WIL WHEATON dot NET: 1.5

Anne really wants to blog about the marathon . . . but she's working this morning. I've finished my laundry, washed the breakfast dishes, and fed the dogs, but I really don't feel like mowing the lawn right now. So until she gets the time to write, I'm going to share two miles . . .

At Mile 9, I knew I was going to finish: the weather was great, I felt great, and we'd just finished the only tough part of the course. Mile 16 was the first "just awful" mile for me: my quads ached, and my arms felt like they were made of stone. A wind had picked up, and it was blowing smoke and ash from a fire in Mexico right into our faces. By the time we crossed Mile 17, I started to get scared that I may not finish. Maybe I'd spoken too soon at Mile 9.

"It may help to have a mantra," John Bingham had said, "to get you through those awful miles."

I recalled my mantra from the Avon 3*Day: The pain is temporary. The memories last forever.

It didn't work. The pain may have been temporary, but it was climbing up my legs and spreading across my lower back.

You can do it, Wil. You can do it.

No luck with that. I didn't know if I could do it. I called my own bluff and folded that idea.

Just keep going.

Wait a minute . . . that may work.

Just keep going. Just keep going.

Yeah! That works. Nothing to really think about, nothing to trick myself into believing. It's just a simple but effective motivation in three short words.

Just keep going. Just keep going. Just keep going. Just keep going.

I looked up at the horizon, relaxed neck and shoulders, and just kept going. I filled my conscious mind with my new mantra, and let my subconscious mind find a way to let my body continue moving forward. After a few minutes (I think) I put myself into a sort of trance.

Just keep going. Just keep go--

" . . . doing?" Anne said, from down a long, metallic tunnel. I barely heard her over the thumping of my feet on the ground, and my heart and breath throbbing in my ears.

"How are you doing?"

Just keep going. Just keep going. Just keep going. Just keep going.

"I'm fine," I said.

"Are you sure?"

No.

"Yeah. Let's just keep going." Just keep going. Just keep going. Just keep going.

Mile 17 wound around the North side of Mission Bay, and through a residential neighborhood. Several families were out on their lawns, cheering us on. Children ran into the street and offered high-fives.

Just keep going. Just keep going. Just keep going. Just keep going.

After a few more minutes, the road passed between two tall apartment houses, and I discovered that I'd been staring at one of those blue reflectors in the middle of the street — the ones that we always drove over in high school (a stupid-but-incredibly-entertaining practice we called "Smurfing."). Next to the reflector, was a small laminated piece of paper with a paper clip at the top. I immediately recognized it: I'd seen several of my fellow participants wearing tags like this on their shorts, with the names of people they were running or walking for.

I stopped at the reflector, much to the consternation of the woman who almost ran into me.

I crouched down, and picked it up. My legs were so tired and sore, I felt like one of those dreams where no matter how hard you try, you can't move more than a few inches. I looked at the tag:

Just. Keep. Going!

I stood up.

"What are you doing?" Anne said.

I showed her the tag I'd picked up.

"Someone was walking or running for these people, and it didn't seem right to leave them here on the ground. I'm going to take them with me."

"Okay," she said.

"How are you doing?" I asked.

"Okay. Let's just keep going." She said. I hear that women have been trying to find ways into their husband's heads for centuries . . . maybe she'd done it!

I stood up, and clipped the tag onto my shorts.

"Yeah. Let's just keep going." I said. Was she really in my head?

You're one hot mamma! I glanced at her, but she was focused on the horizon.

Hey, baby . . . huh huh huh.

"What?" She said.

"What?!" I said.

"Why are you staring at me?"

"Uh . . . I don't know."

Whew.

When we passed mile 18, I looked at the clock, and realized that mile 17 had taken us almost 18 minutes -- our longest mile, yet.

"Let's see if we can take some time off this mile," I said. Maybe having an extra five sets of feet with me helped, or maybe it was some natural athletic rhythm that I didn't know about . . . but I began to feel better. My spirits lifted, and my legs started to feel better.

"I can't think about taking time off," she said. "I just need to keep going."

"That's what I've been telling myself," I said. "Just keep going. Just keep going. Just keep going. Just keep going."

"I've been telling myself that if Kris can do 100 days of treatment, we can do a few hours of walking." She said.

"I'm going to talk about the areas of my body that feel great," I said.

I mentally scanned my body, starting at the top of my head.

"The breeze on my face feels awesome," I said, "and my right forearm is nice and relaxed."

I reached out, and took Anne's hand.

"Now, my hand feels great," I said, as we neared a water station. A volunteer handed me a cup or water, and a cup of Gatorade.

"Thanks for being here," I said, as I took one cup in each hand.

"I am the Walrus, and the grasshopper hops to the East!" he said with a waggle of his gigantic, elephant ears, and a spin of his propeller cap. I was a little delirious, so maybe he said something different, like, "You're welcome," and tipped his baseball cap . . . I can't say for sure.

I gulped down the Gatorade, ate a Clif energy shot, and sipped the water. We were nearing mile 19 . . . and getting closer to the mile that would make 16-18 feel like an afternoon stroll through the park.

Posted by Wil at 11:39 AM | Permalink | Comments (79)

I'll be on the David Lawrence Show again tonight (this time in studio) at 9 pm PDT. I'll be talking about gmail4troops.com, including some stats about what we've done so far. I hope that I will be able to share some of the comments I've gotten from servicemen and their families, too.

Posted by Wil at 4:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (24)

Quick announcement:

Anne had lots of Marathon stuff written up (we compose everything offline in Textedit) and the fucking computer locked up. Like a bonehead, I'd forgotten to save it (along with some other important stuff) so it was lost.

I tried cashing in all my computer geek points to resurrect it, but it was DC 45, and all I got was a modified 8.

So that's been set back at least a few days. We both know how many of you guys who supported us and Kris are looking forward to the story wrapping up, but I hope you'll bear with us a little bit longer while our Real Lives take up most of our attention.

Posted by Wil at 4:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (25)

It is absolutely killing me that I can't talk about playing in the WPT Hollywood Home Game last night.

I'll have to save the specifics for the forthcoming story (working title: "lying in hollywood") but I think I can safely say (without violating any of the NDAs I signed) that I had an incredibly good time, and that everyone involved in the production of that show: the Travel Channel execs, the series producers, Mike, Vince, Shana (sigh) and all the poker pros . . . every single person there is So. Freaking. Cool.

It's a classy production they're running there, and I still can't believe that I got to be part of it. I can't wait until I get to play with them again!

Posted by Wil at 10:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (56)

My friend Martin, who is in my gaming group, wrote a PDF for Mongoose called "The Quintessential Aristocrat," and it was just published this week.

I think a few gamers read WWdN, and they may want to take a look at it. Martin's an incredibly creative guy (sadly, our characters don't know each other in this campaign, yet, so we're reduced to giving each other shit out of character the entire play session, mostly centered around Martin's always fabulous choice of footwear) and it's worth a look, if you're into playing Aristocrats, or just making your buddies think you are one.

*sniff* Cheers.

(Uhm. Yeah. Looks like I need to read it, too.)

Posted by Wil at 9:43 AM | Permalink | Comments (37)

Every other Wednesday night is D&D night at my friend Cal's, but I couldn't go tonight . . . I wanted -- no, that's not right. I needed -- to stay home and be a dad.

. . . isn't that cool? A few years ago, I would have really agonized about not being able to go play, and I probably would have ended up going, anyway . . . but I came to a realization when I was out running today: all I want in this world is to be a husband and a father. Everything I do, the writing, the acting, the voice overs . . . all of that is just a means to an end, so I can come home, and enjoy my family. It's a big change from a few years ago, when I was myopically preoccupied with trying to Prove To Everyone That Quitting Star Trek Wasn't A Mistake.

Writing in my blog, and then Dancing Barefoot, and Just A Geek helped me find perspective in my life, and though it took a few years, I've finally realized what's important to me, and why.

I still love creating, but when I audition, I'm doing it for me now. I'm out there, doing my best because it makes me happy, and if my best ends up being the best, and that happens to land me a job, then that's even better. If it doesn't work out, it's not the end of my life: I have a wife and stepkids to come home to, who I absolutely adore. And when the creative bug bites, happiness is just a keyboard away.

Posted by Wil at 10:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (84)

It's been a rather busy week (even though it's only half over) for me and Anne, and she wanted everyone to know that she's working on her marathon entry in every spare minute she has . . . she just doesn't have very many of them right now.

Also, it looks like we've fixed everything that needed fixing, and comments are back. I've missed the interaction more than I thought I would, and I'm glad we've gotten out shit together again. Thanks to Loren and Josh :)

Posted by Wil at 10:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (43)

I've been interested in the case of the West Memphis Three for a couple of years. I won't go into the details here, (there are more details in the link) but I think a grave injustice has been done, and it needs to be corrected.

The WM3 are really up against it now, and I've donated an autographed copy of Dancing Barefoot to be auctioned on eBay. 100% of the final bid will be donated to their legal defense (defence, for you non-Americans) fund.

The last auction of Barefoot hit around $150, for St. Jude's, and I think that rocks pretty damn hard. Every single bit helps, so if you're looking for a Barefoot of your own, and you want to help out what I think is a very good cause, you know what to do.

Posted by Wil at 6:10 PM | Permalink

A few weeks ago, I wrote:

Dude! This is too cool!

This would be like a Trekkie getting to work on TNG, or me getting to work on Family Guy or Futurama.

Apparently, a Video game news site ran a story which quoted the entry, but incorrectly asserted that I had been "cast" in the game. I sent them feedback and asked for a correction, but they never ran it, nor did they respond to my request.

And now, of course, I am in trouble, because people who are involved with the project think I claimed that I was cast in the project (except that I didn't) that hasn't been announced (except for the 2500 google search results, including a very cool movie of the game trailer.)

I have been asked to issue a retraction, which I don't think is appropriate, since I never made the incorrect claim in the first place, but I love Sony's games, and I especially love the entire Twisted Metal series, and since I don't want to hurt them, and I especially don't want to hurt my chances of ever working with them (provided it's not already too late) I would like to issue the following clarification:

I completely respect Sony, and everyone involved with the production of all the Twisted Metal games. I wrote about my audition on my blog because I was so excited about the opportunity to audition for something that I love so much.

I understand the importance of not revealing any confidential or sensitive information, which is why I didn't talk about the characters I read for, or discuss any storyline specifics. I've been a professional actor for over 25 years, and confidentiality is nothing new to me.

I deeply regret that I was misquoted by psp.ign.com, and I am very upset that they did not respond to my request to clarify their story. I hope this hasn't caused any harm to Sony, or anyone involved with the production of Twisted Metal: World Tour, and I sincerely hope that I will get an opportunity to work with them in the future.

If nothing else, I can't wait to get my hands on the wheel, and jump back into Calypso's newest tournament, when the game is released.

I would like to add that I didn't realize this was such a big deal, and I can't understand, for the life of me, why any software publisher wouldn't want the free and enthusiastic publicity that my post could have -- no, SHOULD HAVE -- generated. It's not like the game is a big secret.

To ensure this doesn't happen again, in the future, unless I am specifically given permission by the game's publisher, I just won't write about the specifics of my auditions.

This is perfect. I got excited about something, mentioned how excited I was, and now it looks like my video game voicing career is over before it even got started.

Hooray.

Posted by Wil at 11:46 AM | Permalink

Continuing the "Dreams Come True" theme from the last entry . . .

I have been invited to play on the World Poker Tour's second Hollywood Home Game this Friday!

I am so excited! I haven't sat at a table and played NL Hold'Em (other than a few home games) since February, so I think I'll be studying my Sklansky, Jones, Caro and Brunson this week. If I get some time, I'll head out to the Bike, or Commerce, and see how I do down there.

I'm sure that I will have to sign a waiver that says I won't talk about the details of the game, but I'll keep notes, and once it airs, I'll write up "Lying in Hollywood."

I got the invite in large part because of WWdN, which wouldn't exist without WWdN's readers. So, again . . . thank you :)

Posted by Wil at 10:40 AM | Permalink

This must be the Month of Dreams Coming True.

Last Tuesday, I did three voices for EverQuest 2, and this Thursday, I get to record a lead voice in a game called "Stonewall" that will be out in the fall.

I also had an audition last week for "Knights of the Old Republic 2: Electric Boogaloo*, and I think I managed to keep my geek under control long enough to not suck while I recorded an audition for a character that's described as "The Next Han Solo." (!)

Check this out: when I arrived at my agency for the audition, I didn't know I'd be reading for KotR2:EB*. I was there for a Nickelodeon cartoon, and a commercial (it's very common to go there for one thing, and end up reading for two or three other jobs.)

So I was in the waiting room, and my VO agent handed me the copy.

"Do you know what this game is?" She said.

"Jabba wah nichiko, Solo, ha ha ha ha ha." I said. "Kresko, klinto kweecho coo . . . la orka!"

"I'll take that as a 'yes,'" she said.

"I'm a little bit of a Star Wars nerd," I said.

"That's 'a little bit'?"

I giggled.

"Knights of the Old Republic is better than Episode 1, and I'm told it's better than Episode 2, which I refuse to see."

"Why do you refuse to see it?"

"Fool me once, and all that," I said.

She laughed. "Okay, well, look it over and let me know when you're ready."

I spent about ten minutes looking over the material. "When I was playing with my Star Wars figures on the kitchen floor twenty years ago -- holy shit. Was it really twenty years ago? -- I never thought I'd get a chance to be part of it . . . even if it's just an audition."

The material was very straightforward, so I came up with a couple of character ideas, tried a few voices, settled on the ones that I liked, and told her I was ready.

I steadied myself, did my audition, and felt really good about it.

"That was great," she said. "Do you want to do it again?"

"No, I'm happy with that. But if you could let the clients know, as part of my interpretation of this character . . . Han shoots first."

"Why do people keep saying that?" She said.

"It's a nerd thing."

*(It is, of course, not really called "Electric Boogaloo.")

Posted by Wil at 10:26 AM | Permalink

Where the hell is my $!#@%ing baseball glove?!"

I looked everywhere: in the closet, in the garage, under the dining room table, behind the couch, in the oven, on the patio . . . I finally stormed into my bedroom, where my wife was watching TV.

"Have you seen my baseball glove?"

"Why do you need your baseball glove at 10:30 on a Saturday night?"

Normally, the answer to this question would involve me making mildly to extremely inappropriate suggestions involving a trip to trashy lingerie and some Jack Daniels . . . but I was faced with a serious problem. I had a fever, and the only prescription was my baseball glove!

"I'm going to Dodger Stadium with my dad tomorrow morning for their Father's Day 'play catch with dad in the outfield' event, and I need my glove!"

I started tearing through my dresser.

"You think your baseball glove is underneath your T-shirts?" She said.

"Well . . ." I realized how irrational I was being, and decided that I wouldn't tell her about the washing machine, freezer, dishwasher, or down the street behind that bush that covers the hole in the fence. "It's just really important to me."

"When did you last see it?" She said.

"I let the kids use it for street hockey a couple days ago."

"Did you look in the closet with the other baseball stuff?"

"Yes."

"Garage?"

"Yes! I looked in all the places it should be!" I kicked the side of the bed and hurt my toes. "GodDAMMIT!"

I stormed out of our room, and picked up the kitchen phone to call my dad, and tell him I couldn't go. When I put the receiver to my ear, it was beeping that I had a message. I automatically hit "9#" and typed in my password.

"You have . . . ONE . . . new message," the friendly voice said.

I pushed the "1" key twice and listened.

"Hi, it's dad. I just wanted to let you know that I talked with your brother, and he is going to come down and meet us at nine tomorrow morning! I am so excited to be spending my Father's Day with all my children at Dodger Stadium! It's going to be great! I love you, Wilbert. I'll see you in the morning."

"That was your last message. To save it, press 2. To erase it, press 3."

I instinctively hit 3 and hung up.

"Oh crap. I bet I'm going to want that message back, someday."

After another fifteen minutes or so of searching, I ended up back in my bedroom.

"Sorry about that," I said to my wife, "It's just really important to me that I get to go tomorrow."

"It will turn up, Wil. Just relax."

"I wonder if I put it in my backpack," I said.

I keep my backpack between my bedside table, and the closet door. It's not uncommon for a few T-shirts, or my running clothes to end up stacked on top of my backpack, as part of the "bachelor cleanup." I looked down and saw a couple of magazines and a book sitting atop the laundry I'd folded (but failed to put away) a few days before; underneath it, was my backpack.

I reached down, past all that junk, and picked up my backpack. The first compartment was open and empty. The second compartment had an old Vanity Fair, a Clif bar, and about a pound of sand from the beach in it . . . but no glove.

I sighed. "This sucks so much," I said. I picked up my clothes to replace my backpack, and saw my glove sitting on the floor.

"I found it! Yes!"

"Where was it?" Anne said.

"It must have been on top of my backpack. Thank god."

"See? I told you it would turn up." She smiled at me.

Even though I've had this glove for years, and it's a broken in as it's going to get, I put a baseball in the pocket, wrapped it up, and put it on the floor next to the bed . . . it seemed like the right thing to do.

Next time: Hey dad, want to have a catch?

Posted by Wil at 9:25 AM | Permalink

And now, a programming note: Tonight, I will be on The David Lawrence Show to talk about gmail4troops.com, including some very exciting news about the number of troops and familes we've hooked up, and what the next step for our effort is.

There's a very good chance that I'll also have some exciting personal news to announce, too.

I'm on at 9PM Pacific time. There are several different listening options available at David's website. Information on my specific show (including a link to download it, once we're done) is here.

Posted by Wil at 2:53 PM | Permalink

I am blown away by WWdN readers. Seriously.

In less than three days, I've gotten tons of responses to every single challenge I issued in the last post.

The result? gmail4troops.com!

And if that's not enough, some guys pulled together gmailforthetroops.com before we could even get our site going.

My favorite thing about this (other than the "good deed" nature of it -- I'm always looking for a way to do good deeds) is how for the vast majority of people, it doesn't matter if you're a liberal or a conservative, a dove or a hawk . . . we're all coming together to do something cool for our soldiers in the field. I hope that there's a bonus to this too: maybe someone will give out invites, feel good about it, and donate a phone card . . . then they'll help put together a care package . . . then, maybe they'll volunteer to help out a soldier's husband or wife, or become pen pals . . . this could really be the start of something cool, and may help improve morale for our guys and gals in uniform.

When I started this lame website so long ago, I never thought that any of these cool things would happen . . . and now, I can't wait to see what happens next!

I'll do my best to get back to regular blogging next week. I've been waiting for Anne to have time to write up about the marathon, and I've been crazy busy with auditions, meetings, and some actual jobs (!). More on all that after the weekend.

Posted by Wil at 10:07 PM | Permalink

I keep reading about how soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan are having their tours extended long beyond when they expected to come home, and their morale is suffering as a result. Thankfully, many of our soldiers are able to stay in touch with friends and family via the Internet, but their e-mail access is often very limited.

WWdN reader Drew sent me the following note earlier today:

I will send you an invitation for the hard to get Gmail if you post something on your site telling others to give their invites to troops in Iraq and Afghanistan. See, Google gives 1 gig of email space, perfect for movies and pictures from home, but it's invite only. When you get an account you will get invites too, and if you could pass them along to those who need em that would rule.

I think this is a fantastic idea, and an easy, but very powerful way for many of us to help support our troops. GMail gives users 1 GIG of free storage space, which is more than enough for pictures, movies, sound files . . . all sorts of things that could help our servicemen and women feel a little closer to home.

The thing about GMail is that it's currently invite-only, so I e-mailed Drew back, and asked him if he had some sort of clearinghouse set up for soldiers to submit requests for invites. He responded:

No, but about 10 of us are trolling www.gmailswap.com looking for folks in the military. See, once you talk to one of them, they pass an email along to fellows stationed with them, so we're just trying to dole them out as we get the request.

There's no way to know how long Gmail will be invite only, but SGT Tim Knowles in Afghanistan said that good morale is hard to come by out there and in Iraq, and the guys are buzzing about the possibilities of 1 gig. They all seem to have hotmail and well it's weak.

I'm going to look into getting a site together or at least a list.

Of course, there are epic assholes online who will pose as soldiers so they can get invites, but I think it's completely worth the risk.

So here is your challenge, WWdN readers:

• Help spread the word about this effort, and keep checking back here for a link to the soon-to-be-built clearinghouse for requests.



• If you're a designer, and you would like to donate some time, or a host who would like to donate some space and / or bandwidth, send me an e-mail and I'll pass it along to Drew.



• If you're a reporter, maybe you'd like to do a story about a bunch of nerds who are working to do something cool to support our troops. Maybe your story will be seen by some other people who can get on board, and together, we can make a positive difference!



• If you're a Google employee, maybe you'd like to come up with a way to ensure that members of the armed services can get GMail acocunts, no matter what.



• If you're a fellow blogger, you can link this post, or the clearinghouse website when it goes live.



• And of course, if you're a GMail account-holder, you can use those invites that are piling up (I've sent out six in the last week) to do something really cool for some people who are making an incredible sacrifice right now.

Okay, now you know what to do, so get to it!

Posted by Wil at 9:07 PM | Permalink

Dave Barry, one of the funniest guys on the planet, gives us a hilarious look into the heart of America's current love affair with Poker:

Be advised that a Poker Craze is sweeping the nation. Almost every night, there are poker tournaments on television. And if you think that would be boring, I have three words for you: Correct-O-Mundo.

The problem is that there's not a lot of action in televised poker, where the most strenuous thing the players do is push plastic chips about 15 inches. (Granted, this is more action than you see in televised golf.)

To make matters worse, poker players do not betray any feelings, so what you have, visually, is a bunch of grim-faced guys looking like a hemorrhoid support group. Most of the emotion is supplied by the TV commentators, who, in hushed, dramatic tones, say things like: "He's thinking about what to do here, Bob." "You just know that, inside, he is churning with emotions, Bob." "I'm sure glad I took powerful methamphetamines before this broadcast, Bob."

The guys on TV are usually playing "Texas Hold 'em," which is the hottest poker game at the moment, although there are many other popular variations of poker, including Seven Card Stud, Five Card Draw, Alabama Grope 'em, Iowa Bore 'em, Six Card High Low Medium Jacks Wild Stud Draw Go Fish, Cincinnati Lawn Flamingo, Florida Recount 'em, New Jersey Whack 'em, New York Kvetch 'em, Red Rover and Whist.

All of these games are essentially the same: A person (or, in poker slang, "dealer") gives you some cards ("cards"), which you look at in a furtive manner ("sneaking a gander") to see if you have a good hand ("bling bling") after which you bet ("kiss the eel") by placing money ("cheese") into the pot ("marijuana"). This goes on until somebody ("not you") wins, at which point the losers express heartfelt congratulations in colorful slang.

It just gets better from there. I was flipping between WPT and the Dodgers tonight, and wondering when I'll have time to sit down and actually play again. Maybe I'll get a chance to show Dave Barry what all the excitement is about!

(Big thanks to WWdN reader Troy, for the link!)

Posted by Wil at 10:20 PM | Permalink

I'm getting ready to watch the Dodgers, and they just showed Tom Cruise carry the Olympic torch into the stadium, and take a lap with it . . . man, that's so incredibly cool. I remember when I watched the torch go by in 1984. I was on a street corner in Glendale with my parents, brother, and sister when it went racing past us. I'll never forget how excited my parents were for us to see it. I think I was more excited about their excitement than I was about the torch going by. And you know what? I bet they were even more excited that we were excited . . . which is something that I never would have understood before I became a parent.

We were really poor in 1984, but my folks wanted to make sure we got to experience the Olympics, so they took us to the only event they could affored: Rowing at Lake Casitas. I remember watching people trading pins, I remember the cool fog that hung inches about the surface of the lake . . . I remember how FAST those boats cut through the water . . . but my clearest memory is how happy my parents were that they'd been able to take us to an event where there was a medal ceremony.

If I got to run around the warning track with the torch, I'd throw the goat the whole way. And when they asked me, "Are you a big baseball fan?" I wouldn't give the evasive answer he gave (he looked like he wouldn't know an infield fly if it landed on his head, but that's cool. Not everyone's a baseball nerd.) I would say, "Yes. Yes I am. They should raise the mound back up, eliminate the DH, and get rid of Free Agency."

They'd probably pan the camera off of me when I called Pedro Martinez a little bitch, and went off about what brilliant warriors Nolan Ryan, Sandy Koufax, and Bob Gibson were. By the time I launched into a rant about how much Ernie Banks ruled, they would have turned off the camera.

Oh! And I wouldn't leave the field until someone gave me a baseball.

Heh. On second thought, maybe it's better if I just stay in the stands.

Posted by Wil at 7:27 PM | Permalink

Like any long term relationship, my relationship with Star Trek has its ups and its downs, and there are times when it's easy to forget why I love it.

If you've read Dancing Barefoot, you may recall a scene where I remember all the things that made Star Trek wonderful.

This is one of the things that keeps it wonderful, and makes me feel proud to have been a part of it.

A Love Letter To Star Trek

This is too soon to write this. I should wait a few months, maybe a year, take time and coffee and dreams and let it finish whirling around my neural net. But Star Trek is all about the temporal anomalies so here I sit.

One year and a couple months ago, on Star Date something-or-other, my sons and I started a family tradition by accident. We rented the first disk of what seemed like an endless set of Star Trek: The Next Generation DVDs. When Star Trek played in real life I was busy trying to make a dead-end marriage work and my two young sons didn't exist. I didn't watch television then, but if I had, I wouldn't have watched a sci-fi soap opera about humans and aliens chasing time.

[. . .]

I can't explain the hold it had on my sons, and then on me. I don't remember the episodes the way they do. I'm sitting here crying while I type this, searching for a way to tell you how it transformed them into something a little bit better, how they started recognizing the world news for the first time and asking me when would our people stop fighting, start working together as one planet - simple ideas, good ideas, too simple for people who crave power. One day, a bad bad day, when many soldiers lost lives in that distant senseless war, my middle son stood with barefeet on the cold tile floor of the kitchen, listening to NPR, and clenched his fists in frustration.

"Why don't they stop fighting? We're never going to join a Federation of Planets if this continues. Don't they know that? Why don't they want to help end starvation instead? I wish we lived in the future."

Read the rest of the story here

(Thanks to WWdN reader Mathieu for sending me this story!)

I want to add something to this entry, mostly for myself, so I don't miss out on a great lesson: I was talking with Anne about Weslsy Crusher few days ago. I told her that I'm really tired of feeling like I still have to defend Wesley (and myself) to people from time to time. Perfect example: when my column in Dungeon was announced, a lot of people started complaining about me writing for the magazine. Did they talk about the quality of my writing? Did they try to find out what my credentials as a gamer were? Of course not. They just bitched and complained that "Wesley" was writing anything.

How incredibly stupid is that? How incredibly stupid is it that it really upset me? I have -- more or less -- come to terms with Wesley Crusher and what he means to me . . . and I am so over dealing with jerks who are holding on to some stupid problem they had with a character I played eighteen years ago.

Even though I *intellectually* know that it's not my problem, it's a challenge to ignore the *emotional* response that comments like that elicit. It's sort of Newton's Third Emotional Law, I guess.

Anyway, because of that irrational emotional response, I've been feeling sort of "down" on Wesley, and that is a big part of that Fear I wrote about yesterday . . . then, I read this woman's story this morning, and I had a wonderful "light bulb" moment: I didn't make Star Trek for jerks who want to complain and nit-pick and project their own insecurities onto an actor they've never met. I made it for people like her, and her children.

I don't know why I keep losing that perspective. Maybe it's because, for so many years, the voice of jerks fed my personal Voice of Self Doubt. It was louder than any other voice, and it's still the easiest voice to listen to.

I hope that I don't ever forget how I felt when I read that blog this morning, and how incredibly OBVIOUS it was to me then that touching *one* person like this should outweigh a thousand jerks.

It's all part of The Journey.

Posted by Wil at 7:42 AM | Permalink

I had two different auditions for games last week, where I got to do wildly different characters and voices. One is for a project that had **CONFIDENTIAL** stamped all over it, so I probably shouldn't reveal its name, and the other was for a 3rd person Shooter from the Predator universe.

Around 2000 or 2001, when I was constantly failing in on camera auditions, I had this sense of "do or die" about them. I desperately wanted to book jobs so I could work and Prove To Everyone That Quitting Star Trek Wasn't A Mistake (that'll make sense when you read Just A Geek), not so I could be part of something cool. It's completely different now.

I've had a few of these game auditions recently, and I always wonder if I'm the only actor who is also a Gamer, and if I'm the only person who's looking at it as more than just a job. I mean, when I read for Twisted Metal, and when I read for this Project That Must Not Be Named, Precious, I had to take a moment, breathe deeply, and calm myself down so I could focus and do a good job.

Speaking of focusing and doing a good job . . . I haven't been all that inspired lately. I haven't been able to find that . . . thing . . . that makes me feel good and satisfied wen I write in my weblog. I thought I was focused on training for the marathon, then I thought I was burnt out from the Just A Geek rewrite, then I thought maybe I was just sort of burnt out in general, or lazy . . . but I spent some time soul-searching late last night, and I think I know what's going on.

Everyone else in the family had gone to sleep, and it was past midnight. I just wasn't able to sleep, so I sat on the couch and tried to read . . . but I couldn't focus. In the back of my mind, I knew that I was avoiding the real reason that I haven't been interested in weblogging, so I put down my book, and faced it. I turned off the light, opened the window over my head, and sat there, in the green glow of my ambient orb, and listened to the crickets in my back yard. I let my mind drift, and the answer came to me.

Why am I sort of creatively paralyzed right now?

I'm scared.

There it was. I'm scared.

Just A Geek has been completely out of my hands for a few weeks. I don't have any more control over it, and I just have to wait for it to come out. It's very much like watching your child walk into their first day of Kindergarten, and hoping that he doesn't hurt himself on the playground, or disrupt the class, or get hurt by another kid . . . you spend the entire day worrying about all the things that can go wrong, because you can't protect or guide your baby any more.

I remember this with Nolan, and how worried Anne and I were on his first day. We were fully prepared to walk him to the class room, but as soon as we pulled up in front of the school, he grabbed his backpack (I think it was Power Rangers), unbuckled his seatbelt, and jumped out of the car.

"I love you, Mom," he said, and started to walk down the sidewalk.

Anne and I looked at each other.

"Let him go," I said.

"I love you too, Pookie," she said. "See you after school."

"Okay. Bye."

And that was it. He was so confident, and so ready to go . . . it took us both completely by surprise. We went out to breakfast together, and hardly touched our food. We were both worried about everything that could go wrong, and even though Anne had already done this with Ryan, it was the first time for me . . . I was a wreck.

When we picked Nolan up, we talked to his teacher, and found out that he had behaved himself pretty well during the day. He didn't like sitting in one place on the rug, but that was it. (I couldn't blame him, but I kept that to myself.)

I wish I could just have faith that my book will handle its first days in school as well as Nolan did . . . but I haven't been able to just let it walk down the sidewalk, and hope for the best. Maybe now that I've faced it, its power over me will evaporate, and I'll be able to find the same excitement that I felt with Dancing Barefoot.

Yeah. That's what I need to do, because to focus on the Fear, Uncertainty, and Doubt (heh) is to ignore the Hope, Excitement, and Joy. It's like being so afraid of crashing, I forget to enjoy the ride.

Posted by Wil at 5:41 PM | Permalink

I'm was going to write about some auditions and crap . . . but I think I'm going to brag about my stepkids instead.

So there. :p

Ryan had this very complicated geometry project that was due last week. He had to take a set of shapes, solids, and whatnot, draw blueprints using them, and turn them into something "architectural."

All year long, he's worked with various groups on different projects for different classes, and he's always ended up getting screwed by lazy kids who don't pull their weight, so he asked his teacher if he could do this project on his own. The teacher told him that it was a very complicated and difficult project, but Ryan assured him that he knew, and it wouldn't be a problem.

Over a few weeks, Ryan worked his ass off on this project, and he ended up with this amazing, functional, Art Deco lamp. My brother-in-law helped him use nifty tools that I don't have to build it. (I'm not one of those "toolbench" dads . . . which is sad, I know, but I'm a "gamer" dad instead. Some dads have bags of nails, I have bags of dice.) It's so cool, we're actually using it in our house.

He got the highest grade in his class, and the highest grade across all the classes this teacher teaches. The group he pulled out of got the absolute lowest grade . . . pretty much the inverse of Ryan's.

Rock.

Nolan had a creative writing workshop for his Humanities class (the same class I spoke to a few weeks ago) that accounted for a HUGE part of his grade. Normally, Nolan isn't all that interested in writing, but he got very excited about this project. He worked on it before and after school, and read me his daily progress. It's funny, and it's got a fantastic narrataive thread that is very impressive, even if he wasn't in 7th grade. I know that I'm not the most objective person in the world on this particular story, but I think it's really awesome.

Apparently, his teacher thought it was awesome too, because he got 50/50 on the project, and his story was selected to be included in a "Best of" collection of work from the workshop.

Rock again.

My guys RULE!

Posted by Wil at 12:51 PM | Permalink

Bandai is releasing an Aqualad action figure later this year!!

As I've said many times before, I am intensely proud of my work on Titans, and I'm thrilled to be part of the cast. To be immortalized as another action figure -- and such a cool one, too -- is really awesome.

I wonder if, when they translate the show into other languages, the actors who voice Aqualad will have the same thrill that I do?

(Thanks to Fellow Geek Brian, who e-mailed me the link!)

Posted by Wil at 7:51 AM | Permalink

We did it!

Anne will have a full report just as soon as she has time to write it, but here are my results:

Out of 17420 entrants, I finished 15490. My chip time was 7:14:58. It would have been much faster, but we figure that we lost almost 25 minutes waiting for the port-a-potties in the first 12 miles. Next time, I'm just going behind a bush.

I don't want to say too much more, and steal Anne's thunder, so I'll just say that something clicked in my brain this weekend, (it was probably listening to John Bingham) and I want to be A Runner. I'm trying to talk my dad into running the San Diego marathon with me next year.

Posted by Wil at 7:47 AM | Permalink

I talk about this in more depth in Just A Geek, but for years I lived with a very profound sense of shame. The huge acting career that I'd hoped for when I left Star Trek never happened, and as I grew through my twenties, I realized just what an epic asshole I'd been throughout my teenage years. Regret was a constant companion, and it was very hard for me to face friends and family, because I felt like I'd let everyone down.

Of course, that wasn't the case. I had most certainly let myself down, but to the people who loved me, how I was doing in my career was unimportant. It took me several years to get over myself, (to follow that process in every excruciating detail, just go back to the beginning of WWdN's archives, and start reading) but once I finally did, I realized how many years I just . . . wasted.

So last week, I called my mom. I've talked with her before about my feelings of disappointment, shame and regret, and I recalled that conversation.

"So now that I'm over all of that, I feel good, and happy, and at peace with my life and career . . ."

"It's good that I can separate my life and my career. There's a lesson I wish I'd learned ten years ago." I thought.

" . . . and I realize how much I miss seeing you and dad," I said. "I'd like to make an effort to do more things together."

"We'd like that," she said.

"So could we plan on getting together at least twice a month for dinner, or something?"

"Sure! Just give us a call."

"Okay, I will. I love you, mom."

"I love you too, Willow."

Tuesday night, Anne and I realized that we'd both be up near my parents' house on Thursday, so I called my mom and asked her if we could bring the kids up for dinner.

"I'll bring everything to make grilled teriyaki chicken sandwiches!" I said.

"That would be wonderful. I'll make a salad, and I'll even warm up the pool," she said. Then, sotto voce: "Don't tell your father."

I giggled. "Okay. We'll see you Thursday!"

So last night, Ryan and I were in my mom and dad's kitchen, preparing dinner, when my sister came downstairs.

"Are you eating with us?" I said, as I pounded a chicken breast.

"Yeah," she said.

"I didn't realize you were going to be joining us," I said, "so I only bought one package of sandwich buns."

"Oh, that's okay," she said, "I can't eat chicken anyway."

"I got her a steak," my mom said, from the dining room.

"Would you like me to save you some teriyaki sauce and some pineapple, so you can have teriyaki steak?" I asked her.

"I don't know if I want to make filet mignon into teriyaki steak," my sister said.

"Filet mignon?!" Ryan said, and turned to me. "Wil, I don't eat chicken either."

We all laughed.

"Just kidding," he said, " . . . or am I?"

I turned to my mom. "I'm so glad we came up tonight."

"Me too," she said.

Posted by Wil at 9:13 AM | Permalink

Dude! This is too cool!

Tomorrow, I have an audition to do voicework for Twisted Metal: World Tour!

I've played so much Twisted Metal over the years that if I hear Rob Zombie in the car, I have to change the station, or I may get a little . . . aggressive.

This would be like a Trekkie getting to work on TNG, or me getting to work on Family Guy or Futurama.

Posted by Wil at 4:05 PM | Permalink

There's currently a copy of Dancing Barefoot, that I autographed, on eBay. It's a charity auction, and 100% of the money raised goes to the St. Jude's Children's Research Hospital.

So if you're looking for an autographed Barefoot, and you woke up today thinking, "Man, I really need to support St. Jude's . . . " you need to look no further than this auction.

Posted by Wil at 6:51 AM | Permalink

The second part of the interview I did with Sequential Tart is up, as well as the very first official review of Just A Geek.

I read the entire interview (including part one) yesterday, and observed that Trisha and I talked just like we were a couple of friends, having a beer and playing darts. Everyone isn't going to be as cool as she was, and I have to be careful in future interviews . . . if Trisha were a jerk (she's not) she could really have taken advantage of my trust and the easy rapport we developed right around "hello." If I'd stopped to think, "Dude, you're doing an interview. Watch what you say, and be succinct," it wouldn't be nearly as rambling and "conversational" as it is . . . but it would also be pretty middle of the road, and not true to who I am. So here's a public thank you to Trisha for not being a jerk, and burning me the way Entertainment We(a)kly did so many years ago.

Warning: I talk about politics in the second part, and it prompted the first ever disclaimer (". . . the political opinions of Wil Wheaton do not reflect the opinions of the staff of Sequential Tart or its writers") that's ever accompanied any of my comments. So if you're part of the "You're with us or against us" crowd, I'll just spare us both the headache, and urge you to go read the latest Strongbad e-mail instead.

Posted by Wil at 6:40 AM | Permalink

It's here! Kris made it! One hundred days of treatment for leukemia. This was the biggest goal for her and she did it!

I am so happy to be able to write this with such a happy ending. It's been a very tough road for Kris, but I think a big part of staying so strong and focused on getting this far was all of the support she got from everyone who sent "mojo" her way and encouragement with all the donations (by the way, final score . . . $27,535.) Kris is feeling great and is going to be waiting at the finish line when we do the marathon in San Diego this Sunday.

Last week Kris called me and said she was really over not having any hair. She was going to go to a concert with her husband and just wanted to look "normal." I know of this great wig shop in North Hollywood that also has a full beauty supply upstairs so we could test out some new make-up after getting new hair. With all the radiation and chemo, Kris lost all but about five eyelashes and three hairs in her eyebrows. Her skin tone is very gray and her entire body is very dry and flaky. Time for a change! I picked her up and we headed down for a makeover.

The girl in the wig shop was very nice and helpful, and we had a great time picking out wigs. Before Kris lost her hair, she had fairly long, slightly curly, light brown hair. We decided that jumping back into that might look a bit strange since all of her family, friends and neighbors have seen her with no hair and a chenille cap on for the past few months, so we looked for something a little more believable.

She thought maybe her husband might like a red head. We both started laughing because she tried on a wig that looked like Ann Margaret. I think the sales girl was a little uncomfortable at how silly we were being because Kris obviously looks like she has been very sick. But this whole experience has been so strange for both of us. We always talk about it like it's this separate thing we're watching happen to someone else. It has been an incredible learning experience though.

So we continue to pick out ridiculous wigs and Kris says "I can't believe we forgot a camera!" I thought the sales girl was going to pass out. She seemed shocked that we were having so much fun with this. She tried on several others. One looked like "Mama's Family", another like a hooker. We finally decided on a shoulder length one with a cute flippy style. The bangs were kind of long, but I could trim that later. (By the way, she got a Raquel Welch wig. It's synthetic hair, but very light and natural. And very reasonably priced. Around $90 versus the human hair wigs that average $400 and up.) She even ordered another one in a slightly lighter color and a little shorter for variety in summer!

Next, we went upstairs to find some make-up. She really wanted eyebrows and some color back in her face.

There were several girls working at this place, a few actually at the make-up counter. We looked around at all the different choices. I looked for someone to help us. It was then that I noticed that every counter we stopped at, the sales girl seemed to disappear. I became very aware of the people working there avoiding us. I didn't point this out to Kris. Maybe she didn't notice. I couldn't believe this was happening. Didn't they know what an awesome person Kris is? Didn't they know she doesn't always look like this? Why were they avoiding her? I felt sick to my stomach at the thought of anyone going out of their way to avoid helping someone just because of the way they look. But then again, we were in Hollywood.

I decided to take matters into my own hands. First, eyebrows. We found a good color so I drew them on. I didn't realize what a difference eyebrows and lashes make. Just giving her eyebrows seemed to put life back into her face. Next, I lined her eyes with a light brown powder liner. That made an even bigger difference. Laura Mercier makes a great tinted moisturizer. You can choose from several different colors and it's great because it's not thick and cakey like foundation can be. A little blush and lip gloss (her lips are way too flaky for lipstick) and she looked like her old self again. She was so excited she whipped her new hair out of the box and put it on in the middle of the store. Of course, there was no reason to feel self- conscious because there were still no sales girls anywhere near us.

She was very excited and wanted to buy everything I used on her. I went across the store to a girl and asked her for help at the counter we'd been at for the past twenty minutes. She said she'd be right with us. We waited another five minutes before I asked someone else for help. The very unfriendly girl gave Kris the items we asked for and we were on our way.

Kris was so happy that she kept looking in the mirror on the way home. She said she has been avoiding mirrors for months because she gets depressed when she sees how she looks. But now she couldn't wait for everyone to see her. I'm so glad I got to be a part of that.

Kris came into the salon where I work the next day for me to trim the bangs on her wig. Her lack of eyelashes make her eyes very sensitive to anything around them. The bangs kept rubbing on her eyes. I had just finished Wil's mom's hair when Kris came in. Again, we forgot the camera. Wil's dad was on his way down to the salon, so we asked him to bring his camera. So we were able to capture this moment thanks to Rick (thanks Rick!).

Kris is now looking great and feeling great. And so are we. We've been walking like crazy preparing for this Sunday. My final post will be next week. I'll tell you all about the marathon and will include a ton of pictures from the whole experience.

Thank you so much for all of your support. We never could have done this without you!

Posted by Wil at 2:01 PM | Permalink

Anne and I have to get up at 4am on Sunday for the marathon, so all this week, we're trying to reset our internal body clocks (notice I didn't say 'circadian rhythm') a little bit earlier than normal,(so we're not in a stupor at the starting line) by getting up earlier, and walking first thing.

Oh man, it's hard. It was harder to get up this morning and walk three miles than it was to walk 13 miles on the weekend . . . but we're doing it, and it feels very good to tell myself, "Look, man, you made a commitment to this marathon, and to Kris, and to Anne, and to everyone who has supported you. Get your fat lazy ass out of bed and walk."

Anyway, I'm currently sitting at my dining room table, having a cup of coffee, and catching up on overnight e-mails. Anne just took the kids to school, but before they left, I asked them to hold a good thought for me at 10:50 this morning — as long as it didn't disrupt their class.

"Why?" Nolan said.

"Because I have an audition."

"What's it for?"

"It's a voice over commercial for Papermate."

He grabbed his backpack, and while he was picking up his lunch in the kitchen he said, "Break a leg, Wil!"

That was so cool.

"Thanks, Nolan. I'll do my best."

"Okay! I love you! Bye!"

So now the house is quiet again, except for Felix crunching his breakfast behind me in the kitchen, and the chirping of baby birds in our breezeway.

I'm already tired . . . but it's good tired, and I'm ready to face the day.

Posted by Wil at 8:23 AM | Permalink

I've been alluding to some sort of exciting announcement for at least a week now, but every time I think I'm going to make it, something else comes up, and it keeps getting delayed.

So I guess I should just make the announcement, and go back to folding my clothes.

(Totally random aside: even though I'm married and have two stepkids, I still do laundry like a bachelor. About once every two weeks, my clothes will spill out of the hamper, and I'll hear Anne call, "Wil?" from the bedroom.

Excitedly expecting some Skyrockets in Flight, I'll race back there, only to find her standing near the hamper, one hand on her hip, the other pointing at the mass of clothes, as she gives me The Look.

My wife is the most patient and wonderful woman on the planet.)

Anyway, before I start going on and on about how awesome Anne is, here's the Big news: starting with issue 114, I will be writing the back page of Dungeon magazine. My column is called . . . wait for it . . . "Wil Save."

I've been reading Dungeon and Dragon off and on for years, but I've been playing D&D since the early days of the red box set. All through high school, I played GURPS, Illuminati, Car Wars, OGRE, Awful Green Things . . . and some games that were not released by Steve Jackson Games. The point is, I've got lots of sources for inspiration, and I will spend my first few columns looking back on 15 years of gaming, and what it means to me to be a Gamer now, compared to when I was younger.

It's a pretty big deal to me to have a regular column anywhere . . . but to have the back page is something that I didn't think I'd ever get, and I'm very grateful to the droogs at Dungeon for giving me an opportunity to share some of my experiences with their readers.

Posted by Wil at 4:16 PM | Permalink

Bad News: Looks like I didn't book any of those voice over jobs, since it's been over a week and I haven't heard anything.

Good News: WWdN reader Zack, was inspired by the possibility of my joining the cast, and penned the following missive, which made me giggle, then laugh, then fall over.

Not necessarily in that order.

FADE IN:

INT. DRUNKEN CLAM - NIGHT

BRIAN sits down at the bar with a martini, depressed. He SIGHS. Sitting next to him is WIL WHEATON, who notices.

WIL WHEATON

Something wrong?

BRIAN

Oh, I feel like no one treats me with respect, and judges me before they get to know me.

WIL WHEATON

Really? Same thing happens with me. What's your problem?

BRIAN

Eh, I'm a talking dog.

WIL WHEATON

(takes a drink)

Mmm.

BRIAN

What's yours?

WIL WHEATON

Oh, I played Wesley on 'Star Trek: The Next Generation.'

Brian's eyes go wide with horror. Wil notices. PETER and QUAGMIRE walk up. Peter has a beer.

WIL WHEATON (CONT'D)

What?

BRIAN

(caught)

Oh? Uh, um, nothing, nothing.

(points)

Hey, is that one of those old 'Narc' arcade games? Where, you ah, yeah --

He dissolves into mumbles as he quickly gets up and rushes off. Wil looks dejected. Peter pokes Wil.

PETER

Hey, ah, just one question -- ?

WIL WHEATON

Yeah?

PETER

Did you, ah, did you ever...you know, think about Dr. Crusher when you...?

He makes a 'come on' gesture.

WIL WHEATON

What? I...I...she was my MOM!

PETER

(egging him on)

Yeah, but she was just an ACTRESS...

WIL WHEATON

Trust me, I...

PETER

(overlapping)

It's okay, I just wanna--

WIL WHEATON

You're making me uncomfortable...

PETER

Come on, I'm not trying to give you a hard time, just, you know, I'm a fan, I'm curious -- hell I'd have done it. I mean, she was hot, huh?

Wil relaxes a little.

WIL WHEATON

Well..

(laughs)

Well, maybe there was this ONE time--

PETER

(cuts him off)

OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!

WIL WHEATON

(overlapping)

Wha--

PETER

She's -- she's your MOM! I didn't think you'd actually ADMIT --

WIL WHEATON

Wait, you said --

PETER

That is the sickest...you, you -- GOD!

He throws his beer in Wil's face and stomps off. Quagmire looks at Wil with disgust.

QUAGMIRE

Pervert.

He walks off, unbuckling his belt as he goes.

QUAGMIRE (CONT'D)

(from off)

Hey ladies, anyone wanna play 'Clamdigger?'

Wil stares as we hear SCREAMS and a loud SLAP.

QUAGMIRE (CONT'D)

(from off)

Oh!

FADE OUT.

THE END.

Posted by Wil at 2:00 PM | Permalink