WIL WHEATON dot NET: 1.5

If you'd like to read my most recent blog posts, head over to WIL WHEATON dot NET: In Exile, my backup blog at Typepad.

Hi there. WWdN is currently undergoing a redesign and some maintenance. If you'd like to know what the status of the redesign is, or see some of the older WWdN files, read this entry.

What in the wide world of sports is going on here?

Way back in September of last year, I attempted to upgrade Movable Type, the blogging software that powers WWdN. I also attempted to move several hundred entries and tens of thousands of comments into a newly-created (and faster) MySQL database.

And, uh, I broke it.

Actually, I didn't break it. Someone who left a comment broke it when they used a seemingly random string of characters to indicate a break in their comment. Unbeknownst to me and them, it was the same string of characters MT used to indicate the end of an entry and its associated comments. When MT was moving all the data into its new (did I mention faster?) database, it came to that string of characters, and said to itself, "Oh boy! I get to start a new entry now! Let's see, what's the TITLE of that entry?"

Look . . . look . . . look . . .

"Uh-oh, there's no TITLE. I'd better look some more."

Look . . . look . . . look . . .

"Yeah, it's still not there. Well, I don't know what the next entry is TITLEd, so I'm going to just barf all over the server now, and fail. I'm sure one of the Users I heard about in TRON will figure this out and fix it quickly. There's no way my User, Wil, would stay in some backup blog for six months!"

Ha! Stupid smug software. I've been in Exile for nine months! Who's laughing now, jerk? Who's your daddy! Say my name, bitch! Yeah!

Uh. Sorry about that.

Off to Exile

I didn't know how long it would take me to figure out the problem, fix it, and get back here to WWdN, so I set up a backup blog at Typepad, called WIL WHEATON dot NET: In Exile. I intended to hang out there for a couple of weeks while I worked on this blog, but I quickly discovered that WYSIWYG editor at Typepad is great, and since it did all the heavy lifting for me (formatting, marking up links and inserting and modifying images) I had much more time to just take creative ideas and put them into my blog. Around this time, I also got some new writing jobs that actually put money into my pocket and food on my table -- jobs writing about poker for CardSquad, writing a column on classic gaming for the AV Club called The Games of our Lives, and editing the geek news at Suicde Girls. In my spare time, I played a lot of Texas Holdem Poker at Poker Stars (where I'm a member of Team PokerStars) and did things with my family. I had one of my first real "grown up" moments the day I realized that there really are only 24 hours in a day, and I had to choose very carefully how I wanted to spend them. You know what I didn't want to spend them on? hand-coding html and tweaking software settings. It's sad, and I'll probably lose a 3d20 geek points for saying it, but those days are way, way behind me. After a day of making freelance deadlines, the last thing I'd want to do is try to repair and redesign my website, and since I was happy in Exile, it just wasn't that important to me.

The database was eventually repaired, thanks to the efforts of Mike Pusateri, who managed to scrape the entire blog for me, and put it into a MT-readable format as an Xmas gift, and the technical support staff at Six Apart, who figured out what the hell was wrong with my dabase in the first place. Repaired database in hand, I found myself with a delimma: return to the now-totally-outated and badly-in-need-of-a-redesign WWdN, or continue using Typepad? Mostly, it was Typepad's awesome WYSIWYG editor that was keeping me in Exile, but there was also the redesign issue: no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't come up with anything that I really liked.

A few weeks ago, the design problem was unexpectedly solved, when I wrote a series of posts in exile (part one, part two, part three) that helped me clear out a bunch of mental logjams. Seconds before I hit publish on the final one, the way I wanted the redesigned WWdN to look sprung into my mind fully-formed. I grabbed a piece of paper, sketched it out, scanned it, and e-mailed it to my friend, who is working on it at this very moment. I've found two great replacements for the WYSIWYG editor I loved so much: ecto, which is a desktop blogging application for Windows and Mac, and Performancing, which is a free Firefox extension that runs on just about any platform in the world, and is optimized for WheatonIX. (In fact, I composed and published this entry using Performancing. Yes, it's that easy to use.)

So this post represents a bridge between WWdN, and WWdN 2: Electric Boogaloo. All the links you would see on the front page of the old WWdN are in this post, so if you're new to WWdN you can explore some of the old (and massively outdated) sections.

WWdN will be re-launched very, very soon. Until then, you can use all the nifty information to explore what's already here. You can also come over to WIL WHEATON dot NET: In Exile to find out where my mind is right now.

Thanks for stopping by.

Old WWdN Content

• If this is your first time here, you should read this.
• By popular demand, you can now see or hear me read from my books Just A Geek and Dancing Barefoot! If you like what you hear, you may want to pick up a copy of Just A Geek: Teh Audiobook. Or not. Whatever. I'm not the boss of you.
• audio blog
• photo blog
• faq
• about
• gallery
• contact
• links
• store
• appearances
• Technorati Profile

Posted by Wil at 09:38 PM | Permalink

I slept through the night like a baby. No dreams, no restlessness, not a single disturbance. When I woke this morning, the clock said 5:58. I beat the alarm by 3 minutes! I victoriously turned it off before it could beep, and hopped out of bed feeling relieved and rested.

I drank a cup of coffee, ate some cereal, and met my friend Burns at 6:45. We spent the next six hours at Dodger Stadium, standing in line for opening day tickets.

"The race for third place has already begun! Be part of the excitement at Dodger Stadium!"

Continue reading "Treefingers" »

Posted by Wil at 03:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (40)

I slept through the night like a baby. No dreams, no restlessness, not a single disturbance. When I woke this morning, the clock said 5:58. I beat the alarm by 3 minutes! I victoriously turned it off before it could beep, and hopped out of bed feeling relieved and rested.

I drank a cup of coffee, ate some cereal, and met my friend Burns at 6:45. We spent the next six hours at Dodger Stadium, standing in line for opening day tickets.

"The race for third place has already begun! Be part of the excitement at Dodger Stadium!"

Continue reading "Treefingers" »

Posted by Wil at 03:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (40)

I slept through the night like a baby. No dreams, no restlessness, not a single disturbance. When I woke this morning, the clock said 5:58. I beat the alarm by 3 minutes! I victoriously turned it off before it could beep, and hopped out of bed feeling relieved and rested.

I drank a cup of coffee, ate some cereal, and met my friend Burns at 6:45. We spent the next six hours at Dodger Stadium, standing in line for opening day tickets.

"The race for third place has already begun! Be part of the excitement at Dodger Stadium!"

Continue reading "Treefingers" »

Posted by Wil at 03:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (40)

Woke up early yesterday, anxious to get out on the trail . . . and immediately went back to sleep. Heavy fog and ominous rain clouds forced us to change our plans. Though I love hiking in the mist, we didn't want to take a chance on being caught in the rain, and we didn't want the kids to miss out on the amazing view.

So we went to the Los Angeles Museum of Natural History instead.

It was a great way to spend a few hours, and it was the first time I'd been there since I was in elementary school. Did you know that Cacao trees produce fruit all year round, and can't be harvested by machine? I didn't know that until yesterday.

Ah, sweet, sweet knowledge, how I love to dine at your all-you-can-eat buffet.

I finished Vice City last night. Haven't 100%-ed it, yet, but I beat the mob. I won't let the kids watch me play it, or play it themselves, but I did allow them to hang with me while we did the asset missions for the car dealership, and some unique jumps. Funtimes.

Anne is taking a little two-day getaway with her best friend, and she asked me if I could help her burn a bunch of 80s music for the drive. While I was digging through my CDs, finding all my compilations and stuff, I also dug out some things I haven't listened to in ages, but still love.

Here are some CDs that I pulled out of the closet last night. Each one of them has been, at one time or another, "The Greatest @#$%^&ing Record EVER!":

• Love at Fist Sting - Scorpions
  
• World Clique - Deelite
  
• The Sickness - Disturbed
  
• The Bends - Radiohead
  
• Greatest Hits - Steve Miller Band
  
• This is the Modern World: UK Punk 2 (1977-78) - Various
  
• Rushmore Soundtrack - Various
  
• Slingblade Soundtrack - Various
  
• Boot Heel Drag: The MGM Years - Bob Wills & His Texas Playboys (playing now!)
  
• When I Woke - Rusted Root
  
• dubnobasswithmyheadman - Underworld
  

Music isn't something that I just put on in the backgroud. It is always the soundtrack to my life.

I spoke WAY too soon about KDE 3.1 I broke Kmail, and maybe even some Qt libraries. Luckily, the insanely cool guys at my local LUG have offered lots of help on their mailing list . . . but I think I'm going to go back to 3.0 for the time being. I've been using Gnome, which isn't my favorite desktop . . . and playing with Windowmaker, which I haven't used since RH 5.2. I'd forgotten just how great Windowmaker is. Since I pretty much only use the computer for writing, browsing, and e-mail, I can easily use Windowmaker, or even IceWM. OH! I managed to teach myself enough to get around in vim! I issue a personal challenge to myself: write some sort of cool php script in vim before the end of May.

I really want a dev box!

Sorry, geeked out there a bit.

*snort*

Posted by Wil at 10:16 AM | Permalink | Comments (103)

Woke up early yesterday, anxious to get out on the trail . . . and immediately went back to sleep. Heavy fog and ominous rain clouds forced us to change our plans. Though I love hiking in the mist, we didn't want to take a chance on being caught in the rain, and we didn't want the kids to miss out on the amazing view.

So we went to the Los Angeles Museum of Natural History instead.

It was a great way to spend a few hours, and it was the first time I'd been there since I was in elementary school. Did you know that Cacao trees produce fruit all year round, and can't be harvested by machine? I didn't know that until yesterday.

Ah, sweet, sweet knowledge, how I love to dine at your all-you-can-eat buffet.

I finished Vice City last night. Haven't 100%-ed it, yet, but I beat the mob. I won't let the kids watch me play it, or play it themselves, but I did allow them to hang with me while we did the asset missions for the car dealership, and some unique jumps. Funtimes.

Anne is taking a little two-day getaway with her best friend, and she asked me if I could help her burn a bunch of 80s music for the drive. While I was digging through my CDs, finding all my compilations and stuff, I also dug out some things I haven't listened to in ages, but still love.

Here are some CDs that I pulled out of the closet last night. Each one of them has been, at one time or another, "The Greatest @#$%^&ing Record EVER!":

• Love at Fist Sting - Scorpions
  
• World Clique - Deelite
  
• The Sickness - Disturbed
  
• The Bends - Radiohead
  
• Greatest Hits - Steve Miller Band
  
• This is the Modern World: UK Punk 2 (1977-78) - Various
  
• Rushmore Soundtrack - Various
  
• Slingblade Soundtrack - Various
  
• Boot Heel Drag: The MGM Years - Bob Wills & His Texas Playboys (playing now!)
  
• When I Woke - Rusted Root
  
• dubnobasswithmyheadman - Underworld
  

Music isn't something that I just put on in the backgroud. It is always the soundtrack to my life.

I spoke WAY too soon about KDE 3.1 I broke Kmail, and maybe even some Qt libraries. Luckily, the insanely cool guys at my local LUG have offered lots of help on their mailing list . . . but I think I'm going to go back to 3.0 for the time being. I've been using Gnome, which isn't my favorite desktop . . . and playing with Windowmaker, which I haven't used since RH 5.2. I'd forgotten just how great Windowmaker is. Since I pretty much only use the computer for writing, browsing, and e-mail, I can easily use Windowmaker, or even IceWM. OH! I managed to teach myself enough to get around in vim! I issue a personal challenge to myself: write some sort of cool php script in vim before the end of May.

I really want a dev box!

Sorry, geeked out there a bit.

*snort*

Posted by Wil at 10:16 AM | Permalink | Comments (103)

Woke up early yesterday, anxious to get out on the trail . . . and immediately went back to sleep. Heavy fog and ominous rain clouds forced us to change our plans. Though I love hiking in the mist, we didn't want to take a chance on being caught in the rain, and we didn't want the kids to miss out on the amazing view.

So we went to the Los Angeles Museum of Natural History instead.

It was a great way to spend a few hours, and it was the first time I'd been there since I was in elementary school. Did you know that Cacao trees produce fruit all year round, and can't be harvested by machine? I didn't know that until yesterday.

Ah, sweet, sweet knowledge, how I love to dine at your all-you-can-eat buffet.

I finished Vice City last night. Haven't 100%-ed it, yet, but I beat the mob. I won't let the kids watch me play it, or play it themselves, but I did allow them to hang with me while we did the asset missions for the car dealership, and some unique jumps. Funtimes.

Anne is taking a little two-day getaway with her best friend, and she asked me if I could help her burn a bunch of 80s music for the drive. While I was digging through my CDs, finding all my compilations and stuff, I also dug out some things I haven't listened to in ages, but still love.

Here are some CDs that I pulled out of the closet last night. Each one of them has been, at one time or another, "The Greatest @#$%^&ing Record EVER!":

• Love at Fist Sting - Scorpions
  
• World Clique - Deelite
  
• The Sickness - Disturbed
  
• The Bends - Radiohead
  
• Greatest Hits - Steve Miller Band
  
• This is the Modern World: UK Punk 2 (1977-78) - Various
  
• Rushmore Soundtrack - Various
  
• Slingblade Soundtrack - Various
  
• Boot Heel Drag: The MGM Years - Bob Wills & His Texas Playboys (playing now!)
  
• When I Woke - Rusted Root
  
• dubnobasswithmyheadman - Underworld
  

Music isn't something that I just put on in the backgroud. It is always the soundtrack to my life.

I spoke WAY too soon about KDE 3.1 I broke Kmail, and maybe even some Qt libraries. Luckily, the insanely cool guys at my local LUG have offered lots of help on their mailing list . . . but I think I'm going to go back to 3.0 for the time being. I've been using Gnome, which isn't my favorite desktop . . . and playing with Windowmaker, which I haven't used since RH 5.2. I'd forgotten just how great Windowmaker is. Since I pretty much only use the computer for writing, browsing, and e-mail, I can easily use Windowmaker, or even IceWM. OH! I managed to teach myself enough to get around in vim! I issue a personal challenge to myself: write some sort of cool php script in vim before the end of May.

I really want a dev box!

Sorry, geeked out there a bit.

*snort*

Posted by Wil at 10:16 AM | Permalink | Comments (103)

I read at Slashdot a great question: "What advice would you give your 12 year-old self?"

Here's mine:

Dear 12 year-old self,

Your life is about to be forever changed. You don't know it now, but in three years, you're going to be in millions of households world-wide.

Everywhere you go, people are going to scream at you that they hate you. Listen to this advice, 12 year-old self, because I know that nobody else is going to give it to you: whatever you do, don't listen to them, and let don't let them define your sense of self-worth. It's going to hurt, a lot, and it will go on for years. You won't understand it, and you'll try really hard to convince them otherwise, but they will not listen . . . because they're just as insecure and confused as you are right now. You're going to want to quit the show, but if you do, you'll be 30 before you stop regretting it. Trust me on this one.

Stay on that show until it's over, and when you're older, you'll realize that for every person who screamed "I hate you," there is another who was quietly inspired by something you did. It all balances out, kid.

You are never going to be cool, no matter how hard you try, so save yourself the agony of trying to fit in. You end up marrying a real hottie who loves your inner geek.

Posted by Wil at 03:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (169) | TrackBacks (1)

I read at Slashdot a great question: "What advice would you give your 12 year-old self?"

Here's mine:

Dear 12 year-old self,

Your life is about to be forever changed. You don't know it now, but in three years, you're going to be in millions of households world-wide.

Everywhere you go, people are going to scream at you that they hate you. Listen to this advice, 12 year-old self, because I know that nobody else is going to give it to you: whatever you do, don't listen to them, and let don't let them define your sense of self-worth. It's going to hurt, a lot, and it will go on for years. You won't understand it, and you'll try really hard to convince them otherwise, but they will not listen . . . because they're just as insecure and confused as you are right now. You're going to want to quit the show, but if you do, you'll be 30 before you stop regretting it. Trust me on this one.

Stay on that show until it's over, and when you're older, you'll realize that for every person who screamed "I hate you," there is another who was quietly inspired by something you did. It all balances out, kid.

You are never going to be cool, no matter how hard you try, so save yourself the agony of trying to fit in. You end up marrying a real hottie who loves your inner geek.

Posted by Wil at 03:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (169) | TrackBacks (1)

I read at Slashdot a great question: "What advice would you give your 12 year-old self?"

Here's mine:

Dear 12 year-old self,

Your life is about to be forever changed. You don't know it now, but in three years, you're going to be in millions of households world-wide.

Everywhere you go, people are going to scream at you that they hate you. Listen to this advice, 12 year-old self, because I know that nobody else is going to give it to you: whatever you do, don't listen to them, and let don't let them define your sense of self-worth. It's going to hurt, a lot, and it will go on for years. You won't understand it, and you'll try really hard to convince them otherwise, but they will not listen . . . because they're just as insecure and confused as you are right now. You're going to want to quit the show, but if you do, you'll be 30 before you stop regretting it. Trust me on this one.

Stay on that show until it's over, and when you're older, you'll realize that for every person who screamed "I hate you," there is another who was quietly inspired by something you did. It all balances out, kid.

You are never going to be cool, no matter how hard you try, so save yourself the agony of trying to fit in. You end up marrying a real hottie who loves your inner geek.

Posted by Wil at 03:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (169) | TrackBacks (1)

Off the top of my head, without any editing, a stream a consciousness:

Man, I really want to write, but I am just out of ideas. It's not that I'm "blocked," or anything, I just can't think of anything to write about.

So I'll just make myself write, and maybe something interesting will come out.

Maybe it's because there's not too much going on in my life right now: no auditions, nothing really exciting at home . . . I've just been working on rewrites of Just A Geek, and collecting some other weblog entries that I really like, (but couldn't put in JAG) for their own smaller book.

Just A Geek came in at over 350 pages today, and "Dancing Barefoot" comes in at about 90. I'm applying for ISBNs tomorrow.

I did some heavy rewriting of SpongeBob Vega$ Pants, to clean it up and make it flow better, and while I did that, I relived those five days. Jesus, what a great time that was. What a great con.

Jesus, I really hate Puddle of Mudd, and POD, and all those shitty bands that sound like them.

I've been trading calls with Adam from Creation about the Grand Slam show, and it sounds like he's excited to have me there. I've been thinking about conventions a lot lately, because I talk about them a great deal in JAG, and realized something: I have ALWAYS had more in common with the fans than the franchise, and attending conventions, as a speaker or a paying fan, is something I'll always love to do. Now that I have stories to read, a website to talk about, and comedy shows to do, I don't feel any angst about doing the shows. I can't tell you enough how great that feels.

As I get closer to finishing JAG, and it's younger brother (which requires far less work) I've been looking for printers . . . and actually got some quotes today for the first printing. It's very exciting, and also terrifying.

If anyone reading this has experience with a printer, and you'd like to share comments about that printer (good or bad) I'd really like to hear them.

I mowed my lawn tonight, and my shoes are grass stained and smelling like a summer morning.

When I mow the lawn, I like to listen to Jimmy Eat World on my car radio. "A Praise Chorus" is one of the greatest songs I've ever heard. This afternoon, I didn't listen to the radio, but I did sing "Dogs" from Pink Floyd to myself as I mowed in a circle, rather than the diagonal lines I usually make.

My cool neighbor moved away on Friday. He's like 80, and Anne and I both felt like he's moving away to die. He'd lived in his house since 1951. That made me really sad. Now his house is empty, and will remain that way for a long time, according to neighborhood gossip.

Ferris wants to go outside.

Nolan is watching WWE. I remember when I was a kid, and I'd get up each Saturday morning to watch WWF when it was on KCOP here in Los Angeles. I loved it, once I figured out it was fake.

Anyone remember M.U.S.C.L.E. figures? The Dark Tower game from Milton Bradley? I bought a new GURPS 3E last week, to replace my old and falling apart copy. Boy do I love RPGs.

This was more fun than I thought it would be, but I can guarantee you that I'll read this in a few days and want to take it down. Well, I feel pretty satisfied now. Maybe I am blocked.

Does everybody really love Raymond? Because I really don't.

Anne just walked in, and Ferris doesn't want to go outside any more. Now she just wants to run around with Anne.

I really love Anne a lot. She is TRULY my "other half."

I have Red Hat 8.0, and I want to install KDE 3.1. Has anyone else done this? Is it going to bork my machine like it did when I tried to upgrade on Mandrake 8.2? Why can't I get CUPS to work?

I have to go make dinner: Falafel, tabouleh, and hummus. How Greek^H^H^H^H^H Lebanese of us.

Posted by Wil at 06:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (256)

Off the top of my head, without any editing, a stream a consciousness:

Man, I really want to write, but I am just out of ideas. It's not that I'm "blocked," or anything, I just can't think of anything to write about.

So I'll just make myself write, and maybe something interesting will come out.

Maybe it's because there's not too much going on in my life right now: no auditions, nothing really exciting at home . . . I've just been working on rewrites of Just A Geek, and collecting some other weblog entries that I really like, (but couldn't put in JAG) for their own smaller book.

Just A Geek came in at over 350 pages today, and "Dancing Barefoot" comes in at about 90. I'm applying for ISBNs tomorrow.

I did some heavy rewriting of SpongeBob Vega$ Pants, to clean it up and make it flow better, and while I did that, I relived those five days. Jesus, what a great time that was. What a great con.

Jesus, I really hate Puddle of Mudd, and POD, and all those shitty bands that sound like them.

I've been trading calls with Adam from Creation about the Grand Slam show, and it sounds like he's excited to have me there. I've been thinking about conventions a lot lately, because I talk about them a great deal in JAG, and realized something: I have ALWAYS had more in common with the fans than the franchise, and attending conventions, as a speaker or a paying fan, is something I'll always love to do. Now that I have stories to read, a website to talk about, and comedy shows to do, I don't feel any angst about doing the shows. I can't tell you enough how great that feels.

As I get closer to finishing JAG, and it's younger brother (which requires far less work) I've been looking for printers . . . and actually got some quotes today for the first printing. It's very exciting, and also terrifying.

If anyone reading this has experience with a printer, and you'd like to share comments about that printer (good or bad) I'd really like to hear them.

I mowed my lawn tonight, and my shoes are grass stained and smelling like a summer morning.

When I mow the lawn, I like to listen to Jimmy Eat World on my car radio. "A Praise Chorus" is one of the greatest songs I've ever heard. This afternoon, I didn't listen to the radio, but I did sing "Dogs" from Pink Floyd to myself as I mowed in a circle, rather than the diagonal lines I usually make.

My cool neighbor moved away on Friday. He's like 80, and Anne and I both felt like he's moving away to die. He'd lived in his house since 1951. That made me really sad. Now his house is empty, and will remain that way for a long time, according to neighborhood gossip.

Ferris wants to go outside.

Nolan is watching WWE. I remember when I was a kid, and I'd get up each Saturday morning to watch WWF when it was on KCOP here in Los Angeles. I loved it, once I figured out it was fake.

Anyone remember M.U.S.C.L.E. figures? The Dark Tower game from Milton Bradley? I bought a new GURPS 3E last week, to replace my old and falling apart copy. Boy do I love RPGs.

This was more fun than I thought it would be, but I can guarantee you that I'll read this in a few days and want to take it down. Well, I feel pretty satisfied now. Maybe I am blocked.

Does everybody really love Raymond? Because I really don't.

Anne just walked in, and Ferris doesn't want to go outside any more. Now she just wants to run around with Anne.

I really love Anne a lot. She is TRULY my "other half."

I have Red Hat 8.0, and I want to install KDE 3.1. Has anyone else done this? Is it going to bork my machine like it did when I tried to upgrade on Mandrake 8.2? Why can't I get CUPS to work?

I have to go make dinner: Falafel, tabouleh, and hummus. How Greek^H^H^H^H^H Lebanese of us.

Posted by Wil at 06:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (256)

Off the top of my head, without any editing, a stream a consciousness:

Man, I really want to write, but I am just out of ideas. It's not that I'm "blocked," or anything, I just can't think of anything to write about.

So I'll just make myself write, and maybe something interesting will come out.

Maybe it's because there's not too much going on in my life right now: no auditions, nothing really exciting at home . . . I've just been working on rewrites of Just A Geek, and collecting some other weblog entries that I really like, (but couldn't put in JAG) for their own smaller book.

Just A Geek came in at over 350 pages today, and "Dancing Barefoot" comes in at about 90. I'm applying for ISBNs tomorrow.

I did some heavy rewriting of SpongeBob Vega$ Pants, to clean it up and make it flow better, and while I did that, I relived those five days. Jesus, what a great time that was. What a great con.

Jesus, I really hate Puddle of Mudd, and POD, and all those shitty bands that sound like them.

I've been trading calls with Adam from Creation about the Grand Slam show, and it sounds like he's excited to have me there. I've been thinking about conventions a lot lately, because I talk about them a great deal in JAG, and realized something: I have ALWAYS had more in common with the fans than the franchise, and attending conventions, as a speaker or a paying fan, is something I'll always love to do. Now that I have stories to read, a website to talk about, and comedy shows to do, I don't feel any angst about doing the shows. I can't tell you enough how great that feels.

As I get closer to finishing JAG, and it's younger brother (which requires far less work) I've been looking for printers . . . and actually got some quotes today for the first printing. It's very exciting, and also terrifying.

If anyone reading this has experience with a printer, and you'd like to share comments about that printer (good or bad) I'd really like to hear them.

I mowed my lawn tonight, and my shoes are grass stained and smelling like a summer morning.

When I mow the lawn, I like to listen to Jimmy Eat World on my car radio. "A Praise Chorus" is one of the greatest songs I've ever heard. This afternoon, I didn't listen to the radio, but I did sing "Dogs" from Pink Floyd to myself as I mowed in a circle, rather than the diagonal lines I usually make.

My cool neighbor moved away on Friday. He's like 80, and Anne and I both felt like he's moving away to die. He'd lived in his house since 1951. That made me really sad. Now his house is empty, and will remain that way for a long time, according to neighborhood gossip.

Ferris wants to go outside.

Nolan is watching WWE. I remember when I was a kid, and I'd get up each Saturday morning to watch WWF when it was on KCOP here in Los Angeles. I loved it, once I figured out it was fake.

Anyone remember M.U.S.C.L.E. figures? The Dark Tower game from Milton Bradley? I bought a new GURPS 3E last week, to replace my old and falling apart copy. Boy do I love RPGs.

This was more fun than I thought it would be, but I can guarantee you that I'll read this in a few days and want to take it down. Well, I feel pretty satisfied now. Maybe I am blocked.

Does everybody really love Raymond? Because I really don't.

Anne just walked in, and Ferris doesn't want to go outside any more. Now she just wants to run around with Anne.

I really love Anne a lot. She is TRULY my "other half."

I have Red Hat 8.0, and I want to install KDE 3.1. Has anyone else done this? Is it going to bork my machine like it did when I tried to upgrade on Mandrake 8.2? Why can't I get CUPS to work?

I have to go make dinner: Falafel, tabouleh, and hummus. How Greek^H^H^H^H^H Lebanese of us.

Posted by Wil at 06:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (256)

It's fun to watch someone go through a major crisis, even if it's self-inflicted. Puts things into perspective.

Some thoughts I had last night while listening to the rain bounce off my roof:

Ii have spent each day the past few weeks just inches from tears.

it's a lot of things: fear and uncertainty about the quality of my book being the biggest, having the sit there and take it while some Rich Fucking Asshole treated me like I was a little kid, stupid computer problems, anne's ex-husband bullshit, and finally the blog trolls (who I really should have just called assholes, because that's what they are) and emailers.

Alone, I can deal with any of those things, but together . . . well, it's just too much to deal with.

But the uncertainty about this book is killing me. I thought I had something really good, and shared it with a few people. Most of them told me it was really good, and gave some constructive feedback. A few of them absolutely ripped it to shreds, and gave me some constructive feedback. The result? I found myself unsure about everything. Unable to trust my instincts. I rewrote major parts to please others, instead of myself, and it left me paralyzed. I've since decided to just let it go. I'll finish some grammatical and spelling corrections, complete a few tiny changes where I want to add more information, and publish the damn thing.

I'm scared. I'm scared that it's not as good as I thought. I'm scared that it's better than I thought.
My mom told me that I was in the middle of "vast uncharted territory" and that it was okay to be afraid. I'm not so sure.

I shouldn't have posted my "I'm leaving, here's why, okay now I'm back but I'm really leaving and I hate you" post. What I should have said is, "I'm overwhelmed with several things in my life, and writing for WWDN isn't bringing me any joy right now. As a matter of fact, it's sort of a chore, so I'm taking some time off." What I posted gives way too much power and importance to a very small group of people who I should really just feel sorry for.

But I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me feel just a tiny bit better to hear from people who actually SUPPORT me for a change. And Ben sent me a nice cartoon.

Note to self: don't post when emotional.

And you know what else? I am profoundly upset about war, dreams of war, and the Bush Junta. Patriot II? How the fuck did this happen? How did we, as a culture, sit back and put these people in charge?

And these "Terror alerts?" Does anyone believe them? Did you guys read about the "suspected terrorist" in SF Bay? Some tug boat captain suggests that he saw someone in an unlit Zodiac raft at 3AM, wearing a wetsuit. That's it.

The CG looked everywhere for this boat and its alleged terrorist, and found NOTHING.

But it's all over the news, because WE ARE ON ALERT!!1!!11!

What happened to critical thinking? Are the American people so soporific that they can't see this bullshit for what it is?

And now we're supposed to believe that Osama Bin Laden is JOINING FORCES WITH SADDAM?

What?!

The timing on this is all too pat for me, and I wonder where the fuck the critical voices are who should be questioning this stuff. Where are the other voices in this vast wilderness? Isn't anyone willing to speak up?

We are marching directly into a war, though there is massive public resistance to it.
We are marching directly into a war, and the media, the supposed 4th estate, isn't doing ANYTHING to keep people informed -- they're just propagandizing for the Bush Junta.
We are marching directly into a war, though the rest of the world wishes we'd just mind our ouw stinking business.

And nobody seems to care. And I'm "anti-American" because I feel this way.

I was picking up some tools at OSH about an hour ago, and helped an older woman take some plastic boxes down from a tall shelf. When I put them in her cart for her, she moved a bunch of duct tape and plastic sheeting out of the way. She told me how scared she was, and urged me to be prepared and safe.

That's perfect. This woman, who could be doing several other things today, is preparing for a terrorist attack, right here in Pasadena. Because she's afraid. Just like the Bush Junta wants us all to be.

Ugh. Note to self: don't post when emotional.

Posted by Wil at 01:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (471) | TrackBacks (1)

It's fun to watch someone go through a major crisis, even if it's self-inflicted. Puts things into perspective.

Some thoughts I had last night while listening to the rain bounce off my roof:

Ii have spent each day the past few weeks just inches from tears.

it's a lot of things: fear and uncertainty about the quality of my book being the biggest, having the sit there and take it while some Rich Fucking Asshole treated me like I was a little kid, stupid computer problems, anne's ex-husband bullshit, and finally the blog trolls (who I really should have just called assholes, because that's what they are) and emailers.

Alone, I can deal with any of those things, but together . . . well, it's just too much to deal with.

But the uncertainty about this book is killing me. I thought I had something really good, and shared it with a few people. Most of them told me it was really good, and gave some constructive feedback. A few of them absolutely ripped it to shreds, and gave me some constructive feedback. The result? I found myself unsure about everything. Unable to trust my instincts. I rewrote major parts to please others, instead of myself, and it left me paralyzed. I've since decided to just let it go. I'll finish some grammatical and spelling corrections, complete a few tiny changes where I want to add more information, and publish the damn thing.

I'm scared. I'm scared that it's not as good as I thought. I'm scared that it's better than I thought.
My mom told me that I was in the middle of "vast uncharted territory" and that it was okay to be afraid. I'm not so sure.

I shouldn't have posted my "I'm leaving, here's why, okay now I'm back but I'm really leaving and I hate you" post. What I should have said is, "I'm overwhelmed with several things in my life, and writing for WWDN isn't bringing me any joy right now. As a matter of fact, it's sort of a chore, so I'm taking some time off." What I posted gives way too much power and importance to a very small group of people who I should really just feel sorry for.

But I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me feel just a tiny bit better to hear from people who actually SUPPORT me for a change. And Ben sent me a nice cartoon.

Note to self: don't post when emotional.

And you know what else? I am profoundly upset about war, dreams of war, and the Bush Junta. Patriot II? How the fuck did this happen? How did we, as a culture, sit back and put these people in charge?

And these "Terror alerts?" Does anyone believe them? Did you guys read about the "suspected terrorist" in SF Bay? Some tug boat captain suggests that he saw someone in an unlit Zodiac raft at 3AM, wearing a wetsuit. That's it.

The CG looked everywhere for this boat and its alleged terrorist, and found NOTHING.

But it's all over the news, because WE ARE ON ALERT!!1!!11!

What happened to critical thinking? Are the American people so soporific that they can't see this bullshit for what it is?

And now we're supposed to believe that Osama Bin Laden is JOINING FORCES WITH SADDAM?

What?!

The timing on this is all too pat for me, and I wonder where the fuck the critical voices are who should be questioning this stuff. Where are the other voices in this vast wilderness? Isn't anyone willing to speak up?

We are marching directly into a war, though there is massive public resistance to it.
We are marching directly into a war, and the media, the supposed 4th estate, isn't doing ANYTHING to keep people informed -- they're just propagandizing for the Bush Junta.
We are marching directly into a war, though the rest of the world wishes we'd just mind our ouw stinking business.

And nobody seems to care. And I'm "anti-American" because I feel this way.

I was picking up some tools at OSH about an hour ago, and helped an older woman take some plastic boxes down from a tall shelf. When I put them in her cart for her, she moved a bunch of duct tape and plastic sheeting out of the way. She told me how scared she was, and urged me to be prepared and safe.

That's perfect. This woman, who could be doing several other things today, is preparing for a terrorist attack, right here in Pasadena. Because she's afraid. Just like the Bush Junta wants us all to be.

Ugh. Note to self: don't post when emotional.

Posted by Wil at 01:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (471) | TrackBacks (1)

It's fun to watch someone go through a major crisis, even if it's self-inflicted. Puts things into perspective.

Some thoughts I had last night while listening to the rain bounce off my roof:

Ii have spent each day the past few weeks just inches from tears.

it's a lot of things: fear and uncertainty about the quality of my book being the biggest, having the sit there and take it while some Rich Fucking Asshole treated me like I was a little kid, stupid computer problems, anne's ex-husband bullshit, and finally the blog trolls (who I really should have just called assholes, because that's what they are) and emailers.

Alone, I can deal with any of those things, but together . . . well, it's just too much to deal with.

But the uncertainty about this book is killing me. I thought I had something really good, and shared it with a few people. Most of them told me it was really good, and gave some constructive feedback. A few of them absolutely ripped it to shreds, and gave me some constructive feedback. The result? I found myself unsure about everything. Unable to trust my instincts. I rewrote major parts to please others, instead of myself, and it left me paralyzed. I've since decided to just let it go. I'll finish some grammatical and spelling corrections, complete a few tiny changes where I want to add more information, and publish the damn thing.

I'm scared. I'm scared that it's not as good as I thought. I'm scared that it's better than I thought.
My mom told me that I was in the middle of "vast uncharted territory" and that it was okay to be afraid. I'm not so sure.

I shouldn't have posted my "I'm leaving, here's why, okay now I'm back but I'm really leaving and I hate you" post. What I should have said is, "I'm overwhelmed with several things in my life, and writing for WWDN isn't bringing me any joy right now. As a matter of fact, it's sort of a chore, so I'm taking some time off." What I posted gives way too much power and importance to a very small group of people who I should really just feel sorry for.

But I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me feel just a tiny bit better to hear from people who actually SUPPORT me for a change. And Ben sent me a nice cartoon.

Note to self: don't post when emotional.

And you know what else? I am profoundly upset about war, dreams of war, and the Bush Junta. Patriot II? How the fuck did this happen? How did we, as a culture, sit back and put these people in charge?

And these "Terror alerts?" Does anyone believe them? Did you guys read about the "suspected terrorist" in SF Bay? Some tug boat captain suggests that he saw someone in an unlit Zodiac raft at 3AM, wearing a wetsuit. That's it.

The CG looked everywhere for this boat and its alleged terrorist, and found NOTHING.

But it's all over the news, because WE ARE ON ALERT!!1!!11!

What happened to critical thinking? Are the American people so soporific that they can't see this bullshit for what it is?

And now we're supposed to believe that Osama Bin Laden is JOINING FORCES WITH SADDAM?

What?!

The timing on this is all too pat for me, and I wonder where the fuck the critical voices are who should be questioning this stuff. Where are the other voices in this vast wilderness? Isn't anyone willing to speak up?

We are marching directly into a war, though there is massive public resistance to it.
We are marching directly into a war, and the media, the supposed 4th estate, isn't doing ANYTHING to keep people informed -- they're just propagandizing for the Bush Junta.
We are marching directly into a war, though the rest of the world wishes we'd just mind our ouw stinking business.

And nobody seems to care. And I'm "anti-American" because I feel this way.

I was picking up some tools at OSH about an hour ago, and helped an older woman take some plastic boxes down from a tall shelf. When I put them in her cart for her, she moved a bunch of duct tape and plastic sheeting out of the way. She told me how scared she was, and urged me to be prepared and safe.

That's perfect. This woman, who could be doing several other things today, is preparing for a terrorist attack, right here in Pasadena. Because she's afraid. Just like the Bush Junta wants us all to be.

Ugh. Note to self: don't post when emotional.

Posted by Wil at 01:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (471) | TrackBacks (1)

I've had it with blog trolls, hateful e-mails, and the general idiocy that seems to overwhelm otherwise normal people when they connect to the Internet.

I just don't understand it. Where is your humanity? Do you treat people you see in real life the way you treat me? Do you go out of your way to insult and belittle people? Is your life so miserable, so empty and meaningless, your self-esteem so low that you need to attack me? Honestly, what have I ever done to you? Really. What have I ever done?

Dealing with this shit has become a huge and unecessary distraction, so WWDN will not be updated for the near future while I finish "Just A Geek" and take care of some other RL stuff.

I just . . . I just need a break. In the meantime, check out the archives. There's some stuff in there that I'm really proud of.

. . . I'll be enjoying Channel 2's TEAM COVERAGE of STORMWATCH.

Heh.

Posted by Wil at 06:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (500) | TrackBacks (1)

I've had it with blog trolls, hateful e-mails, and the general idiocy that seems to overwhelm otherwise normal people when they connect to the Internet.

I just don't understand it. Where is your humanity? Do you treat people you see in real life the way you treat me? Do you go out of your way to insult and belittle people? Is your life so miserable, so empty and meaningless, your self-esteem so low that you need to attack me? Honestly, what have I ever done to you? Really. What have I ever done?

Dealing with this shit has become a huge and unecessary distraction, so WWDN will not be updated for the near future while I finish "Just A Geek" and take care of some other RL stuff.

I just . . . I just need a break. In the meantime, check out the archives. There's some stuff in there that I'm really proud of.

. . . I'll be enjoying Channel 2's TEAM COVERAGE of STORMWATCH.

Heh.

Posted by Wil at 06:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (500) | TrackBacks (1)

I've had it with blog trolls, hateful e-mails, and the general idiocy that seems to overwhelm otherwise normal people when they connect to the Internet.

I just don't understand it. Where is your humanity? Do you treat people you see in real life the way you treat me? Do you go out of your way to insult and belittle people? Is your life so miserable, so empty and meaningless, your self-esteem so low that you need to attack me? Honestly, what have I ever done to you? Really. What have I ever done?

Dealing with this shit has become a huge and unecessary distraction, so WWDN will not be updated for the near future while I finish "Just A Geek" and take care of some other RL stuff.

I just . . . I just need a break. In the meantime, check out the archives. There's some stuff in there that I'm really proud of.

. . . I'll be enjoying Channel 2's TEAM COVERAGE of STORMWATCH.

Heh.

Posted by Wil at 06:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (500) | TrackBacks (1)

I just found out that the director for I, Robot "didn't respond to any" of the tapes he saw, including mine.

In the mysterious Hollywood lexicon, this can mean a number of things, but it usually comes down to one of the following:

• My interpretation of this character and his vision don't match up.
  
• I don't physically look like what he has in his mind.
  

These are both very valid, and totally understandable reasons . . . but it doesn't make me feel any less sad. It's frustrating to hear "the director didn't respond to you," because it's so nebulous. It's like being told, "You're not getting this job. Why? Because. Next!" It also has a sort of negative feeling to it, doesn't it? It doesn't help that I have heard "the director didn't respond" without any real elaboration countless times in my career .

I was very happy with my audition. I wouldn't change a single thing about it. I know that I could have done a great job with this character, and I would have been really good in this movie.

Whle I didn't sit in my living room for days, not eating and agonizing over getting this part, I was genuinely excited about the opportunities it presented. Working with Will Smith and Alex Proyas, and getting to play a robot would have been awesome.

Thanks for all the support, everyone.

The journey continues . . .

Posted by Wil at 11:12 AM | Permalink | Comments (184)

I just found out that the director for I, Robot "didn't respond to any" of the tapes he saw, including mine.

In the mysterious Hollywood lexicon, this can mean a number of things, but it usually comes down to one of the following:

• My interpretation of this character and his vision don't match up.
  
• I don't physically look like what he has in his mind.
  

These are both very valid, and totally understandable reasons . . . but it doesn't make me feel any less sad. It's frustrating to hear "the director didn't respond to you," because it's so nebulous. It's like being told, "You're not getting this job. Why? Because. Next!" It also has a sort of negative feeling to it, doesn't it? It doesn't help that I have heard "the director didn't respond" without any real elaboration countless times in my career .

I was very happy with my audition. I wouldn't change a single thing about it. I know that I could have done a great job with this character, and I would have been really good in this movie.

Whle I didn't sit in my living room for days, not eating and agonizing over getting this part, I was genuinely excited about the opportunities it presented. Working with Will Smith and Alex Proyas, and getting to play a robot would have been awesome.

Thanks for all the support, everyone.

The journey continues . . .

Posted by Wil at 11:12 AM | Permalink | Comments (184)

I just found out that the director for I, Robot "didn't respond to any" of the tapes he saw, including mine.

In the mysterious Hollywood lexicon, this can mean a number of things, but it usually comes down to one of the following:

• My interpretation of this character and his vision don't match up.
  
• I don't physically look like what he has in his mind.
  

These are both very valid, and totally understandable reasons . . . but it doesn't make me feel any less sad. It's frustrating to hear "the director didn't respond to you," because it's so nebulous. It's like being told, "You're not getting this job. Why? Because. Next!" It also has a sort of negative feeling to it, doesn't it? It doesn't help that I have heard "the director didn't respond" without any real elaboration countless times in my career .

I was very happy with my audition. I wouldn't change a single thing about it. I know that I could have done a great job with this character, and I would have been really good in this movie.

Whle I didn't sit in my living room for days, not eating and agonizing over getting this part, I was genuinely excited about the opportunities it presented. Working with Will Smith and Alex Proyas, and getting to play a robot would have been awesome.

Thanks for all the support, everyone.

The journey continues . . .

Posted by Wil at 11:12 AM | Permalink | Comments (184)

Spent the weekend playing front yard touch football and whiffle ball with the kids. Tried very hard to care about the Superbowl, but I just couldn't do it.

Played so much Vice City my thumbs hurt, and I dreamed that I was Tommy Vercetti last night. Very lucid, very strange.

Did lots of work in the garden -- it's been in the 80s here for over a week, so we decided to take advantage of the warm while we had the chance.

Wasted almost 18 hours trying to do several computer things. None of them work. Stupid computers.

Haven't heard anything about the auditions.

Posted by Wil at 10:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (114)

Spent the weekend playing front yard touch football and whiffle ball with the kids. Tried very hard to care about the Superbowl, but I just couldn't do it.

Played so much Vice City my thumbs hurt, and I dreamed that I was Tommy Vercetti last night. Very lucid, very strange.

Did lots of work in the garden -- it's been in the 80s here for over a week, so we decided to take advantage of the warm while we had the chance.

Wasted almost 18 hours trying to do several computer things. None of them work. Stupid computers.

Haven't heard anything about the auditions.

Posted by Wil at 10:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (114)

Spent the weekend playing front yard touch football and whiffle ball with the kids. Tried very hard to care about the Superbowl, but I just couldn't do it.

Played so much Vice City my thumbs hurt, and I dreamed that I was Tommy Vercetti last night. Very lucid, very strange.

Did lots of work in the garden -- it's been in the 80s here for over a week, so we decided to take advantage of the warm while we had the chance.

Wasted almost 18 hours trying to do several computer things. None of them work. Stupid computers.

Haven't heard anything about the auditions.

Posted by Wil at 10:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (114)

Here's a quick update on I, Robot:

They put about 100 actors on tape last week. 20 of those tapes were sent to the director, including mine. He will pick a few he likes, and have meetings with them this week or next.

Wish I had more info, but that's it. Strangely, I'm not sitting here, stomach in knots, agonizing over whether I'll get it or not. While I would love to work with Alex Proyas (I am a HUGE Dark City weenie) and play a robot, I don't have the life-or-death feeling that used to accompany auditions.

And as far as I know, they didn't see anyone from Jimmy Kimmel's family.

Posted by Wil at 10:36 AM | Permalink | Comments (125)

Here's a quick update on I, Robot:

They put about 100 actors on tape last week. 20 of those tapes were sent to the director, including mine. He will pick a few he likes, and have meetings with them this week or next.

Wish I had more info, but that's it. Strangely, I'm not sitting here, stomach in knots, agonizing over whether I'll get it or not. While I would love to work with Alex Proyas (I am a HUGE Dark City weenie) and play a robot, I don't have the life-or-death feeling that used to accompany auditions.

And as far as I know, they didn't see anyone from Jimmy Kimmel's family.

Posted by Wil at 10:36 AM | Permalink | Comments (125)

Here's a quick update on I, Robot:

They put about 100 actors on tape last week. 20 of those tapes were sent to the director, including mine. He will pick a few he likes, and have meetings with them this week or next.

Wish I had more info, but that's it. Strangely, I'm not sitting here, stomach in knots, agonizing over whether I'll get it or not. While I would love to work with Alex Proyas (I am a HUGE Dark City weenie) and play a robot, I don't have the life-or-death feeling that used to accompany auditions.

And as far as I know, they didn't see anyone from Jimmy Kimmel's family.

Posted by Wil at 10:36 AM | Permalink | Comments (125)

Over at boingboing there is a link about Coppola filming an adaptation of "On The Road."

This project has been around for almost ten years. The first time around, sometime in 1992 or so, I auditioned to play Neil Cassidy. I read a scene straight out of Dharma Bums.

I was already familiar with most of the Beat Generation, and was a huge fan of Burroughs, but I'd never read Kerouac.

I furiously read "On the Road," and skimmed through "Dharma Bums." I wanted to have a good sense of his style, so I could bring his character to life faithfully.

I was already a jazz geek, but I took the opportunity to fill several gaps in my collection, so I could listen to Charlie Parker and Chet Baker while I learned my scenes.

I worked with a coach to develop body language, and dialect. I bought clothes from a thrift shop and went through lots of different hairstyles until I got the correct look.

A little over a week later the audition came. I drove myself to this old church on Highland where they have auditions from time to time, listening to Bird the whole way. I walked into a large empty courtyard, filled with fountains, birds, and a beautiful garden. Only the sign-in sheet betrayed the presence of Hollywood. I sat down, focused and ready to go get this job.

While I was waiting, Emilio Estevez arrived.

Wow, I thought, I'm at the same audition as Emilio Estevez, and I'm about to meet the man who is responsible for The Godfather and Apocalypse Now!

I totally forgot why I was there, and became a drooling fan boy.

Emilio Estevez said hi to me, one professional to another, and I said, "Hey."

There was a pause, and I heard myself say, "I want to tell you how much I like your work. Repo Man is one of my favorite movies of all time, and Breakfast Club is a classic."

He went one better:"Wil, Stand By Me is a classic, and I love your work too. It's really nice to meet you."

I hadn't told him my name, yet.

The casting assistant came out, and looked at the two of us. Emilio was on the "A" list. I was on my way to the "C" list, having been off TNG for a few years. She said, "Emilio, would you like to come in now?"

He looked at her, and said, "Wil was here before me. It's his turn."

She told him that it wasn't a problem. They were ready for him.

"Well, if you're ready for me, you're ready for Wil, and he was here first." He crossed his legs, and looked at his script.

I was stunned. He didn't need to stand up for me, and it really didn't matter to me who went first, but I thanked him and went in.

The room was large and very dark. Like the rest of the church, it was mission-style, with high, open-beamed ceilings and terra cotta tiles on the floor. Coppola was sitting behind his massive beard, a flimsy card table between us.

I approached him, and extended my hand. He didn't take it, so I sat down.

"You don't mind if I film you, do you?" he asked rhetorically, showing a palm-sized video camera he was holding.

"No, of course not."

He asked me to slate my name, and begin the scene.

I did, and proceeded to give the worst audition of my life.

I'd forgotten why I was there, and was a drooling fan boy. I didn't want to read this scene, I just wanted to talk about Apocalypse Now, and Rumblefish. I wanted to ask him about Marlon Brando, Dennis Hopper, and James Caan.

All these thoughts flooded my head while I stumbled through the scene. My Inner Voice, that internal critic/director/coach that all actor's have, was screaming at me that I was doing horribly. I didn't listen, instead hearing Robert Duvall shout, "Charlie don't surf!" It screamed louder, telling me to stop and start over, but I was too busy watching John Cazale get on that boat, knowing that he was going to get whacked.

Then I was done, and Coppola was thanking me for coming in. We both knew that I'd blown it. We both knew that I'd wasted everyone's time. I walked out, head hung low.

I passed Emilio Estevez, who asked me how it went. I shrugged, and told him to break a leg.

I drove home in silence, Chet Baker wondering how deep is the ocean?

Posted by Wil at 04:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (145)

Over at boingboing there is a link about Coppola filming an adaptation of "On The Road."

This project has been around for almost ten years. The first time around, sometime in 1992 or so, I auditioned to play Neil Cassidy. I read a scene straight out of Dharma Bums.

I was already familiar with most of the Beat Generation, and was a huge fan of Burroughs, but I'd never read Kerouac.

I furiously read "On the Road," and skimmed through "Dharma Bums." I wanted to have a good sense of his style, so I could bring his character to life faithfully.

I was already a jazz geek, but I took the opportunity to fill several gaps in my collection, so I could listen to Charlie Parker and Chet Baker while I learned my scenes.

I worked with a coach to develop body language, and dialect. I bought clothes from a thrift shop and went through lots of different hairstyles until I got the correct look.

A little over a week later the audition came. I drove myself to this old church on Highland where they have auditions from time to time, listening to Bird the whole way. I walked into a large empty courtyard, filled with fountains, birds, and a beautiful garden. Only the sign-in sheet betrayed the presence of Hollywood. I sat down, focused and ready to go get this job.

While I was waiting, Emilio Estevez arrived.

Wow, I thought, I'm at the same audition as Emilio Estevez, and I'm about to meet the man who is responsible for The Godfather and Apocalypse Now!

I totally forgot why I was there, and became a drooling fan boy.

Emilio Estevez said hi to me, one professional to another, and I said, "Hey."

There was a pause, and I heard myself say, "I want to tell you how much I like your work. Repo Man is one of my favorite movies of all time, and Breakfast Club is a classic."

He went one better:"Wil, Stand By Me is a classic, and I love your work too. It's really nice to meet you."

I hadn't told him my name, yet.

The casting assistant came out, and looked at the two of us. Emilio was on the "A" list. I was on my way to the "C" list, having been off TNG for a few years. She said, "Emilio, would you like to come in now?"

He looked at her, and said, "Wil was here before me. It's his turn."

She told him that it wasn't a problem. They were ready for him.

"Well, if you're ready for me, you're ready for Wil, and he was here first." He crossed his legs, and looked at his script.

I was stunned. He didn't need to stand up for me, and it really didn't matter to me who went first, but I thanked him and went in.

The room was large and very dark. Like the rest of the church, it was mission-style, with high, open-beamed ceilings and terra cotta tiles on the floor. Coppola was sitting behind his massive beard, a flimsy card table between us.

I approached him, and extended my hand. He didn't take it, so I sat down.

"You don't mind if I film you, do you?" he asked rhetorically, showing a palm-sized video camera he was holding.

"No, of course not."

He asked me to slate my name, and begin the scene.

I did, and proceeded to give the worst audition of my life.

I'd forgotten why I was there, and was a drooling fan boy. I didn't want to read this scene, I just wanted to talk about Apocalypse Now, and Rumblefish. I wanted to ask him about Marlon Brando, Dennis Hopper, and James Caan.

All these thoughts flooded my head while I stumbled through the scene. My Inner Voice, that internal critic/director/coach that all actor's have, was screaming at me that I was doing horribly. I didn't listen, instead hearing Robert Duvall shout, "Charlie don't surf!" It screamed louder, telling me to stop and start over, but I was too busy watching John Cazale get on that boat, knowing that he was going to get whacked.

Then I was done, and Coppola was thanking me for coming in. We both knew that I'd blown it. We both knew that I'd wasted everyone's time. I walked out, head hung low.

I passed Emilio Estevez, who asked me how it went. I shrugged, and told him to break a leg.

I drove home in silence, Chet Baker wondering how deep is the ocean?

Posted by Wil at 04:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (145)

Over at boingboing there is a link about Coppola filming an adaptation of "On The Road."

This project has been around for almost ten years. The first time around, sometime in 1992 or so, I auditioned to play Neil Cassidy. I read a scene straight out of Dharma Bums.

I was already familiar with most of the Beat Generation, and was a huge fan of Burroughs, but I'd never read Kerouac.

I furiously read "On the Road," and skimmed through "Dharma Bums." I wanted to have a good sense of his style, so I could bring his character to life faithfully.

I was already a jazz geek, but I took the opportunity to fill several gaps in my collection, so I could listen to Charlie Parker and Chet Baker while I learned my scenes.

I worked with a coach to develop body language, and dialect. I bought clothes from a thrift shop and went through lots of different hairstyles until I got the correct look.

A little over a week later the audition came. I drove myself to this old church on Highland where they have auditions from time to time, listening to Bird the whole way. I walked into a large empty courtyard, filled with fountains, birds, and a beautiful garden. Only the sign-in sheet betrayed the presence of Hollywood. I sat down, focused and ready to go get this job.

While I was waiting, Emilio Estevez arrived.

Wow, I thought, I'm at the same audition as Emilio Estevez, and I'm about to meet the man who is responsible for The Godfather and Apocalypse Now!

I totally forgot why I was there, and became a drooling fan boy.

Emilio Estevez said hi to me, one professional to another, and I said, "Hey."

There was a pause, and I heard myself say, "I want to tell you how much I like your work. Repo Man is one of my favorite movies of all time, and Breakfast Club is a classic."

He went one better:"Wil, Stand By Me is a classic, and I love your work too. It's really nice to meet you."

I hadn't told him my name, yet.

The casting assistant came out, and looked at the two of us. Emilio was on the "A" list. I was on my way to the "C" list, having been off TNG for a few years. She said, "Emilio, would you like to come in now?"

He looked at her, and said, "Wil was here before me. It's his turn."

She told him that it wasn't a problem. They were ready for him.

"Well, if you're ready for me, you're ready for Wil, and he was here first." He crossed his legs, and looked at his script.

I was stunned. He didn't need to stand up for me, and it really didn't matter to me who went first, but I thanked him and went in.

The room was large and very dark. Like the rest of the church, it was mission-style, with high, open-beamed ceilings and terra cotta tiles on the floor. Coppola was sitting behind his massive beard, a flimsy card table between us.

I approached him, and extended my hand. He didn't take it, so I sat down.

"You don't mind if I film you, do you?" he asked rhetorically, showing a palm-sized video camera he was holding.

"No, of course not."

He asked me to slate my name, and begin the scene.

I did, and proceeded to give the worst audition of my life.

I'd forgotten why I was there, and was a drooling fan boy. I didn't want to read this scene, I just wanted to talk about Apocalypse Now, and Rumblefish. I wanted to ask him about Marlon Brando, Dennis Hopper, and James Caan.

All these thoughts flooded my head while I stumbled through the scene. My Inner Voice, that internal critic/director/coach that all actor's have, was screaming at me that I was doing horribly. I didn't listen, instead hearing Robert Duvall shout, "Charlie don't surf!" It screamed louder, telling me to stop and start over, but I was too busy watching John Cazale get on that boat, knowing that he was going to get whacked.

Then I was done, and Coppola was thanking me for coming in. We both knew that I'd blown it. We both knew that I'd wasted everyone's time. I walked out, head hung low.

I passed Emilio Estevez, who asked me how it went. I shrugged, and told him to break a leg.

I drove home in silence, Chet Baker wondering how deep is the ocean?

Posted by Wil at 04:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (145)

I called my manager this afternoon, to see if there was any news from my auditions.

"Hi, it's Wil Wheaton for Chris," I told the receptionist.

Chris immediately picked up the phone. "This is so weird. I just told Hank to put you on my list to call."

Hearing this didn't surprise me. Things like this happen all the time. If I could translate this amazing psychic ability that I have for phone calls into slot machines or dice, I could have myself a Rainman Suite.

I asked him if he'd heard anything about I, Robot

"Yes!" He told me, his normally calm and reassuring voice filled with excitement. "The casting director called me twice today, because he was so excited to give me feedback about you!"

My heart began to pound, and I felt my face flush.

"What did he say?"

"He said, 'Wil was really, really, really, fucking incredible!' He was very happy with what you did, and told me that he was very impressed."

I let out a girlish squeal. "Really?!"

"Yes. He said that you were phenomenal, and he sent your tape this morning."

Chris told me that we haven't heard anything about the other audition, but I didn't care. Getting feedback this quickly, and this positive, hardly ever happens. The director will look at the tapes of all the actors who read yesterday, and he will read notes that the casting director has prepared to go with each performance. If this casting director was so excited to tell my manager how happy he was, that he called twice, I am confident that he presented me to the director with similar confidence and praise.

A year ago, I wouldn't have even had this audition, let alone a real chance at making it into the movie.

Posted by Wil at 09:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (162)

I called my manager this afternoon, to see if there was any news from my auditions.

"Hi, it's Wil Wheaton for Chris," I told the receptionist.

Chris immediately picked up the phone. "This is so weird. I just told Hank to put you on my list to call."

Hearing this didn't surprise me. Things like this happen all the time. If I could translate this amazing psychic ability that I have for phone calls into slot machines or dice, I could have myself a Rainman Suite.

I asked him if he'd heard anything about I, Robot

"Yes!" He told me, his normally calm and reassuring voice filled with excitement. "The casting director called me twice today, because he was so excited to give me feedback about you!"

My heart began to pound, and I felt my face flush.

"What did he say?"

"He said, 'Wil was really, really, really, fucking incredible!' He was very happy with what you did, and told me that he was very impressed."

I let out a girlish squeal. "Really?!"

"Yes. He said that you were phenomenal, and he sent your tape this morning."

Chris told me that we haven't heard anything about the other audition, but I didn't care. Getting feedback this quickly, and this positive, hardly ever happens. The director will look at the tapes of all the actors who read yesterday, and he will read notes that the casting director has prepared to go with each performance. If this casting director was so excited to tell my manager how happy he was, that he called twice, I am confident that he presented me to the director with similar confidence and praise.

A year ago, I wouldn't have even had this audition, let alone a real chance at making it into the movie.

Posted by Wil at 09:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (162)

I called my manager this afternoon, to see if there was any news from my auditions.

"Hi, it's Wil Wheaton for Chris," I told the receptionist.

Chris immediately picked up the phone. "This is so weird. I just told Hank to put you on my list to call."

Hearing this didn't surprise me. Things like this happen all the time. If I could translate this amazing psychic ability that I have for phone calls into slot machines or dice, I could have myself a Rainman Suite.

I asked him if he'd heard anything about I, Robot

"Yes!" He told me, his normally calm and reassuring voice filled with excitement. "The casting director called me twice today, because he was so excited to give me feedback about you!"

My heart began to pound, and I felt my face flush.

"What did he say?"

"He said, 'Wil was really, really, really, fucking incredible!' He was very happy with what you did, and told me that he was very impressed."

I let out a girlish squeal. "Really?!"

"Yes. He said that you were phenomenal, and he sent your tape this morning."

Chris told me that we haven't heard anything about the other audition, but I didn't care. Getting feedback this quickly, and this positive, hardly ever happens. The director will look at the tapes of all the actors who read yesterday, and he will read notes that the casting director has prepared to go with each performance. If this casting director was so excited to tell my manager how happy he was, that he called twice, I am confident that he presented me to the director with similar confidence and praise.

A year ago, I wouldn't have even had this audition, let alone a real chance at making it into the movie.

Posted by Wil at 09:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (162)

I just walked in from my I, Robot audition. I think I did well, and I really had a good time. The scene I read felt very familiar to me. I think the writer took it from one of Asimov's robot books, but I couldn't tell you which one. The scene had a robot being questioned by a detective, who accused the robot of placing his owner in danger, then allowing his owner to die. Sound familiar to anyone?

I prepared the audition perfectly: I knew my lines, so I didn't need to refer to the sides (that's what they call the part of the script they give us to read) at all, and I was able to make some bold character choices. I didn't feel nervous, anxious, or uncertain at all when I went in. I felt excited! I couldn't wait to play this robot.

After one reading, the casting director, who also knew his lines and had clear character choices -- an extreme rarity in Hollywood -- gave me some direction, and we did it again. The difference I felt between the two performances was striking, and gave me a jolt of excited euphoria when I left. I had that feeling I talked about back when I was working on Boise, that thing I call "Mine." Whether I get the job or not, I got to have that feeling, so it was a successful call in my book.

It's funny, the way the entertainment industry works. I haven't had an audition in forever, and I've had two in two days. I, Robot today, and a call for a pilot called "All About The Andersons" yesterday. The best part of yesterday's audition was this sign I saw on my way out. I passed by the production office for some new show called "Real Celebrity Look-Alikes Caught On Tape!"

WTF? I laughed out loud when I passed it.

Hollywood is out of ideas, indeed.

Though both of these jobs would bring in good pay checks and help raise my profile a little bit (well, a lot if I book the movie), I didn't feel the tense, pinched, "oh my god I must get this job or I am a total failure" feeling that so overwhelmed me last year. I think this is because I stoppd defining myself by my acting success or failure, and turned my creative focus onto writing, and my emotional focus onto my wife and stepkids. Seems really obvious, I know, but I had to spend a lot of time trying to climb the mountain before I learned to sit at its base and just enjoy looking at it.

Updates have been sparse recently and haven't said much. When I finish the rewrites on my book, I should have more good stories to tell. Thanks for sticking around.

I'll update when I hear feedback on the auditions.

Thought for today:

"One sees great things from the valley, only small things from the peak."
--G. K. Chesterson

Posted by Wil at 04:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (129)

I just walked in from my I, Robot audition. I think I did well, and I really had a good time. The scene I read felt very familiar to me. I think the writer took it from one of Asimov's robot books, but I couldn't tell you which one. The scene had a robot being questioned by a detective, who accused the robot of placing his owner in danger, then allowing his owner to die. Sound familiar to anyone?

I prepared the audition perfectly: I knew my lines, so I didn't need to refer to the sides (that's what they call the part of the script they give us to read) at all, and I was able to make some bold character choices. I didn't feel nervous, anxious, or uncertain at all when I went in. I felt excited! I couldn't wait to play this robot.

After one reading, the casting director, who also knew his lines and had clear character choices -- an extreme rarity in Hollywood -- gave me some direction, and we did it again. The difference I felt between the two performances was striking, and gave me a jolt of excited euphoria when I left. I had that feeling I talked about back when I was working on Boise, that thing I call "Mine." Whether I get the job or not, I got to have that feeling, so it was a successful call in my book.

It's funny, the way the entertainment industry works. I haven't had an audition in forever, and I've had two in two days. I, Robot today, and a call for a pilot called "All About The Andersons" yesterday. The best part of yesterday's audition was this sign I saw on my way out. I passed by the production office for some new show called "Real Celebrity Look-Alikes Caught On Tape!"

WTF? I laughed out loud when I passed it.

Hollywood is out of ideas, indeed.

Though both of these jobs would bring in good pay checks and help raise my profile a little bit (well, a lot if I book the movie), I didn't feel the tense, pinched, "oh my god I must get this job or I am a total failure" feeling that so overwhelmed me last year. I think this is because I stoppd defining myself by my acting success or failure, and turned my creative focus onto writing, and my emotional focus onto my wife and stepkids. Seems really obvious, I know, but I had to spend a lot of time trying to climb the mountain before I learned to sit at its base and just enjoy looking at it.

Updates have been sparse recently and haven't said much. When I finish the rewrites on my book, I should have more good stories to tell. Thanks for sticking around.

I'll update when I hear feedback on the auditions.

Thought for today:

"One sees great things from the valley, only small things from the peak."
--G. K. Chesterson

Posted by Wil at 04:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (129)

I just walked in from my I, Robot audition. I think I did well, and I really had a good time. The scene I read felt very familiar to me. I think the writer took it from one of Asimov's robot books, but I couldn't tell you which one. The scene had a robot being questioned by a detective, who accused the robot of placing his owner in danger, then allowing his owner to die. Sound familiar to anyone?

I prepared the audition perfectly: I knew my lines, so I didn't need to refer to the sides (that's what they call the part of the script they give us to read) at all, and I was able to make some bold character choices. I didn't feel nervous, anxious, or uncertain at all when I went in. I felt excited! I couldn't wait to play this robot.

After one reading, the casting director, who also knew his lines and had clear character choices -- an extreme rarity in Hollywood -- gave me some direction, and we did it again. The difference I felt between the two performances was striking, and gave me a jolt of excited euphoria when I left. I had that feeling I talked about back when I was working on Boise, that thing I call "Mine." Whether I get the job or not, I got to have that feeling, so it was a successful call in my book.

It's funny, the way the entertainment industry works. I haven't had an audition in forever, and I've had two in two days. I, Robot today, and a call for a pilot called "All About The Andersons" yesterday. The best part of yesterday's audition was this sign I saw on my way out. I passed by the production office for some new show called "Real Celebrity Look-Alikes Caught On Tape!"

WTF? I laughed out loud when I passed it.

Hollywood is out of ideas, indeed.

Though both of these jobs would bring in good pay checks and help raise my profile a little bit (well, a lot if I book the movie), I didn't feel the tense, pinched, "oh my god I must get this job or I am a total failure" feeling that so overwhelmed me last year. I think this is because I stoppd defining myself by my acting success or failure, and turned my creative focus onto writing, and my emotional focus onto my wife and stepkids. Seems really obvious, I know, but I had to spend a lot of time trying to climb the mountain before I learned to sit at its base and just enjoy looking at it.

Updates have been sparse recently and haven't said much. When I finish the rewrites on my book, I should have more good stories to tell. Thanks for sticking around.

I'll update when I hear feedback on the auditions.

Thought for today:

"One sees great things from the valley, only small things from the peak."
--G. K. Chesterson

Posted by Wil at 04:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (129)

Hey! Check it out! The wife is actually using the computer! I'm pretty proud of myself. I even did a little on-line Christmas shopping. Guess who has on her big girl pants now!

I wanted to say a little something regarding our shitty (can I say that on here?) New Year's Eve. See, I hadn't heard any horror stories about the dog. Just that he was nervous around people. And that the dog didn't like Darin (which is so odd, since Darin is the nicest, most non-threatening guy I know). Me being the animal lover, I just didn't see that this dog was vicious. Just scared. I took my time hanging around the dog, and he eventually was rolling and rubbing his face on me. He seemed very happy. All the commotion in the house just scared him and I was the first thing he saw.

The first two days, I felt a little nervous when Ferris would lay on her back and roll over toward me, showing her big happy face and a mouth full of teeth. But this doesn't change how I feel about animals. I even took my son to a shelter on Saturday and we hung out with the pooches. Stitches and all. And yes, all my other stitches (50 total in the face now....8 from jumping off my brother's bed and hitting the mattress frame between my eyebrows) were from the dog we had when I was little.So the scared feeling I had when I was a kid definitely came back. I can't imagine how Wil must have felt when I looked over at him with a mouthful of blood. He kept himself together though.

After my swelling went down a bit (I must say, I was kind of enjoying my Kim Basinger-like full pouting lips) I read the comments that were posted after Wil wrote about this. I am so touched by all of the 'mojo' and kind words everyone has sent. I was amazed to read all of the stories of dog bite incidences, as well as several stories of shitty (did we find out if I can say that yet?) New Year's had by others. At least it was the end of a year, so we can all have a fresh new start!

The bite was a nice straight slice so I think it will heal fine with little scarring. My stitches are a lovely shade of blue which I've kind of gotten used to now. I won't miss them when they're gone though. And hopefully this will be the last time a dog uses my face for a chomping pad.Wil was right, it could have been so much worse.

Thank you so much for your concern. You are all awesome! No wonder Wil likes doing this website.
Take care and have a healthy, happy, injury-free year!

Anne (the wife)

Posted by Anne at 10:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (185)

Hey! Check it out! The wife is actually using the computer! I'm pretty proud of myself. I even did a little on-line Christmas shopping. Guess who has on her big girl pants now!

I wanted to say a little something regarding our shitty (can I say that on here?) New Year's Eve. See, I hadn't heard any horror stories about the dog. Just that he was nervous around people. And that the dog didn't like Darin (which is so odd, since Darin is the nicest, most non-threatening guy I know). Me being the animal lover, I just didn't see that this dog was vicious. Just scared. I took my time hanging around the dog, and he eventually was rolling and rubbing his face on me. He seemed very happy. All the commotion in the house just scared him and I was the first thing he saw.

The first two days, I felt a little nervous when Ferris would lay on her back and roll over toward me, showing her big happy face and a mouth full of teeth. But this doesn't change how I feel about animals. I even took my son to a shelter on Saturday and we hung out with the pooches. Stitches and all. And yes, all my other stitches (50 total in the face now....8 from jumping off my brother's bed and hitting the mattress frame between my eyebrows) were from the dog we had when I was little.So the scared feeling I had when I was a kid definitely came back. I can't imagine how Wil must have felt when I looked over at him with a mouthful of blood. He kept himself together though.

After my swelling went down a bit (I must say, I was kind of enjoying my Kim Basinger-like full pouting lips) I read the comments that were posted after Wil wrote about this. I am so touched by all of the 'mojo' and kind words everyone has sent. I was amazed to read all of the stories of dog bite incidences, as well as several stories of shitty (did we find out if I can say that yet?) New Year's had by others. At least it was the end of a year, so we can all have a fresh new start!

The bite was a nice straight slice so I think it will heal fine with little scarring. My stitches are a lovely shade of blue which I've kind of gotten used to now. I won't miss them when they're gone though. And hopefully this will be the last time a dog uses my face for a chomping pad.Wil was right, it could have been so much worse.

Thank you so much for your concern. You are all awesome! No wonder Wil likes doing this website.
Take care and have a healthy, happy, injury-free year!

Anne (the wife)

Posted by Anne at 10:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (185)

Hey! Check it out! The wife is actually using the computer! I'm pretty proud of myself. I even did a little on-line Christmas shopping. Guess who has on her big girl pants now!

I wanted to say a little something regarding our shitty (can I say that on here?) New Year's Eve. See, I hadn't heard any horror stories about the dog. Just that he was nervous around people. And that the dog didn't like Darin (which is so odd, since Darin is the nicest, most non-threatening guy I know). Me being the animal lover, I just didn't see that this dog was vicious. Just scared. I took my time hanging around the dog, and he eventually was rolling and rubbing his face on me. He seemed very happy. All the commotion in the house just scared him and I was the first thing he saw.

The first two days, I felt a little nervous when Ferris would lay on her back and roll over toward me, showing her big happy face and a mouth full of teeth. But this doesn't change how I feel about animals. I even took my son to a shelter on Saturday and we hung out with the pooches. Stitches and all. And yes, all my other stitches (50 total in the face now....8 from jumping off my brother's bed and hitting the mattress frame between my eyebrows) were from the dog we had when I was little.So the scared feeling I had when I was a kid definitely came back. I can't imagine how Wil must have felt when I looked over at him with a mouthful of blood. He kept himself together though.

After my swelling went down a bit (I must say, I was kind of enjoying my Kim Basinger-like full pouting lips) I read the comments that were posted after Wil wrote about this. I am so touched by all of the 'mojo' and kind words everyone has sent. I was amazed to read all of the stories of dog bite incidences, as well as several stories of shitty (did we find out if I can say that yet?) New Year's had by others. At least it was the end of a year, so we can all have a fresh new start!

The bite was a nice straight slice so I think it will heal fine with little scarring. My stitches are a lovely shade of blue which I've kind of gotten used to now. I won't miss them when they're gone though. And hopefully this will be the last time a dog uses my face for a chomping pad.Wil was right, it could have been so much worse.

Thank you so much for your concern. You are all awesome! No wonder Wil likes doing this website.
Take care and have a healthy, happy, injury-free year!

Anne (the wife)

Posted by Anne at 10:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (185)

From an e-mail:

Hi! I was browsing your site, and saw that you mentioned a Kent Purser. Now, keep in mind that I am a nerd, and the fact I had a chemistry teacher who may or may not have known a cast member of Star Trek: TNG excited me. So I planned on asking him about it, the only problem is I had graduated from high school already and wasn't in the area. None of my lazy friends who were still in high school would ask him if he was indeed the Kent Purser who knew Wil Wheaton, so I had to wait until I went back to visit last week. He was indeed the Kent mentioned in your Star Wars toy story (Do you still get those? I got the coolest Jabba's Palace one a while ago.) So yeah, Kent is now a chemistry high school teacher. He watched some Star Trek: TNG (Bet you wanted to know that), and claims he used to beat you up in school. I'm not sure if I believe him on the beating up part though. If you want, I'll send you a picture of him (He looks somewhat goatish. A goatee will do that.) Adieu

Response:

Ha! Kent never beat me up. As a matter of fact, the only bully who ever beat me up was Joey Carnes, and that was just two hits: his fist hitting my nose, and my body hitting the ground.

Kent was one of The Cool Kids who I so desperately wanted to be friends with. Since he was a Cool Kid and I was a Total Geek that just wasn't going to happen. He picked on me a lot, but that really doesn't put him in any great club -- everyone picked on me in grade school, because I was a Total Geek.

However, he did humiliate me pretty hardcore one time. In 5th grade, I was sitting off to the side of the playground, looking over a Monster Manual, or Player's Handbook or something, when Kent and some of the other Cool Kids -- Jimmy Galvin, Scott Anderson, Brandon Springs -- walked by, heatedly discussing Schoolhouse Rock. Kent shouted over his shoulder to me, "Hey Wil, do you watch Schoolhouse Rock?"

I loved Schoolhouse Rock, and got up early on Saturdays to watch it at 6:00 a.m. before Superfriends. I knew the entire preamble to the Constitution, understood the complexities of Manifest Destiny, and was a math whiz, because of my devotion to SHR. I would often sing "Verb! That's what's happenin'!" in my head while waiting for my parents to pick me up from school. But we were in 5th grade, and I hadn't heard enough of their conversation to know if I was supposed to answer in the affirmative, or not. So I flipped a mental coin, and sneered. "No way," I laughed, summoning all the contempt and scorn I could muster. I did my best to sound like our principal, Mr Schultz, during one of his long lectures about the dangers of rock music. "Schoolhouse Rock is stupid. It's totally for babies."

I sat back, anxiously awaiting their agreement and approval. Maybe they'd welcome me into their circle for a few days, and they wouldn't throw at my head when we played dodgeball in PE.

Kent made a braying sound, and topped my carefully measured derision. "For babies?! Schoolhouse Rock is cool, Wil. I watch it every chance I get."

Kent and The Cool Kids all laughed, and walked away. My face began to sting, anticipating PE.

Posted by Wil at 09:57 PM | Permalink | Comments (132)

From an e-mail:

Hi! I was browsing your site, and saw that you mentioned a Kent Purser. Now, keep in mind that I am a nerd, and the fact I had a chemistry teacher who may or may not have known a cast member of Star Trek: TNG excited me. So I planned on asking him about it, the only problem is I had graduated from high school already and wasn't in the area. None of my lazy friends who were still in high school would ask him if he was indeed the Kent Purser who knew Wil Wheaton, so I had to wait until I went back to visit last week. He was indeed the Kent mentioned in your Star Wars toy story (Do you still get those? I got the coolest Jabba's Palace one a while ago.) So yeah, Kent is now a chemistry high school teacher. He watched some Star Trek: TNG (Bet you wanted to know that), and claims he used to beat you up in school. I'm not sure if I believe him on the beating up part though. If you want, I'll send you a picture of him (He looks somewhat goatish. A goatee will do that.) Adieu

Response:

Ha! Kent never beat me up. As a matter of fact, the only bully who ever beat me up was Joey Carnes, and that was just two hits: his fist hitting my nose, and my body hitting the ground.

Kent was one of The Cool Kids who I so desperately wanted to be friends with. Since he was a Cool Kid and I was a Total Geek that just wasn't going to happen. He picked on me a lot, but that really doesn't put him in any great club -- everyone picked on me in grade school, because I was a Total Geek.

However, he did humiliate me pretty hardcore one time. In 5th grade, I was sitting off to the side of the playground, looking over a Monster Manual, or Player's Handbook or something, when Kent and some of the other Cool Kids -- Jimmy Galvin, Scott Anderson, Brandon Springs -- walked by, heatedly discussing Schoolhouse Rock. Kent shouted over his shoulder to me, "Hey Wil, do you watch Schoolhouse Rock?"

I loved Schoolhouse Rock, and got up early on Saturdays to watch it at 6:00 a.m. before Superfriends. I knew the entire preamble to the Constitution, understood the complexities of Manifest Destiny, and was a math whiz, because of my devotion to SHR. I would often sing "Verb! That's what's happenin'!" in my head while waiting for my parents to pick me up from school. But we were in 5th grade, and I hadn't heard enough of their conversation to know if I was supposed to answer in the affirmative, or not. So I flipped a mental coin, and sneered. "No way," I laughed, summoning all the contempt and scorn I could muster. I did my best to sound like our principal, Mr Schultz, during one of his long lectures about the dangers of rock music. "Schoolhouse Rock is stupid. It's totally for babies."

I sat back, anxiously awaiting their agreement and approval. Maybe they'd welcome me into their circle for a few days, and they wouldn't throw at my head when we played dodgeball in PE.

Kent made a braying sound, and topped my carefully measured derision. "For babies?! Schoolhouse Rock is cool, Wil. I watch it every chance I get."

Kent and The Cool Kids all laughed, and walked away. My face began to sting, anticipating PE.

Posted by Wil at 09:57 PM | Permalink | Comments (132)

From an e-mail:

Hi! I was browsing your site, and saw that you mentioned a Kent Purser. Now, keep in mind that I am a nerd, and the fact I had a chemistry teacher who may or may not have known a cast member of Star Trek: TNG excited me. So I planned on asking him about it, the only problem is I had graduated from high school already and wasn't in the area. None of my lazy friends who were still in high school would ask him if he was indeed the Kent Purser who knew Wil Wheaton, so I had to wait until I went back to visit last week. He was indeed the Kent mentioned in your Star Wars toy story (Do you still get those? I got the coolest Jabba's Palace one a while ago.) So yeah, Kent is now a chemistry high school teacher. He watched some Star Trek: TNG (Bet you wanted to know that), and claims he used to beat you up in school. I'm not sure if I believe him on the beating up part though. If you want, I'll send you a picture of him (He looks somewhat goatish. A goatee will do that.) Adieu

Response:

Ha! Kent never beat me up. As a matter of fact, the only bully who ever beat me up was Joey Carnes, and that was just two hits: his fist hitting my nose, and my body hitting the ground.

Kent was one of The Cool Kids who I so desperately wanted to be friends with. Since he was a Cool Kid and I was a Total Geek that just wasn't going to happen. He picked on me a lot, but that really doesn't put him in any great club -- everyone picked on me in grade school, because I was a Total Geek.

However, he did humiliate me pretty hardcore one time. In 5th grade, I was sitting off to the side of the playground, looking over a Monster Manual, or Player's Handbook or something, when Kent and some of the other Cool Kids -- Jimmy Galvin, Scott Anderson, Brandon Springs -- walked by, heatedly discussing Schoolhouse Rock. Kent shouted over his shoulder to me, "Hey Wil, do you watch Schoolhouse Rock?"

I loved Schoolhouse Rock, and got up early on Saturdays to watch it at 6:00 a.m. before Superfriends. I knew the entire preamble to the Constitution, understood the complexities of Manifest Destiny, and was a math whiz, because of my devotion to SHR. I would often sing "Verb! That's what's happenin'!" in my head while waiting for my parents to pick me up from school. But we were in 5th grade, and I hadn't heard enough of their conversation to know if I was supposed to answer in the affirmative, or not. So I flipped a mental coin, and sneered. "No way," I laughed, summoning all the contempt and scorn I could muster. I did my best to sound like our principal, Mr Schultz, during one of his long lectures about the dangers of rock music. "Schoolhouse Rock is stupid. It's totally for babies."

I sat back, anxiously awaiting their agreement and approval. Maybe they'd welcome me into their circle for a few days, and they wouldn't throw at my head when we played dodgeball in PE.

Kent made a braying sound, and topped my carefully measured derision. "For babies?! Schoolhouse Rock is cool, Wil. I watch it every chance I get."

Kent and The Cool Kids all laughed, and walked away. My face began to sting, anticipating PE.

Posted by Wil at 09:57 PM | Permalink | Comments (132)

As we approached the automatic doors, I drew a tense breath. I feared what they would reveal when they opened. I've spent many nights in Emergency Rooms, and it's never a pleasant experience.

I held my arm around Anne's shoulders, and we walked into an empty room. A television hung from one wall, and Dick Clark counted down the remaining hours of 2002 for several empty chairs and a threadbare couch -- the only occupants of the very small waiting room.

Anne pressed a towel to her mouth, hoping to slow the flow of blood. The shock was wearing off, and she was beginning to feel the pain.

I walked to the check-in window and thought, this is a fucked up way to spend New Year's Eve.

Since the kids were with their dad, this New Year's had presented Anne and me with several options. We could have attended numerous parties, eaten dinner in several restaurants, stayed home alone, or even walked to Colorado Blvd. and staked out a spot to watch the Rose Parade.

Two of our friends had recently bought a new house, and they were having a quiet gathering there. Most of our friends would be in attendance, so that's where we went. Quiet and low-key would be the perfect way to end the year.

The evening had been pretty fun. A trip to the ER was the farthest thing from my mind as I played Munchkin with some of my friends, and Anne sat on the floor, trying to convince our friend's new dog that he and Anne should be friends.

The dog, however, is the anti-Ferris: he's really aggressive, and not good with people at all. He was recently rescued, and is still getting socialized around strangers. During the evening, he'd snapped at pretty much everyone there, and kept growling and barking at my friend Darin. Anne has the animal empathy of an 18th-level Druid Ranger, though, and she was determined to bring out the love in this animal.

She was doing a great job, too. She sat on the floor with him for close to two hours, calmly talking to him while his master held his leash, and the dog eventually relaxed. Everyone at the party was amazed, except for me. My wife is the very definition of boundless love, especially for animals. As soon as we were warned about the dog, I knew that Anne would have it eating out of her hand by the end of the evening.

While Anne continued to pet the dog, my friends and I prepared to follow up Munchkin with a rousing game of Naval War. We were laughing and fooling around, and then, like a bad made-for-cable movie, everything went horribly wrong.

I was holding the instructions in my hand, looking for the number of cards to be dealt, as my friend Cal shuffled them. KROQ was counting down the top 106.7 songs of 2002, and our friends Pat and Shane had just arrived. I heard the dog begin to growl at Darin, and thought nothing of it -- he'd been growling at Darin all night long.

Then the dog barked, and I heard Anne's voice cry out, shrill above the din of the party, "Wil!"

I turned, and saw something no husband would ever want to see (unless he was OJ Simpson): my wife was holding her mouth, as blood poured over her hand.

Anne went into shock, more from the emotional trauma than the wound, I thought. Before last night, Anne had taken 44 stitches in her face, and eight of them were not from a dog. When that dog bit her lip, Anne was five years old again, helpless and terrified.

We packed ice into a towel, pressed it against her mouth, and drove her to the hospital. Since it was empty, we got through triage and into a bed very quickly. While Anne was being prepared for closure, I walked out to the waiting room, to tell our friend Joe what her status was. He owns the dog, and he and his wife felt terrible about what had happened. We told him that he should go home to be with his wife at midnight, but he insisted that he stay with us until Anne was cared for.

As I walked to the waiting room, I passed an old man who was on a ventilator. A woman, possibly his daughter, sat at his feet, and leaned over the bed, clutching his legs. Sobs rocked her body. My heart went out to them, as I thought, "it's just a dog bite. It could be so much worse."I told Joe that we'd be leaving soon, and walked back to be with my wife. The doctor put six stitches into her lip, and we were out of the ER by 11:45 PM. We walked back into Joe's house with 2 minutes remaining on the year. Anne drank a champagne toast, and we hugged our friends goodbye.

Joe and his wife walked us to the car, apologizing the entire way. We weren't upset with them, and still aren't. It wasn't their fault. It was just a terrible accident. I thought back to that man on the ventilator, and told them that it could have been much, much worse.

We drove carefully back to our house. Each car on the freeway was a potential drunk driver, especially the one who was weaving across three lanes on the 210. I pointed to the car, a white Toyota, and told Anne that things like that made me wish I'd outfitted my car at Uncle Albert's. She didn't get it.

We were in bed by 12:30. Anne watched "Sex And The City" and I read "Watchmen." We were asleep by 1. Yeah, this was not the way I planned on spending New Year's Eve.

Anne woke me up in the middle of the night, crying. Her Advil had worn off, and she told me that the pain in her face reminded her of when she was a little kid. I wished that I could take her pain away from her, but I did the best that I could: I held her in my arms, and let her tears fall against my cheek and roll onto my pillow.

We fell back asleep, and slept until two Stealth Fighters flew over our house at 8 a.m. to start the Rose Parade.

Posted by Wil at 03:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (243)

As we approached the automatic doors, I drew a tense breath. I feared what they would reveal when they opened. I've spent many nights in Emergency Rooms, and it's never a pleasant experience.

I held my arm around Anne's shoulders, and we walked into an empty room. A television hung from one wall, and Dick Clark counted down the remaining hours of 2002 for several empty chairs and a threadbare couch -- the only occupants of the very small waiting room.

Anne pressed a towel to her mouth, hoping to slow the flow of blood. The shock was wearing off, and she was beginning to feel the pain.

I walked to the check-in window and thought, this is a fucked up way to spend New Year's Eve.

Since the kids were with their dad, this New Year's had presented Anne and me with several options. We could have attended numerous parties, eaten dinner in several restaurants, stayed home alone, or even walked to Colorado Blvd. and staked out a spot to watch the Rose Parade.

Two of our friends had recently bought a new house, and they were having a quiet gathering there. Most of our friends would be in attendance, so that's where we went. Quiet and low-key would be the perfect way to end the year.

The evening had been pretty fun. A trip to the ER was the farthest thing from my mind as I played Munchkin with some of my friends, and Anne sat on the floor, trying to convince our friend's new dog that he and Anne should be friends.

The dog, however, is the anti-Ferris: he's really aggressive, and not good with people at all. He was recently rescued, and is still getting socialized around strangers. During the evening, he'd snapped at pretty much everyone there, and kept growling and barking at my friend Darin. Anne has the animal empathy of an 18th-level Druid Ranger, though, and she was determined to bring out the love in this animal.

She was doing a great job, too. She sat on the floor with him for close to two hours, calmly talking to him while his master held his leash, and the dog eventually relaxed. Everyone at the party was amazed, except for me. My wife is the very definition of boundless love, especially for animals. As soon as we were warned about the dog, I knew that Anne would have it eating out of her hand by the end of the evening.

While Anne continued to pet the dog, my friends and I prepared to follow up Munchkin with a rousing game of Naval War. We were laughing and fooling around, and then, like a bad made-for-cable movie, everything went horribly wrong.

I was holding the instructions in my hand, looking for the number of cards to be dealt, as my friend Cal shuffled them. KROQ was counting down the top 106.7 songs of 2002, and our friends Pat and Shane had just arrived. I heard the dog begin to growl at Darin, and thought nothing of it -- he'd been growling at Darin all night long.

Then the dog barked, and I heard Anne's voice cry out, shrill above the din of the party, "Wil!"

I turned, and saw something no husband would ever want to see (unless he was OJ Simpson): my wife was holding her mouth, as blood poured over her hand.

Anne went into shock, more from the emotional trauma than the wound, I thought. Before last night, Anne had taken 44 stitches in her face, and eight of them were not from a dog. When that dog bit her lip, Anne was five years old again, helpless and terrified.

We packed ice into a towel, pressed it against her mouth, and drove her to the hospital. Since it was empty, we got through triage and into a bed very quickly. While Anne was being prepared for closure, I walked out to the waiting room, to tell our friend Joe what her status was. He owns the dog, and he and his wife felt terrible about what had happened. We told him that he should go home to be with his wife at midnight, but he insisted that he stay with us until Anne was cared for.

As I walked to the waiting room, I passed an old man who was on a ventilator. A woman, possibly his daughter, sat at his feet, and leaned over the bed, clutching his legs. Sobs rocked her body. My heart went out to them, as I thought, "it's just a dog bite. It could be so much worse."I told Joe that we'd be leaving soon, and walked back to be with my wife. The doctor put six stitches into her lip, and we were out of the ER by 11:45 PM. We walked back into Joe's house with 2 minutes remaining on the year. Anne drank a champagne toast, and we hugged our friends goodbye.

Joe and his wife walked us to the car, apologizing the entire way. We weren't upset with them, and still aren't. It wasn't their fault. It was just a terrible accident. I thought back to that man on the ventilator, and told them that it could have been much, much worse.

We drove carefully back to our house. Each car on the freeway was a potential drunk driver, especially the one who was weaving across three lanes on the 210. I pointed to the car, a white Toyota, and told Anne that things like that made me wish I'd outfitted my car at Uncle Albert's. She didn't get it.

We were in bed by 12:30. Anne watched "Sex And The City" and I read "Watchmen." We were asleep by 1. Yeah, this was not the way I planned on spending New Year's Eve.

Anne woke me up in the middle of the night, crying. Her Advil had worn off, and she told me that the pain in her face reminded her of when she was a little kid. I wished that I could take her pain away from her, but I did the best that I could: I held her in my arms, and let her tears fall against my cheek and roll onto my pillow.

We fell back asleep, and slept until two Stealth Fighters flew over our house at 8 a.m. to start the Rose Parade.

Posted by Wil at 03:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (243)

As we approached the automatic doors, I drew a tense breath. I feared what they would reveal when they opened. I've spent many nights in Emergency Rooms, and it's never a pleasant experience.

I held my arm around Anne's shoulders, and we walked into an empty room. A television hung from one wall, and Dick Clark counted down the remaining hours of 2002 for several empty chairs and a threadbare couch -- the only occupants of the very small waiting room.

Anne pressed a towel to her mouth, hoping to slow the flow of blood. The shock was wearing off, and she was beginning to feel the pain.

I walked to the check-in window and thought, this is a fucked up way to spend New Year's Eve.

Since the kids were with their dad, this New Year's had presented Anne and me with several options. We could have attended numerous parties, eaten dinner in several restaurants, stayed home alone, or even walked to Colorado Blvd. and staked out a spot to watch the Rose Parade.

Two of our friends had recently bought a new house, and they were having a quiet gathering there. Most of our friends would be in attendance, so that's where we went. Quiet and low-key would be the perfect way to end the year.

The evening had been pretty fun. A trip to the ER was the farthest thing from my mind as I played Munchkin with some of my friends, and Anne sat on the floor, trying to convince our friend's new dog that he and Anne should be friends.

The dog, however, is the anti-Ferris: he's really aggressive, and not good with people at all. He was recently rescued, and is still getting socialized around strangers. During the evening, he'd snapped at pretty much everyone there, and kept growling and barking at my friend Darin. Anne has the animal empathy of an 18th-level Druid Ranger, though, and she was determined to bring out the love in this animal.

She was doing a great job, too. She sat on the floor with him for close to two hours, calmly talking to him while his master held his leash, and the dog eventually relaxed. Everyone at the party was amazed, except for me. My wife is the very definition of boundless love, especially for animals. As soon as we were warned about the dog, I knew that Anne would have it eating out of her hand by the end of the evening.

While Anne continued to pet the dog, my friends and I prepared to follow up Munchkin with a rousing game of Naval War. We were laughing and fooling around, and then, like a bad made-for-cable movie, everything went horribly wrong.

I was holding the instructions in my hand, looking for the number of cards to be dealt, as my friend Cal shuffled them. KROQ was counting down the top 106.7 songs of 2002, and our friends Pat and Shane had just arrived. I heard the dog begin to growl at Darin, and thought nothing of it -- he'd been growling at Darin all night long.

Then the dog barked, and I heard Anne's voice cry out, shrill above the din of the party, "Wil!"

I turned, and saw something no husband would ever want to see (unless he was OJ Simpson): my wife was holding her mouth, as blood poured over her hand.

Anne went into shock, more from the emotional trauma than the wound, I thought. Before last night, Anne had taken 44 stitches in her face, and eight of them were not from a dog. When that dog bit her lip, Anne was five years old again, helpless and terrified.

We packed ice into a towel, pressed it against her mouth, and drove her to the hospital. Since it was empty, we got through triage and into a bed very quickly. While Anne was being prepared for closure, I walked out to the waiting room, to tell our friend Joe what her status was. He owns the dog, and he and his wife felt terrible about what had happened. We told him that he should go home to be with his wife at midnight, but he insisted that he stay with us until Anne was cared for.

As I walked to the waiting room, I passed an old man who was on a ventilator. A woman, possibly his daughter, sat at his feet, and leaned over the bed, clutching his legs. Sobs rocked her body. My heart went out to them, as I thought, "it's just a dog bite. It could be so much worse."I told Joe that we'd be leaving soon, and walked back to be with my wife. The doctor put six stitches into her lip, and we were out of the ER by 11:45 PM. We walked back into Joe's house with 2 minutes remaining on the year. Anne drank a champagne toast, and we hugged our friends goodbye.

Joe and his wife walked us to the car, apologizing the entire way. We weren't upset with them, and still aren't. It wasn't their fault. It was just a terrible accident. I thought back to that man on the ventilator, and told them that it could have been much, much worse.

We drove carefully back to our house. Each car on the freeway was a potential drunk driver, especially the one who was weaving across three lanes on the 210. I pointed to the car, a white Toyota, and told Anne that things like that made me wish I'd outfitted my car at Uncle Albert's. She didn't get it.

We were in bed by 12:30. Anne watched "Sex And The City" and I read "Watchmen." We were asleep by 1. Yeah, this was not the way I planned on spending New Year's Eve.

Anne woke me up in the middle of the night, crying. Her Advil had worn off, and she told me that the pain in her face reminded her of when she was a little kid. I wished that I could take her pain away from her, but I did the best that I could: I held her in my arms, and let her tears fall against my cheek and roll onto my pillow.

We fell back asleep, and slept until two Stealth Fighters flew over our house at 8 a.m. to start the Rose Parade.

Posted by Wil at 03:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (243)

On December 7th, my wife and I, with the help of some friends, put down about 3000 square feet of sod in our front yard. It was tough work, but worth every strained muscle and aching back: the yard looks beautiful.

In addition to representing lots of hard work, the lawn also represents a significant financial investment, so I am sort of manic about keeping it looking its best.

Because of this mania, I am ready to fucking kill the goddamn skunks who keep tearing up the edges of the grass each night.

However, I am a peace loving man, and I've chosen to refrain from planting AP mines at the corners of the yard. Instead, I bought a big old jug of red pepper flakes at Smart and Final (for 5 dollars, thank you very much), and spread them all over the perimeter of the lawn last night.

Here's the thing about red pepper flakes: even when you wash and dry your hands really well after you're done? The oil that makes them spicy is still on your hands. So when you absentmindedly scratch your chin, or rub your eye, or go to the bathroom, every single thing you touch will immediately burst into flames.

Every. Single. Thing.

Burns.

Oh, how it burns.

So when I got into bed last night, I felt like I'd spent a week in Bangkok.

But when I got up this morning, the burning had subsided, and my front yard was unmolested by the little stinky bastards.

Skunks- 5
Wil- 1

Posted by Wil at 11:02 AM | Permalink | Comments (127)

On December 7th, my wife and I, with the help of some friends, put down about 3000 square feet of sod in our front yard. It was tough work, but worth every strained muscle and aching back: the yard looks beautiful.

In addition to representing lots of hard work, the lawn also represents a significant financial investment, so I am sort of manic about keeping it looking its best.

Because of this mania, I am ready to fucking kill the goddamn skunks who keep tearing up the edges of the grass each night.

However, I am a peace loving man, and I've chosen to refrain from planting AP mines at the corners of the yard. Instead, I bought a big old jug of red pepper flakes at Smart and Final (for 5 dollars, thank you very much), and spread them all over the perimeter of the lawn last night.

Here's the thing about red pepper flakes: even when you wash and dry your hands really well after you're done? The oil that makes them spicy is still on your hands. So when you absentmindedly scratch your chin, or rub your eye, or go to the bathroom, every single thing you touch will immediately burst into flames.

Every. Single. Thing.

Burns.

Oh, how it burns.

So when I got into bed last night, I felt like I'd spent a week in Bangkok.

But when I got up this morning, the burning had subsided, and my front yard was unmolested by the little stinky bastards.

Skunks- 5
Wil- 1

Posted by Wil at 11:02 AM | Permalink | Comments (127)

On December 7th, my wife and I, with the help of some friends, put down about 3000 square feet of sod in our front yard. It was tough work, but worth every strained muscle and aching back: the yard looks beautiful.

In addition to representing lots of hard work, the lawn also represents a significant financial investment, so I am sort of manic about keeping it looking its best.

Because of this mania, I am ready to fucking kill the goddamn skunks who keep tearing up the edges of the grass each night.

However, I am a peace loving man, and I've chosen to refrain from planting AP mines at the corners of the yard. Instead, I bought a big old jug of red pepper flakes at Smart and Final (for 5 dollars, thank you very much), and spread them all over the perimeter of the lawn last night.

Here's the thing about red pepper flakes: even when you wash and dry your hands really well after you're done? The oil that makes them spicy is still on your hands. So when you absentmindedly scratch your chin, or rub your eye, or go to the bathroom, every single thing you touch will immediately burst into flames.

Every. Single. Thing.

Burns.

Oh, how it burns.

So when I got into bed last night, I felt like I'd spent a week in Bangkok.

But when I got up this morning, the burning had subsided, and my front yard was unmolested by the little stinky bastards.

Skunks- 5
Wil- 1

Posted by Wil at 11:02 AM | Permalink | Comments (127)

The scent of balsam fir and spiced cider permeates every corner of our house.

Wrapping paper and ribbons, tags and tape litter the living room floor. Our cats chase bits of ribbon and bows, tearing around the floor like they are kittens again.

Ferris snores heavily by the fire.

We turn out all the lights, and stand together in front of the fireplace.

Candle and firelight play across our faces. The only other light in the house comes from the village atop the piano and the lights on our tree. We share a Christmas kiss, before settling our brains for a long Winter's nap.

Merry Christmas, everyone. May peace prevail on Earth.

Posted by Wil at 12:42 AM | Permalink | Comments (102)

The scent of balsam fir and spiced cider permeates every corner of our house.

Wrapping paper and ribbons, tags and tape litter the living room floor. Our cats chase bits of ribbon and bows, tearing around the floor like they are kittens again.

Ferris snores heavily by the fire.

We turn out all the lights, and stand together in front of the fireplace.

Candle and firelight play across our faces. The only other light in the house comes from the village atop the piano and the lights on our tree. We share a Christmas kiss, before settling our brains for a long Winter's nap.

Merry Christmas, everyone. May peace prevail on Earth.

Posted by Wil at 12:42 AM | Permalink | Comments (102)

The scent of balsam fir and spiced cider permeates every corner of our house.

Wrapping paper and ribbons, tags and tape litter the living room floor. Our cats chase bits of ribbon and bows, tearing around the floor like they are kittens again.

Ferris snores heavily by the fire.

We turn out all the lights, and stand together in front of the fireplace.

Candle and firelight play across our faces. The only other light in the house comes from the village atop the piano and the lights on our tree. We share a Christmas kiss, before settling our brains for a long Winter's nap.

Merry Christmas, everyone. May peace prevail on Earth.

Posted by Wil at 12:42 AM | Permalink | Comments (102)

An 8x10 sale update!

The photo lab finished printing my order this morning, so all the 8x10s have been mailed out, except for about 6, for people who haven't told me what to sign on their pictures.

So if you've ordered, but you haven't sent me your request, get on it, man! :)

Anything going out after today clearly won't arrive in time for Christmas, but if you've been waiting to order, and it's not a gift, go ahead and do it. I have about 50 of each photo left after filling orders, and if those sell out, I'll order more in the new year.

I've gotten sick, it would seem, despite my best efforts to hold off the cold which is ravaging my family right now.

Since I'm feeling like crap, I'm putting off the last-minute shopping until REALLY the last minute, and I'm spending my time the last couple of days heavily editing my book.

I gotta tell you, I'm really excited, and getting nervous. Excited, because my editor, Andrew, has given me notes that fall into two categories: "Duh. I am so lame for missing that." and "Holy crap! This is such a great idea! I can't believe I didn't think of that on my own!" His notes have made the book much more readable, and clearer than it would have ever been if I'd done it all on my own.

Nervous, because as it gets closer and closer to being released to Real Life Readers, I worry that it just isn't good enough. This is normal, though, for me. It happens with everything creative that I do. I guess it's just my nature.

Back to work!

:)

Posted by Wil at 01:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (62)

An 8x10 sale update!

The photo lab finished printing my order this morning, so all the 8x10s have been mailed out, except for about 6, for people who haven't told me what to sign on their pictures.

So if you've ordered, but you haven't sent me your request, get on it, man! :)

Anything going out after today clearly won't arrive in time for Christmas, but if you've been waiting to order, and it's not a gift, go ahead and do it. I have about 50 of each photo left after filling orders, and if those sell out, I'll order more in the new year.

I've gotten sick, it would seem, despite my best efforts to hold off the cold which is ravaging my family right now.

Since I'm feeling like crap, I'm putting off the last-minute shopping until REALLY the last minute, and I'm spending my time the last couple of days heavily editing my book.

I gotta tell you, I'm really excited, and getting nervous. Excited, because my editor, Andrew, has given me notes that fall into two categories: "Duh. I am so lame for missing that." and "Holy crap! This is such a great idea! I can't believe I didn't think of that on my own!" His notes have made the book much more readable, and clearer than it would have ever been if I'd done it all on my own.

Nervous, because as it gets closer and closer to being released to Real Life Readers, I worry that it just isn't good enough. This is normal, though, for me. It happens with everything creative that I do. I guess it's just my nature.

Back to work!

:)

Posted by Wil at 01:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (62)

An 8x10 sale update!

The photo lab finished printing my order this morning, so all the 8x10s have been mailed out, except for about 6, for people who haven't told me what to sign on their pictures.

So if you've ordered, but you haven't sent me your request, get on it, man! :)

Anything going out after today clearly won't arrive in time for Christmas, but if you've been waiting to order, and it's not a gift, go ahead and do it. I have about 50 of each photo left after filling orders, and if those sell out, I'll order more in the new year.

I've gotten sick, it would seem, despite my best efforts to hold off the cold which is ravaging my family right now.

Since I'm feeling like crap, I'm putting off the last-minute shopping until REALLY the last minute, and I'm spending my time the last couple of days heavily editing my book.

I gotta tell you, I'm really excited, and getting nervous. Excited, because my editor, Andrew, has given me notes that fall into two categories: "Duh. I am so lame for missing that." and "Holy crap! This is such a great idea! I can't believe I didn't think of that on my own!" His notes have made the book much more readable, and clearer than it would have ever been if I'd done it all on my own.

Nervous, because as it gets closer and closer to being released to Real Life Readers, I worry that it just isn't good enough. This is normal, though, for me. It happens with everything creative that I do. I guess it's just my nature.

Back to work!

:)

Posted by Wil at 01:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (62)

This massive Pacific Winter storm is bearing down on Southern California, threatening to turn our burn areas into giant rivers of mud and rocks. The wind is currently gusting outside my bedroom, pelting my window with rain.

All of this means that we here in Los Angeles are on STORM WATCH!

That's right, baby! STORM WATCH! Wall to wall coverage of brave citizens filling and stacking sandbags in their backyards, rugged individuals stubbornly refusing to leave their trailers under the threat of up to three inches of deadly rain!

As I write this, Anne is watching the CBS news, and Laura Diaz is urging everyone to stay warm, and for the love of god, if you travel over the Grapevine, take blankets and extra food and water!

Now, for my STORM WATCH! coverage, I much prefer the undisputed master of local news hyperbole, the inimitable Paul Moyer, who can turn the very threat of rain, still a week away, into the greatest drama since OJ's slow speed chase. But Anne will not be moved. The Channel 2 News Team, with the watchful eye of Chopper 2, will be taking us along on STORM WATCH! tonight.

This is the first night in weeks that I've been sitting in bed watching TV at 11. Until tonight, I've been sitting in front of the fireplace every night reading this amazing book, "The Best American Non-Required Reading of 2002." I give this book the strongest WWDN endorsement possible: the coveted and never-before-awarded GOLDEN MONKEY! The writers in this book are so amazing, and their stories so compelling, with the turning of each page I learned how far I have to go before I can call myself a writer.

Whenever I finish a book, I feel a sense of achievement, and I begin to look forward to the next one in my ever-growing stack. However, I also feel a certain sadness as I bid characters or an author farewell.

Thank god I have STORM WATCH! to ease the pain.

And Anne just rolled over and turned off her light. As soon as she dons the eye mask and ear plugs, I can grab the clicker and switch to NBC.

. . . *click*

D'OH! Paul Moyer is running down the Golden Globe nominations.

I'll keep watching, though, because when we're on STORM WATCH! the news can break at any time.

Posted by Wil at 11:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (105)

This massive Pacific Winter storm is bearing down on Southern California, threatening to turn our burn areas into giant rivers of mud and rocks. The wind is currently gusting outside my bedroom, pelting my window with rain.

All of this means that we here in Los Angeles are on STORM WATCH!

That's right, baby! STORM WATCH! Wall to wall coverage of brave citizens filling and stacking sandbags in their backyards, rugged individuals stubbornly refusing to leave their trailers under the threat of up to three inches of deadly rain!

As I write this, Anne is watching the CBS news, and Laura Diaz is urging everyone to stay warm, and for the love of god, if you travel over the Grapevine, take blankets and extra food and water!

Now, for my STORM WATCH! coverage, I much prefer the undisputed master of local news hyperbole, the inimitable Paul Moyer, who can turn the very threat of rain, still a week away, into the greatest drama since OJ's slow speed chase. But Anne will not be moved. The Channel 2 News Team, with the watchful eye of Chopper 2, will be taking us along on STORM WATCH! tonight.

This is the first night in weeks that I've been sitting in bed watching TV at 11. Until tonight, I've been sitting in front of the fireplace every night reading this amazing book, "The Best American Non-Required Reading of 2002." I give this book the strongest WWDN endorsement possible: the coveted and never-before-awarded GOLDEN MONKEY! The writers in this book are so amazing, and their stories so compelling, with the turning of each page I learned how far I have to go before I can call myself a writer.

Whenever I finish a book, I feel a sense of achievement, and I begin to look forward to the next one in my ever-growing stack. However, I also feel a certain sadness as I bid characters or an author farewell.

Thank god I have STORM WATCH! to ease the pain.

And Anne just rolled over and turned off her light. As soon as she dons the eye mask and ear plugs, I can grab the clicker and switch to NBC.

. . . *click*

D'OH! Paul Moyer is running down the Golden Globe nominations.

I'll keep watching, though, because when we're on STORM WATCH! the news can break at any time.

Posted by Wil at 11:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (105)

This massive Pacific Winter storm is bearing down on Southern California, threatening to turn our burn areas into giant rivers of mud and rocks. The wind is currently gusting outside my bedroom, pelting my window with rain.

All of this means that we here in Los Angeles are on STORM WATCH!

That's right, baby! STORM WATCH! Wall to wall coverage of brave citizens filling and stacking sandbags in their backyards, rugged individuals stubbornly refusing to leave their trailers under the threat of up to three inches of deadly rain!

As I write this, Anne is watching the CBS news, and Laura Diaz is urging everyone to stay warm, and for the love of god, if you travel over the Grapevine, take blankets and extra food and water!

Now, for my STORM WATCH! coverage, I much prefer the undisputed master of local news hyperbole, the inimitable Paul Moyer, who can turn the very threat of rain, still a week away, into the greatest drama since OJ's slow speed chase. But Anne will not be moved. The Channel 2 News Team, with the watchful eye of Chopper 2, will be taking us along on STORM WATCH! tonight.

This is the first night in weeks that I've been sitting in bed watching TV at 11. Until tonight, I've been sitting in front of the fireplace every night reading this amazing book, "The Best American Non-Required Reading of 2002." I give this book the strongest WWDN endorsement possible: the coveted and never-before-awarded GOLDEN MONKEY! The writers in this book are so amazing, and their stories so compelling, with the turning of each page I learned how far I have to go before I can call myself a writer.

Whenever I finish a book, I feel a sense of achievement, and I begin to look forward to the next one in my ever-growing stack. However, I also feel a certain sadness as I bid characters or an author farewell.

Thank god I have STORM WATCH! to ease the pain.

And Anne just rolled over and turned off her light. As soon as she dons the eye mask and ear plugs, I can grab the clicker and switch to NBC.

. . . *click*

D'OH! Paul Moyer is running down the Golden Globe nominations.

I'll keep watching, though, because when we're on STORM WATCH! the news can break at any time.

Posted by Wil at 11:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (105)

The plane lurches from side to side, then pitches violently forward. Strangely, nobody in the cabin screams. Anne grips my hand tightly, and I reassure her (and myself) that this turbulence will pass just as soon as we get over the storm.

Fifteen minutes later, after climbing through the first major winter storm we've had here in Southern California, an experience which can be compared to riding in a wagon over a deeply rutted and poorly maintained dirt road, or sitting on a raft in heavy seas, we break through the clouds and level off.

We're on our way to San Francisco, where I'll be co-hosting The Screen Savers.

From above, the clouds look soft and inviting, betraying no hint of the violence we've just passed through. We cruise in relatively smooth air for another 40 minutes, and finally land in Oakland. I'm not crazy about flying, and I'm always happy to be on the ground.

After a quick walk through the terminal, we meet up with Steve from Tech TV, who will drive us into the city. We step out into the gloomy December morning, into the Bay Area that I have always loved: cold, windy, cloud-covered. The heavy black clouds we've just flown through decide to get in one last assault, and dump a hard, cold downpour on us as we walk through the parking lot to the car.

The drive into the city is quick and uneventful, and as we cross the Bay Bridge, I recall the months I spent shooting Flubber on Treasure Island. Those were good times, and it's nice to revisit them in my mind for a few moments.

Steve drops us at our hotel, and tells us he'll be back at 6 to take us to dinner.

Anne and I walk through The City, finally ending up at Union Square. We head to the top of Macy's, so I can look out over the square and pretend that I'm in "The Conversation."

Back when Gene Roddenberry was alive, he talked about The Enterprise being a character in the show, and even being the "real" star of the show. I always wondered how something like a spaceship could have a personality, but standing here, on top of Macy's in the cold and rain, looking out at all these old and new buildings standing side by side, watching the throngs of holiday shoppers swarm across the square, past the giant Christmas tree, I get it. San Francisco is truly a wonderful city.

We meet Steve and his fiancee for dinner, which is quite lovely, and head back to our hotel, where we both have the worst night's sleep in years. The rain beats down on the window-mounted air conditioner, its steady plink-plink-plinking competing with the sputtering and hissing of the radiator. After two hours, I have come to truly hate this radiator, though it is the only source of warmth in the room. Anne is fighting a cold, so she tosses and turns the entire night on the too-small bed, and end up spending much of the night staring at the ceiling, cursing the radiator.

When morning comes, we have just enough time to grab a coffee and a muffin before I have to be at TechTV for a production meeting. I kiss Anne goodbye, remind her that if she goes shopping that we only have one small carry-on bag (a reminder she ignores), and hop into a cab.

I spend the rest of the morning and early afternoon preparing for the show, and having meetings with the execs at TechTV. I really like them, they really like me, maybe we'll work together someday.

Suddenly, the day is behind me, and it's time to tape the show. I run over my teleprompter bits, read over notes for the interview I'll be doing, and familiarize myself with the numbers for the different cameras, and the names for different parts of the set.

Everyone keeps asking me if I'm nervous. I am not, but this constant questioning makes me think that I should be nervous, so now I'm nervous because I wasn't nervous.

I don't want to let myself get all worked up, so I talk to the cast. Megan is funny and sweet, and calls me "dreamy." Patrick knows so much more about computers and technology than I ever will, and though I am totally intimidated by his knowledge, he puts me at ease the whole time I'm there. Morgen Webb is just too !@#$^&ing hot for words. And smart, and friendly. I blush a bit when I talk to her.

I get to finally meet Chris Pirillo, who I've talked to countless times in e-mail, but never actually seen in person. I instantly like him, and know that we could have fun hanging out together.

At 4PM, we start the show, and everything is going well, except for one small thing: the way the camera points, I can't read the left side of the teleprompter for the whole first segment. I manage to stumble through it, but I really feel like I'm sucking. But it's live, so I push through it, and hit a groove. The show is really, really fun. All the people are super nice (cast, crew, producers -- everyone is just awesome. Very different from other jobs I've recently had) and I'm just having fun. Though the show lasts 90 minutes, it seems much faster, and before I know it, we're done.

The audience is dismissed, and we gather with the producer to do a post-mortem on the show. This is my favorite part of any live show, whether it is radio or TV or theater. This is when we sit down together, talk about what we did well, and what we can do better. It's what sets the live experience completely apart from film or tape, this ability to constantly learn from day to day and move closer and closer to perfection.

The notes are given, but I won't recount them here. They belong to the people who made the show.

Anne and I say goodbye to everyone, and meet Loren and Kelly for coffee before we have to get to the airport.

Here's the thing: I really, really, really like Loren and Kelly, and I just hate it that they live so far away. There is a severe shortage of Good People in this world, and I wish that I could spend more time with these two. I take some comfort in the knowledge that Southwest can put us at each other's doors in under two hours for under 100 bucks.

Anne and I make it to the airport, check ourselves in, and grab a sandwich. It's been just over 24 hours, but now it feels much longer, and we're ready to go home and sleep in our own beds.

Our flight is called, and we travel home beneath a full moon, above a blanket of moonlit clouds. It is quick and turbulence-free, and by midnight, we're back in our own house.

While Anne gets ready for bed, I check my email, and there are nearly 50 messages waiting about Screen Savers, and every last one of them praises my performance on the show. I am really moved by the compliments, and feel very proud of a job well done.

I fall into bed, and sleep soundly, straight through the night.

Posted by Wil at 10:54 AM | Permalink | Comments (92)

The plane lurches from side to side, then pitches violently forward. Strangely, nobody in the cabin screams. Anne grips my hand tightly, and I reassure her (and myself) that this turbulence will pass just as soon as we get over the storm.

Fifteen minutes later, after climbing through the first major winter storm we've had here in Southern California, an experience which can be compared to riding in a wagon over a deeply rutted and poorly maintained dirt road, or sitting on a raft in heavy seas, we break through the clouds and level off.

We're on our way to San Francisco, where I'll be co-hosting The Screen Savers.

From above, the clouds look soft and inviting, betraying no hint of the violence we've just passed through. We cruise in relatively smooth air for another 40 minutes, and finally land in Oakland. I'm not crazy about flying, and I'm always happy to be on the ground.

After a quick walk through the terminal, we meet up with Steve from Tech TV, who will drive us into the city. We step out into the gloomy December morning, into the Bay Area that I have always loved: cold, windy, cloud-covered. The heavy black clouds we've just flown through decide to get in one last assault, and dump a hard, cold downpour on us as we walk through the parking lot to the car.

The drive into the city is quick and uneventful, and as we cross the Bay Bridge, I recall the months I spent shooting Flubber on Treasure Island. Those were good times, and it's nice to revisit them in my mind for a few moments.

Steve drops us at our hotel, and tells us he'll be back at 6 to take us to dinner.

Anne and I walk through The City, finally ending up at Union Square. We head to the top of Macy's, so I can look out over the square and pretend that I'm in "The Conversation."

Back when Gene Roddenberry was alive, he talked about The Enterprise being a character in the show, and even being the "real" star of the show. I always wondered how something like a spaceship could have a personality, but standing here, on top of Macy's in the cold and rain, looking out at all these old and new buildings standing side by side, watching the throngs of holiday shoppers swarm across the square, past the giant Christmas tree, I get it. San Francisco is truly a wonderful city.

We meet Steve and his fiancee for dinner, which is quite lovely, and head back to our hotel, where we both have the worst night's sleep in years. The rain beats down on the window-mounted air conditioner, its steady plink-plink-plinking competing with the sputtering and hissing of the radiator. After two hours, I have come to truly hate this radiator, though it is the only source of warmth in the room. Anne is fighting a cold, so she tosses and turns the entire night on the too-small bed, and end up spending much of the night staring at the ceiling, cursing the radiator.

When morning comes, we have just enough time to grab a coffee and a muffin before I have to be at TechTV for a production meeting. I kiss Anne goodbye, remind her that if she goes shopping that we only have one small carry-on bag (a reminder she ignores), and hop into a cab.

I spend the rest of the morning and early afternoon preparing for the show, and having meetings with the execs at TechTV. I really like them, they really like me, maybe we'll work together someday.

Suddenly, the day is behind me, and it's time to tape the show. I run over my teleprompter bits, read over notes for the interview I'll be doing, and familiarize myself with the numbers for the different cameras, and the names for different parts of the set.

Everyone keeps asking me if I'm nervous. I am not, but this constant questioning makes me think that I should be nervous, so now I'm nervous because I wasn't nervous.

I don't want to let myself get all worked up, so I talk to the cast. Megan is funny and sweet, and calls me "dreamy." Patrick knows so much more about computers and technology than I ever will, and though I am totally intimidated by his knowledge, he puts me at ease the whole time I'm there. Morgen Webb is just too !@#$^&ing hot for words. And smart, and friendly. I blush a bit when I talk to her.

I get to finally meet Chris Pirillo, who I've talked to countless times in e-mail, but never actually seen in person. I instantly like him, and know that we could have fun hanging out together.

At 4PM, we start the show, and everything is going well, except for one small thing: the way the camera points, I can't read the left side of the teleprompter for the whole first segment. I manage to stumble through it, but I really feel like I'm sucking. But it's live, so I push through it, and hit a groove. The show is really, really fun. All the people are super nice (cast, crew, producers -- everyone is just awesome. Very different from other jobs I've recently had) and I'm just having fun. Though the show lasts 90 minutes, it seems much faster, and before I know it, we're done.

The audience is dismissed, and we gather with the producer to do a post-mortem on the show. This is my favorite part of any live show, whether it is radio or TV or theater. This is when we sit down together, talk about what we did well, and what we can do better. It's what sets the live experience completely apart from film or tape, this ability to constantly learn from day to day and move closer and closer to perfection.

The notes are given, but I won't recount them here. They belong to the people who made the show.

Anne and I say goodbye to everyone, and meet Loren and Kelly for coffee before we have to get to the airport.

Here's the thing: I really, really, really like Loren and Kelly, and I just hate it that they live so far away. There is a severe shortage of Good People in this world, and I wish that I could spend more time with these two. I take some comfort in the knowledge that Southwest can put us at each other's doors in under two hours for under 100 bucks.

Anne and I make it to the airport, check ourselves in, and grab a sandwich. It's been just over 24 hours, but now it feels much longer, and we're ready to go home and sleep in our own beds.

Our flight is called, and we travel home beneath a full moon, above a blanket of moonlit clouds. It is quick and turbulence-free, and by midnight, we're back in our own house.

While Anne gets ready for bed, I check my email, and there are nearly 50 messages waiting about Screen Savers, and every last one of them praises my performance on the show. I am really moved by the compliments, and feel very proud of a job well done.

I fall into bed, and sleep soundly, straight through the night.

Posted by Wil at 10:54 AM | Permalink | Comments (92)

The plane lurches from side to side, then pitches violently forward. Strangely, nobody in the cabin screams. Anne grips my hand tightly, and I reassure her (and myself) that this turbulence will pass just as soon as we get over the storm.

Fifteen minutes later, after climbing through the first major winter storm we've had here in Southern California, an experience which can be compared to riding in a wagon over a deeply rutted and poorly maintained dirt road, or sitting on a raft in heavy seas, we break through the clouds and level off.

We're on our way to San Francisco, where I'll be co-hosting The Screen Savers.

From above, the clouds look soft and inviting, betraying no hint of the violence we've just passed through. We cruise in relatively smooth air for another 40 minutes, and finally land in Oakland. I'm not crazy about flying, and I'm always happy to be on the ground.

After a quick walk through the terminal, we meet up with Steve from Tech TV, who will drive us into the city. We step out into the gloomy December morning, into the Bay Area that I have always loved: cold, windy, cloud-covered. The heavy black clouds we've just flown through decide to get in one last assault, and dump a hard, cold downpour on us as we walk through the parking lot to the car.

The drive into the city is quick and uneventful, and as we cross the Bay Bridge, I recall the months I spent shooting Flubber on Treasure Island. Those were good times, and it's nice to revisit them in my mind for a few moments.

Steve drops us at our hotel, and tells us he'll be back at 6 to take us to dinner.

Anne and I walk through The City, finally ending up at Union Square. We head to the top of Macy's, so I can look out over the square and pretend that I'm in "The Conversation."

Back when Gene Roddenberry was alive, he talked about The Enterprise being a character in the show, and even being the "real" star of the show. I always wondered how something like a spaceship could have a personality, but standing here, on top of Macy's in the cold and rain, looking out at all these old and new buildings standing side by side, watching the throngs of holiday shoppers swarm across the square, past the giant Christmas tree, I get it. San Francisco is truly a wonderful city.

We meet Steve and his fiancee for dinner, which is quite lovely, and head back to our hotel, where we both have the worst night's sleep in years. The rain beats down on the window-mounted air conditioner, its steady plink-plink-plinking competing with the sputtering and hissing of the radiator. After two hours, I have come to truly hate this radiator, though it is the only source of warmth in the room. Anne is fighting a cold, so she tosses and turns the entire night on the too-small bed, and end up spending much of the night staring at the ceiling, cursing the radiator.

When morning comes, we have just enough time to grab a coffee and a muffin before I have to be at TechTV for a production meeting. I kiss Anne goodbye, remind her that if she goes shopping that we only have one small carry-on bag (a reminder she ignores), and hop into a cab.

I spend the rest of the morning and early afternoon preparing for the show, and having meetings with the execs at TechTV. I really like them, they really like me, maybe we'll work together someday.

Suddenly, the day is behind me, and it's time to tape the show. I run over my teleprompter bits, read over notes for the interview I'll be doing, and familiarize myself with the numbers for the different cameras, and the names for different parts of the set.

Everyone keeps asking me if I'm nervous. I am not, but this constant questioning makes me think that I should be nervous, so now I'm nervous because I wasn't nervous.

I don't want to let myself get all worked up, so I talk to the cast. Megan is funny and sweet, and calls me "dreamy." Patrick knows so much more about computers and technology than I ever will, and though I am totally intimidated by his knowledge, he puts me at ease the whole time I'm there. Morgen Webb is just too !@#$^&ing hot for words. And smart, and friendly. I blush a bit when I talk to her.

I get to finally meet Chris Pirillo, who I've talked to countless times in e-mail, but never actually seen in person. I instantly like him, and know that we could have fun hanging out together.

At 4PM, we start the show, and everything is going well, except for one small thing: the way the camera points, I can't read the left side of the teleprompter for the whole first segment. I manage to stumble through it, but I really feel like I'm sucking. But it's live, so I push through it, and hit a groove. The show is really, really fun. All the people are super nice (cast, crew, producers -- everyone is just awesome. Very different from other jobs I've recently had) and I'm just having fun. Though the show lasts 90 minutes, it seems much faster, and before I know it, we're done.

The audience is dismissed, and we gather with the producer to do a post-mortem on the show. This is my favorite part of any live show, whether it is radio or TV or theater. This is when we sit down together, talk about what we did well, and what we can do better. It's what sets the live experience completely apart from film or tape, this ability to constantly learn from day to day and move closer and closer to perfection.

The notes are given, but I won't recount them here. They belong to the people who made the show.

Anne and I say goodbye to everyone, and meet Loren and Kelly for coffee before we have to get to the airport.

Here's the thing: I really, really, really like Loren and Kelly, and I just hate it that they live so far away. There is a severe shortage of Good People in this world, and I wish that I could spend more time with these two. I take some comfort in the knowledge that Southwest can put us at each other's doors in under two hours for under 100 bucks.

Anne and I make it to the airport, check ourselves in, and grab a sandwich. It's been just over 24 hours, but now it feels much longer, and we're ready to go home and sleep in our own beds.

Our flight is called, and we travel home beneath a full moon, above a blanket of moonlit clouds. It is quick and turbulence-free, and by midnight, we're back in our own house.

While Anne gets ready for bed, I check my email, and there are nearly 50 messages waiting about Screen Savers, and every last one of them praises my performance on the show. I am really moved by the compliments, and feel very proud of a job well done.

I fall into bed, and sleep soundly, straight through the night.

Posted by Wil at 10:54 AM | Permalink | Comments (92)

Before I get to the good news, I just wanted to thank everyone who sent me kindness yesterday. While not getting invited really felt like a slap in the face, it is certainly not the end of the world, by any means.

Now I'll be seeing the movie for the first time with my friends, in a regular theatre, with a "real" audience, which will be cool.

The good news: a few months back, Chris DiBona approached me, and asked me if I'd be interested in joining the Board of Advisors for a new game company he was forming.

I said yes, and I've managed to be useful already, which is cool. Their first game is a MMORPG called Rekonstruction.

Anyhow, the press release went out today, and I thought I'd pimp it.

Posted by Wil at 10:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (96)

Before I get to the good news, I just wanted to thank everyone who sent me kindness yesterday. While not getting invited really felt like a slap in the face, it is certainly not the end of the world, by any means.

Now I'll be seeing the movie for the first time with my friends, in a regular theatre, with a "real" audience, which will be cool.

The good news: a few months back, Chris DiBona approached me, and asked me if I'd be interested in joining the Board of Advisors for a new game company he was forming.

I said yes, and I've managed to be useful already, which is cool. Their first game is a MMORPG called Rekonstruction.

Anyhow, the press release went out today, and I thought I'd pimp it.

Posted by Wil at 10:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (96)

Before I get to the good news, I just wanted to thank everyone who sent me kindness yesterday. While not getting invited really felt like a slap in the face, it is certainly not the end of the world, by any means.

Now I'll be seeing the movie for the first time with my friends, in a regular theatre, with a "real" audience, which will be cool.

The good news: a few months back, Chris DiBona approached me, and asked me if I'd be interested in joining the Board of Advisors for a new game company he was forming.

I said yes, and I've managed to be useful already, which is cool. Their first game is a MMORPG called Rekonstruction.

Anyhow, the press release went out today, and I thought I'd pimp it.

Posted by Wil at 10:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (96)

One of my old spacesuits is being auctioned off on eBay. I'm not sure why, but it makes me feel a little sad.

I'm sitting here, about to write a little entry about it, when my phone rings. It's a friend of mine, asking me if I'm going to the Star Trek X screening.

"Yeah, on Wednesday," I tell him.

"No, it's tonight," he tells me.

"Tonight? At Paramount?"

"No, it's in Westwood, tonight," he tells me, "I just talked with Marina about it."

Oh no.

That feeling I have gotten so many times before, when I was the only cast member not asked up on stage at the 25th anniversary party, when I was the only cast member not recognized at the screening of "All Good Things..." begins to well up. I feel a little sick.

He wouldn't do this to me, right? Not now, not after the conversations we had when I was working on the movie, not since the phone call informing me of the cut. This must be a mistake. Past is the past, right? We're cool now. There is no way he'd exclude me from this.

But he did.

He did it to me again.

I want to cry.

I tell my friend that I have to go, and hang up the phone.

I sit there alone and cold in the kitchen. I can hear Ryan watching Sabrina The Teenage Witch in the living room.

I can't believe this is happening to me. When Rick told me that my scenes were cut, he assured me that I'd still be invited to the premiere, and that he'd see me there. I was excited to see all my friends again, and share in those moments with them. Be a part of what will really be the final mission.

It turns out that the screening I was invited to will be at Paramount on Wednesday, and pretty much anyone who works at Paramount can attend. It's not the premiere, and none of the cast are going. There's really nothing special about it.

I seriously, desperately hope that this was just an oversight. I desperately hope that this is totally out of Rick's hands, and that he'll tell me that he's sorry if it ever comes up. I desperately hope this isn't personal. I want so badly to believe that it isn't. It sucks to be overlooked, but it sucks less than if I'd been intentionally not invited.

It sure fits a pattern though, huh?

I just -- I don't know what to do. I don't even know how to feel anymore.

But I'll go with hurt for now.

Really, really fucking hurt.

Posted by Wil at 03:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (525) | TrackBacks (3)

One of my old spacesuits is being auctioned off on eBay. I'm not sure why, but it makes me feel a little sad.

I'm sitting here, about to write a little entry about it, when my phone rings. It's a friend of mine, asking me if I'm going to the Star Trek X screening.

"Yeah, on Wednesday," I tell him.

"No, it's tonight," he tells me.

"Tonight? At Paramount?"

"No, it's in Westwood, tonight," he tells me, "I just talked with Marina about it."

Oh no.

That feeling I have gotten so many times before, when I was the only cast member not asked up on stage at the 25th anniversary party, when I was the only cast member not recognized at the screening of "All Good Things..." begins to well up. I feel a little sick.

He wouldn't do this to me, right? Not now, not after the conversations we had when I was working on the movie, not since the phone call informing me of the cut. This must be a mistake. Past is the past, right? We're cool now. There is no way he'd exclude me from this.

But he did.

He did it to me again.

I want to cry.

I tell my friend that I have to go, and hang up the phone.

I sit there alone and cold in the kitchen. I can hear Ryan watching Sabrina The Teenage Witch in the living room.

I can't believe this is happening to me. When Rick told me that my scenes were cut, he assured me that I'd still be invited to the premiere, and that he'd see me there. I was excited to see all my friends again, and share in those moments with them. Be a part of what will really be the final mission.

It turns out that the screening I was invited to will be at Paramount on Wednesday, and pretty much anyone who works at Paramount can attend. It's not the premiere, and none of the cast are going. There's really nothing special about it.

I seriously, desperately hope that this was just an oversight. I desperately hope that this is totally out of Rick's hands, and that he'll tell me that he's sorry if it ever comes up. I desperately hope this isn't personal. I want so badly to believe that it isn't. It sucks to be overlooked, but it sucks less than if I'd been intentionally not invited.

It sure fits a pattern though, huh?

I just -- I don't know what to do. I don't even know how to feel anymore.

But I'll go with hurt for now.

Really, really fucking hurt.

Posted by Wil at 03:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (525) | TrackBacks (3)

One of my old spacesuits is being auctioned off on eBay. I'm not sure why, but it makes me feel a little sad.

I'm sitting here, about to write a little entry about it, when my phone rings. It's a friend of mine, asking me if I'm going to the Star Trek X screening.

"Yeah, on Wednesday," I tell him.

"No, it's tonight," he tells me.

"Tonight? At Paramount?"

"No, it's in Westwood, tonight," he tells me, "I just talked with Marina about it."

Oh no.

That feeling I have gotten so many times before, when I was the only cast member not asked up on stage at the 25th anniversary party, when I was the only cast member not recognized at the screening of "All Good Things..." begins to well up. I feel a little sick.

He wouldn't do this to me, right? Not now, not after the conversations we had when I was working on the movie, not since the phone call informing me of the cut. This must be a mistake. Past is the past, right? We're cool now. There is no way he'd exclude me from this.

But he did.

He did it to me again.

I want to cry.

I tell my friend that I have to go, and hang up the phone.

I sit there alone and cold in the kitchen. I can hear Ryan watching Sabrina The Teenage Witch in the living room.

I can't believe this is happening to me. When Rick told me that my scenes were cut, he assured me that I'd still be invited to the premiere, and that he'd see me there. I was excited to see all my friends again, and share in those moments with them. Be a part of what will really be the final mission.

It turns out that the screening I was invited to will be at Paramount on Wednesday, and pretty much anyone who works at Paramount can attend. It's not the premiere, and none of the cast are going. There's really nothing special about it.

I seriously, desperately hope that this was just an oversight. I desperately hope that this is totally out of Rick's hands, and that he'll tell me that he's sorry if it ever comes up. I desperately hope this isn't personal. I want so badly to believe that it isn't. It sucks to be overlooked, but it sucks less than if I'd been intentionally not invited.

It sure fits a pattern though, huh?

I just -- I don't know what to do. I don't even know how to feel anymore.

But I'll go with hurt for now.

Really, really fucking hurt.

Posted by Wil at 03:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (525) | TrackBacks (3)

Oh man, I am so $!@%^&ing sore from doing the yard this weekend. I gave myself tendonitis in my right arm (yeah, the poison oak one...I swear, this arm is going to try and secede from the rest of my body) so it is swollen up to almost twice the size it normally is...I look like a freak, but in a good way.

In the continuing saga of writer-slash-actor: My manuscript is still with my editor. He's given me some very useful notes already, and I'm hoping to have the whole thing back by the end of this week. Sadly, it will not be ready in time for Xmas. :(

On the actor side, I have an audition today for "The Polar Express," which is being directed by Robert Zemeckis, and stars Tom Hanks.

Yeah, I'm thinking the same thing you are, "Tom Hanks and Robert Zemeckis? Why the hell are they asking to see me?!"

I have no idea, but it should be an interesting experience...I haven't auditioned for a major motion picture like this in quite some time.

Oh, and I have punk rock blue hair right now, because I figured there wouldn't be any auditions until after the first of the year...uhh...oops.

The second shipmeent of 8x10s goes to the post office in about 30 minutes. If you ordered last week, you should get yours in a few days. I'll get to work on the third shipment (orders received since Thursday) when I get back from my audition this afternoon, and they should all go out tomorrow or Wednesday.

UPDATE 3:53 PM PST: Well, I totally punted the audition. The pain in my body from the weekend is so severe (my arm is so messed up I can't even grip my steering wheel in my car, and my back has been spasming all day long) that I just couldn't focus, at all, and I sucked.

Shit.

I saw the tests for the movie while I was there, and I'm pretty sure that I'm not allowed to talk about specifics, so I'll just say: this will be an amazing and beautiful movie. What I saw was a perfect 3-D rendering of the art in the book.

When I left, I walked down the hallway with my head hung. I'm really sad, not because I'm missing out on a job, but because this movie is just going to be so beautiful, and so amazing, I really wanted to be part of it.

Posted by Wil at 09:23 AM | Permalink | Comments (95)

Oh man, I am so $!@%^&ing sore from doing the yard this weekend. I gave myself tendonitis in my right arm (yeah, the poison oak one...I swear, this arm is going to try and secede from the rest of my body) so it is swollen up to almost twice the size it normally is...I look like a freak, but in a good way.

In the continuing saga of writer-slash-actor: My manuscript is still with my editor. He's given me some very useful notes already, and I'm hoping to have the whole thing back by the end of this week. Sadly, it will not be ready in time for Xmas. :(

On the actor side, I have an audition today for "The Polar Express," which is being directed by Robert Zemeckis, and stars Tom Hanks.

Yeah, I'm thinking the same thing you are, "Tom Hanks and Robert Zemeckis? Why the hell are they asking to see me?!"

I have no idea, but it should be an interesting experience...I haven't auditioned for a major motion picture like this in quite some time.

Oh, and I have punk rock blue hair right now, because I figured there wouldn't be any auditions until after the first of the year...uhh...oops.

The second shipmeent of 8x10s goes to the post office in about 30 minutes. If you ordered last week, you should get yours in a few days. I'll get to work on the third shipment (orders received since Thursday) when I get back from my audition this afternoon, and they should all go out tomorrow or Wednesday.

UPDATE 3:53 PM PST: Well, I totally punted the audition. The pain in my body from the weekend is so severe (my arm is so messed up I can't even grip my steering wheel in my car, and my back has been spasming all day long) that I just couldn't focus, at all, and I sucked.

Shit.

I saw the tests for the movie while I was there, and I'm pretty sure that I'm not allowed to talk about specifics, so I'll just say: this will be an amazing and beautiful movie. What I saw was a perfect 3-D rendering of the art in the book.

When I left, I walked down the hallway with my head hung. I'm really sad, not because I'm missing out on a job, but because this movie is just going to be so beautiful, and so amazing, I really wanted to be part of it.

Posted by Wil at 09:23 AM | Permalink | Comments (95)

Oh man, I am so $!@%^&ing sore from doing the yard this weekend. I gave myself tendonitis in my right arm (yeah, the poison oak one...I swear, this arm is going to try and secede from the rest of my body) so it is swollen up to almost twice the size it normally is...I look like a freak, but in a good way.

In the continuing saga of writer-slash-actor: My manuscript is still with my editor. He's given me some very useful notes already, and I'm hoping to have the whole thing back by the end of this week. Sadly, it will not be ready in time for Xmas. :(

On the actor side, I have an audition today for "The Polar Express," which is being directed by Robert Zemeckis, and stars Tom Hanks.

Yeah, I'm thinking the same thing you are, "Tom Hanks and Robert Zemeckis? Why the hell are they asking to see me?!"

I have no idea, but it should be an interesting experience...I haven't auditioned for a major motion picture like this in quite some time.

Oh, and I have punk rock blue hair right now, because I figured there wouldn't be any auditions until after the first of the year...uhh...oops.

The second shipmeent of 8x10s goes to the post office in about 30 minutes. If you ordered last week, you should get yours in a few days. I'll get to work on the third shipment (orders received since Thursday) when I get back from my audition this afternoon, and they should all go out tomorrow or Wednesday.

UPDATE 3:53 PM PST: Well, I totally punted the audition. The pain in my body from the weekend is so severe (my arm is so messed up I can't even grip my steering wheel in my car, and my back has been spasming all day long) that I just couldn't focus, at all, and I sucked.

Shit.

I saw the tests for the movie while I was there, and I'm pretty sure that I'm not allowed to talk about specifics, so I'll just say: this will be an amazing and beautiful movie. What I saw was a perfect 3-D rendering of the art in the book.

When I left, I walked down the hallway with my head hung. I'm really sad, not because I'm missing out on a job, but because this movie is just going to be so beautiful, and so amazing, I really wanted to be part of it.

Posted by Wil at 09:23 AM | Permalink | Comments (95)

Back in spring, a pipe in our front yard's sprinkler system burst. We tried to water the lawn by hand all summer, but we failed miserably and it died.

Long story short, we decided to put in new sprinklers and grass, and the whole process took the rest of summer, and all of autumn.

Yesterday, thanks to the the shockingly popular 8x10 sale, we finally laid down the sod, and turned our horribly ugly dirt lot into a beautiful front lawn.

Anne and I could never have done this on our own, and I want to publicly thank my friends and family who came over and spent their Saturday putting down almost 3,000 square feet of grass:

• Darin. You arrived at 7AM, and stayed until the sun went down. In addition top helping out, you kept me calm, each time I was sure we were doing it wrong and everything would die.
  
• Shane. Even though you had a wedding to attend in the afternoon, you came and helped. Your Cal Tech brain was most useful in ensuring we did our work as efficiently as possible. Good call on "The Buddy System."
  
• Jeremy. I didn't know you had to work in the afternoon and evening, but you came and helped anyway. Thank you for making me laugh hard all day.
  
• Jenn. I still can't believe that you worked while we all ate lunch. You were the last person to leave, and you helped me clean up the driveway. Thank you.
  
• Mom. Finally, you have first-hand experience being that "ditch digger" you always warned us against becoming when we were kids. 60 feet of trench is 59 feet more than I could have done on my own.
  
• Michelle. The layer of sod, the leveler of ground, the bringer of Krispy Kremes.
  
• BURNS! You helped us all morning and well into the afternoon, and then went and worked a long shift last night. You're always there for us when we need help, except for that one time you forgot...but after yesterday, we'll never speak of that time again.
  
• Dad. I'm glad that you didn't kill yourself surfing, and that you came all the way to our house from Rincon. The caution tape clearly and politely says, "Stay the fuck off my new lawn, you little creeps" to all passersby.
  

As I stood in my driveway last night, looking across my beautiful new lawn, I felt a pride in my house that I haven't felt in over a year. It just looks beautiful, and we never could have done this without the help that you guys gave us...and that's the best part of all of this, IMHO: you guys all gave up your Saturday to help us out, and you all worked harder than I ever expected. You guys are awesome.

Thank you.

Posted by Wil at 09:29 AM | Permalink | Comments (48) | TrackBacks (1)

Back in spring, a pipe in our front yard's sprinkler system burst. We tried to water the lawn by hand all summer, but we failed miserably and it died.

Long story short, we decided to put in new sprinklers and grass, and the whole process took the rest of summer, and all of autumn.

Yesterday, thanks to the the shockingly popular 8x10 sale, we finally laid down the sod, and turned our horribly ugly dirt lot into a beautiful front lawn.

Anne and I could never have done this on our own, and I want to publicly thank my friends and family who came over and spent their Saturday putting down almost 3,000 square feet of grass:

• Darin. You arrived at 7AM, and stayed until the sun went down. In addition top helping out, you kept me calm, each time I was sure we were doing it wrong and everything would die.
  
• Shane. Even though you had a wedding to attend in the afternoon, you came and helped. Your Cal Tech brain was most useful in ensuring we did our work as efficiently as possible. Good call on "The Buddy System."
  
• Jeremy. I didn't know you had to work in the afternoon and evening, but you came and helped anyway. Thank you for making me laugh hard all day.
  
• Jenn. I still can't believe that you worked while we all ate lunch. You were the last person to leave, and you helped me clean up the driveway. Thank you.
  
• Mom. Finally, you have first-hand experience being that "ditch digger" you always warned us against becoming when we were kids. 60 feet of trench is 59 feet more than I could have done on my own.
  
• Michelle. The layer of sod, the leveler of ground, the bringer of Krispy Kremes.
  
• BURNS! You helped us all morning and well into the afternoon, and then went and worked a long shift last night. You're always there for us when we need help, except for that one time you forgot...but after yesterday, we'll never speak of that time again.
  
• Dad. I'm glad that you didn't kill yourself surfing, and that you came all the way to our house from Rincon. The caution tape clearly and politely says, "Stay the fuck off my new lawn, you little creeps" to all passersby.
  

As I stood in my driveway last night, looking across my beautiful new lawn, I felt a pride in my house that I haven't felt in over a year. It just looks beautiful, and we never could have done this without the help that you guys gave us...and that's the best part of all of this, IMHO: you guys all gave up your Saturday to help us out, and you all worked harder than I ever expected. You guys are awesome.

Thank you.

Posted by Wil at 09:29 AM | Permalink | Comments (48)

Back in spring, a pipe in our front yard's sprinkler system burst. We tried to water the lawn by hand all summer, but we failed miserably and it died.

Long story short, we decided to put in new sprinklers and grass, and the whole process took the rest of summer, and all of autumn.

Yesterday, thanks to the the shockingly popular 8x10 sale, we finally laid down the sod, and turned our horribly ugly dirt lot into a beautiful front lawn.

Anne and I could never have done this on our own, and I want to publicly thank my friends and family who came over and spent their Saturday putting down almost 3,000 square feet of grass:

• Darin. You arrived at 7AM, and stayed until the sun went down. In addition top helping out, you kept me calm, each time I was sure we were doing it wrong and everything would die.
  
• Shane. Even though you had a wedding to attend in the afternoon, you came and helped. Your Cal Tech brain was most useful in ensuring we did our work as efficiently as possible. Good call on "The Buddy System."
  
• Jeremy. I didn't know you had to work in the afternoon and evening, but you came and helped anyway. Thank you for making me laugh hard all day.
  
• Jenn. I still can't believe that you worked while we all ate lunch. You were the last person to leave, and you helped me clean up the driveway. Thank you.
  
• Mom. Finally, you have first-hand experience being that "ditch digger" you always warned us against becoming when we were kids. 60 feet of trench is 59 feet more than I could have done on my own.
  
• Michelle. The layer of sod, the leveler of ground, the bringer of Krispy Kremes.
  
• BURNS! You helped us all morning and well into the afternoon, and then went and worked a long shift last night. You're always there for us when we need help, except for that one time you forgot...but after yesterday, we'll never speak of that time again.
  
• Dad. I'm glad that you didn't kill yourself surfing, and that you came all the way to our house from Rincon. The caution tape clearly and politely says, "Stay the fuck off my new lawn, you little creeps" to all passersby.
  

As I stood in my driveway last night, looking across my beautiful new lawn, I felt a pride in my house that I haven't felt in over a year. It just looks beautiful, and we never could have done this without the help that you guys gave us...and that's the best part of all of this, IMHO: you guys all gave up your Saturday to help us out, and you all worked harder than I ever expected. You guys are awesome.

Thank you.

Posted by Wil at 09:29 AM | Permalink | Comments (48)

We are in Santa Barbara. It is November, and Anne and I are here for our anniversary, walking back to our hotel after the first romantic dinner we've enjoyed in months.

Though it is Saturday night, this normally crowded street is nearly deserted, because it is pouring rain. A cold, relentless rain that soaks into my shoes and clings to my body. The cold cuts straight through me, numbing my hands and feet.

The few people who have chosen to brave the storm are huddled in doorways and under awnings. Anne and I share a too-small umbrella in a futile attempt to stay dry.

It has been a wonderful evening, ending a wonderful day. We haven't gotten to spend much time just enjoying each other's company, just being together for several weeks, and I am cherishing every rain-soaked moment.

The storm intensifies as we hurry back to our hotel, turning downspouts to waterfalls, and the street into a small stream. Normally, the urge to stomp in puddles is irresistible to me, but the numbness is creeping up my legs now, and I need little encouragement to leave the puddles alone.

After a few blocks, the cold and rain is too much for me, and I suggest that we stop, and hail a cab.

Anne stops, and looks at me, her blue eyes gleaming. She says they're green, but they're blue...I see them whenever my mind wanders, so I know.

She steps out of the small shelter our umbrella is providing, and stands unprotected in the rain.

"I want to walk in the rain!" She declares.

"But it's 40 degrees!" I remind her, shivering. A few passersby look at us as if we're having a fight, and I chuckle to myself. They couldn't be more wrong.

"I don't care," she tells me, her hair falling down and clinging to the sides of her face, her jacket darkening as it absorbs the storm. "Someday, I'm going to want to walk in the cold rain, and feel it on my face, and I'm not going to be able to. So I'm going to do it now."

She reaches out and touches my cheek, and pulls my face to her. She leans towards me, kisses my nose, and walks away, her face cast upwards, her palms turned up to receive the rain.

She stomps into a puddle, and turns around.

"C'mon, you weenie! Walk with me!"

She is so beautiful, so joyous. The storm threatens to draw a curtain of rain around her, obscuring her from my view. Though she is twenty feet from me, I can see her beaming and feel her joy. She positively loves this.

I watch her, happily standing in the rain. In this moment I know why I married her. I know why she is the other half of my heartbeat.

But it's 40 degrees. There's no way I'm giving up this umbrella.

I lean against the rain, and close the distance between us. When I draw near her, she reaches out and knocks the umbrella out of my hand.

As it falls to the ground, she takes me in her arms. She pulls me to her, and kisses me.

"I love you," she says, rain dripping off her nose onto my face.

She does love me. It's one thing to say it, and one thing to hear it, but it's another thing to feel it.

"I love you too," I reply.

We stand there in the rain for a moment, looking at each other. We are soaking wet, freezing cold, and desperately in love.

Posted by Wil at 10:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (188)

We are in Santa Barbara. It is November, and Anne and I are here for our anniversary, walking back to our hotel after the first romantic dinner we've enjoyed in months.

Though it is Saturday night, this normally crowded street is nearly deserted, because it is pouring rain. A cold, relentless rain that soaks into my shoes and clings to my body. The cold cuts straight through me, numbing my hands and feet.

The few people who have chosen to brave the storm are huddled in doorways and under awnings. Anne and I share a too-small umbrella in a futile attempt to stay dry.

It has been a wonderful evening, ending a wonderful day. We haven't gotten to spend much time just enjoying each other's company, just being together for several weeks, and I am cherishing every rain-soaked moment.

The storm intensifies as we hurry back to our hotel, turning downspouts to waterfalls, and the street into a small stream. Normally, the urge to stomp in puddles is irresistible to me, but the numbness is creeping up my legs now, and I need little encouragement to leave the puddles alone.

After a few blocks, the cold and rain is too much for me, and I suggest that we stop, and hail a cab.

Anne stops, and looks at me, her blue eyes gleaming. She says they're green, but they're blue...I see them whenever my mind wanders, so I know.

She steps out of the small shelter our umbrella is providing, and stands unprotected in the rain.

"I want to walk in the rain!" She declares.

"But it's 40 degrees!" I remind her, shivering. A few passersby look at us as if we're having a fight, and I chuckle to myself. They couldn't be more wrong.

"I don't care," she tells me, her hair falling down and clinging to the sides of her face, her jacket darkening as it absorbs the storm. "Someday, I'm going to want to walk in the cold rain, and feel it on my face, and I'm not going to be able to. So I'm going to do it now."

She reaches out and touches my cheek, and pulls my face to her. She leans towards me, kisses my nose, and walks away, her face cast upwards, her palms turned up to receive the rain.

She stomps into a puddle, and turns around.

"C'mon, you weenie! Walk with me!"

She is so beautiful, so joyous. The storm threatens to draw a curtain of rain around her, obscuring her from my view. Though she is twenty feet from me, I can see her beaming and feel her joy. She positively loves this.

I watch her, happily standing in the rain. In this moment I know why I married her. I know why she is the other half of my heartbeat.

But it's 40 degrees. There's no way I'm giving up this umbrella.

I lean against the rain, and close the distance between us. When I draw near her, she reaches out and knocks the umbrella out of my hand.

As it falls to the ground, she takes me in her arms. She pulls me to her, and kisses me.

"I love you," she says, rain dripping off her nose onto my face.

She does love me. It's one thing to say it, and one thing to hear it, but it's another thing to feel it.

"I love you too," I reply.

We stand there in the rain for a moment, looking at each other. We are soaking wet, freezing cold, and desperately in love.

Posted by Wil at 10:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (188)

We are in Santa Barbara. It is November, and Anne and I are here for our anniversary, walking back to our hotel after the first romantic dinner we've enjoyed in months.

Though it is Saturday night, this normally crowded street is nearly deserted, because it is pouring rain. A cold, relentless rain that soaks into my shoes and clings to my body. The cold cuts straight through me, numbing my hands and feet.

The few people who have chosen to brave the storm are huddled in doorways and under awnings. Anne and I share a too-small umbrella in a futile attempt to stay dry.

It has been a wonderful evening, ending a wonderful day. We haven't gotten to spend much time just enjoying each other's company, just being together for several weeks, and I am cherishing every rain-soaked moment.

The storm intensifies as we hurry back to our hotel, turning downspouts to waterfalls, and the street into a small stream. Normally, the urge to stomp in puddles is irresistible to me, but the numbness is creeping up my legs now, and I need little encouragement to leave the puddles alone.

After a few blocks, the cold and rain is too much for me, and I suggest that we stop, and hail a cab.

Anne stops, and looks at me, her blue eyes gleaming. She says they're green, but they're blue...I see them whenever my mind wanders, so I know.

She steps out of the small shelter our umbrella is providing, and stands unprotected in the rain.

"I want to walk in the rain!" She declares.

"But it's 40 degrees!" I remind her, shivering. A few passersby look at us as if we're having a fight, and I chuckle to myself. They couldn't be more wrong.

"I don't care," she tells me, her hair falling down and clinging to the sides of her face, her jacket darkening as it absorbs the storm. "Someday, I'm going to want to walk in the cold rain, and feel it on my face, and I'm not going to be able to. So I'm going to do it now."

She reaches out and touches my cheek, and pulls my face to her. She leans towards me, kisses my nose, and walks away, her face cast upwards, her palms turned up to receive the rain.

She stomps into a puddle, and turns around.

"C'mon, you weenie! Walk with me!"

She is so beautiful, so joyous. The storm threatens to draw a curtain of rain around her, obscuring her from my view. Though she is twenty feet from me, I can see her beaming and feel her joy. She positively loves this.

I watch her, happily standing in the rain. In this moment I know why I married her. I know why she is the other half of my heartbeat.

But it's 40 degrees. There's no way I'm giving up this umbrella.

I lean against the rain, and close the distance between us. When I draw near her, she reaches out and knocks the umbrella out of my hand.

As it falls to the ground, she takes me in her arms. She pulls me to her, and kisses me.

"I love you," she says, rain dripping off her nose onto my face.

She does love me. It's one thing to say it, and one thing to hear it, but it's another thing to feel it.

"I love you too," I reply.

We stand there in the rain for a moment, looking at each other. We are soaking wet, freezing cold, and desperately in love.

Posted by Wil at 10:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (188) | TrackBacks (1)

So the poison oak I got while geocaching two weeks ago is finally on the way out, leaving behind some spectacular scarring on my arm.

The best thing? I was using this Caladryl lotion the last few days to really dry it up and stop the itching, which it did...unfortunately irritating the hell out of the rest of my skin, and causing a rash which itches just as badly as the poison oak ever did.

Adding insult to injury, my geocaching log notifier sent me a notice yesterday that someone logged the cache I was trying to find. I wonder if they got the bonus poison oak? =]

So I went to the doctor this morning, and he put me on prednisone for a week, and gave me an ointment to calm the rash.

Oy. Vey.

Put up the Christmas lights last night, and have a great story to go with it. Working on it now.

I think it's going to be a really wonderful holiday season this year.

Very astute readers will notice that I've moved the sale info up to the top of the page, so I can keep writing and keep people informed about those exciting holiday gift opportunities. =]

I sent the first 30 8x10s this morning, to places like Austin, the UK, Germany, Puerto Rico, and the far off hamlet of Burbank!

I'm running out of Iron Maiden shots, but there are still Stand By Me and Red space Suit pictures left.

Oh, and if you haven't seen the entire Special Edition of Fellowship of the Ring, you simply must get offline NOW and go watch it.

Posted by Wil at 03:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (80)

So the poison oak I got while geocaching two weeks ago is finally on the way out, leaving behind some spectacular scarring on my arm.

The best thing? I was using this Caladryl lotion the last few days to really dry it up and stop the itching, which it did...unfortunately irritating the hell out of the rest of my skin, and causing a rash which itches just as badly as the poison oak ever did.

Adding insult to injury, my geocaching log notifier sent me a notice yesterday that someone logged the cache I was trying to find. I wonder if they got the bonus poison oak? =]

So I went to the doctor this morning, and he put me on prednisone for a week, and gave me an ointment to calm the rash.

Oy. Vey.

Put up the Christmas lights last night, and have a great story to go with it. Working on it now.

I think it's going to be a really wonderful holiday season this year.

Very astute readers will notice that I've moved the sale info up to the top of the page, so I can keep writing and keep people informed about those exciting holiday gift opportunities. =]

I sent the first 30 8x10s this morning, to places like Austin, the UK, Germany, Puerto Rico, and the far off hamlet of Burbank!

I'm running out of Iron Maiden shots, but there are still Stand By Me and Red space Suit pictures left.

Oh, and if you haven't seen the entire Special Edition of Fellowship of the Ring, you simply must get offline NOW and go watch it.

Posted by Wil at 03:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (80)

So the poison oak I got while geocaching two weeks ago is finally on the way out, leaving behind some spectacular scarring on my arm.

The best thing? I was using this Caladryl lotion the last few days to really dry it up and stop the itching, which it did...unfortunately irritating the hell out of the rest of my skin, and causing a rash which itches just as badly as the poison oak ever did.

Adding insult to injury, my geocaching log notifier sent me a notice yesterday that someone logged the cache I was trying to find. I wonder if they got the bonus poison oak? =]

So I went to the doctor this morning, and he put me on prednisone for a week, and gave me an ointment to calm the rash.

Oy. Vey.

Put up the Christmas lights last night, and have a great story to go with it. Working on it now.

I think it's going to be a really wonderful holiday season this year.

Very astute readers will notice that I've moved the sale info up to the top of the page, so I can keep writing and keep people informed about those exciting holiday gift opportunities. =]

I sent the first 30 8x10s this morning, to places like Austin, the UK, Germany, Puerto Rico, and the far off hamlet of Burbank!

I'm running out of Iron Maiden shots, but there are still Stand By Me and Red space Suit pictures left.

Oh, and if you haven't seen the entire Special Edition of Fellowship of the Ring, you simply must get offline NOW and go watch it.

Posted by Wil at 03:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (80)

I really like Thanksgiving.

I love gathering with my family, spending the day with people I don't get to see very often, and sitting down for a massive dinner that I didn't have to cook.

Is there a better time for a List Of Seven?

Today, I am thankful for:

1. Creative energy, used to bring Joy into the world.
   
2. Seeing my cousin Dustin today.
   
3. My invitation to the Cast and Crew screening of Trek X
   
4. Finally looking back on my teenage years with more joy than regret.
   
5. My wife cuddling me because she loves me...not because she's trying to stay warm.
   
6. Ferris, when she looks at me and says, "What?"
   
7. I am thankful for this website, and the readers who have come together from around the world to share in my stupid life, riding the roller coaster of success and failure, triumph and despair. I know for a fact that I never would have grown from struggling actor-slash-has-been to aspiring writer-slash-actor.
   

Our extended Thought For Today comes from Bob in Iowa, Katie's father:

What I Am Thankful For
----------------------

I am thankful that my daughter's surgery went smoothly and successfully. Her kidneys will not develop horrible problems later in life, and a small scar is indeed an easy price to pay for her health.

I am thankful for the skill of the pediatric urology surgeon and the team that worked on my daughter. Their skill has proved in her case, as in many others I'm sure, that disciplined modern medicine is something that we should all be glad for. I am thankful for whoever the person or team was that invented the careful system of moving around and passing instruments in the modern surgery room. I am thankful for whoever the person or team was that sterilizes those instruments at the University of Iowa Hospital, and indeed in all hospitals.

I am thankful that my daughter's recovery has been as impressive as the surgery itself. She is home now, running around like a precocious 16-month-old should, and she will be able to enjoy a Thanksgiving Dinner with her family.

I am thankful that my daughter is running around like a precocious 16-month-old, and I will try to remember that the next time she gets into something that she knows she shouldn't or knocks something over. I am thankful that she will continue to grow up healthy. I am thankful that I have a daughter.

I am thankful to Wil Wheaton, who responded to an email I wrote at a time when I was at my worst, my most desperate. That simple request, which was fulfilled despite Wil's having absolutely no obligation to, lead to an outpouring of love that not only affected me very deeply and helped my daughter in a very real way, it seems to have affected everyone involved in some way.

I am thankful to the complete strangers who, upon reading the entry in Wil Wheaton's blog, made a simple choice to take a moment from their day and send some love my daughter's way. I swear to God that I felt it, and I believe in my heart that it helped both with the surgery and with the swift recovery. I just wish there was another word to describe a person whom I have never met besides "stranger", because that name is so ill-fitting to the people who took the time to help my daughter.

But most of all, I am thankful that despite the horrible things that we see every day on television and read about every day in newspapers, there is enough love in the world to selflessly help a little girl in need of love, and that we really are a loving and caring race. More often than not, we seem to forget what we really are. I am thankful that this opportunity arose to remind us all.

Thank you all for your compassion and kindness. Katie is recovering wonderfully, and I don't doubt for a second that all of your goodwill and love is a MAJOR reason for that. I really cannot thank any of you enough, other than to say, "Thank you." May you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving surrounded by family and friends.

- Bob Roth, WWDN fan

Posted by Wil at 11:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (55)

I really like Thanksgiving.

I love gathering with my family, spending the day with people I don't get to see very often, and sitting down for a massive dinner that I didn't have to cook.

Is there a better time for a List Of Seven?

Today, I am thankful for:

1. Creative energy, used to bring Joy into the world.
   
2. Seeing my cousin Dustin today.
   
3. My invitation to the Cast and Crew screening of Trek X
   
4. Finally looking back on my teenage years with more joy than regret.
   
5. My wife cuddling me because she loves me...not because she's trying to stay warm.
   
6. Ferris, when she looks at me and says, "What?"
   
7. I am thankful for this website, and the readers who have come together from around the world to share in my stupid life, riding the roller coaster of success and failure, triumph and despair. I know for a fact that I never would have grown from struggling actor-slash-has-been to aspiring writer-slash-actor.
   

Our extended Thought For Today comes from Bob in Iowa, Katie's father:

What I Am Thankful For
----------------------

I am thankful that my daughter's surgery went smoothly and successfully. Her kidneys will not develop horrible problems later in life, and a small scar is indeed an easy price to pay for her health.

I am thankful for the skill of the pediatric urology surgeon and the team that worked on my daughter. Their skill has proved in her case, as in many others I'm sure, that disciplined modern medicine is something that we should all be glad for. I am thankful for whoever the person or team was that invented the careful system of moving around and passing instruments in the modern surgery room. I am thankful for whoever the person or team was that sterilizes those instruments at the University of Iowa Hospital, and indeed in all hospitals.

I am thankful that my daughter's recovery has been as impressive as the surgery itself. She is home now, running around like a precocious 16-month-old should, and she will be able to enjoy a Thanksgiving Dinner with her family.

I am thankful that my daughter is running around like a precocious 16-month-old, and I will try to remember that the next time she gets into something that she knows she shouldn't or knocks something over. I am thankful that she will continue to grow up healthy. I am thankful that I have a daughter.

I am thankful to Wil Wheaton, who responded to an email I wrote at a time when I was at my worst, my most desperate. That simple request, which was fulfilled despite Wil's having absolutely no obligation to, lead to an outpouring of love that not only affected me very deeply and helped my daughter in a very real way, it seems to have affected everyone involved in some way.

I am thankful to the complete strangers who, upon reading the entry in Wil Wheaton's blog, made a simple choice to take a moment from their day and send some love my daughter's way. I swear to God that I felt it, and I believe in my heart that it helped both with the surgery and with the swift recovery. I just wish there was another word to describe a person whom I have never met besides "stranger", because that name is so ill-fitting to the people who took the time to help my daughter.

But most of all, I am thankful that despite the horrible things that we see every day on television and read about every day in newspapers, there is enough love in the world to selflessly help a little girl in need of love, and that we really are a loving and caring race. More often than not, we seem to forget what we really are. I am thankful that this opportunity arose to remind us all.

Thank you all for your compassion and kindness. Katie is recovering wonderfully, and I don't doubt for a second that all of your goodwill and love is a MAJOR reason for that. I really cannot thank any of you enough, other than to say, "Thank you." May you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving surrounded by family and friends.

- Bob Roth, WWDN fan

Posted by Wil at 11:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (55)

I really like Thanksgiving.

I love gathering with my family, spending the day with people I don't get to see very often, and sitting down for a massive dinner that I didn't have to cook.

Is there a better time for a List Of Seven?

Today, I am thankful for:

1. Creative energy, used to bring Joy into the world.
   
2. Seeing my cousin Dustin today.
   
3. My invitation to the Cast and Crew screening of Trek X
   
4. Finally looking back on my teenage years with more joy than regret.
   
5. My wife cuddling me because she loves me...not because she's trying to stay warm.
   
6. Ferris, when she looks at me and says, "What?"
   
7. I am thankful for this website, and the readers who have come together from around the world to share in my stupid life, riding the roller coaster of success and failure, triumph and despair. I know for a fact that I never would have grown from struggling actor-slash-has-been to aspiring writer-slash-actor.
   

Our extended Thought For Today comes from Bob in Iowa, Katie's father:

What I Am Thankful For
----------------------

I am thankful that my daughter's surgery went smoothly and successfully. Her kidneys will not develop horrible problems later in life, and a small scar is indeed an easy price to pay for her health.

I am thankful for the skill of the pediatric urology surgeon and the team that worked on my daughter. Their skill has proved in her case, as in many others I'm sure, that disciplined modern medicine is something that we should all be glad for. I am thankful for whoever the person or team was that invented the careful system of moving around and passing instruments in the modern surgery room. I am thankful for whoever the person or team was that sterilizes those instruments at the University of Iowa Hospital, and indeed in all hospitals.

I am thankful that my daughter's recovery has been as impressive as the surgery itself. She is home now, running around like a precocious 16-month-old should, and she will be able to enjoy a Thanksgiving Dinner with her family.

I am thankful that my daughter is running around like a precocious 16-month-old, and I will try to remember that the next time she gets into something that she knows she shouldn't or knocks something over. I am thankful that she will continue to grow up healthy. I am thankful that I have a daughter.

I am thankful to Wil Wheaton, who responded to an email I wrote at a time when I was at my worst, my most desperate. That simple request, which was fulfilled despite Wil's having absolutely no obligation to, lead to an outpouring of love that not only affected me very deeply and helped my daughter in a very real way, it seems to have affected everyone involved in some way.

I am thankful to the complete strangers who, upon reading the entry in Wil Wheaton's blog, made a simple choice to take a moment from their day and send some love my daughter's way. I swear to God that I felt it, and I believe in my heart that it helped both with the surgery and with the swift recovery. I just wish there was another word to describe a person whom I have never met besides "stranger", because that name is so ill-fitting to the people who took the time to help my daughter.

But most of all, I am thankful that despite the horrible things that we see every day on television and read about every day in newspapers, there is enough love in the world to selflessly help a little girl in need of love, and that we really are a loving and caring race. More often than not, we seem to forget what we really are. I am thankful that this opportunity arose to remind us all.

Thank you all for your compassion and kindness. Katie is recovering wonderfully, and I don't doubt for a second that all of your goodwill and love is a MAJOR reason for that. I really cannot thank any of you enough, other than to say, "Thank you." May you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving surrounded by family and friends.

- Bob Roth, WWDN fan

Posted by Wil at 11:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (55)

It's so windy here in Pasadena today, it's snowing leaves. There is this large area of a hillside in Burbank where there was a massive fire a few months ago, and a huge cloud of dust hovers over it, like a sandstorm.

The Santa Ana Winds are in full effect, and my dry skin, nose and throat are a small price to pay for clear blue skies and warm temperatures in November.

So here's something unexpected: I did a voice today on this new show for the Kids WB! The call came on Friday, and here's the cool thing: the director, a wonderful woman named Andrea Romano, who has won seven emmy's called my agent and requested me, based on my work with her last year on "The Zeta Project."

I can't say what voice I did, but I was told when I left today that they were so happy, I would probably be asked back to do the role again in the next thirteen episodes.

The episode I did was written by this really nice guy named Marv Wolfman, who co-created and wrote "Teen Titans" for sixteen years, created "Blade," and was just an all-around cool guy. We spent some time geeking out about comic books today...it just killed me that he was referring to Alan Moore as "Alan."

Animation is really fun, because it's really quick work (usually less than 4 hours for an episode), and the people who do it are all really cool...but it's also very hard to break into the animation world, because the community is extremely small, and very protective. Being asked by a very respected director to come back, based on her previous experience with me, is just HUGE, and it makes me feel really good, and it may signal my entry into the world of animation.

A few months ago, I made this major decision in my life: I would stop applying a singular focus to getting work as an actor. I would continue to accept auditions as they came along, but I wasn't going to break my back, or sacrifice time with my friends and family to play Hollywood's game.

Since I made that choice, stopped caring so much about acting, and started focusing on writing, and being a husband and father, I've gotten two jobs almost immediately.

So I guess I'm going to have to start calling myself "Writer-Slash-Actor."

You'll note that I did not say "Actor-Slash-Writer." This is a very important distinction.

Posted by Wil at 04:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (71)

It's so windy here in Pasadena today, it's snowing leaves. There is this large area of a hillside in Burbank where there was a massive fire a few months ago, and a huge cloud of dust hovers over it, like a sandstorm.

The Santa Ana Winds are in full effect, and my dry skin, nose and throat are a small price to pay for clear blue skies and warm temperatures in November.

So here's something unexpected: I did a voice today on this new show for the Kids WB! The call came on Friday, and here's the cool thing: the director, a wonderful woman named Andrea Romano, who has won seven emmy's called my agent and requested me, based on my work with her last year on "The Zeta Project."

I can't say what voice I did, but I was told when I left today that they were so happy, I would probably be asked back to do the role again in the next thirteen episodes.

The episode I did was written by this really nice guy named Marv Wolfman, who co-created and wrote "Teen Titans" for sixteen years, created "Blade," and was just an all-around cool guy. We spent some time geeking out about comic books today...it just killed me that he was referring to Alan Moore as "Alan."

Animation is really fun, because it's really quick work (usually less than 4 hours for an episode), and the people who do it are all really cool...but it's also very hard to break into the animation world, because the community is extremely small, and very protective. Being asked by a very respected director to come back, based on her previous experience with me, is just HUGE, and it makes me feel really good, and it may signal my entry into the world of animation.

A few months ago, I made this major decision in my life: I would stop applying a singular focus to getting work as an actor. I would continue to accept auditions as they came along, but I wasn't going to break my back, or sacrifice time with my friends and family to play Hollywood's game.

Since I made that choice, stopped caring so much about acting, and started focusing on writing, and being a husband and father, I've gotten two jobs almost immediately.

So I guess I'm going to have to start calling myself "Writer-Slash-Actor."

You'll note that I did not say "Actor-Slash-Writer." This is a very important distinction.

Posted by Wil at 04:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (71)

It's so windy here in Pasadena today, it's snowing leaves. There is this large area of a hillside in Burbank where there was a massive fire a few months ago, and a huge cloud of dust hovers over it, like a sandstorm.

The Santa Ana Winds are in full effect, and my dry skin, nose and throat are a small price to pay for clear blue skies and warm temperatures in November.

So here's something unexpected: I did a voice today on this new show for the Kids WB! The call came on Friday, and here's the cool thing: the director, a wonderful woman named Andrea Romano, who has won seven emmy's called my agent and requested me, based on my work with her last year on "The Zeta Project."

I can't say what voice I did, but I was told when I left today that they were so happy, I would probably be asked back to do the role again in the next thirteen episodes.

The episode I did was written by this really nice guy named Marv Wolfman, who co-created and wrote "Teen Titans" for sixteen years, created "Blade," and was just an all-around cool guy. We spent some time geeking out about comic books today...it just killed me that he was referring to Alan Moore as "Alan."

Animation is really fun, because it's really quick work (usually less than 4 hours for an episode), and the people who do it are all really cool...but it's also very hard to break into the animation world, because the community is extremely small, and very protective. Being asked by a very respected director to come back, based on her previous experience with me, is just HUGE, and it makes me feel really good, and it may signal my entry into the world of animation.

A few months ago, I made this major decision in my life: I would stop applying a singular focus to getting work as an actor. I would continue to accept auditions as they came along, but I wasn't going to break my back, or sacrifice time with my friends and family to play Hollywood's game.

Since I made that choice, stopped caring so much about acting, and started focusing on writing, and being a husband and father, I've gotten two jobs almost immediately.

So I guess I'm going to have to start calling myself "Writer-Slash-Actor."

You'll note that I did not say "Actor-Slash-Writer." This is a very important distinction.

Posted by Wil at 04:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (71)

Ferris is playing this game:

1. She picks up the soggy remains of her rawhide bone, and drops it on the ground.

2. She backs up, tail wagging, and stares at it.

3. She growls at it, then lunges forward, picking it up as she runs around the living room.

4. She brings it to me, and drops it in my lap.

5. I say, "that's really interesting, Ferris," and drop it on the floor, where she picks it up, and takes it back to the middle of the room.

Then she goes and does the whole thing again.

See, Anne went up to Oregon this weekend, and the kids are with their dad, so it's just me and Ferris hanging out. This is how we entertain ourselves in the absence of any real responsible people around.

It's actually a good weekend for me to take a break, because I've been writing and re-writing pretty much non-stop since last Friday --dramatic pause-- and I finished my first draft of my book on Thursday. It went off to my editor yesterday morning, and I'm anticipating doing some rewrites next week.

I'm really excited about it, and I hope to have a limited first printing ready in time for Xmas. I'll post details when I get it all worked out.

The weekend so far:

I went with some friends to see Die Another Day last night at the Arclight. I'm not an action movie guy at all, but I love James Bond, and this is easily the best Bond picture I've seen in maybe five years, aside from some inexcusably terrible miniature and FX work, the script is fun, paying tribute to some of the my favorite Bond pictures.

This morning, I went on a hike with my brother and my friend Mykal. We were hoping to find the Dawn Mine Geocache, but we couldn't even get on the right trail to the damn mine before we ran out of time and had to get back to the car. We went up to a beautiful waterfall, though.

Oh, and last week, when I took the kids to find the Geocache at Rubio? Yeah. I walked RIGHT. FUCKING. THROUGH. Poison oak. It is all over my right forearm, my left bicep, my forehead, on my left knee, my neck, and my right ankle. I think I qualify for some sort of "complete dumbass" award for not seeing it.

Lame.

The really cool thing, though, is that I sort of look like one of those guys in "Scanners" right before they blow up. And kind of like pictures of the moon. And also sort of like an alligator...but a scary X-files mutant alligator from hell who shoots death beams out of his eyes and creeps out of your bathtub at night to suck your skin off, and sing Copacabana in your living room.

I read somewhere that massive itching can make one go a little batty...but I don't believe it.

Posted by Wil at 10:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (100)

Ferris is playing this game:

1. She picks up the soggy remains of her rawhide bone, and drops it on the ground.

2. She backs up, tail wagging, and stares at it.

3. She growls at it, then lunges forward, picking it up as she runs around the living room.

4. She brings it to me, and drops it in my lap.

5. I say, "that's really interesting, Ferris," and drop it on the floor, where she picks it up, and takes it back to the middle of the room.

Then she goes and does the whole thing again.

See, Anne went up to Oregon this weekend, and the kids are with their dad, so it's just me and Ferris hanging out. This is how we entertain ourselves in the absence of any real responsible people around.

It's actually a good weekend for me to take a break, because I've been writing and re-writing pretty much non-stop since last Friday --dramatic pause-- and I finished my first draft of my book on Thursday. It went off to my editor yesterday morning, and I'm anticipating doing some rewrites next week.

I'm really excited about it, and I hope to have a limited first printing ready in time for Xmas. I'll post details when I get it all worked out.

The weekend so far:

I went with some friends to see Die Another Day last night at the Arclight. I'm not an action movie guy at all, but I love James Bond, and this is easily the best Bond picture I've seen in maybe five years, aside from some inexcusably terrible miniature and FX work, the script is fun, paying tribute to some of the my favorite Bond pictures.

This morning, I went on a hike with my brother and my friend Mykal. We were hoping to find the Dawn Mine Geocache, but we couldn't even get on the right trail to the damn mine before we ran out of time and had to get back to the car. We went up to a beautiful waterfall, though.

Oh, and last week, when I took the kids to find the Geocache at Rubio? Yeah. I walked RIGHT. FUCKING. THROUGH. Poison oak. It is all over my right forearm, my left bicep, my forehead, on my left knee, my neck, and my right ankle. I think I qualify for some sort of "complete dumbass" award for not seeing it.

Lame.

The really cool thing, though, is that I sort of look like one of those guys in "Scanners" right before they blow up. And kind of like pictures of the moon. And also sort of like an alligator...but a scary X-files mutant alligator from hell who shoots death beams out of his eyes and creeps out of your bathtub at night to suck your skin off, and sing Copacabana in your living room.

I read somewhere that massive itching can make one go a little batty...but I don't believe it.

Posted by Wil at 10:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (100)

Ferris is playing this game:

1. She picks up the soggy remains of her rawhide bone, and drops it on the ground.

2. She backs up, tail wagging, and stares at it.

3. She growls at it, then lunges forward, picking it up as she runs around the living room.

4. She brings it to me, and drops it in my lap.

5. I say, "that's really interesting, Ferris," and drop it on the floor, where she picks it up, and takes it back to the middle of the room.

Then she goes and does the whole thing again.

See, Anne went up to Oregon this weekend, and the kids are with their dad, so it's just me and Ferris hanging out. This is how we entertain ourselves in the absence of any real responsible people around.

It's actually a good weekend for me to take a break, because I've been writing and re-writing pretty much non-stop since last Friday --dramatic pause-- and I finished my first draft of my book on Thursday. It went off to my editor yesterday morning, and I'm anticipating doing some rewrites next week.

I'm really excited about it, and I hope to have a limited first printing ready in time for Xmas. I'll post details when I get it all worked out.

The weekend so far:

I went with some friends to see Die Another Day last night at the Arclight. I'm not an action movie guy at all, but I love James Bond, and this is easily the best Bond picture I've seen in maybe five years, aside from some inexcusably terrible miniature and FX work, the script is fun, paying tribute to some of the my favorite Bond pictures.

This morning, I went on a hike with my brother and my friend Mykal. We were hoping to find the Dawn Mine Geocache, but we couldn't even get on the right trail to the damn mine before we ran out of time and had to get back to the car. We went up to a beautiful waterfall, though.

Oh, and last week, when I took the kids to find the Geocache at Rubio? Yeah. I walked RIGHT. FUCKING. THROUGH. Poison oak. It is all over my right forearm, my left bicep, my forehead, on my left knee, my neck, and my right ankle. I think I qualify for some sort of "complete dumbass" award for not seeing it.

Lame.

The really cool thing, though, is that I sort of look like one of those guys in "Scanners" right before they blow up. And kind of like pictures of the moon. And also sort of like an alligator...but a scary X-files mutant alligator from hell who shoots death beams out of his eyes and creeps out of your bathtub at night to suck your skin off, and sing Copacabana in your living room.

I read somewhere that massive itching can make one go a little batty...but I don't believe it.

Posted by Wil at 10:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (100)

"It's 4:00 PM?! Holy shit! How did it get to be FOUR FREAKING IN THE AFTERNOON?!"

It's 4:00 PM, and I only have thirty minutes before I have to leave. Anne will come home while I'm out, and I've been spending the last few hours cleaning the house, so she won't walk into chaos when she arrives. It's taken me longer than I intended, leaving me little time to iron my pants and my shirt.

I'm a ball of stress, because when I try to handle an iron, I may as well be using my feet. I'm a ball of stress because Ferris refuses to eat, and really wants to play with me while I'm adding wrinkles to my shirt. I'm a ball of stress because I've been invited to the formal dinner at Ruddock House, at Cal Tech, and I can't pull myself together.

See, I desperately wish that I was a smarter, nerdier, more educated person than I am, and I'm about to go sit in a room full of people who know more about math, physics, engineering, and how to creatively blow things up than I ever will. So I am very nervous. I want to make a good impression, and I want to participate in the discussions intelligently. I also know that most of the room will be people who are at least familiar with Star Trek, if not full-on Trekkies, and it's going to be really embarrassing when they realize that the smart kid from TV totally doesn't rate.

So I've asked my friend Shane to come with me. He is a Cal Tech alum from 1992, and he lived in Ruddock House. I figure that if I clam up, he'll help me feel comfortable, and draw attention away from what a lamer I am.

it's 4:15, and my clothes are actually more wrinkled than they were when I started. For a brief moment, I wish polyester was back in fashion. This wish passes quickly as I remember what it felt like to actually wear polyester when I was a kid. I decide to kick Ferris out of the room, and focus, dammit.

I get the wrinkles out of my shirt, and hang it up, expecting it to fall onto the floor. Thankfully, it does not. Ferris has parked herself outside my bedroom door, and is sniffing at the space between it and the floor.

It's 4:25, and my pants are looking good, but the area near the pockets is giving me trouble, so I add water to the iron, hoping for steam.

What I get is a puddle on my pants.

The door begins to breathe.

I shake off the pants, and press the iron into the puddle, turning it mostly to steam. I hope it will dry before I get to Tech.

The doorbell rings. It's 4:30. I let Shane in, and while he entertains Ferris, I choose a tie. I wonder if I should go for my Star Wars tie, or my Where's Waldo tie. I hold them both up, and decide that I'll go for a much more conservative tie, which I call my "1950's Science Teacher Tie."

Shane changes into a shirt and Looney Tunes tie, and we're ready to go. I sure hope my pants dry.

We make the short drive to Tech, listening to Boingo Alive, catching up. I don't get to see Shane at all these days, as a consequence of our schedules and stuff, so it's nice to get a few minutes to talk about what we're doing, and how our lives are. I don't tell him how nervous I am, and if he notices, he doesn't ask.

We arrive at Tech, and make our way into Ruddock. We find Abe, who has invited us to dinner.

Abe and his roommates are dressed casually, sitting in their room. Shane and I realize that we're an hour early.

Oh jeeze. At least my pants are dry.

I don't' want to make this guy entertain me for a whole hour, so I tell Shane to take me around the campus. I haven't seen it in over 10 years, so it will be fun. We tell Abe that we'll catch up with him in the dining room at 6, and head out.

Shane gives me a very nice 25 cent tour, and I wistfully long to be in college, when the primary cares in the world are getting good grades and hooking up with a DG on the weekend. I think about how much there is for me to learn, how much there is for me to understand. I think about how much knowledge I don't have to pass on to my step-kids. I envy the people on the other side of the walls, as we walk past the various residence halls.

Thirty minutes later, we've circumnavigated the entire campus, and we're back in the dining hall. Fifteen minutes later, and the residents begin filing in.

I talk with many of them, answering questions about Star Trek and my website. I find out that Abe is one of the editors of a humor publication for Ruddock House called The BFD, so we talk about satire and comedy. Shane sees people he graduated with, and he slips through the crowd to go talk to them, leaving me. I look inward, expecting to find panic...they're going to realize that I'm not cool, I think...but the panic isn't there. Though I'm not nearly as smart as these people, I'm amongst friends. I am amongst people of a similar mind, and I feel welcome and at home.

We joke about nerdy things, though I quickly become aware of the difference in our ages. I'm much older than these guys, so some of my nerdy references sail over their heads -- not because they're dense, but because I'm talking about something that happened before they were born.

Dinner is served, and we take our seats. I really enjoy the company of the people I'm sitting near, and the meal is excellent. The time flies by too quickly, and dinner is finished.

The president of Ruddock stands up and says that there are several guests tonight, and now is the time for them to be introduced.

A student at the end of our table stands, and introduces his guests, and the student sitting across from him does the same. I begin to get nervous, knowing that I'm going to be standing up in front of all these people in less than a minute. I close my mouth and run my tongue across my teeth, hoping that my Standard Issue British Teeth haven't snagged any food for later. Finding none, I turn my attention back to the students who are now standing across from us. It's the Ruddock librarian, a very nice, mirthful young man who was introduced to me earlier in the evening as "The Biggest Star Trek Fan Of All Time." He stands, and announces to the dining room, "Hi. My name is Wil Wheaton..."

There is much laughter, and I shout out, "I hated you on Star Trek!!"

There is even more laughter. I allow myself to smile...that was pretty funny.

It is Abe's turn to introduce me, and I stand up.

"This is Wil Wheaton," he says. There is applause and some whistling. I feel really embarrassed and self conscious. It's really strange to me to feel this way, but it happens every time I'm the focus of people's attention and I'm not on stage. I manage to wave at them all, and say "Thank you," before settling back into my seat.

The rest of the introductions are made, as well as some announcements, and the dinner is done.

I could hang out all night with these people, talking about Lord of the Rings and The Simpsons, but Shane has to teach a class early in the morning, so we must leave.

As we're on our way out, a guy asks me if I'll participate in the good-natured teasing of their RA, a very pretty girl who, he tells me, had a big crush on my when she was young. I ask him what he has in mind. He tells me that I should go up to her, and kiss her hand. I decline, because it seems a bit presumptuous, and I suggest he think of something else while I sign the Ruddock guest book.

When I return, he has a devilish idea: I should walk over to her, and tell her that I'm a big fan of hers. I agree.

I walk across the room, and she looks up. I guess the group of guys is following me, because she blushes, and proceeds to describe to them the various ways she's going to dismember them.

"Can I shake your hand?" I ask her, taking her hand in mine. "When I was a kid, I subscribed to Hot RA Magazine just so I could have your pictures on my wall!"

She laughs, I laugh, and the guys laugh. She describes further acts of torture they'll be enduring, as I produce my camera from my pocket. I ask her if she'll pose for a picture with me, and she agrees. We snap the photo, and then it's my turn to pose with some people for a few others.

We thank Abe for the invite, and he tells us that we can come back for a non-formal dinner any time.

I can't wait to go back and enjoy their company again. The genuine kinship these people seem to have is warm and wonderful. I hope they realize how lucky they are, and don't take this time for granted.

I certainly didn't.

Posted by Wil at 10:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (102)

"It's 4:00 PM?! Holy shit! How did it get to be FOUR FREAKING IN THE AFTERNOON?!"

It's 4:00 PM, and I only have thirty minutes before I have to leave. Anne will come home while I'm out, and I've been spending the last few hours cleaning the house, so she won't walk into chaos when she arrives. It's taken me longer than I intended, leaving me little time to iron my pants and my shirt.

I'm a ball of stress, because when I try to handle an iron, I may as well be using my feet. I'm a ball of stress because Ferris refuses to eat, and really wants to play with me while I'm adding wrinkles to my shirt. I'm a ball of stress because I've been invited to the formal dinner at Ruddock House, at Cal Tech, and I can't pull myself together.

See, I desperately wish that I was a smarter, nerdier, more educated person than I am, and I'm about to go sit in a room full of people who know more about math, physics, engineering, and how to creatively blow things up than I ever will. So I am very nervous. I want to make a good impression, and I want to participate in the discussions intelligently. I also know that most of the room will be people who are at least familiar with Star Trek, if not full-on Trekkies, and it's going to be really embarrassing when they realize that the smart kid from TV totally doesn't rate.

So I've asked my friend Shane to come with me. He is a Cal Tech alum from 1992, and he lived in Ruddock House. I figure that if I clam up, he'll help me feel comfortable, and draw attention away from what a lamer I am.

it's 4:15, and my clothes are actually more wrinkled than they were when I started. For a brief moment, I wish polyester was back in fashion. This wish passes quickly as I remember what it felt like to actually wear polyester when I was a kid. I decide to kick Ferris out of the room, and focus, dammit.

I get the wrinkles out of my shirt, and hang it up, expecting it to fall onto the floor. Thankfully, it does not. Ferris has parked herself outside my bedroom door, and is sniffing at the space between it and the floor.

It's 4:25, and my pants are looking good, but the area near the pockets is giving me trouble, so I add water to the iron, hoping for steam.

What I get is a puddle on my pants.

The door begins to breathe.

I shake off the pants, and press the iron into the puddle, turning it mostly to steam. I hope it will dry before I get to Tech.

The doorbell rings. It's 4:30. I let Shane in, and while he entertains Ferris, I choose a tie. I wonder if I should go for my Star Wars tie, or my Where's Waldo tie. I hold them both up, and decide that I'll go for a much more conservative tie, which I call my "1950's Science Teacher Tie."

Shane changes into a shirt and Looney Tunes tie, and we're ready to go. I sure hope my pants dry.

We make the short drive to Tech, listening to Boingo Alive, catching up. I don't get to see Shane at all these days, as a consequence of our schedules and stuff, so it's nice to get a few minutes to talk about what we're doing, and how our lives are. I don't tell him how nervous I am, and if he notices, he doesn't ask.

We arrive at Tech, and make our way into Ruddock. We find Abe, who has invited us to dinner.

Abe and his roommates are dressed casually, sitting in their room. Shane and I realize that we're an hour early.

Oh jeeze. At least my pants are dry.

I don't' want to make this guy entertain me for a whole hour, so I tell Shane to take me around the campus. I haven't seen it in over 10 years, so it will be fun. We tell Abe that we'll catch up with him in the dining room at 6, and head out.

Shane gives me a very nice 25 cent tour, and I wistfully long to be in college, when the primary cares in the world are getting good grades and hooking up with a DG on the weekend. I think about how much there is for me to learn, how much there is for me to understand. I think about how much knowledge I don't have to pass on to my step-kids. I envy the people on the other side of the walls, as we walk past the various residence halls.

Thirty minutes later, we've circumnavigated the entire campus, and we're back in the dining hall. Fifteen minutes later, and the residents begin filing in.

I talk with many of them, answering questions about Star Trek and my website. I find out that Abe is one of the editors of a humor publication for Ruddock House called The BFD, so we talk about satire and comedy. Shane sees people he graduated with, and he slips through the crowd to go talk to them, leaving me. I look inward, expecting to find panic...they're going to realize that I'm not cool, I think...but the panic isn't there. Though I'm not nearly as smart as these people, I'm amongst friends. I am amongst people of a similar mind, and I feel welcome and at home.

We joke about nerdy things, though I quickly become aware of the difference in our ages. I'm much older than these guys, so some of my nerdy references sail over their heads -- not because they're dense, but because I'm talking about something that happened before they were born.

Dinner is served, and we take our seats. I really enjoy the company of the people I'm sitting near, and the meal is excellent. The time flies by too quickly, and dinner is finished.

The president of Ruddock stands up and says that there are several guests tonight, and now is the time for them to be introduced.

A student at the end of our table stands, and introduces his guests, and the student sitting across from him does the same. I begin to get nervous, knowing that I'm going to be standing up in front of all these people in less than a minute. I close my mouth and run my tongue across my teeth, hoping that my Standard Issue British Teeth haven't snagged any food for later. Finding none, I turn my attention back to the students who are now standing across from us. It's the Ruddock librarian, a very nice, mirthful young man who was introduced to me earlier in the evening as "The Biggest Star Trek Fan Of All Time." He stands, and announces to the dining room, "Hi. My name is Wil Wheaton..."

There is much laughter, and I shout out, "I hated you on Star Trek!!"

There is even more laughter. I allow myself to smile...that was pretty funny.

It is Abe's turn to introduce me, and I stand up.

"This is Wil Wheaton," he says. There is applause and some whistling. I feel really embarrassed and self conscious. It's really strange to me to feel this way, but it happens every time I'm the focus of people's attention and I'm not on stage. I manage to wave at them all, and say "Thank you," before settling back into my seat.

The rest of the introductions are made, as well as some announcements, and the dinner is done.

I could hang out all night with these people, talking about Lord of the Rings and The Simpsons, but Shane has to teach a class early in the morning, so we must leave.

As we're on our way out, a guy asks me if I'll participate in the good-natured teasing of their RA, a very pretty girl who, he tells me, had a big crush on my when she was young. I ask him what he has in mind. He tells me that I should go up to her, and kiss her hand. I decline, because it seems a bit presumptuous, and I suggest he think of something else while I sign the Ruddock guest book.

When I return, he has a devilish idea: I should walk over to her, and tell her that I'm a big fan of hers. I agree.

I walk across the room, and she looks up. I guess the group of guys is following me, because she blushes, and proceeds to describe to them the various ways she's going to dismember them.

"Can I shake your hand?" I ask her, taking her hand in mine. "When I was a kid, I subscribed to Hot RA Magazine just so I could have your pictures on my wall!"

She laughs, I laugh, and the guys laugh. She describes further acts of torture they'll be enduring, as I produce my camera from my pocket. I ask her if she'll pose for a picture with me, and she agrees. We snap the photo, and then it's my turn to pose with some people for a few others.

We thank Abe for the invite, and he tells us that we can come back for a non-formal dinner any time.

I can't wait to go back and enjoy their company again. The genuine kinship these people seem to have is warm and wonderful. I hope they realize how lucky they are, and don't take this time for granted.

I certainly didn't.

Posted by Wil at 10:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (102)

"It's 4:00 PM?! Holy shit! How did it get to be FOUR FREAKING IN THE AFTERNOON?!"

It's 4:00 PM, and I only have thirty minutes before I have to leave. Anne will come home while I'm out, and I've been spending the last few hours cleaning the house, so she won't walk into chaos when she arrives. It's taken me longer than I intended, leaving me little time to iron my pants and my shirt.

I'm a ball of stress, because when I try to handle an iron, I may as well be using my feet. I'm a ball of stress because Ferris refuses to eat, and really wants to play with me while I'm adding wrinkles to my shirt. I'm a ball of stress because I've been invited to the formal dinner at Ruddock House, at Cal Tech, and I can't pull myself together.

See, I desperately wish that I was a smarter, nerdier, more educated person than I am, and I'm about to go sit in a room full of people who know more about math, physics, engineering, and how to creatively blow things up than I ever will. So I am very nervous. I want to make a good impression, and I want to participate in the discussions intelligently. I also know that most of the room will be people who are at least familiar with Star Trek, if not full-on Trekkies, and it's going to be really embarrassing when they realize that the smart kid from TV totally doesn't rate.

So I've asked my friend Shane to come with me. He is a Cal Tech alum from 1992, and he lived in Ruddock House. I figure that if I clam up, he'll help me feel comfortable, and draw attention away from what a lamer I am.

it's 4:15, and my clothes are actually more wrinkled than they were when I started. For a brief moment, I wish polyester was back in fashion. This wish passes quickly as I remember what it felt like to actually wear polyester when I was a kid. I decide to kick Ferris out of the room, and focus, dammit.

I get the wrinkles out of my shirt, and hang it up, expecting it to fall onto the floor. Thankfully, it does not. Ferris has parked herself outside my bedroom door, and is sniffing at the space between it and the floor.

It's 4:25, and my pants are looking good, but the area near the pockets is giving me trouble, so I add water to the iron, hoping for steam.

What I get is a puddle on my pants.

The door begins to breathe.

I shake off the pants, and press the iron into the puddle, turning it mostly to steam. I hope it will dry before I get to Tech.

The doorbell rings. It's 4:30. I let Shane in, and while he entertains Ferris, I choose a tie. I wonder if I should go for my Star Wars tie, or my Where's Waldo tie. I hold them both up, and decide that I'll go for a much more conservative tie, which I call my "1950's Science Teacher Tie."

Shane changes into a shirt and Looney Tunes tie, and we're ready to go. I sure hope my pants dry.

We make the short drive to Tech, listening to Boingo Alive, catching up. I don't get to see Shane at all these days, as a consequence of our schedules and stuff, so it's nice to get a few minutes to talk about what we're doing, and how our lives are. I don't tell him how nervous I am, and if he notices, he doesn't ask.

We arrive at Tech, and make our way into Ruddock. We find Abe, who has invited us to dinner.

Abe and his roommates are dressed casually, sitting in their room. Shane and I realize that we're an hour early.

Oh jeeze. At least my pants are dry.

I don't' want to make this guy entertain me for a whole hour, so I tell Shane to take me around the campus. I haven't seen it in over 10 years, so it will be fun. We tell Abe that we'll catch up with him in the dining room at 6, and head out.

Shane gives me a very nice 25 cent tour, and I wistfully long to be in college, when the primary cares in the world are getting good grades and hooking up with a DG on the weekend. I think about how much there is for me to learn, how much there is for me to understand. I think about how much knowledge I don't have to pass on to my step-kids. I envy the people on the other side of the walls, as we walk past the various residence halls.

Thirty minutes later, we've circumnavigated the entire campus, and we're back in the dining hall. Fifteen minutes later, and the residents begin filing in.

I talk with many of them, answering questions about Star Trek and my website. I find out that Abe is one of the editors of a humor publication for Ruddock House called The BFD, so we talk about satire and comedy. Shane sees people he graduated with, and he slips through the crowd to go talk to them, leaving me. I look inward, expecting to find panic...they're going to realize that I'm not cool, I think...but the panic isn't there. Though I'm not nearly as smart as these people, I'm amongst friends. I am amongst people of a similar mind, and I feel welcome and at home.

We joke about nerdy things, though I quickly become aware of the difference in our ages. I'm much older than these guys, so some of my nerdy references sail over their heads -- not because they're dense, but because I'm talking about something that happened before they were born.

Dinner is served, and we take our seats. I really enjoy the company of the people I'm sitting near, and the meal is excellent. The time flies by too quickly, and dinner is finished.

The president of Ruddock stands up and says that there are several guests tonight, and now is the time for them to be introduced.

A student at the end of our table stands, and introduces his guests, and the student sitting across from him does the same. I begin to get nervous, knowing that I'm going to be standing up in front of all these people in less than a minute. I close my mouth and run my tongue across my teeth, hoping that my Standard Issue British Teeth haven't snagged any food for later. Finding none, I turn my attention back to the students who are now standing across from us. It's the Ruddock librarian, a very nice, mirthful young man who was introduced to me earlier in the evening as "The Biggest Star Trek Fan Of All Time." He stands, and announces to the dining room, "Hi. My name is Wil Wheaton..."

There is much laughter, and I shout out, "I hated you on Star Trek!!"

There is even more laughter. I allow myself to smile...that was pretty funny.

It is Abe's turn to introduce me, and I stand up.

"This is Wil Wheaton," he says. There is applause and some whistling. I feel really embarrassed and self conscious. It's really strange to me to feel this way, but it happens every time I'm the focus of people's attention and I'm not on stage. I manage to wave at them all, and say "Thank you," before settling back into my seat.

The rest of the introductions are made, as well as some announcements, and the dinner is done.

I could hang out all night with these people, talking about Lord of the Rings and The Simpsons, but Shane has to teach a class early in the morning, so we must leave.

As we're on our way out, a guy asks me if I'll participate in the good-natured teasing of their RA, a very pretty girl who, he tells me, had a big crush on my when she was young. I ask him what he has in mind. He tells me that I should go up to her, and kiss her hand. I decline, because it seems a bit presumptuous, and I suggest he think of something else while I sign the Ruddock guest book.

When I return, he has a devilish idea: I should walk over to her, and tell her that I'm a big fan of hers. I agree.

I walk across the room, and she looks up. I guess the group of guys is following me, because she blushes, and proceeds to describe to them the various ways she's going to dismember them.

"Can I shake your hand?" I ask her, taking her hand in mine. "When I was a kid, I subscribed to Hot RA Magazine just so I could have your pictures on my wall!"

She laughs, I laugh, and the guys laugh. She describes further acts of torture they'll be enduring, as I produce my camera from my pocket. I ask her if she'll pose for a picture with me, and she agrees. We snap the photo, and then it's my turn to pose with some people for a few others.

We thank Abe for the invite, and he tells us that we can come back for a non-formal dinner any time.

I can't wait to go back and enjoy their company again. The genuine kinship these people seem to have is warm and wonderful. I hope they realize how lucky they are, and don't take this time for granted.

I certainly didn't.

Posted by Wil at 10:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (102)

I'm beginning to think that I am the world's worst Geocacher, man. I've gotten to enjoy many nice hikes, which is really cool, but I rarely find the cache, and today was no exception.

After breakfast this morning (made by yours truly for the family while the wife slept in, thankyouverymuch) we took the kids to find the Rubio Haunted Area, but after 40 minutes of searching an area of about 40 square feet, we gave up. We did get to see a deer climbing up the mountain, though, which was really cool.

Been listening to the Oingo Boingo Farewell Concert while I've been home today. Boingo is one of those bands which for whatever reason is only associated with positive memories:

• Gates McFadden dancing around to "Elevator Man," way back when we were on TNG.

• Darin and me cranking Boingo Alive while driving down to Disneyland on one of our numerous Annual pass holder's trips during high school.

• Going to a Laserium show at the Griffith Observatory to see the KROQ show in 10th grade, which was my first introduction to "Grey Matter."
  

Actually, I do have one sad memory associated with Boingo: The Boi~ngo CD was one of my favorites back in the day, and it's nowhere to be found in my collection. Sadly, it's out of print, so I'm reduced to digging through the bargain bin at the Car Wash in hopes of finding one amongst all the Bob Goldthwait comedy albums. Oh, and their official website seems to be down.

So that's two things.

But I saw a deer today. (ECHO $LAME_STAND_BY_ME_JOKE)

UPDATE: 10PM PST: Thank you to all the people who emailed me about picking up Boi~ngo on eBay, or half.com! I spoke with my best friend Darin, and he has a copy of thhe CD that we used to listen to at his house! I'm picking up a copy from him tomorrow. (That's ethical, right? I bought the CD once, and it got lost, and it's out of print anyhow...so getting a copy...that's cool, right? Maybe I'll "bid" on it from him.) =]

Posted by Wil at 03:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (66)

I'm beginning to think that I am the world's worst Geocacher, man. I've gotten to enjoy many nice hikes, which is really cool, but I rarely find the cache, and today was no exception.

After breakfast this morning (made by yours truly for the family while the wife slept in, thankyouverymuch) we took the kids to find the Rubio Haunted Area, but after 40 minutes of searching an area of about 40 square feet, we gave up. We did get to see a deer climbing up the mountain, though, which was really cool.

Been listening to the Oingo Boingo Farewell Concert while I've been home today. Boingo is one of those bands which for whatever reason is only associated with positive memories:

• Gates McFadden dancing around to "Elevator Man," way back when we were on TNG.

• Darin and me cranking Boingo Alive while driving down to Disneyland on one of our numerous Annual pass holder's trips during high school.

• Going to a Laserium show at the Griffith Observatory to see the KROQ show in 10th grade, which was my first introduction to "Grey Matter."
  

Actually, I do have one sad memory associated with Boingo: The Boi~ngo CD was one of my favorites back in the day, and it's nowhere to be found in my collection. Sadly, it's out of print, so I'm reduced to digging through the bargain bin at the Car Wash in hopes of finding one amongst all the Bob Goldthwait comedy albums. Oh, and their official website seems to be down.

So that's two things.

But I saw a deer today. (ECHO $LAME_STAND_BY_ME_JOKE)

UPDATE: 10PM PST: Thank you to all the people who emailed me about picking up Boi~ngo on eBay, or half.com! I spoke with my best friend Darin, and he has a copy of thhe CD that we used to listen to at his house! I'm picking up a copy from him tomorrow. (That's ethical, right? I bought the CD once, and it got lost, and it's out of print anyhow...so getting a copy...that's cool, right? Maybe I'll "bid" on it from him.) =]

Posted by Wil at 03:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (66)

I'm beginning to think that I am the world's worst Geocacher, man. I've gotten to enjoy many nice hikes, which is really cool, but I rarely find the cache, and today was no exception.

After breakfast this morning (made by yours truly for the family while the wife slept in, thankyouverymuch) we took the kids to find the Rubio Haunted Area, but after 40 minutes of searching an area of about 40 square feet, we gave up. We did get to see a deer climbing up the mountain, though, which was really cool.

Been listening to the Oingo Boingo Farewell Concert while I've been home today. Boingo is one of those bands which for whatever reason is only associated with positive memories:

• Gates McFadden dancing around to "Elevator Man," way back when we were on TNG.

• Darin and me cranking Boingo Alive while driving down to Disneyland on one of our numerous Annual pass holder's trips during high school.

• Going to a Laserium show at the Griffith Observatory to see the KROQ show in 10th grade, which was my first introduction to "Grey Matter."
  

Actually, I do have one sad memory associated with Boingo: The Boi~ngo CD was one of my favorites back in the day, and it's nowhere to be found in my collection. Sadly, it's out of print, so I'm reduced to digging through the bargain bin at the Car Wash in hopes of finding one amongst all the Bob Goldthwait comedy albums. Oh, and their official website seems to be down.

So that's two things.

But I saw a deer today. (ECHO $LAME_STAND_BY_ME_JOKE)

UPDATE: 10PM PST: Thank you to all the people who emailed me about picking up Boi~ngo on eBay, or half.com! I spoke with my best friend Darin, and he has a copy of thhe CD that we used to listen to at his house! I'm picking up a copy from him tomorrow. (That's ethical, right? I bought the CD once, and it got lost, and it's out of print anyhow...so getting a copy...that's cool, right? Maybe I'll "bid" on it from him.) =]

Posted by Wil at 03:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (66)

Took the day off today, and went on a long walk with Anne.

She pointed out that November is her favorite month, and it was easy to see why, with the sun warming our shoulders, as we walked beneath the bluest blue sky I've seen over Pasadena in years.

As we walked down Colorado Boulevard, in and out of the cool shadows cast by stores and the occasional tree, we hit upon a wonderful, awful, Grinchy idea: We'd walk quickly to a movie theatre, buy tickets for the next showing of Harry Potter, and we'd race ourselves home, manufacture a reason to snatch the boys from school, and take them to the movies.

It was brilliant. We hit the theatre at 11, bought tickets for the 12:30 show, and had time to grab a bagel before we made it back home. We took the kids out of school for "personal reasons" and settled into our seats with time to spare.

Now, I don't go to the movies too often. It just strikes me as stupid to pay money to listen to other people talk on their phones and smack gaping mouthfuls of popcorn while slurping the last drops of Coke out of their super-sized drink cups.

I don't know why people can't stay quiet, and respectful of their fellow audience members for a few short hours. I suppose they feel that their ticket entitles them to behave however they'd like, so I usually stay home, and spare myself the aggravation.

Well, if you were in the 12:30 show today, I'd just like to say, as a member of the audience: WOULD. YOU. PLEASE. SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP! Talk in your home, talk in your car. Talk anywhere, really, but shut the fuck up when you're in the theatre.

Sorry. A teeny bit of pent-up aggression there. =]

The movie was entertaining, though I didn't enjoy it as much as the first one, which I watched in silence in my own house. I haven't read the books, but Ryan has, and he told us that the film was a more-or-less faithful adaptation. I think it could have been about 30 minutes shorter, but I also think the theater could have been about 30 times quieter.

It was worth it, though, because the kids had an amazing time. We ensured that they wouldn't be missing anything vital in school, and I think we helped create a fond memory today.

Thought for today:

"Not all those who wander are lost."

Posted by Wil at 05:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (139)

Took the day off today, and went on a long walk with Anne.

She pointed out that November is her favorite month, and it was easy to see why, with the sun warming our shoulders, as we walked beneath the bluest blue sky I've seen over Pasadena in years.

As we walked down Colorado Boulevard, in and out of the cool shadows cast by stores and the occasional tree, we hit upon a wonderful, awful, Grinchy idea: We'd walk quickly to a movie theatre, buy tickets for the next showing of Harry Potter, and we'd race ourselves home, manufacture a reason to snatch the boys from school, and take them to the movies.

It was brilliant. We hit the theatre at 11, bought tickets for the 12:30 show, and had time to grab a bagel before we made it back home. We took the kids out of school for "personal reasons" and settled into our seats with time to spare.

Now, I don't go to the movies too often. It just strikes me as stupid to pay money to listen to other people talk on their phones and smack gaping mouthfuls of popcorn while slurping the last drops of Coke out of their super-sized drink cups.

I don't know why people can't stay quiet, and respectful of their fellow audience members for a few short hours. I suppose they feel that their ticket entitles them to behave however they'd like, so I usually stay home, and spare myself the aggravation.

Well, if you were in the 12:30 show today, I'd just like to say, as a member of the audience: WOULD. YOU. PLEASE. SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP! Talk in your home, talk in your car. Talk anywhere, really, but shut the fuck up when you're in the theatre.

Sorry. A teeny bit of pent-up aggression there. =]

The movie was entertaining, though I didn't enjoy it as much as the first one, which I watched in silence in my own house. I haven't read the books, but Ryan has, and he told us that the film was a more-or-less faithful adaptation. I think it could have been about 30 minutes shorter, but I also think the theater could have been about 30 times quieter.

It was worth it, though, because the kids had an amazing time. We ensured that they wouldn't be missing anything vital in school, and I think we helped create a fond memory today.

Thought for today:

"Not all those who wander are lost."

Posted by Wil at 05:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (139)

Took the day off today, and went on a long walk with Anne.

She pointed out that November is her favorite month, and it was easy to see why, with the sun warming our shoulders, as we walked beneath the bluest blue sky I've seen over Pasadena in years.

As we walked down Colorado Boulevard, in and out of the cool shadows cast by stores and the occasional tree, we hit upon a wonderful, awful, Grinchy idea: We'd walk quickly to a movie theatre, buy tickets for the next showing of Harry Potter, and we'd race ourselves home, manufacture a reason to snatch the boys from school, and take them to the movies.

It was brilliant. We hit the theatre at 11, bought tickets for the 12:30 show, and had time to grab a bagel before we made it back home. We took the kids out of school for "personal reasons" and settled into our seats with time to spare.

Now, I don't go to the movies too often. It just strikes me as stupid to pay money to listen to other people talk on their phones and smack gaping mouthfuls of popcorn while slurping the last drops of Coke out of their super-sized drink cups.

I don't know why people can't stay quiet, and respectful of their fellow audience members for a few short hours. I suppose they feel that their ticket entitles them to behave however they'd like, so I usually stay home, and spare myself the aggravation.

Well, if you were in the 12:30 show today, I'd just like to say, as a member of the audience: WOULD. YOU. PLEASE. SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP! Talk in your home, talk in your car. Talk anywhere, really, but shut the fuck up when you're in the theatre.

Sorry. A teeny bit of pent-up aggression there. =]

The movie was entertaining, though I didn't enjoy it as much as the first one, which I watched in silence in my own house. I haven't read the books, but Ryan has, and he told us that the film was a more-or-less faithful adaptation. I think it could have been about 30 minutes shorter, but I also think the theater could have been about 30 times quieter.

It was worth it, though, because the kids had an amazing time. We ensured that they wouldn't be missing anything vital in school, and I think we helped create a fond memory today.

Thought for today:

"Not all those who wander are lost."

Posted by Wil at 05:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (139)

I am writing this while I lay on my back in my living room, my iBook sitting atop my chest...because this morning, Anne and I were doing some planting, and I threw out my back.

How did I do that? Oh, I was doing something very manly and difficult...I was lifting a half-empty watering can and moving it. I was bent at the waist, and when I turned to put it down, I felt my back sieze, and I fell to the ground...it was very "I've fallen and I can't get up!"

So we spent the day trying to get my hips to relax, and take the pressure off my back. Thankfully, my parents live nearby and I was able to sit in their spa for an hour...I'm feeling better, but I'm nowhere near 100%, and I am really freaked about working tomorrow...I checked the schedule and I'm sitting for most of the day, but damn, man, sitting really hurts.

And can I just say that typing while laying on your back isn't the easiest thing, either? It's yet another nail in the coffin of my camwhore dreams.

So the gallery opening last night was really fun, and CROWDED! My friend Sean said that there was a bigger turnout than he had ever expected...oh, and the show was amazing. It'll be open until the 30th, so if you're in town, you should check it out. I met a few WWDNers there, so that was spiffy. I hope you guys enjoyed the show. It was the first opening I've taken the kids to, and they really dug it. I think it helped that there were pictures of skateboarders and punk rockers all over the place. I don't know if they'd appreciate a Mark Ryden or a Clayton brothers show...but we'll find out soon enough.

I hope everyone had a great weekend. I work all day with Chef tomorrow...so I'll have some lame fanboy stuff to share with you all.

Update: I just saw this over at boing boing. Coolest. Thing. EVER!

Posted by Wil at 05:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (64)

I am writing this while I lay on my back in my living room, my iBook sitting atop my chest...because this morning, Anne and I were doing some planting, and I threw out my back.

How did I do that? Oh, I was doing something very manly and difficult...I was lifting a half-empty watering can and moving it. I was bent at the waist, and when I turned to put it down, I felt my back sieze, and I fell to the ground...it was very "I've fallen and I can't get up!"

So we spent the day trying to get my hips to relax, and take the pressure off my back. Thankfully, my parents live nearby and I was able to sit in their spa for an hour...I'm feeling better, but I'm nowhere near 100%, and I am really freaked about working tomorrow...I checked the schedule and I'm sitting for most of the day, but damn, man, sitting really hurts.

And can I just say that typing while laying on your back isn't the easiest thing, either? It's yet another nail in the coffin of my camwhore dreams.

So the gallery opening last night was really fun, and CROWDED! My friend Sean said that there was a bigger turnout than he had ever expected...oh, and the show was amazing. It'll be open until the 30th, so if you're in town, you should check it out. I met a few WWDNers there, so that was spiffy. I hope you guys enjoyed the show. It was the first opening I've taken the kids to, and they really dug it. I think it helped that there were pictures of skateboarders and punk rockers all over the place. I don't know if they'd appreciate a Mark Ryden or a Clayton brothers show...but we'll find out soon enough.

I hope everyone had a great weekend. I work all day with Chef tomorrow...so I'll have some lame fanboy stuff to share with you all.

Update: I just saw this over at boing boing. Coolest. Thing. EVER!

Posted by Wil at 05:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (64)

I am writing this while I lay on my back in my living room, my iBook sitting atop my chest...because this morning, Anne and I were doing some planting, and I threw out my back.

How did I do that? Oh, I was doing something very manly and difficult...I was lifting a half-empty watering can and moving it. I was bent at the waist, and when I turned to put it down, I felt my back sieze, and I fell to the ground...it was very "I've fallen and I can't get up!"

So we spent the day trying to get my hips to relax, and take the pressure off my back. Thankfully, my parents live nearby and I was able to sit in their spa for an hour...I'm feeling better, but I'm nowhere near 100%, and I am really freaked about working tomorrow...I checked the schedule and I'm sitting for most of the day, but damn, man, sitting really hurts.

And can I just say that typing while laying on your back isn't the easiest thing, either? It's yet another nail in the coffin of my camwhore dreams.

So the gallery opening last night was really fun, and CROWDED! My friend Sean said that there was a bigger turnout than he had ever expected...oh, and the show was amazing. It'll be open until the 30th, so if you're in town, you should check it out. I met a few WWDNers there, so that was spiffy. I hope you guys enjoyed the show. It was the first opening I've taken the kids to, and they really dug it. I think it helped that there were pictures of skateboarders and punk rockers all over the place. I don't know if they'd appreciate a Mark Ryden or a Clayton brothers show...but we'll find out soon enough.

I hope everyone had a great weekend. I work all day with Chef tomorrow...so I'll have some lame fanboy stuff to share with you all.

Update: I just saw this over at boing boing. Coolest. Thing. EVER!

Posted by Wil at 05:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (64)

Anne and I are back from the AVON 3 Day.

Our feet are as sore as you'd think, Anne hyper-extended her knee, and I really messed up the arch ofmy right foot...but it was the most amazing experience I have ever had in my life. It was absolutely life-changing, and I can't wait to write all about it.

It will be several days before I can, though, because when I got home, I found out that I had been cast in a movie.

That's right.

Just when I decide that I'm not going to be an actor any more, I go and get cast in a movie.

As the lead.

=:o

I am number one on the call sheet, and everything!

I had my first day today, and I will work every day on the production, right up until my anniversary in November...so I fear that entries in the old WWDN Weblog will be shorter, more diary-like, some updates on the movie and stuff.

Right now, I am exhausted, and I have to go to sleep. More updated information about the film and the walk when I have some time.

Oh, I am going to be on Screen Savers on Wednesday. It should be a really funny segment, so check it out.

Unless you're not into funny tech stuff, and babes. In that case, you'd probably be better off watching Maisy.

Know what's weird? I had Chinese take out with the kids a few weeks ago, and my fortune said:

"All your hard work is about to pay off."

Crazy.

Posted by Wil at 11:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (122)

Anne and I are back from the AVON 3 Day.

Our feet are as sore as you'd think, Anne hyper-extended her knee, and I really messed up the arch ofmy right foot...but it was the most amazing experience I have ever had in my life. It was absolutely life-changing, and I can't wait to write all about it.

It will be several days before I can, though, because when I got home, I found out that I had been cast in a movie.

That's right.

Just when I decide that I'm not going to be an actor any more, I go and get cast in a movie.

As the lead.

=:o

I am number one on the call sheet, and everything!

I had my first day today, and I will work every day on the production, right up until my anniversary in November...so I fear that entries in the old WWDN Weblog will be shorter, more diary-like, some updates on the movie and stuff.

Right now, I am exhausted, and I have to go to sleep. More updated information about the film and the walk when I have some time.

Oh, I am going to be on Screen Savers on Wednesday. It should be a really funny segment, so check it out.

Unless you're not into funny tech stuff, and babes. In that case, you'd probably be better off watching Maisy.

Know what's weird? I had Chinese take out with the kids a few weeks ago, and my fortune said:

"All your hard work is about to pay off."

Crazy.

Posted by Wil at 11:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (122) | TrackBacks (2)

Anne and I are back from the AVON 3 Day.

Our feet are as sore as you'd think, Anne hyper-extended her knee, and I really messed up the arch ofmy right foot...but it was the most amazing experience I have ever had in my life. It was absolutely life-changing, and I can't wait to write all about it.

It will be several days before I can, though, because when I got home, I found out that I had been cast in a movie.

That's right.

Just when I decide that I'm not going to be an actor any more, I go and get cast in a movie.

As the lead.

=:o

I am number one on the call sheet, and everything!

I had my first day today, and I will work every day on the production, right up until my anniversary in November...so I fear that entries in the old WWDN Weblog will be shorter, more diary-like, some updates on the movie and stuff.

Right now, I am exhausted, and I have to go to sleep. More updated information about the film and the walk when I have some time.

Oh, I am going to be on Screen Savers on Wednesday. It should be a really funny segment, so check it out.

Unless you're not into funny tech stuff, and babes. In that case, you'd probably be better off watching Maisy.

Know what's weird? I had Chinese take out with the kids a few weeks ago, and my fortune said:

"All your hard work is about to pay off."

Crazy.

Posted by Wil at 11:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (122)

It's been almost a year since Aunt Val died.

I'm driving with my dad across the San Fernando Valley, on our way to Aunt Val's house. Though we were all promised that the house would remain in the family, it has been sold, and there are many things to be picked up and moved out. Thankfully, there has been precious little pettiness and bickering within the family about her things so far.

My dad has asked me to help him pick up a china cabinet which belonged to my grandmother, and is intended for my mother.

I wonder why he didn't ask my younger, stronger brother to help out, but I don't ask. I'm always happy when my dad asks me to do things with him, so I decide not to push my luck.

We ride mostly in silence, but not uncomfortably. I'm lost in thought, though it won't occur to me until later that this is the last time I'll make this drive. This drive that I've made since I was in a car seat. I'm thinking about what I could talk to my dad about: baseball? the kids? my family? work? We end up talking about them all, and the drive passes very quickly.

As we drive down Aunt Val's street, it hits me: this is it. I've been asked to help my dad move furniture, but I'm really here to say goodbye to this house that's been part of my life since I was a child.

A tremendous sadness washes over me as we back into the driveway.

I exchange polite hellos with Aunt Val's daughter, who is responsible for the selling of the house, and walk inside.

It's the first time I've been there since her death, and the house feels cold and empty. It's more than just the furniture being gone. It's her warmth and love that are missing.

Most of the furniture has been moved out, but certain things remain untouched: her bookcase, filled to overflowing with pictures of the family and children's artwork...some of it mine...still dominates tne side of the living room, the recliners where my great grandparents spent most of the last years of their lives opposite. I remember sitting in my Papa's chair, while Aunt Val sat next to me, watching Love Boat and Fantasy Island, thrilled that I was staying up past my bedtime, watching shows intended for grownups, putting one over on my parents who would often drop my siblings and me off for the weekend.

I loved those weekends. When we spent time with Aunt Val we were loved. We were the center of the
Universe, and though she was well into her 70s, she would play with us, walk with us to get snacks,
let us stay up late. It was wonderful.

In the living room, the table where Aunt Val would put the artificial tree at Christmas is gone, though it's footprints still mark the carpet. In my mind, I put it back, fill the space beneath it with gifts, warm the air with the laughter and love of the entire family gathered around it, singing songs and sipping cider.

I blink and the room is empty again. The warm light of memory is replaced with the harsh sunlight of
the fading afternoon. Aunt Val's dog Missy is nosing at my hand, asking to go outside.

I lead her toward the patio doors. Aunt Val's dining room table, where the adults would sit at reunions and holiday meals, is still there, covered in paperwork and trash. It's a little obscene.

When I was little, Aunt Val would always sit at the card table --the kid's table-- with us, and when I was fourteen or so I was moved to the "adult's table." The next year I begged to be granted a spot
with her at the kid's table again.

Missy is impatient. She urges me through the kitchen. I look at the cabinet where my great grandparents kept their Sugar Corn Pops cereal. Regardless of the time of day my brother and sister
and I would arrive at her house, we were always hungry for cereal, and Aunt Val was always happy to
oblige. This cabinet, which I couldn't even reach, this cabinet which held so many wonders is now empty, and at my eye level. I am sad that my own children will never get to look up at it's closed door, and proclaim themselves starving with a hunger that can only be cured by a trip to the Honeycomb hideout.

The kitchen counters are littered with dishes and glasses. Notes written in Aunt Val's handwriting still cling to the refrigerator, surrounded by my cousin Josh's schoolwork.

They say that when a house is passed over by a tornado, it can do strange things to the things inside. They say that sometimes a whole room can be destroyed, and the table will still be set, candlesticks standing, untouched by the violence of the storm. As I look at the refrigerator, unchanged in nearly a year, I wonder why some things have been left alone while others have been
completely dismantled. It's like a half-hearted attempt has been made to honor her memory.

I walk onto the patio. Missy runs after a bird, and disappears around the corner of the house, leaving me alone.

I stand on the patio, knowing that it will be for the last time. I see the backyard through the eyes of a child, a teenager, an adult, a parent. I look at Aunt Val's pool, and remember when I was so small, riding around it on a big wheel seemed to take all day. I remember playing with my cool Trash Compactor Monster in the shallow end, before I was big enough to brave the deep end and it's mysteries, known only to the Big Cousins. I remember being unable to ever successfully complete a
flip off the diving board, and reflexively rub my lower back.

I look at the slide, and the sobs which have been threatening since I walked into the house begin.

In summer of last year, I'd taken Ryan and Nolan to spend the day with Aunt Val. The three of us sat
with her on the patio, eating hot dogs she'd grilled for us, drinking punch she'd made. The kids talked eagerly with her about their plans for the rest of the summer and the upcoming school year. I watched her listen to them, the same way she'd listened to me say the same things twenty years earlier, happy that they were getting to share in her unconditional love the way I had.

We went swimming. Nolan and Ryan both doing cannonballs and flips, Aunt Val always giving them an approving, "Good for you, kiddo!" after each trick.

God, I can hear her voice as I write this.

When they grew tired of tricks, they took to the slide. They took turns for a few minutes, going head-first, on their backs, on their knees.

Ryan was sitting at the top of the slide, waiting for Nolan to get out of the landing area, when he screamed and raced into the water. I immediately knew something was wrong, and rushed to the water's edge to meet him.

I got him out, and saw that he'd been stung by a wasp.

We patched him up with baking soda and some Tylenol, and prepared to spend the rest of the afternoon inside, watching TV.

Aunt Val wouldn't hear any of that. She picked up a broom, and some Raid, and marched out to the angry nest of wasps, which we now knew was just beneath the upper edge of the slide. The wasps were pretty pissed, and beginning to swarm, and I couldn't stop my 84 year old great aunt from wiping them out, so the kids could continue to play.

I'm looking at the slide, remembering that day, remembering how scared I was that she'd get stung and would go into shock, remembering how much fun the kids had with her.

I remembered that day, and recalled a thought I had back then, watching her battle with those wasps: Aunt Val isn't going to be with us forever. Some day I'm going to stand here, and she'll be gone, and I'll cry.

So I cry. I miss her. I miss her. I miss her. I miss her. It's not fair that she died. It's not fair at all. I miss her. She was in perfect health one day, and the next she was gone. It's not fair, and I miss her, and I have to say goodbye to this house, and that's not fair either.

The finality of her loss takes hold, and refuses to let go. I cry until my sides hurt and my throat is dry. My cheeks are soaked, my nose is running. It's fitting that as I bid farewell to the house and person who played such an important part in my childhood, I sob like a child.

After awhile, I pull myself together, take a hard look at the backyard, run my hand along the slide, and say goodbye out loud.

I walk back into the house, and I help my dad load the china cabinet into the car. It is heavy and cuts into my hands as I lift it. I'm nervous about dropping it.

Aunt Val's daughter comes out of the house. I want to scream at her for selling off this enormous part of my childhood, but I don't. I continue tying down the cabinet, tell her goodbye, and get into the car.

We pull out of the driveway, and drive down the street for the last time.

I speak effusively with my dad on the drive home. I talk about the kids. I talk about work. I talk about the Dodgers and I ask lots of questions about when I was a kid. I want to cherish this time with him, make the most of it. I don't want to waste any of the time we have together.

When we get home with the china cabinet, my mom asks me how it was being at Aunt Val's house.

"Tough," I tell her.

She understands.

We unload the china cabinet. My dad hugs me tightly and thanks me for helping with him. I tell them
that I love them, and I drive home, alone and silent.

It's been a year since Aunt Val died.

Truth is, it could be a day, or a decade. She is gone, and I will always miss her.

Posted by Wil at 03:09 PM | Permalink | Comments (205)

It's been almost a year since Aunt Val died.

I'm driving with my dad across the San Fernando Valley, on our way to Aunt Val's house. Though we were all promised that the house would remain in the family, it has been sold, and there are many things to be picked up and moved out. Thankfully, there has been precious little pettiness and bickering within the family about her things so far.

My dad has asked me to help him pick up a china cabinet which belonged to my grandmother, and is intended for my mother.

I wonder why he didn't ask my younger, stronger brother to help out, but I don't ask. I'm always happy when my dad asks me to do things with him, so I decide not to push my luck.

We ride mostly in silence, but not uncomfortably. I'm lost in thought, though it won't occur to me until later that this is the last time I'll make this drive. This drive that I've made since I was in a car seat. I'm thinking about what I could talk to my dad about: baseball? the kids? my family? work? We end up talking about them all, and the drive passes very quickly.

As we drive down Aunt Val's street, it hits me: this is it. I've been asked to help my dad move furniture, but I'm really here to say goodbye to this house that's been part of my life since I was a child.

A tremendous sadness washes over me as we back into the driveway.

I exchange polite hellos with Aunt Val's daughter, who is responsible for the selling of the house, and walk inside.

It's the first time I've been there since her death, and the house feels cold and empty. It's more than just the furniture being gone. It's her warmth and love that are missing.

Most of the furniture has been moved out, but certain things remain untouched: her bookcase, filled to overflowing with pictures of the family and children's artwork...some of it mine...still dominates tne side of the living room, the recliners where my great grandparents spent most of the last years of their lives opposite. I remember sitting in my Papa's chair, while Aunt Val sat next to me, watching Love Boat and Fantasy Island, thrilled that I was staying up past my bedtime, watching shows intended for grownups, putting one over on my parents who would often drop my siblings and me off for the weekend.

I loved those weekends. When we spent time with Aunt Val we were loved. We were the center of the
Universe, and though she was well into her 70s, she would play with us, walk with us to get snacks,
let us stay up late. It was wonderful.

In the living room, the table where Aunt Val would put the artificial tree at Christmas is gone, though it's footprints still mark the carpet. In my mind, I put it back, fill the space beneath it with gifts, warm the air with the laughter and love of the entire family gathered around it, singing songs and sipping cider.

I blink and the room is empty again. The warm light of memory is replaced with the harsh sunlight of
the fading afternoon. Aunt Val's dog Missy is nosing at my hand, asking to go outside.

I lead her toward the patio doors. Aunt Val's dining room table, where the adults would sit at reunions and holiday meals, is still there, covered in paperwork and trash. It's a little obscene.

When I was little, Aunt Val would always sit at the card table --the kid's table-- with us, and when I was fourteen or so I was moved to the "adult's table." The next year I begged to be granted a spot
with her at the kid's table again.

Missy is impatient. She urges me through the kitchen. I look at the cabinet where my great grandparents kept their Sugar Corn Pops cereal. Regardless of the time of day my brother and sister
and I would arrive at her house, we were always hungry for cereal, and Aunt Val was always happy to
oblige. This cabinet, which I couldn't even reach, this cabinet which held so many wonders is now empty, and at my eye level. I am sad that my own children will never get to look up at it's closed door, and proclaim themselves starving with a hunger that can only be cured by a trip to the Honeycomb hideout.

The kitchen counters are littered with dishes and glasses. Notes written in Aunt Val's handwriting still cling to the refrigerator, surrounded by my cousin Josh's schoolwork.

They say that when a house is passed over by a tornado, it can do strange things to the things inside. They say that sometimes a whole room can be destroyed, and the table will still be set, candlesticks standing, untouched by the violence of the storm. As I look at the refrigerator, unchanged in nearly a year, I wonder why some things have been left alone while others have been
completely dismantled. It's like a half-hearted attempt has been made to honor her memory.

I walk onto the patio. Missy runs after a bird, and disappears around the corner of the house, leaving me alone.

I stand on the patio, knowing that it will be for the last time. I see the backyard through the eyes of a child, a teenager, an adult, a parent. I look at Aunt Val's pool, and remember when I was so small, riding around it on a big wheel seemed to take all day. I remember playing with my cool Trash Compactor Monster in the shallow end, before I was big enough to brave the deep end and it's mysteries, known only to the Big Cousins. I remember being unable to ever successfully complete a
flip off the diving board, and reflexively rub my lower back.

I look at the slide, and the sobs which have been threatening since I walked into the house begin.

In summer of last year, I'd taken Ryan and Nolan to spend the day with Aunt Val. The three of us sat
with her on the patio, eating hot dogs she'd grilled for us, drinking punch she'd made. The kids talked eagerly with her about their plans for the rest of the summer and the upcoming school year. I watched her listen to them, the same way she'd listened to me say the same things twenty years earlier, happy that they were getting to share in her unconditional love the way I had.

We went swimming. Nolan and Ryan both doing cannonballs and flips, Aunt Val always giving them an approving, "Good for you, kiddo!" after each trick.

God, I can hear her voice as I write this.

When they grew tired of tricks, they took to the slide. They took turns for a few minutes, going head-first, on their backs, on their knees.

Ryan was sitting at the top of the slide, waiting for Nolan to get out of the landing area, when he screamed and raced into the water. I immediately knew something was wrong, and rushed to the water's edge to meet him.

I got him out, and saw that he'd been stung by a wasp.

We patched him up with baking soda and some Tylenol, and prepared to spend the rest of the afternoon inside, watching TV.

Aunt Val wouldn't hear any of that. She picked up a broom, and some Raid, and marched out to the angry nest of wasps, which we now knew was just beneath the upper edge of the slide. The wasps were pretty pissed, and beginning to swarm, and I couldn't stop my 84 year old great aunt from wiping them out, so the kids could continue to play.

I'm looking at the slide, remembering that day, remembering how scared I was that she'd get stung and would go into shock, remembering how much fun the kids had with her.

I remembered that day, and recalled a thought I had back then, watching her battle with those wasps: Aunt Val isn't going to be with us forever. Some day I'm going to stand here, and she'll be gone, and I'll cry.

So I cry. I miss her. I miss her. I miss her. I miss her. It's not fair that she died. It's not fair at all. I miss her. She was in perfect health one day, and the next she was gone. It's not fair, and I miss her, and I have to say goodbye to this house, and that's not fair either.

The finality of her loss takes hold, and refuses to let go. I cry until my sides hurt and my throat is dry. My cheeks are soaked, my nose is running. It's fitting that as I bid farewell to the house and person who played such an important part in my childhood, I sob like a child.

After awhile, I pull myself together, take a hard look at the backyard, run my hand along the slide, and say goodbye out loud.

I walk back into the house, and I help my dad load the china cabinet into the car. It is heavy and cuts into my hands as I lift it. I'm nervous about dropping it.

Aunt Val's daughter comes out of the house. I want to scream at her for selling off this enormous part of my childhood, but I don't. I continue tying down the cabinet, tell her goodbye, and get into the car.

We pull out of the driveway, and drive down the street for the last time.

I speak effusively with my dad on the drive home. I talk about the kids. I talk about work. I talk about the Dodgers and I ask lots of questions about when I was a kid. I want to cherish this time with him, make the most of it. I don't want to waste any of the time we have together.

When we get home with the china cabinet, my mom asks me how it was being at Aunt Val's house.

"Tough," I tell her.

She understands.

We unload the china cabinet. My dad hugs me tightly and thanks me for helping with him. I tell them
that I love them, and I drive home, alone and silent.

It's been a year since Aunt Val died.

Truth is, it could be a day, or a decade. She is gone, and I will always miss her.

Posted by Wil at 03:09 PM | Permalink | Comments (205)

It's been almost a year since Aunt Val died.

I'm driving with my dad across the San Fernando Valley, on our way to Aunt Val's house. Though we were all promised that the house would remain in the family, it has been sold, and there are many things to be picked up and moved out. Thankfully, there has been precious little pettiness and bickering within the family about her things so far.

My dad has asked me to help him pick up a china cabinet which belonged to my grandmother, and is intended for my mother.

I wonder why he didn't ask my younger, stronger brother to help out, but I don't ask. I'm always happy when my dad asks me to do things with him, so I decide not to push my luck.

We ride mostly in silence, but not uncomfortably. I'm lost in thought, though it won't occur to me until later that this is the last time I'll make this drive. This drive that I've made since I was in a car seat. I'm thinking about what I could talk to my dad about: baseball? the kids? my family? work? We end up talking about them all, and the drive passes very quickly.

As we drive down Aunt Val's street, it hits me: this is it. I've been asked to help my dad move furniture, but I'm really here to say goodbye to this house that's been part of my life since I was a child.

A tremendous sadness washes over me as we back into the driveway.

I exchange polite hellos with Aunt Val's daughter, who is responsible for the selling of the house, and walk inside.

It's the first time I've been there since her death, and the house feels cold and empty. It's more than just the furniture being gone. It's her warmth and love that are missing.

Most of the furniture has been moved out, but certain things remain untouched: her bookcase, filled to overflowing with pictures of the family and children's artwork...some of it mine...still dominates tne side of the living room, the recliners where my great grandparents spent most of the last years of their lives opposite. I remember sitting in my Papa's chair, while Aunt Val sat next to me, watching Love Boat and Fantasy Island, thrilled that I was staying up past my bedtime, watching shows intended for grownups, putting one over on my parents who would often drop my siblings and me off for the weekend.

I loved those weekends. When we spent time with Aunt Val we were loved. We were the center of the
Universe, and though she was well into her 70s, she would play with us, walk with us to get snacks,
let us stay up late. It was wonderful.

In the living room, the table where Aunt Val would put the artificial tree at Christmas is gone, though it's footprints still mark the carpet. In my mind, I put it back, fill the space beneath it with gifts, warm the air with the laughter and love of the entire family gathered around it, singing songs and sipping cider.

I blink and the room is empty again. The warm light of memory is replaced with the harsh sunlight of
the fading afternoon. Aunt Val's dog Missy is nosing at my hand, asking to go outside.

I lead her toward the patio doors. Aunt Val's dining room table, where the adults would sit at reunions and holiday meals, is still there, covered in paperwork and trash. It's a little obscene.

When I was little, Aunt Val would always sit at the card table --the kid's table-- with us, and when I was fourteen or so I was moved to the "adult's table." The next year I begged to be granted a spot
with her at the kid's table again.

Missy is impatient. She urges me through the kitchen. I look at the cabinet where my great grandparents kept their Sugar Corn Pops cereal. Regardless of the time of day my brother and sister
and I would arrive at her house, we were always hungry for cereal, and Aunt Val was always happy to
oblige. This cabinet, which I couldn't even reach, this cabinet which held so many wonders is now empty, and at my eye level. I am sad that my own children will never get to look up at it's closed door, and proclaim themselves starving with a hunger that can only be cured by a trip to the Honeycomb hideout.

The kitchen counters are littered with dishes and glasses. Notes written in Aunt Val's handwriting still cling to the refrigerator, surrounded by my cousin Josh's schoolwork.

They say that when a house is passed over by a tornado, it can do strange things to the things inside. They say that sometimes a whole room can be destroyed, and the table will still be set, candlesticks standing, untouched by the violence of the storm. As I look at the refrigerator, unchanged in nearly a year, I wonder why some things have been left alone while others have been
completely dismantled. It's like a half-hearted attempt has been made to honor her memory.

I walk onto the patio. Missy runs after a bird, and disappears around the corner of the house, leaving me alone.

I stand on the patio, knowing that it will be for the last time. I see the backyard through the eyes of a child, a teenager, an adult, a parent. I look at Aunt Val's pool, and remember when I was so small, riding around it on a big wheel seemed to take all day. I remember playing with my cool Trash Compactor Monster in the shallow end, before I was big enough to brave the deep end and it's mysteries, known only to the Big Cousins. I remember being unable to ever successfully complete a
flip off the diving board, and reflexively rub my lower back.

I look at the slide, and the sobs which have been threatening since I walked into the house begin.

In summer of last year, I'd taken Ryan and Nolan to spend the day with Aunt Val. The three of us sat
with her on the patio, eating hot dogs she'd grilled for us, drinking punch she'd made. The kids talked eagerly with her about their plans for the rest of the summer and the upcoming school year. I watched her listen to them, the same way she'd listened to me say the same things twenty years earlier, happy that they were getting to share in her unconditional love the way I had.

We went swimming. Nolan and Ryan both doing cannonballs and flips, Aunt Val always giving them an approving, "Good for you, kiddo!" after each trick.

God, I can hear her voice as I write this.

When they grew tired of tricks, they took to the slide. They took turns for a few minutes, going head-first, on their backs, on their knees.

Ryan was sitting at the top of the slide, waiting for Nolan to get out of the landing area, when he screamed and raced into the water. I immediately knew something was wrong, and rushed to the water's edge to meet him.

I got him out, and saw that he'd been stung by a wasp.

We patched him up with baking soda and some Tylenol, and prepared to spend the rest of the afternoon inside, watching TV.

Aunt Val wouldn't hear any of that. She picked up a broom, and some Raid, and marched out to the angry nest of wasps, which we now knew was just beneath the upper edge of the slide. The wasps were pretty pissed, and beginning to swarm, and I couldn't stop my 84 year old great aunt from wiping them out, so the kids could continue to play.

I'm looking at the slide, remembering that day, remembering how scared I was that she'd get stung and would go into shock, remembering how much fun the kids had with her.

I remembered that day, and recalled a thought I had back then, watching her battle with those wasps: Aunt Val isn't going to be with us forever. Some day I'm going to stand here, and she'll be gone, and I'll cry.

So I cry. I miss her. I miss her. I miss her. I miss her. It's not fair that she died. It's not fair at all. I miss her. She was in perfect health one day, and the next she was gone. It's not fair, and I miss her, and I have to say goodbye to this house, and that's not fair either.

The finality of her loss takes hold, and refuses to let go. I cry until my sides hurt and my throat is dry. My cheeks are soaked, my nose is running. It's fitting that as I bid farewell to the house and person who played such an important part in my childhood, I sob like a child.

After awhile, I pull myself together, take a hard look at the backyard, run my hand along the slide, and say goodbye out loud.

I walk back into the house, and I help my dad load the china cabinet into the car. It is heavy and cuts into my hands as I lift it. I'm nervous about dropping it.

Aunt Val's daughter comes out of the house. I want to scream at her for selling off this enormous part of my childhood, but I don't. I continue tying down the cabinet, tell her goodbye, and get into the car.

We pull out of the driveway, and drive down the street for the last time.

I speak effusively with my dad on the drive home. I talk about the kids. I talk about work. I talk about the Dodgers and I ask lots of questions about when I was a kid. I want to cherish this time with him, make the most of it. I don't want to waste any of the time we have together.

When we get home with the china cabinet, my mom asks me how it was being at Aunt Val's house.

"Tough," I tell her.

She understands.

We unload the china cabinet. My dad hugs me tightly and thanks me for helping with him. I tell them
that I love them, and I drive home, alone and silent.

It's been a year since Aunt Val died.

Truth is, it could be a day, or a decade. She is gone, and I will always miss her.

Posted by Wil at 03:09 PM | Permalink | Comments (205)

I am standing in the kitchen making dinner, listening through the open window to Ryan and Nolan as they play whiffle ball in our front yard.. They're actually playing nicely together, not being overly competitive.

Nolan stands over a patch of dirt, in front of a bush, which represents home plate, while Ryan hurls the ball towards him.

Ryan always tries to throw the ball too hard, and usually has trouble finding the strike zone, so Nolan just sits there, letting the ball bounce off of the house behind him.

Nolan comes in for a drink of water, and without even thinking I tell him, "It sounds like you guys are having a great time out there. Tell you what: you keep up this good attitude, and I'll come out and play with you."

Nolan does a little hop, and says, "COOL!" before he runs back outside. I hear him tell Ryan, "Wil says he'll come play with us!"

They're both excited to play with me...that's cool. I've been really busy these past few weeks, finishing up my book, so I haven't been able to play with the kids very much. They're getting to that age where they want to hang out one minute, and the next minute I'm so incredibly uncool they can't even stand to be in the same room as me. Hearing the genuine excitement in their voices makes my heart swell.

Dinner is really easy tonight: It's a curried tofu with rice dish. I put the rice into the rice cooker, cut the tofu into cubes and put them in the pan. I dump a bunch of curry over them, and I race out to play.

I'm thirty years old and a parent, and I'm racing through my "chores" to go play outside.

When I get there, one of Ryan's friends (who is also called Ryan) has come over to play, so we immediately separate into teams: Nolan and me against the Ryans.

Nolan steps back up to the plate, and Ryan proceeds to walk him. He then walks me, then Nolan again, and we quickly load the bases with ghost runners. The sun is rapidly sinking into the mountains to the west, and the ball is getting hard to see, so I suggest that we call the game so the Ryans can have a few at-bats. Nolan agrees, and we send our ghost runners back down to Triple-A as we head
into the field and take our positions on the grass, and in the street.

Nolan pitches a few balls to Ryan, but it's really too dark to play any longer. Like every other time we've had to call a game on account of darkness, I resolve to install lights over our front lawn so we can play at night, local building codes and my wife's desire for a normal suburban house be damned.

We've been having fun, though, and like the only child who finally has someone to play with, I don't want to go back inside; back to being a grown up...so I suggest that we play hide and seek.

They all excitedly agree, and I'm It.

We quickly define the boundaries, and "Safe." I close my eyes and count to one hundred by fives.

As I shut my eyes and begging to count, the world slows, and I hear my own voice, twenty-one years distant, calling out the same numbers. I'm nine years-old, head buried in my arms as I stand at the light pole on our street which was "Safe," Boston plays on my parent's Techniques turntable, while my dad cooks fish on the Webber Kettle in the back yard. I can smell the smoke as it drifts over the house and hangs in our yard, in the still summer evening.

5...10...15...20...25...30...

I'm ten years-old, and I run like crazy, trying to evade Joey Carnes. It is summer, hot and smoggy. My lungs burn with each breath.

35...40...45...50...55...60...

I'm eleven years-old, and I can hear the stomp, stomp, stomp of my feet hitting the ground as I look for a hiding place. It's springtime, and the grass is cool and damp beneath me.

65...70...75...80...85...90...

I'm twelve years-old, hiding behind the side gate, crouched down, my arm just barely touching the arm of the girl I have a crush on as we hide together. While we listen to the kid counting, I try and fail to screw up the courage to hold her hand. In middle school, she'll break my heart over and over again.

95...100! Ready or not, here I come!

I open my eyes, and I'm back on my street. The kids are well-hidden. Lost in my memories, I didn't think to listen for their footfalls, and I have no idea where they may be.

I walk slowly around a hedge, and see Ryan begin to run across the street, towards "Safe." I run at him, hoping to cut him off, but he's too fast for me. During my pursuit of him, his friend has made it to "Safe," leaving only Nolan undiscovered.

I walk down our street, towards our neighbor's house, and see Nolan racing across the front yard next door. I give chase, and we both run straight through the heavy spray of several Rain Bird sprinkles. Nolan runs very, very fast, but ends up going Out Of Bounds. We return to "Safe," laughing, wiping the water from our faces.

Nolan is It, and begins to count. I run across the street, hiding behind a tree. When I was a kid, I never hid behind trees, preferring cars and fences, with their clever ways to spot an approaching "It"...but I know that if I stand still in the October darkness, he'll never see me. I'm wearing a black
"Ataris" T-shirt and long olive shorts...I'm practically invisible.

Nolan finishes his count, and the chase is on. It is several tries before he catches someone, but his attitude never sours. We are all having a great time playing together, being kids.

Finally, I am just too wiped out to play any more, and I head back inside. Anne asks me to drive Ryan's friend home, and on the way to the car, Ryan's friend tells him, "Your house is so much fun! You're really lucky that your Step-dad plays with you."

Ryan agrees, but warns him that we don't always play like that...Ryan tells him that I've been writing a lot, so I spend a lot of time at my desk. It's the first time in months that I've played with them like that, he says.

He's right. Most of the time these days, I have to be a grown up, and I can't play very much.

But last night, I got to be a kid again, if only for an hour or so, and while I appreciated the sentiment from Ryan's friend, he didn't quite have it right.

Yeah, there was a lucky guy out there playing...but it wasn't Ryan.

Posted by Wil at 02:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (171) | TrackBacks (1)

I am standing in the kitchen making dinner, listening through the open window to Ryan and Nolan as they play whiffle ball in our front yard.. They're actually playing nicely together, not being overly competitive.

Nolan stands over a patch of dirt, in front of a bush, which represents home plate, while Ryan hurls the ball towards him.

Ryan always tries to throw the ball too hard, and usually has trouble finding the strike zone, so Nolan just sits there, letting the ball bounce off of the house behind him.

Nolan comes in for a drink of water, and without even thinking I tell him, "It sounds like you guys are having a great time out there. Tell you what: you keep up this good attitude, and I'll come out and play with you."

Nolan does a little hop, and says, "COOL!" before he runs back outside. I hear him tell Ryan, "Wil says he'll come play with us!"

They're both excited to play with me...that's cool. I've been really busy these past few weeks, finishing up my book, so I haven't been able to play with the kids very much. They're getting to that age where they want to hang out one minute, and the next minute I'm so incredibly uncool they can't even stand to be in the same room as me. Hearing the genuine excitement in their voices makes my heart swell.

Dinner is really easy tonight: It's a curried tofu with rice dish. I put the rice into the rice cooker, cut the tofu into cubes and put them in the pan. I dump a bunch of curry over them, and I race out to play.

I'm thirty years old and a parent, and I'm racing through my "chores" to go play outside.

When I get there, one of Ryan's friends (who is also called Ryan) has come over to play, so we immediately separate into teams: Nolan and me against the Ryans.

Nolan steps back up to the plate, and Ryan proceeds to walk him. He then walks me, then Nolan again, and we quickly load the bases with ghost runners. The sun is rapidly sinking into the mountains to the west, and the ball is getting hard to see, so I suggest that we call the game so the Ryans can have a few at-bats. Nolan agrees, and we send our ghost runners back down to Triple-A as we head
into the field and take our positions on the grass, and in the street.

Nolan pitches a few balls to Ryan, but it's really too dark to play any longer. Like every other time we've had to call a game on account of darkness, I resolve to install lights over our front lawn so we can play at night, local building codes and my wife's desire for a normal suburban house be damned.

We've been having fun, though, and like the only child who finally has someone to play with, I don't want to go back inside; back to being a grown up...so I suggest that we play hide and seek.

They all excitedly agree, and I'm It.

We quickly define the boundaries, and "Safe." I close my eyes and count to one hundred by fives.

As I shut my eyes and begging to count, the world slows, and I hear my own voice, twenty-one years distant, calling out the same numbers. I'm nine years-old, head buried in my arms as I stand at the light pole on our street which was "Safe," Boston plays on my parent's Techniques turntable, while my dad cooks fish on the Webber Kettle in the back yard. I can smell the smoke as it drifts over the house and hangs in our yard, in the still summer evening.

5...10...15...20...25...30...

I'm ten years-old, and I run like crazy, trying to evade Joey Carnes. It is summer, hot and smoggy. My lungs burn with each breath.

35...40...45...50...55...60...

I'm eleven years-old, and I can hear the stomp, stomp, stomp of my feet hitting the ground as I look for a hiding place. It's springtime, and the grass is cool and damp beneath me.

65...70...75...80...85...90...

I'm twelve years-old, hiding behind the side gate, crouched down, my arm just barely touching the arm of the girl I have a crush on as we hide together. While we listen to the kid counting, I try and fail to screw up the courage to hold her hand. In middle school, she'll break my heart over and over again.

95...100! Ready or not, here I come!

I open my eyes, and I'm back on my street. The kids are well-hidden. Lost in my memories, I didn't think to listen for their footfalls, and I have no idea where they may be.

I walk slowly around a hedge, and see Ryan begin to run across the street, towards "Safe." I run at him, hoping to cut him off, but he's too fast for me. During my pursuit of him, his friend has made it to "Safe," leaving only Nolan undiscovered.

I walk down our street, towards our neighbor's house, and see Nolan racing across the front yard next door. I give chase, and we both run straight through the heavy spray of several Rain Bird sprinkles. Nolan runs very, very fast, but ends up going Out Of Bounds. We return to "Safe," laughing, wiping the water from our faces.

Nolan is It, and begins to count. I run across the street, hiding behind a tree. When I was a kid, I never hid behind trees, preferring cars and fences, with their clever ways to spot an approaching "It"...but I know that if I stand still in the October darkness, he'll never see me. I'm wearing a black
"Ataris" T-shirt and long olive shorts...I'm practically invisible.

Nolan finishes his count, and the chase is on. It is several tries before he catches someone, but his attitude never sours. We are all having a great time playing together, being kids.

Finally, I am just too wiped out to play any more, and I head back inside. Anne asks me to drive Ryan's friend home, and on the way to the car, Ryan's friend tells him, "Your house is so much fun! You're really lucky that your Step-dad plays with you."

Ryan agrees, but warns him that we don't always play like that...Ryan tells him that I've been writing a lot, so I spend a lot of time at my desk. It's the first time in months that I've played with them like that, he says.

He's right. Most of the time these days, I have to be a grown up, and I can't play very much.

But last night, I got to be a kid again, if only for an hour or so, and while I appreciated the sentiment from Ryan's friend, he didn't quite have it right.

Yeah, there was a lucky guy out there playing...but it wasn't Ryan.

Posted by Wil at 02:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (171) | TrackBacks (1)

I am standing in the kitchen making dinner, listening through the open window to Ryan and Nolan as they play whiffle ball in our front yard.. They're actually playing nicely together, not being overly competitive.

Nolan stands over a patch of dirt, in front of a bush, which represents home plate, while Ryan hurls the ball towards him.

Ryan always tries to throw the ball too hard, and usually has trouble finding the strike zone, so Nolan just sits there, letting the ball bounce off of the house behind him.

Nolan comes in for a drink of water, and without even thinking I tell him, "It sounds like you guys are having a great time out there. Tell you what: you keep up this good attitude, and I'll come out and play with you."

Nolan does a little hop, and says, "COOL!" before he runs back outside. I hear him tell Ryan, "Wil says he'll come play with us!"

They're both excited to play wit