this feels great! I work hard to keep my focus, and hope my hands don't tremble as I separate my chips into hundred dollar stacks.

The blinds go up to 100-200, and that takes care of Mrs. Funnypants, who was down to the felt when we moved. I try not to get too excited, but I'm currently one off the money. That's pretty damn cool, but there's a sobering reality: if I go out next, I have as much to show for my efforts as Mr. Lawyer, and I really fucking hate that guy.

Shortly after the blinds go up to 300-600, Mr. Director busts out Mr. I Won An Emmy, and I find myself in the money! I can't believe it!

I look at my stack: I have about 2200, I guess. Mrs. Beautiful is stacked . . . and is also the chip leader with over 4000. Mr. Director has about 1000 less than she does. He reaches into his jacket, and takes out a Camel cigarette.

"You can't smoke in here, sir," the dealer says.

"What?" Mr. Director says.

"It's against the law." The dealer says.

"We're in an illegal cardroom, and you're worried about me smoking?"

"Sorry." The dealer says. "House rules."

For a moment, I think Mr. Director is going to punch him, but he laughs.

"Fucking California," he says. We all laugh as he puts the cigarette behind his ear.

The laughter fades quickly. We all know that there is a substantial money difference between 2nd and 3rd place, so play is pretty tight. A raise before the flop is usually enough to steal the blinds. I take some chances, and grab one or two with marginal hands: 10-10, and K-7. I almost wish I would see 10-2 -- the Doyle Brunson -- so I could play it. What the hell is wrong with me?

This goes on for a while, until I look at my pocket cards and find AJ on the button. Mrs. Beautiful calls, Mr. Director checks, and I call. The flop comes J-4-7. The bet is checked to me, and I move all-in. Mrs. Beautiful looks at her cards, then to me. I take a deep breath, and look down at the board. I'm pretty sure I want at least one call, but it's still nerve-wracking. If I blow this, I go home with nothing.

She calls. It's about half her stack. Well, I got my wish . . . I think.

Mr. Director calls; it hardly makes a dent. Oh shit. Two callers? They've both got jacks. Please not a pair. Please not a pair.

Mrs beautiful turns over KJ diamonds. My hand involuntarily flies up to my chin, and pulls at the corners of my mouth.

Mr. Director turns over J9. I breathe for the first time in over a minute, stand up, and show my Ajax.

Here we go: the dealer turns a 6, and then a 3.

I won? I won! Wait . . . did I? Yes! Holy shit! I won!

I can't help it. I shout, "YES!" as I double (triple?) through, and drop Mrs. Beautiful to third. I hope I can hold on.

Posted by Wil at 09:55 AM | Permalink | Comments (106)