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Digging for fire

Today, we took the kids to the beach.

I was gonna write about that, but I've been trying to catch up on Emails, instead.

I wanna say something about Emails: I read them all, each one. And I send out that silly autoreply, which has, so far, only pissed off three people. So I'm not doing too badly there, eh? The problem is, I'm so damn sensitive, I felt really bad, that some peoples may not have gotten the joke, and I've been kicking it into overdrive to get at least a small personal response out there. So if you've emailed me, and you haven't heard back, please accept my apologies, and this Shiwala!

While I've been catching up on Emails (it's 230 AM on Saturday, and I've just finished the bulk of the Emails, up to Wednesday), I've been flipping back and forth on Satellite (no evil cable empire for me, dammit) between "House of Yes" and some super cheesy erotic thriller on Cinemax. Because I think it's important to have something to aspire to, and something to be afraid of, in your career.

I leave it to you to pick which is which.

The Beach

Yesterday we went to the Beach with the kids, for Nolan's birthday. His birthday was a few weeks ago, but we went yesterday because the little guy broke his arm, and it would have sucked just a little bit, I think, to take him to the beach with his friends while he was in a cast.

Something cool about Nolan: Every year, when it's his birthday, while we're driving around in the car, he rolls down the window, and shouts "It's m' birthday!" And he is just so joyful, and so happy, I just love that. He's done that as long as I've known him, which is since he's 4.

So it was rad. I love the beach. It's one of the few reasons living in LA doesn't completely suck; on any given day, I can ski in the morning, and surf in the afternoon, which I never do, but it's nice to have the option, anyway.

You know what I did at the beach? I peed in the ocean. I just wanted to get that out of the way, because it's something that everyone does, and I just HATE it when people act like they don't. Like girls who insist that they don't fart. Give me a break.

So we're at the beach, and Anne tells me that she wants to take a quick nap while the kids are playing down by the water, and would I go play with them, so she can snooze. I think that's a grand idea, because Anne's been up since I don't know, on almost no sleep, so she can make sure Nolan has a great birthday trip...making sandwiches, cupcakes, packing up the cars, etc...

After much adjusting of the beach umbrella, Anne sleeps, and I go down to the water to play with the kids.

All of the kids brought boogie boards to the beach, and one of Nolan's friends had never done it before, and asked me to teach him.

Now,being a step-father, I have a certain role that I have to play, a certain place where I need to stay, out of respect to Ryan and Nolan's father. There are certain things that I don't do, because they'd rather learn to surf, and play baseball, and soccer, and all that stuff, from their dad. And I dig that, and I don't want to make them feel bad, because it's not about me, it's about them...but it still makes me just the teeniest bit sad. So, because of that, I've never been able to teach them that stuff...but I was able to teach Nolan's friend, and that felt really good. It was really, really cool, putting him on waves, and watching him race back into the water to start all over again. I was proud of him, and wondered if my dad ever felt like that about me, when I did stuff as a kid.

Well, while I was teaching Nolan's friend, and thinking about my dad, there was another dad, this guy who was probably 40...nice beer gut, sunburnt spotty skin, streaked with not-quite-rubbed-in sunblock, trying to teach his 4, maybe 5 year-old daughter and son to play in the waves. Thing is, the kids were really not into it. They were crying, and really afraid, and really didn't want to be there, and the father, this pile of shit, he would do this: "Well, I guess you're too afraid to swim. That's too bad. Let's go home." And he'd start walking up the beach.

Now, more than anything in the world, kids want to please their parents (at least until they're 12), so these kids would stop him, beg him to come back and try again, even though it was clear to me, and to anyone, really, that they were scared shitless, and any parent who gives a shit about their kids, who was in tune with their kids, would know that. But this guy was determined to have his kids play in the waves, so he used the time-tested "Manipulation Technique". Yeah, that's a great way to parent: manipulate your kids so they do what you want. Maybe you can make sure that they're afraid of you, too, and never question your actions, because that makes them grow up to be healthy adults.

Guess what, folks? Kids learn EVERYTHING from their parents, even things the parents don't think they're teaching them. So when you manipulate your kids, this happens: Manipulated kids grow up to be manipulative adults, who become manipulative parents, who have manipulative kids.

Break the cycle, people. Just because your parents were fucked up doesn't mean you have to be, and you certanly don't have to do it to your kids.

Sorry. /rant

While I was at the beach, watching surfers, watching my stepkids boogie board, watching this example of why there should be a parenting test mess up his kids, I started thinking about my own dad.

My dad is a great surfer. One of the best. He talks about going and surfing monster waves, and doesn't even stop to consider that he's over 50, and has a family that would sort of miss him just a bit if he decided to go pull a Mark Foo. He's 53, and he surfs a 10' long board at least once a week. And my parents do not live near the beach. They live over an hour away. Matter of fact, the whole reason my dad almost died is because he was on a surfing trip to Indonesia, and stubbed his toe on a boat anchor, and the resulting blood infection is what made him so sick. But he's better now...I keep forgetting to mention that. Sorry.

But here's the thing: I've never learned to surf from my dad. I was too much of a sissy bitch when I was a kid, and another summer has gone by where I haven't asked him to teach me.

After about an hour of playing in the water, I was hungry, and the kids were ready to get out, too. So I turn up to face the beach, and I see the hottest girl I have ever seen, out of the corner of my eye, walking into the water. I mean, damn. She was amazing.

Okay, before you women get all pissed at me, here is something you have to know about men: We look at pretty girls. It doesn't mean we're unfaithful to our wives and girlfriends, and it doesn't mean we don't love you. I can't speak for all men, but I know that I don't compare, either, which is something you girls like to do, according to all my female friends.

But here's the thing: It's okay. It's genetic. It's in our hard wiring. It's not even the OS. It's an undocumented feature of the hardware. I'm not talking about "checking out" and "leering" that's all your particular man's OS. I'm talking about glancing, and involuntarily glancing back, and thinking "Woah!"So just relax.

Back to the story: I'm turning around, and I see the hottest of the hot babes, walking down the beach, out of the corner of my eye. And when I turn to get another look, I see that it was my wife. *smile* I love it when that happens.

Happy Birthday, Nolan.

Nimrod's Son

Couple of cool things:

Got this Email a few days ago:

Congratulations! You are the recipient of five and a half out of four Sutherlands from

our gratuitously indignant reviewing duo at Blog You! Blog You! Blog You!,

a consumer's guide to weblogs.

To see how you stacked up, feel free to visit:

http://www.blogyou.com

In the review, both the guys were really cool. They were very complimentary, and they both lamented the lack of graphics on the site. So I was thinking about it, and I really don't plan to add a lot of graphics to the site, because I just don't like graphics. I think they slow down the site, and that's lame. I also don't plan on adding lots of "gallery" pictures, because there are other sites out there that are great fansites, and I would just be ripping them off, and stealing their traffic, which is also lame. But I wrote an email back, and I read it to Anne, and she thought it was cool, so I'm gonna print it here:

Hey,

You guys...this is so freaking cool! I LOVE that I rated on your site. Is it a typo that I got 5 and a half out of four? Or is that something you cats do to fuck with lamers like me?

About the lack of graphics: I made a conscious decision to abstain from over loading the site with graphics. I hate graphics that are only there to dress something up, and that's the only reason I'd do more graphics. I put all my energy into the really spartan design, so the content would stand out, and not get lost amongst the noise. And I (there I go, starting a sentence with a conjunction again) *was* going to put up a gallery, but why bother? There are way better sites out there, and I'd just be ripping them off. Once I get IDS configured, I'll have someplace to put my personal pictures, but that's prolly a week or two off.

Look at it this way: you've got two restaurants to choose from. One, Chez Jackass, is a snooty place, where the food is okay, but they REALLY dress up the plate, all nice and pretty...lots of herbs that you won't eat, and lots of silverware that you won't use. Oh, and they overcharge you, make you wait three hours to be seated, water down the drinks, and fuck up your order. Twice. But boy, didn't that plate look nice?

Then there's Joes. Joes is a restaurant on the skankiest street downtown. It has one neon sign, and the "E" is on the fritz. There's a jukebox, but it only plays 45s, and "Wooly Bully" skips. But Joe cooks really good food, and he cooks it himself. He'd never dream of hiring another cook, because any other cook wouldn't make it his way. You never leave there feeling hungry, and you can still get a shot of Jack for 2.50. Because that's the way Joe remembers it, and that's the way it's going to be in his joint, dig?

Well, when it comes to websites, I eat at Joes.

Thanks again for the review. It was really, really cool.

Wil

I hear that Alan Thicke has a weblog, too. So I went to check it out, and it becomes obvious after about three paragraphs that it is so not real. But I don't really care, because it's extremely funny. Check out "About me"...not only does the guy seem cool, based on his tastes and all, but I really like the design of this site.

I don't know Alan Thicke, at all, beyond playing on a celebrity hockey team with him a couple of times.

I remember that Alan Thicke was pretty cool, and I seem to recall him having a good sense of humor... I hope that he doesn't pull a complete dickhead move and force this guy to shut down the site, because that would suck.

Alex Trebek? Funny you should ask about him. He was on the team too, and he was a major league asshole.

Big time.

Which reminds me of something: My roommate in college was Chris Hardwick, of eMpTyVee's Singled Out and Trashed fame, as well as the show Guys Like Us. Chris is also in Jane White is Sick and Twisted, which is why I am in Jane White is Sick and Twisted. Chris is a very, very funny comedian, and has better press people than I do, apparently, because not only has he gotten to be on Politically Incorrect, he's also been on Celebrity Jeopardy!

If you're like me, you'd really like to run up to Alex Trebek, and slap him on his know-it-all bitch face, right? (well, there goes any chance I have of making Celebrity Jeopardy. Dammit.) So Chris is on the show, and Trebek asks him to introduce himself, and Chris does, and says that he is the host of Singled Out, and suggests that Trebek and he trade guests and audiences...the joke being that the Jeopardy guests and audience and the Singled Out guests and audience are totally different. Trebek doesn't get it. At all. So there is this tiny uncomfortable pause, and Chris says, "You've never seen my show, have you?" And Trebek just says, "No." Then, without pause, "Let's meet our next contestant..."

Later in the show, Chris is asked a question, and he gets it wrong, and Trebek looks at his little cards, and gives one of those condescending, Canadian accented, "No, I'm sorry, the correct answer is, of course, 'Henry Arthur Payne'...Henry...Arthur...Payne."

Chris looks at him, doesn't miss a beat, and says, "Hey, you know, on my show, I have all the answers, too, dude!"

Trebek has no comeback.

I'll take "Anal Bum Cover" for 200, Trebek.

Fire. Water. Burn.

Guess what? I was reviewed by Lockergnome!!

I must say, of all the stuff that's happened since I opened this little thing, this is quite possibly the coolest thing, yet!

Check it out:

Wil Wheaton

http://www.wilwheaton.net/

{Stand by him} He was the scrawny writer in "Stand By Me," and then he became Wesley Crusher of the Starship Enterprise. If you mention the name "Wil Wheaton" to anyone in my generation, they'll know exactly who you're talking about. But what has this actor been up to lately? You can find out at his official Web site -- written, designed, and maintained by Wil (himself). And ya wanna know what makes it cool? He isn't afraid to kick back and let his hair down. He's actually a pretty funny guy. Just goes to show you that who you see on screen isn't always who that person is in real life. Dude, he always seemed so mellow... walking along those railroad tracks.

This just rules, and I am a happy, happy guy today.

Also, I saw this:

Net Buzz for 08/31/01

Police catch Sacramento slaying suspect in mom's backyard ... Where's that recovery again? Dow drops below 10,000 ... Arrogance, in-fighting doomed Industry Standard ... Salon tells a rambling two-part circus story ... Smoking Gun—scooped! ... Forward: Random biblical wisdom ... The triumphant return of Wil Wheaton ... Mr. Rogers leaves the neighborhood ("too many yuppies") ... Reading through Labor Day weekend (saves gas!)

Now I'm off to my mom and dad's for a BBQ and swimming.

Rock!

I heart script kiddies

"Hey, Wil! Where's your burrito?" was the subject of an Email I got today...well, my burrito was haxxored.

But thanks to the efforts of the greatest webhosts, EVER, Josh and Loren, I think we're back on track, now. Josh spent the day on a plane, got home, and helped get the servers back together. Loren spent his entire day off getting the servers back up, and restoring all the sites.

I think now is as good a time as any to give a little history on how this lame site came about...

Last year, at comic-con, I met this really cool guy named Ben. Ben is an artist, and had drawn some of the coolest little comic books I have ever seen.

Fast forward to about 2 months before comic-con. I am spending quite a bit of time playing Diablo 2, and surfing the net. One Saturday, while my wife is out of town, I decide to spend the entire day at the computer, and you know what that means...no, not that...I decided to spend the day making a website.

I have wanted a presence on the web for a long time, but I just never got around to it. I was offered, many times, the help of professional designers, but I wanted to do the whole thing myself, for better or for worse. I didn't want this to be just another lame celebrity website. I wanted to have a website that looked more like one of your friend's sites, and less like some Big Hollywood Jackass. But I'm getting ahead of myself. I need to back up to that Saturday.

I went to Yahoo! Geocities, and made that "tvswilwheaton" account. Yes, I did that because I thought it was a very cheesy name, and kind of silly, and plain old "wil wheaton" was taken. I had absolutely no idea how to write/*.phpL, I knew nothing of tables, CSS, or anything, so I used the Yahoo! Pagebuilder, to do a sort of WYSIWYG page design. Oh, it was lame alright. Mucho lame. But I did it to see if I could, and to see if anyone even cared.

So, speed ahead to this year's Comic-con. I made some really silly flyers that had the address of my website on them, and passed them out to anyone who came to see me.

TANGENT: I *LOVE* comics. I have over 5000 of them, much to my wife's chagrin. I love comic-con, too, because it's just so magnificently geeky, and good things always happen to me there. Here's how it works: I can go, and sign autographs for people, sell a few things, and pay for the trip. Now, here is a warning to all current and future (and past) celebrities: The Autograph Area is where careers go to die. It can be really cool, and it can be really sad. Just know why you're there...it's like they say about poker: if you don't know who the sucker at the table is, it's you. Dig?

So it's the Saturday of comic-con. I have talked my friend Kevin (who isn't an actor, he's just graduated Art-freaking-Center with HONORS as an illustrator...yet he has, through all sorts of crazy circumstances, mostly involving me, gotten TONS of work. You'd totally recognize him if you saw him) into coming with me for the day. We're planning on me signing from 11 until 5, having some dinner, checking out the guests, and heading home.

Well, we get there at 11, and at 2, when we're planning on taking a little lunch break, they give us the boot, to make room for someone else. Since our train doesn't leave for like 8 hours, we head downstairs, to see what we can see.

A few hours later, as we're getting ready to leave, I see Ben. I know it's him, because of his unmistakable, ever-present hat. Ben is with some people, one of whom is Loren. I am really excited to see Ben, because I really, really liked his comics last year, and I wanted to see some new ones...problem was, he hadn't made any, yet. But I gave him the address for my lame website, and asked him to take a look.

A few days later, I got an email from Ben, saying that he liked my site, because the content was cool, but the design was lame (which I'd known all along, mind you, so just get off my back, monkey!). He suggested that I check out this site called Killoggs, that he started with some of his friends. He said that I should write stuff there, because I'd fit in. Shortly after that, I got an Email from Loren. He said that he did hosting, and if I wanted hosting for a website, they'd help me out.

So I thought about it:

"I've always wanted to have a presence on the web...but they all hate me in internet land...but having a presence on the web is cool...but they'll all laugh at me....I've got to concentrate...concentrate...concentrate.....I've got to concentrate...concentrate....concentrate...Hello? Hello? Hello? Echo! Echo! Echo! Now batting....Manny Mota...Mota...Mota...."

I had registered wilwheaton.net some time ago, just so nobody else could get it and make it into a something stupid, and I was just sitting on it...so, with Loren's help, I got in touch with this girl Ashley, who had helped me park the domain when I'd registered it.

This story gets cool, I promise. And if it doesn't get cool, I'll add some stuff to it, to MAKE it cool, dammit.

Loren and Ashley helped me move the domain from it's parking space, over to logjamming, where it lives today.

Now, I spent nearly 10 hours a day, over the next 6 weeks, learning/*.phpL, figuring out Dreamweaver, and getting things going...because I really was happy with the content that I had, I mean, it's just me, you know? But I didn't like the look, at ALL. It sucked balls. I mean, holy dogshit, did it suck balls.

While I was working out the look and feel, and the design of the site, I became a member over at Killoggs, and began participating in their discussions, and even wrote what I think is a pretty funny first post.

Somehow, during this time, I asked Loren about keeping an online journal. I don't even remember how it came up, which is too bad, because I bet it's a cool story. Maybe I'll make something up when I'm older. I remember telling Loren that I was thinking about making an Open Diary, and he mentioned to me that there were these two things that I may want to look at: Blogger, and Greymatter. Since I was running the lame old site at Geocities, I wasn't allowed CGI access, so I used Blogger. But I wanted more. I wanted comments, and I wanted direct links...in short, I wanted something cool like Underachievers or Killoggs. So Loren told me that I wanted Greymatter.

I gotta stop for a second here and say something about Loren: He is one of the coolest guys who I've never really met. I mean, he has held my lame hand every step of the way as I made this site. He answered all my stupid newbie, RTFM questions, and never was impatient, or condescending, or anything. He was really, really helpful, and I have come to think of him as sort of a friend of mine. I can totally understand how people become friends over IM and stuff, because that's the only way we talk. Loren could call me, and I wouldn't know his voice from Adam (mostly because Adam doesn't call too much anymore, since I told his mom to stop hitting on me).

So, if you enjoy reading this weblog, you should take a second out of your day, and shout a big "Thanks" skyward, and direct it towards him, because I never would have known about this without him. And if you have a lot of money, you should give him some. Like have logjamming host you, or something. Because they're cool. So there.

End of Tangent.

So, during this 6 weeks of/*.phpL learning, I am a little bitch. I am whining to Ashley, Mae Ling, Ben, Loren, and Josh, and they're all being really supportive, and cool.

Then, one day, it hits me: the design I want. 6 weeks, to the day, after I launched the lame, old site, Anne goes away for the weekend. I put Underworld Live in my CD player, fire up Dreamweaver, and get to work. I work all through the night, and, by morning, I have the design I want. I sleep for a few hours, get up, and populate the site with the content that I want, which should explain all the spelling errors and broken links when I launched.

I get everything going, it's all working out okay, but the only thing not working is Email...for some reason, I can get it, but I can't respond. So I set up a .forward to my old yahoo address, but that's just not very cool, you know? So I ask Loren and Josh if they can do anything, and Loren totally hooks me up. He figures out what is wrong, and makes it go.

Then, today, the site goes boom, and these two guys do everything they possibly can to make it work again. Which is cool, because I just look for things...things to make me go.

I guess the whole point of this little history is to stand up, and say that I couldn't have done this without the help of these people, who hardly even know me. And I wanted to publicly say thank you, and give them what the kids call "hellamadprops".

Hella.

Hella.

Hella.

Viva Las Vega$ (sort of)

Hey hey!

I am back from Vega$, and one of the coolest conventions, ever! Here's the deal (or the dilly-o, as the damn kids today say. But since I am so not cool, I won't say that. Ever.)

Okay, so here's the deal: I have 5 days worth of cool stories to tell, but I am ex-freaking-hausted now, and my back is completely fucked from signing close to 7500 autographs, so sitting here typing is extremely painful, so that's about it for this entry.

But boy do I have stuff to tell:

The Server Hack

Vega$ (Gambling, losing, losing some more, winning, giving it back, and the rudeness. Oh, the rudness)

The Con: My talk (they hate me! they like me! they hate me! they like me!) My sketch show: (One of the best sketch shows I've ever done, and, apparently, the highlight of the convention, according to some fans) The Star Trek Experience (seriously. one of the coolest things I've ever seen.)

I have much to say, and I have gone back and forth today, deciding if I'm going to write this stupid little "I'm back" thing (which is extremely lame, I think), or just wait until tomorrow and tell all the stories. But I think I wanted my closest friends to know that I was back, and alive.

Tomorrow is a wasteland.

The World Has Turned

It's all anyone is talking about, so I'm not going to say much beyond this:

The World Has Turned, and I don't know what tomorrow will bring. I have this feeling that things will never be the same.

Here's my number one fear: I fear that Bush (who disgusts me, so just know that, and save your flames for someone who cares) will see this as an opportunity to look "Presidential", and bomb "Them" back to the stone age, and figure out who "They" are later. Sure, I think that we should find out who did this, and deal with them...but I fear the way it's going to be handled.

Loren makes a great point: there is all this talk about how our intelligence missed this, and whatnot. I greatly fear the laws that are going to come out of this thing. I am really afraid of what's going to happen to our privacy because of this. Just something to think about, while we all try to process this stuff.

This site seems to have a good timeline, if you're interested, and Slashdot has a good discussion going. I suggest listening very carefully to what you hear on the news, especially as there is less new info to report, and the carefully coiffed anchors begin speculating and exploiting, in an effort to hold your attention. I suggest reading IndyMedia and CommonDreams, as good alternative sources of information, free of spin and agenda.

In the mean time, please go and give blood. Especially if you're O-. I know that the thing I feel the most right now is helpless, and giving blood is something, however small, that we can do to help out, and maybe not feel so helpless.

Okay, I've said enough, which is more than I wanted to in the first place. I have cool Vega$ stories to tell, but I just don't feel like telling them today. Maybe tomorrow.

Barlow

This comes from John Perry Barlow, via Loren, via Scripting.com:

As most of you know, I believe that the United States has gradually, subtly, invisibly to most of us, become a police state over the last 30 years.

This morning's events are roughly equivalent to the Reichstag fire that provided the social opportunity for the Nazi take-over of Germany.

I am *not* suggesting that, like the Nazis, the authoritarian forces in America actually had a direct role in perpetrating this mind-blistering tragedy. (Though their indirect role deserves a much longer discussion.)

Nevertheless, nothing could serve those who believe that American "safety" is more important than American liberty better than something like this. Control freaks will dine on this day for the

rest of our lives.

Within a few hours, we will see beginning the most vigorous efforts to end what remains of freedom in America. Those of who are willing to sacrifice a little - largely illusory - safety in order to maintain our faith in the original ideals of America will have to fight for those ideals just as vigorously.

I beg you to begin NOW to do whatever you can - whether writing your public officials, joining the ACLU or EFF, taking to the streets, or living visibly free and fearless lives - to prevent the spasm of

control mania from destroying the dreams that far more have died for over the last two hundred twenty five years than died this morning.

Don't let the terrorists or (their natural allies) the fascists win. Remember that the goal of terrorism is to create increasingly paralytic totalitarianism in the government it attacks. Don't give them the satisfaction.

Fear nothing. Live free.

And, please, let us try to forgive those who have committed these appalling crimes. If we hate them, we will become them.

May God - or Whatever you want to call It - bless us all. We'll need it.

Barlow

He didn't know what to do. But he'd think of something.

I wasn't going to talk about this, because it's all anyone is talking about. I mean, I turn on TLC to get away from it, and they're just running a feed of FOX News. Same for Discovery. Even ESPN has a ticker with updates scrolling across the bottom of the screen.

So since I can't get away from it, I give in. I will write about it. Because I am scared. I am distraught. I am upset. I am depressed. I am angry. Mostly, I don't know what to do, and I'm not quite sure how to feel. It reminds me of when my friend hung himself. How helpless I felt, how angry, sad, scared, etc.

But the thing that really pushed me over the edge, the thing that made me sit down here tonight, was when I took Ryan to the mall tonight to buy a book for his book report. On the way he asked me if our local mall was popular. I looked in the rearview mirror, and told him that it was. Lots of people go there. He looked back at me, and asked me, "does that mean they're going to bomb our mall?"

So I spent the next hour explaining to him what had happened, and why (as best as I understand it, which is not very).

And I don't have much to say, really. I just know that when my dad got sick, I wrote about it and felt better. And when I got the shaft on the movie, I wrote about it, and I felt better, and when the bastards came for me, I wrote about it and I felt better.

And I really do want to tell all about Vega$ and the convention, but I can't, until I get this out of me. So here goes:

My wife woke me up Tuesday, much earlier than we normally get up, because my mom had called, and told her about the attack on the WTC. So sat up, turned on the TV, and watched in horror as that plane crashed into the tower, over and over and over and over.

I felt like I was watching a bad Steven Segal movie. I mean, this just doesn't happen in real life, right?

Anyway, I'm not gonna rehash the whole thing, because we've all been doing that, and I don't want to turn into what the news networks are all doing: just saying the same thing, over an dover, with a different pundit to agree with them.

But here's the deal: I can't cry. I really want to. I feel it well up in my chest, but the tears won't come. And that is the hardest thing, so far. That and the fear.

I was walking Ferris last night, and I kept getting this completely irrational fear that something awful was going to happen while I was away from the house. Didn't help that she kept stopping, and looking behind us, like there was something there.

I am supposed to travel at the end of the month to the east coast for another Star Trek Convention, and I really don't want to go now. At all. I know that is totally irrational, and totally lame, and exactly what the terrorists want, but I keep imagining what those people on those planes were feeling, knowing that they were going to die. I wonder what I would do if that ever happened to me...?

So, here I find myself at an uncommon loss for words. I don't think I really have much to add, so that's it for tonight.

Hrm. Worst. Entry. Ever.

Button, button, who's got the button?

Check out this cool button that was made for me by MizRedHead:

And check out this one, made by Steve Albright:

If you'd like to make a button, I think that'd be cool, because these are already cooler than anything I could have com up with. If you want to, it should be a .gif file, no larger than 3K, and no bigger than 35x100. email it to me, and I'll post the ones I think are the coolest, along with the aforementioned hellamadprops.

SpongeBob Vega$ Pants

Vega$ baby! Vega$!

It's the battle cry often heard coming from our car as my wife and I tear up I 15, making the 4 hours drive in 3 and a half. I mean, driving to Vega$ is half the fun. The excitement, the boredom, the constant, "Are we there yet?" Answered by, "Yes, just around this corner," or "We passed it. I have to turn around."

The stop at Barstow for In-N-Out Burgers, and slowing down past the Bunboy to see how hot it is at "the world's tallest thermometer". Reading every single billboard, announcing that the Stardust has ROOMS AVAILABLE TONIGHT! And Circus Circus has FREE CIRCUS ACTS EVERY HOUR!

The drive is usually as much fun, if not more fun, than the time we spend in Vega$.

I bring this up, because the last two times we've gone there, we've flown (because we weren't paying for it), and flying to Vega$ just sucks. I mean, where is The Mad Greek? Where is Lake Delores? And you know what? You can't listen to Joshua Tree on the way, when you're in a plane. The flight isn't long enough, and you look lame when tears roll down your face while listening to "Running To Stand Still" on an plane. In a car it's okay, but not on a plane. I don't know why, it's just one of those things that we'll never understand. Like overalls on adults, or George Bush in the White House.

So I'm gonna give you all the stories from Vega$, including the Con and stuff. The plan right now is to split them up over a few days, because I'm so damn long-winded, but we'll see where we are in a little bit.

Here goes.

The Flight

We went out on Southwest Airlines from Burbank. I love flying Southwest for less than an hour. It's easy, it's cheap, and the flight attendants out here are always really friendly and funny. Friendly and funny goes a LONG way with me, FYI.

We were scheduled to go out at 3:50 PM, meaning that we'd need to get to the airport around 3, which means we leave our house at 2:15 or so.

So it's 3:15 and we're walking out the door...and somehow we get to the airport on time.

You know how southwest gives you those boarding cards? I got number 42!! YES! Check out what a dork I am. I was so excited, because, you know...

So the flight was nice and bumpy, which is my favorite. OH! LeVar Burton was on the plane with us, and when we landed in Vega$, Anne and I ran, and I mean, ran into the bathrooms, and LeVar comes walking over to me, and tells me, "W W, [he always calls me that, which I think is cool] when you showed me that picture of your wife in South Pasadena [when we were at the TCAs for TNG on TNN -nice use of acronyms, Wil], you did not do her justice." Dramatic pause. "Wil Wheaton, your wife is a fox!"

So I've got that going for me, which is nice.

So we get a ride to our hotel, which is The Bellagio (again, because we're not paying for it. I am *so* not into the pretentious BS. The whole time we were there, I felt like I was playing dress up). We check in, and now we have exactly 30 minutes to get changed, and all that before my sketch comedy group meets us for a quick dinner and rehearsal.

Let me talk for a minute about my sketch comedy group.

I am a member of the ACME comedy theatre in Hollywood. The ACME is one of the best comedy theatres, ever, and it's one of the few achievements I've made that I am extremely proud of. I love the ACME. Matter of fact, I'll be teaching at our school very soon. So if you're in Los Angeles, and want to learn how to give up the funny, you should call us. You'll be glad you did! Alright. Enough gushing.

From this exceptional company,I chose some of the best improvisers/writers/performers I could find. Because I chose the best, they were all working on their various projects and things, and it was EXTREMELY hard to set up a rehearsal schedule that everyone could commit to. So we're doing a show with 10 sketches, most of which we've never done as a group before, and we've never really had a full rehearsal until the night before we're supposed to perform. Holy shit. I am freaking out, because I am a perfectionist, and I feel like these Trekkies have all paid lots of money to see our show (which sold out! Yes!), and I want to give them a really good one. One that they'll remember. It also doesn't help that I'm feeling like I have to win these people over (which is how I feel every time I go to one of these conventions) and prove to them that I can do something other than re-align the warp core or whatever.

So it's 5:30PM on Wednesday, and we're meeting at 6PM in the lobby to eat before we get rehearse in our hotel room. It's 6:15, and Kevin still isn't there, and I am freaking out. I am pacing in the lobby, pulling at my hair, and all that stuff. And I'm cursing Kevin's name, until he shows up at 6:20. Well, it turns out that I had forgotten to tell him what time we were meeting. My bad.

4:32 PM PDT:

There's more to come very soon, but I just remembered that there is a blood drive and fundraiser as the Rose Bowl, and I want to get there before it's over.

6:00 PM PDT:

I just got back home. I gave money to the Fireman's fund, and the Red Cross. I felt good about doing that, but the jingoistic attitude that pervaded the whole area really bothered me. Especially in light of this and this. I think this may cost me some readers, and maybe get me some hate mail, but I have to say it: the attitude for vengence and revenge that seems palpable everywhere I go really scares me. I'd rather feel a demand for justice.

Anyway, back to our regularly scheduled programming:

Kevin finally shows up, and we decide to go to the buffet. But when we get there, we notice that it's $24.95. Holy shit. Question: does anyone ever really get their money's worth at a buffet? I don't ever feel like I do. And I always end up combining foods that I really shouldn't combine. Like shrimp and chocolate cake, or miso soup and some alfredo pasta (back in the pre-lactose intolerant days). So I suggest that maybe $24.95 is too much for a bunch of us starving actors (hey, I haven't found my pennies yet) to pay, and maybe we should go to the Cafe instead. So we shlep all the way across the damn casino to the Cafe.

Tangent: When you go to Vega$, have you ever noticed that everything is through the casino? I mean, I bet if you go to the hospital in Vega$, you have to go through a bank of slot machines to get to the ER. You have to go through a casino to get to the casino. Bastards.

So we go to the cafe, and because it's the Bellagio, everything costs so damn much that it would have been cheaper for us all to eat at the Buffet. So there was much shit given to your old pal Wil, and we had to eat Sir Robin's Minstrels. And there was much rejoicing.

Yaaay.

After dinner, we headed upstairs and finally ran our whole show. I had made a very big deal to everyone about how important it was to know all of their lines, so they could work on character tweaks, instead of memorizing lines. And everyone stepped up. They all knew their lines, they all knew their characters, and it was great. All except one person, who couldn't remember his lines for shit.

Me.

Oh, how awful I felt. How embarassed I was. But it happens sometimes to me. It used to happen back on Trek. When I would have a really important scene, ususally one with Patrick, and I wanted to do really well, and impress everyone. I would just get a brain freeze, and even know I knew that I knew the lines, they wouldn't come. Like "I know that joke, but I forgot it" times a million.

So I was still pretty freaked, but we got through it, and I did get the lines down, mostly, enough so I felt like we could all go out and have a drink and do a little gambling.

It was decided that we'd all head back to our respective hotels, and meet at Cleopatra's Barge at Caesar's Palace in something like a half-hour.

So here's the deal: This place, Cleopatra's Barge...I felt like I'd walked into someone else's mid-life crisis. Someone please explain to me why all the cover bands play "Brick House"? And someone else explain to me why they can never get the words right? Oh! And here's a newsflash for you: Creed sucks. Playing bad covers of Creed songs sucks even more. So just stop the insanity!

We sat at this place for the prescribed half-hour, and as soon as everyone else was there, we bailed out, and fast. Cleopatra's Barge was more like the Titanic. We did a teeny little bit of gambling, and Tracy won 40 bucks in quarters, which was cool.

We ended up across the street at The Barbary Coast, where the dealers were cool, I won some money on Craps (my favorite game, for those of you scoring at home), and Anne won some money at the Wheel of Fortune slot machines. We went into the Coffee Shop, and had REASONABLY PRICED steak and eggs, with a side of extra-well done hasbrowns, thankyouverymuch, and that was it. We went in about 3 AM, which isn't bad, Vega$-time, because I had looked at the schedule for the con the next day, and I wasn't on until 5PM. Cool. Time to sleep in.

Morning. 8AM. I've been asleep for 5 hours. Phone rings. It's Jackie Scott, one of the convention promoters. She says, "We need you here at 10 for an autograph signing. Do you want to be picked up at 9:30, or do you want to take a cab?"

"Mrphhzzzzgggggthphbbt" was all I could muster.

[NEXT:]

DAY ONE AT THE CON:

AUTOGRAPHS!

MY ON STAGE TALK!

THE SKETCH SHOW!

And...

Let the rudeness begin!

Fuck You, Falwell, and Robertson Can Kiss My Ass

Via Plastic.com via the Washington Post:

Television evangelists Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson, two of the most prominent voices of the religious right, said liberal civil liberties groups, feminists, homosexuals and abortion rights supporters bear partial responsibility for Tuesday's terrorist attacks because their actions have turned God's anger against America.

Please Read

This is making its way all around, and, sadly, I don't think the people who really need to read it are capable of that. But, please read it, if you haven't already, and spend a moment to reflect. It comes to me from Loren.

"I've been hearing a lot of talk about "bombing Afghanistan back to the Stone Age." Ronn Owens, on KGO Talk Radio today, allowed that this would mean killing innocent people, people who had nothing to do with this atrocity, but "we're at war, we have to accept collateral damage. What else can we do?" Minutes later I heard some TV pundit discussing whether we "have the belly to do what must be done."

And I thought about the issues being raised especially hard because I am from Afghanistan, and even though I've lived here for 35 years I've never lost track of what's going on there. So I want to tell anyone who will listen how it all looks from where I'm standing.

I speak as one who hates the Taliban and Osama Bin Laden. There is no doubt in my mind that these people were responsible for the atrocity in New York. I agree that something must be done about those monsters.

But the Taliban and Ben Laden are not Afghanistan. They're not even the government of Afghanistan. The Taliban are a cult of ignorant psychotics who took over Afghanistan in 1997. Bin Laden is a political criminal with a plan. When you think Taliban, think Nazis. When you think Bin Laden, think Hitler. And when you think "the people of Afghanistan" think "the Jews in the concentration camps." It's not only that the Afghan people had nothing to do with this atrocity. They were the first victims of the perpetrators. They would exult if someone would come in there, take out the Taliban and clear out the rats nest of international thugs holed up in their country.

Some say, why don't the Afghans rise up and overthrow the Taliban? The answer is, they're starved, exhausted, hurt, incapacitated, suffering.

A few years ago, the United Nations estimated that there are 500,000 disabled orphans in Afghanistan--a country with no economy, no food.

There are millions of widows. And the Taliban has been burying thesewidows alive in mass graves. The soil is littered with land mines, the farms were all destroyed by the Soviets. These are a few of the reasons why the Afghan people have not overthrown the Taliban.

We come now to the question of bombing Afghanistan back to the Stone Age. Trouble is, that's been done. The Soviets took care of it already.

Make the Afghans suffer? They're already suffering. Level their houses? Done. Turn their schools into piles of rubble? Done. Eradicate their hospitals? Done. Destroy their infrastructure? Cut them off from medicine and health care? Too late. Someone already did all that.

New bombs would only stir the rubble of earlier bombs. Would they at least get the Taliban? Not likely. In today's Afghanistan, only the Taliban eat, only they have the means to move around. They'd slip away and hide. Maybe the bombs would get some of those disabled orphans, they don't move too fast, they don't even have wheelchairs. But flying over Kabul and dropping bombs wouldn't really be a strike against the criminals who did this horrific thing. Actually it would only be making common cause with the Taliban--by raping once again the people they've been raping all this time

So what else is there? What can be done, then? Let me now speak with true fear and trembling. The only way to get Bin Laden is to go in there with ground troops. When people speak of "having the belly to do what needs to be done" they're thinking in terms of having the belly to kill as many as needed. Having the belly to overcome any moral qualms about killing innocent people. Let's pull our heads out of the sand. What's actually on the table is Americans dying. And not just because some Americans would die fighting their way through Afghanistan to Bin Laden's hideout. It's much bigger than that folks. Because to get any troops to Afghanistan, we'd have to go through Pakistan. Would they let us? Not likely. The conquest of Pakistan would have to be first. Will other Muslim nations just stand by? You see where I'm going. We're flirting with a world war between Islam and the West.

And guess what: that's Bin Laden's program. That's exactly what he wants. That's why he did this. Read his speeches and statements. It's all right there. He really believes Islam would beat the west. It might seem ridiculous, but he figures if he can polarize the world into Islam and the West, he's got a billion soldiers. If the west wreaks a holocaust in those lands, that's a billion people with nothing left to lose, that's even better from Bin Laden's point of view. He's probably wrong, in the end the west would win, whatever that would mean, but the war would last for years and millions would die, not just theirs but ours. Who has the belly for that? Bin Laden does. Anyone else?"

-Tamim Amsary

Random

My wife and I were driving home from Nolan's soccer game this morning.

Let me pause here and say how much I love getting up at 6AM on a Saturday, so I can go sit in wet grass and watch overachiever parents scream at their terrified 10 year olds that they're doing everything wrong. Oh, and I especially love when the assistant coach of the freaking team gets so pissed at the kids for making a mistake that he takes off his hat, throws it to the ground, and stomps on it. For reals. And if that wasn't enough, when one of the kids missed a fairly easy goal (maybe he was distracred by his father screaming at him to "Kick it, Brandon! Kick it! KICK THE DAMN BALL!"), he actually dropped to the ground in a ball, and pounded his fists against the ground, like Kirk in Wrath of Khan.

Fortunately, Nolan is a phenomenal soccer player, and he doesn't get yelled at by any of his parents, or the head coach, who happens to be his dad.

But my favorite is the guy who can't even sit down, beacuse he's pacing the whole time, screaming at his kid, "David! Get back! NO! Get up! NO! Cover your guy! NUMBER 4 DAVID! COVER NUMBER 4! NO! Don't look at me!!! NOOOO!!!" Pace. Pace. Smoke. Smoke.

Running a close second is the guy who yelled at his kid, "Alberto! Alberto! You just cost your team a goal! What did we talk about?! WHAT DID WE TALK ABOUT?!"

I have two pieces of advice for those parents:

1) Get a life. They're 10. It's not that important.

2) For the benefit of the kids, and all the parents around you, please stay the fuck away from the field, okay? Drop your future Maradona off, go home, and come back when the game is over.

Read the AYSO guide of conduct, recently, guys? I didn't think so.

What a tool.

Anyway, I'm on the way home with Anne, and this really wussy song comes on the radio, and she says, "Is this The Crash Test Dummies?" (One of the wussiest bands in history, for those of you scoring at home)

"No, it's Metallica." I told her.

So if any of you were wondering if Metallica has completey lost it, there you are. I can't believe that the guys who croak out "Until It Sleeps" are the same guys who gave me whiplash in 95 listening to "Damage Incorporated" and "Master of Puppets"

"Napster bad!"

So are formerly cool metal bands who wuss out.

A change of pace?

Am I the only person who is at once really tired of, yet unable to pull myself away from, the wall to wall converage of the WTC bombing? Apparently not.

But KCBS Channel 2 here in LA has finally stopped running their coverage (I am convinced now that Dan Rather is not a person, but a very complex robot who can stay awake for hundreds of hours in a row. That or he's a series of clever clones, like in that Droopy cartoon).

The only thing is, they've replaced the constant replays of horror and suffering and destruction with...a marathon of Judge Judy.

What?

Belly Buttons

I think that there are few things in this world that are sexier than a flat tummy, in one of those midriff shirts, with a subtle piercing and NO FUCKING WAIST BRACELET. Waist bracelets belong one place, and one place only, and that is on strippers. So if you're not a stripper, please, please, puh-leeeze. Just say no. You'll be glad you did.

Anyway, I turn on something like VH1 or something, and they're playing that Levi's commercial, where the belly buttons are singing, "I'm coming out". You know the one. Does that give anyone else the creeps? Somehow, they made those belly buttons look the opposite of sexy. They made them scary. I mean, they made them clown scary.

Clown scary, Chet. Clown scary.

Photos

I've finally added some photos.

Hellamadprops to Loren for helping me get IDS running.

Homework

Two quick things tonight. Not a lot of time to write, because I have a HUGE audition tomorrow (Monday) for a supercool miniseries. So I have a lot of homework to do.

Speaking of homework, here's yours:

Read this, and get involved.

Read this, and laugh your ass off at one of the coolest things, ever.

Why I will not rally around the president

This comes from alt.fan.noam-chomsky. I agree whole-heartedly with the author. I realize that this may piss some of you off, and it may cost me some readers, but this whole site is about getting to know me, and who I am. Well, this is part of who I am.

Why I will not rally around the president

 by Robert Jensen

 

 

 

We are told that in this time of crisis, all good Americans should rally around the president and the flag.

 

I will rally, but not around a leader calling for war or a symbol of nationalism.

 

It is easy to understand the emotion behind the chanting of "USA, USA." But I will not chant.

 

In this time of crisis, I will rally around policies that seek peace and security, for all people everywhere. And instead of chanting, I will speak quietly about the grief we all feel, and loudly about the need to resist our leaders' plans for global war.

 

Decent people agree that in this time of crisis, we cannot let the lines of color and culture, of language and religion, divide us. But we need to go another step, to understand that the lines dividing people based on nations are just as dangerous. We must also agree not to give in to the urge to value the lives of innocent Americans over the lives of innocent people in other countries.

 

For the past few days -- in person and on the phone, through email and on the radio -- I have been called "unpatriotic," condemned as a "traitor" and labeled "anti-American" because my writing has opposed the drive to war, the call for blood to avenge those who died in the terror attacks.

 

But I also have heard from many others who also are concerned that U.S. officials will take us into a war that will bring only more death, pain and grief, leaving us less secure. They want to speak out but fear being attacked for not being "good Americans."

 

This is a moment when we need the courage to say that being a good American does not mean supporting a war so violent and so indiscriminate that more innocent people will die.

 

That does not mean we renounce the ideals of freedom and justice so often associated with the United States; we should hold onto those ideals more fiercely than ever and put them into practice by resisting the rush to war.

 

We should honor the ideals of this country by saying, in as clear a voice as we can manage: Not in our name will the United States seek vengeance or go forward to kill.

 

It is important to read closely the joint resolution passed by Congress, which authorizes the president "to use all necessary and appropriate force against those nations, organizations, or persons he determines planned, authorized, committed, or aided the terrorist attacks that occurred on Sept. 11, 2001, or harbored such organizations or persons, in order to prevent any future acts of international terrorism against the United States by such nations, organizations or persons."

 

That is not a resolution based on a quest for justice. It is an open-ended invitation to attack anyone U.S. leaders decide to target. And those leaders -- Dick Cheney and Colin Powell among them -- are some of the same people who during the Gulf War unleashed attacks not only on military targets but on

civilians and the entire civilian infrastructure of Iraq, killing hundreds of thousands of innocent people during and after the war. This resolution, and the statements from the Bush administration about an ongoing global war, suggest that what is coming will be even more frightening.

 

When we speak out against war in public, we will find support, but we also should expect hostility. We should expect the question posed by one of the people who wrote to condemn me: "Whose side are you on?"

 

The answers to that are simple:

 

I am on the side of the people -- no matter where they live -- who will suffer the violence, not the leaders -- no matter where they live -- who will plan it.

 

I am on the side of peace, not war.

 

I am on the side of justice, not vengeance.

 

And most important, I am on the side of hope, not despair.

 

We do not have the luxury of despair right now. There is too much at stake for too many people.

 

Robert Jensen is a professor of journalism at the University of Texas at

Austin. He can be reached at rjensen@uts.cc.utexas.edu.

Son of SpongeBob Vega$Pants

When we last left our heroes, they were in a hotel room, on little sleep, somewhere in Las Vega$...

"Mrphhzzzzgggggthphbbt," was all I could muster.

There was silence on the phone.

"Wil?"

There's this voice in our heads. That voice that tells you it's not a good idea to kick that guy, or that you probably should think twice before you take all that shrimp from the Buffet...it's the self-preservation voice...you know it. My self-preservation voice, and my stay-in-bed voice are currently having this conversation:

"Dude. Mumble again, and go back to sleep. It'll be okay."

"What?! You have a commitment to these people! Get up!"

"Gettin' up is for pussies!"

"If you don't get up, everyone will hate you."

"They hate you already! Stay in bed! Hey! Youurreee wiiffeessss innnn bedddd...."

Somehow, I got up. I told them that I'd take a cab, so they didn't have to worry about that, and I'd see them about 9:45.

Anne gets up, and orders some room service (Which is *always* over priced, so I'm not even going to complain about it) while I take a shower.

So:

Shower.

Coffee.

Eat.

Coffee.

Kiss.

Walk through casino.

Cab.

Convention.

I get to the hotel where they're doing the show at about 9:55. I'm supposed to start at 10, so I can imagine that they're freaking out a bit.

I'm right. I wander all over the hotel, giving all of the appropriate Vulcan and Klingon salutes, until I finally find someone from the con, who tells me where to go. Then she shows me where I'm supposed to be.

The autograph thing works like this: some people paid quite a bit of money to get these "golden ticket"-style things, where they'd get the best seats, access to all the extra shows, and they'd get an "in-person" autograph.

Tangent about autographs: I don't get autographs. I don't understand the appeal of having someone's signature on a photo. It's just not something I'm into. But here's what I do get: having someone sign something for you means that you get that person's attention for 30 seconds, and you can tell them how much you like them, or how much you didn't like them, or whatever. The autograph is secondary. It's that contact that's important. At least that's what I guess about these people, because they paid a lot of money to get their autographs "in-person".

So the way this works is it's like an assembly line kinda thing. You come into this long hallway, and there is Michael Dorn, sitting at a table. You give him your ticket and picture (or phaser, or whatever) and he signs it. You go to the next table, and there is Marina Sirits. Ticket. Autograph. Repeat.

Contrary to popular belief, sitting at a table, signing thousands of autographs is really hard. Because it's not just scrawling my name. It's stopping and listening to the always excited, sometimes shaking, sweating, scary dude wants to know exactly why I did X on episode Y, and would I please sign his picture in gold, because Marina signed it in silver, and now he wants the men in silver and the women in gold, oh, and I hated your character, and here are 25 reasons why, and I expect an answer for each one of them.

Now, personally, I think this approach, while the only one that really works, has the potential to really suck for the fans. Sure, if you're in the first 100 or so we see, that's fine. But towards the end, we start to get tired. Our arms and backs get sore. We begin to lose our voices, and we're ready to go home. But I do my best. I stay focused, and I remind myself that these fans waited a LONG time, so they are the ones that I need to give the most attention to, when I am the most drained.

End tangent.

So I get to the hallway where we're set up for autographs, and, as I am walking up the hallway, I see Dorn, Marina, Renee, Kate Mulgrew, and WILLIAM FUCKING SHATNER. Shatner has always been a dick to me, but I want to say hi, so I approach them, and I say, "Hi! How you guys doin?"

Everyone returns my greeting, even Kate, who I don't know, at all. Never even been introduced. Everyone, that is, except WILLIAM FUCKING SHATNER! Old toupee-head won't even look at me! I don't know what this guy's problem is, really. I think he's very funny, I think he's got a great sense of humor about himself, but he is always a dick to me. So all I can do is just smile, shrug it off, and get set up at my table. On my way there, I hear Kate say, "Could we get some coffee?" The person who is working for the con says, "Sure. There's a coffe cart in the lobby." WILLIAM FUCKING SHATNER says, "Uh, no. What we need is not just coffee. We need a Starbuck's run." Cool, dude. Like this convention staffer isn't over-worked enough. Good thing there's a Starbuck's every 100 feet.

Okay, so I'm at my table, and they send in the flood of fans. I've got my game-face on. My pen hand is strong, and I'm ready to be witty, charming, friendly, and make these guys feel like the autograph I'm currently signing is the only one I've signed all day.

Here comes the first fan. Okay, she's not wearing a spacesuit...that's a good sign. She has a witty Sci-Fi T-shirt on. Also a good sign. She's about 20 feet away, and I can't smell her. A VERY good sign.

Here she comes.

"Hi! How you doing today?!" I say.

"AWFUL! THIS IS THE WORST CONVENTION I HAVE EVER BEEN TO! I HATE DAVE SCOTT! I HATE LAS VEGAS! I HATE THIS CONVENTION!"

"Uhh..I think...that...this convention...just started...and...uhh..I'm sure that if you talk to Dave Scott, everyt--"

"DAVE SCOTT IS AN ARROGANT ASSHOLE!"

"Uh...yeah...well, you see, the thing is, I'm sort of not really involved in the planning of this convention, you know? I'm just, like, a guest...maybe you could--"

"THIS IS THE MOST FAN UNFRIENDLY CONVENTION I HAVE EVER BEEN TO!"

And she storms away.

What the fuck?

Well, at least it can only get better, right?

=Next=

MORE AUTOGRAPHS!

ZANY FANS!

THE REHEARSAL THAT WASN'T!

THE TALK!

Rally round the flag?

I read this at Salon tonight. Read it quick, before some lawyer comes here and makes me take it down.

Rally round the flag?

I love Old Glory. I just wonder if I can take it back from the creeps who've waved it all my life.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

By King Kaufman

Sept. 18, 2001 | I'm wrestling with the American flag.

It's everywhere now: tiny ones riffling on car antennas, medium ones waving from porches, giant ones yawning from cranes. People are wearing them. Every Old Navy flag shirt ever bought has been pulled out of the drawer this week, and Stars and Stripes 'do rags are all the rage.

There's no flag flying on my porch. I don't have a flag, and they're hard to come by these days anyway -- not that I've tried to get one. And if I had one, I can't figure out if I'd fly it or not.

See, Old Glory and I, we go way back, and we've had our problems.

For most of my life, the American flag has been the cultural property of people I can't stand: right-wingers, jingoists, know-nothing zealots. It's something that hypocritical politicians wrap themselves in. It's something that certain legislators would make it a crime to burn -- a position that's an assault on the very freedom that the flag represents. It's something brandished at times like these by idiots who say things like, "Let's go over there and burn those rag-heads!"

During the Gulf War, I hated the American flag. It was everywhere then, too, on porches and car antennas and over the left breast of every uniformed athlete, all in support of a war I and many others thought to be immoral.

But I also love the flag. Seeing it stirs something in me, even when I'm mad at it, or disagree with those who wave it. I am, after all, an American, and despite being opposed to every single military adventure this nation has undertaken in my lifetime, I'm a patriotic one at that.

For me, though, patriotism is more about the freedom to criticize the government than it is about waving a piece of red, white and blue laundry around and singing "God Bless America." It's about loving our shared national personality -- aggressive, impulsive and open, unimpressed with such Old World nonsense as royalty. It's about feeling at home in a country where the first question asked of new acquaintances is not "Where are you from?" but "What do you do?"; where a loutish baseball star can sit next to a president and say, "Hot as hell, ain't it Prez?" and be loved all the more for it. It's about loving this country's crazy cultural stew -- that "melting pot" that we give ourselves more credit for than we should, but that really does exist.

For me, statements like "America right or wrong" or "America: Love it or leave it," a chestnut from my childhood, are the antithesis of what this country is all about. And those are the sentiments that the flag has come, over many years, to represent for me.

So you'll be surprised to hear that I have an American flag shirt, and maybe surprised to hear that I sometimes wear it -- without irony! -- on occasions such as the Fourth of July. First of all, it's a hell of a shirt since, after all, it's a Grand Old Flag. But I also like what it says. It says I'm an American. Not for me the pretentious Europhile weenieness that sometimes plagues my fellow middle-class American white boys. I'm a proud son of the country that's produced Bart Simpson and Ambrose Bierce, Robert Johnson and Abe Lincoln, Michael Jordan and Doc Holliday. Bruce Springsteen said something in his "Born in the U.S.A." days that stayed with me: "That's my flag too." How did the Republicans and the gun nuts and the xenophobes co-opt it?

There are two kinds of patriots: The "God Bless America" kind and the "This Land Is Your Land" kind. I'm the latter.

On the surface, the songs sound similar: simple melodies with lyrics about America's natural beauty, the mountains and deserts and "oceans white with foam" in one; the Redwood forests, Gulf Stream waters and "sparkling sands of her diamond deserts" in the other.

But that's only because we don't sing all the verses that Woody Guthrie wrote in his song, an answer to "God Bless America," which he hated for its sentimentality and dumb, blind devotion. Here's one of the verses school kids don't sing: "As I was walking, I saw a sign there/And that sign said 'No trespassing'/But on the other side, it didn't say nothing/Now that side was made for you and me." Another verse has "my people" at the relief office, "wondering if this land was made for you and me."

That song's political and social criticism, its questioning, are also part of what make this country great. These things, as much as our culture, our national personality, our country's physical magnificence, are what the flag represents to me.

But when I see that flag flying from a neighbor's porch, I think, "Oh boy, right-wing nut." And I'm not hearing people singing "This Land Is Your Land" over the last week, though "God Bless America" is everywhere.

While I'm not quite a pacifist, I have a pretty simple, even simplistic view of war: You don't fight unless you've been attacked. So now that this country has been attacked, I agree with the vast majority that some sort of military response is warranted. This is a new feeling for me, this feeling that we're the good guys and we're fighting the bad guys. It makes sense that I'd want to fly the good guys' flag, but that flag comes wrapped around a lot of baggage.

There's the bell. The wrestling match continues.

salon.com

- - - - - - - - - - - -

About the writer

King Kaufman is a senior writer for Salon.

King of the world

This is so cool.

I was very moved by the post from Salon that I, uh, borrowed.

So I emailed the author, and told him:

To: king@salon.com

Subject: Flag

Mr. King,

Thank you for giving words to the feelings I have inside.

I was so moved by your writing, I copied it, and posted it at my own site.

Hope that's okay. I included links to the original, and a mailto: link to you.

You've moved a lot of people. If you want to read their comments, they are here: http://www.wilwheaton.net/greymatter/archives/00000054/*.php#comments

Sincerely and admiringly,

Wil Wheaton

*

WIL WHEATON DOT NET

50,000 monkeys at 50,000

typewriters can't be wrong.

http://www.wilwheaton.net

*

See, I would have just included the link to Salon, but I think that people are more likely to read something that's right in front of them, rather than click a link, and I really wanted all of you to see this.

Here's the cool thing: King wrote back:

To: Wil

Subject: Re: Flag

Wil,

Thanks. As you note on your site, our lawyers (actually, our person in

charge of rights and syndication -- we can't really afford lawyers these

days) frown on this sort of thing, but I found your Web site so charming

and fun that I won't tell them if you won't.

Cheers.

king

Isn't that cool?!

So here's the deal. Don't tell anyone, okay?

Return of SpongeBob Vega$pants

When we last left our hero, he had survived a horrible snubbing by toupeed Priceline.com pitchman and former stock-holding billionaire WILLIAM FUCKING SHATNER, only to be verbally attacked by a disgruntled Star Trek fan.

Let's go to the tape...

THIS IS THE MOST FAN UNFRIENDLY CONVENTION I HAVE EVER BEEN TO!"

And she storms away.

What the fuck?

Well, at least it can only get better, right?

Right, it can, and it does. Lots of people come by, people of varying ages, nationalities, sanity, and levels of costumery. I sign pictures of the young, geeky Wesley Crusher. I sign posters of the Teen Heart-throb that I'm told I once was. I sign posters that I'm not even on, in silver because everyone else did, accepting the apologies from the poster owners that I'm not on the poster. I always answer with the same joke: "That's okay, you just can't see me, because I'm on this planet here..." sign, sign. They laugh, and feel good, and I repeat the same ritual for the next 3 hours, for close to a thousand people. In all of this, there is really only one person who just freaks me out, and it only lasts for a few minutes, and I let security know, and we're all okay again.

You know the cool thing? There are these fans who came over from Germany, and some of them are girls, and they are HOT. And they tell me, in broken English, how much they love me. Oh yeah, tell me some more baby. Tell daddy how you love him.

What?

I am so sorry. I have no idea where that came from. I apologize.

Speaking of broken English, there are 20 Japanese kids, all together, who've come over from Tokyo for the show. And they are, each and every one of them, totally cool. They are so excited, and having such a great time. The girls ask me if I'd please sign their names on it, and I do, and they giggle, and bow, and blush, and thank me, over and over. For a second, I feel like a rockstar. Then I look up, and the face that's looking back at me is this guy who's like 40, and he's wearing a spacesuit that's a little too small, and he's made up like one of those blue guys with antennae from the original Star Trek. Andorians, I think they're called. And I am rocked back from my "Almost Famous" fantasy, back into "Galaxy Quest" (at least it's not "Trekkies", right?)

Oh, this was so damn cool. One of the Japanese kids was a boy, about my height, and he comes up to me and says that his friends tell him that he looks exactly like me. That they tell him that I am his twin.

Last time I checked, I wasn't Japanese, but I'm not about to dump on this guy, so I look at him, and I say, "Dude. You are so right. It's like I'm looking in a mirror!" He turns to his friends, says something in Japanese, and they all share and excited murmur. I felt like I made the guy's morning, which was cool. He asked me to sign his Wesley Crusher action figure, which I do, with the following inscription: "To Tamako,[I think that was his name] my long lost twin brother: Don't Panic! -Wil Wheaton"

That was really cool.

Tangent: It's wierd being a "celebrity". People tend to give celebrities more attention than normal people. They seem to think that if you're on TV, or play a sport, your opinion is somehow more valid than the guy sitting next to you...I've never subscribed to this ideal, because I've met tons of celebrities in my life, and most of them are really, really, REALLY, lame, and not very smart. Especially the athletes.

Well, one of the cool things about celebrity that I can touch people's lives, in some ways. I mean, there are people who are so into TV or whatever, that just by meeting me, or one of the other Trek people, they get super excited. That's why I think it's so important that we're not dicks to them. Don't get me wrong, if you're scary, and freaky and wierd, I'm gonna get rid of you as fast as I can. I don't care how many tribbles you have...but sometimes, I get to meet someone, like the guy who said I was his twin, and just by being cool, I can make him really, really happy. I really like that.

I have always said that if I take 30 seconds to sign a picture or a napkin or something, and it makes someone really happy, I am the biggest asshole on earth, I mean, WILLIAM FUCKING SHATNER big, if I don't do it.

So let this tangent be a notice to all you future superstars out there: Whether you asked for it or not, once you're a celebrity, you *are* a role model, because people pay attention to you. So don't be a dick. And sign autographs with a smile, and make people feel good for coming up to you, because, believe it or not, they were scared to do it, and you've got a chance to leave them feeling good, or feeling like shit. Pop quiz, asshole:some nervous guy comes up to you, and asks you if you'll sign his book. What do you do? What do you do?!

/tangent

So the signing goes on.

And on.

And on.

And It gets closer and closer to 1:30, when I am supposed to leave, so I can rehearse with my group for our show, but there are still something like 150 people who still haven't gotten their autographs. And I know, that as you get towards the end of the line, your signature degrades. Your humor slows down. You feel tired and worn out, and you just don't have what the fans deserve. I know it, and it sucks, and I work VERY hard to treat the last 150 the same as the first 150, but sometimes, you're just not physically able.

So I made a choice: I decided to leave, and get those 150 people the next day. I was going to be there all weekend, and stuff, and I figured that if I signed those people's stuff tomorrow, they would get a refreshed, funny, cool me, rather than the top of my head (which, I understand the gay community has wanted for years. Sorry guys.).

But there was a risk: I mean, most of these people want to hate me. Don't forget that. They've spent the last 14 years building me up to be this awful thing, and they reallly need me to validate that for them, by being a dick, or vapid, or whatever. I was nervous that this leaving would give them exactly what they were looking for.

So I stood up, and made an announcement:

"Guys! I was told I'd be done by 1PM."

The grumbling begins.

"It's now 1:30, and I'm supposed to be rehearsing with my sketch group right now."

The grumbling gets louder, their sense of entitlement now roused.

"But I'll be here all weekend, and I'll sign whatever you want tomorrow. If I don't go now, the show will suck."

And an amazing thing happens. They all let me go, with good humor. They weren't sad at all. They were actually singing. They sang without posters! They sang without pictures! They sang without autographs, blasters and fixtures!

So I left, and got back to the hotel.

And because I was late, the group had gone and done other things, like gambling, without me.

So I took a nap. One of those naps that lasts only 30 minutes, but feels like a whole night's sleep.

I woke up, ate, showered, changed, packed my bags with costumes and props, and headed back to the con for the show.

=NEXT=

THE TALK

THE SHOW

RANDOM TANGENTS!

CHILLS!

THRILLS!

And, of course, Andy Rooney.

Kettle, Meet Pot. Pot, Meet Kettle.

I was just reading the comments from the Vega$ trip, and laughing along...I think I have some very cool readers, and I feel like there's some supercool community happening here...I like that.

In there, I found this link to some pictures from the Vega$ show...so I followed it, in the hopes of snarfing some of them for my photo album. See, the light in the ballroom wasn't exactly conducive to great pictures, and the one I have of me...well..it's just...yeah.

So I went there, looked at the pictures, and read the comments.

And I am so fucking enraged, and indignant, and incredulous, that I posted a comment myself, but, even after walking Ferris (who is female, BTW), so I could calm down, I am still all hopped up, and I'm giving it it's own entry, so everyone can see it.

I'm multi-faceted. You've seen my funny facet, you've seen my political facet. You've seen my romantic facet. Now, cast your gaze upon my indignant, outraged facet...if you dare!

In regards to the comments at TrekkBBS:

WTF is wrong with those people?! I mean, don't they get it? People like those, who criticize Jennifer and Ethan, and call Garrett by his own name, and then by his character's name, in the same sentence...("Garret, what's...blah blah...I mean, Harry can grow up...blah blah...")

Dude, people, GET A FUCKING LIFE!!

It's nimrods like you, who sit behind your computers munching fritos and wrestling with the great dilemma: "Watch Xena, tape Farscape? Watch Farscape, tape Xena?! What to do?! Help me, Q! Someone! Help me!" People like you who make us not want to go near a convention, EVER!! So fucking what if Ethan was wearing shorts. It was over 100 degrees in Vega$!! Would you rather he wear a fucking spacesuit?! Listen up, assmonkeys: It is people like you who give all star trek fans a bad name. It is because of people like you that normal people are afraid to admit that they like the show, and have to apologize for watching it.

Who the fuck are you to criticize us? Huh? Put the pizza down, and step away from the star trek monoply, folks.

*pant*

*pant*

*faint*

Change that diaper, Mr. Cooksey.

From The Baton Rouge Advocate: U.S. Rep. John Cooksey, R-Monroe, told a network of Louisiana radio stations Monday that someone 'wearing a diaper on his head' should expect to be interrogated in the investigation of terrorist attacks on the Pentagon and New York City.

Here's the full quote: "If I see someone (who) comes in that's got a diaper on his head and a fan belt wrapped around the diaper on his head, that guy needs to be pulled over."

A diaper? Did I read that correctly? Let me look again.

Holy crap. A United States Representative actually said that.

Time to unwrap the poison pen.

I fired off this letter to the un-distinguished gentleman:

Rep. John Cooksey

113 Cannon House Office Building

Washington, D.C.

20515

20 September 2001

Dear Rep. Cooksey,

I read your remarks regarding racial profiling today in The Baton Rouge Advocate:

"If I see someone (who) comes in that's got a diaper on his head and a fan belt wrapped around the diaper on his head, that guy needs to be pulled over."

These remarks are not the remarks of someone who is worthy of a position in our government. Your remarks, sir, are ignorant, disgusting, and racist. I expect much more from a member of congress.

We Americans turn to you, our elected leaders, to provide leadership and guidance, especially during times such as these, when our democracy is threatened, and our population is frightened and confused.

A great leader once said, “A house divided against itself can not stand.” The terrorists who currently threaten us are counting on remarks such as yours, which will divide this country, and cause us to turn against ourselves.

I suggest that you take some time to read about the mass internment of Japanese Americans during the aftermath of the attack on Pearl Harbor, as those who are not familiar with history are condemned to repeat it.

Sincerely,

Wil Wheaton

I doubt that he'll be taking any time off to respond to me, considering that I live out of his district...but I bet you I *will* get a fundraising letter back.

Camelot

This was sent to me this morning, by Matt.

You must have good bandwidth and Realplayer, or Windows Media player.

Holy Grail: LEGO style.

I'm meeting my wife for breakfast. There's a good chance there may be another chapter in the saga of SpongeBobVega$Pants today....

Fark me.

I really want to add a new entry in the ever-expanding saga of SpongeBob Vega$Pants, and his adventures across the 9th dimension.

Really, I do.

But the thing is, the story is filled with lots of very funny things that happened, and I'm not feeling very funny the last couple of days.

I'm feeling really sad. I'm feeling really scared, and I've been feeling really depressed.

Thing is, I can't get those firefighters out of my head. I can't stop thinking about the people who were on cell phones with their loved ones when the towers came crashing down. I am haunted by the images of people holding hands as they jumped out of the World Trade Centers.

I get angy, and I think, "I hope they find the people who are responsible for this, and I hope they bring back some of those torture methods from the middle ages...I want to be able to watch ravens pick at the bodies of the terrorist leaders, while they die slowly, and painfully."

Then I think, "I have a 12 year old step-son. If Bush & Co. get us into this multi-year conflict, he could be sent off to Afghanistan to fight in our next Vietnam."

Truth is, I don't know how to feel. But I'm getting tired of this "If you're not with us, you're against us! My country, right or wrong," attitude that pervades every place I go.

Fark linked to my WFS story, and someone pointed out my Noam Chomsky entry. And now they're saying things like:

09-22-01 02:25:33 PM Reave

I am more interested in his previous article ( http://www.wilwheaton.net/greymatter/archives/00000051/*.php )

He is suggesting that basically the US shouldn't retaliate and just let whoever - bomb the US into oblivion while we try to make peace. Peace is not a bad thing, but I think you need to defend yourselves.

This entry is from the imported from GM department. Posted by wil at 01:47 PM

Nothing New

I am wildly, passionately, madly, head-over-heels in love with my wife.

Who has been much funnier than I have, the last week or so.

If you read this, baby, I love you, I love the boys, and I love that I am your husband.

:)

Tnagent

This started out as "The Return of the Son of SpongeBob Vega$Pants", but it devolved into a long tangent, and now I have to leave. So read on, and expect a REAL addition to the story later today.

When we left our hero, he had just signed a bunch of autographs, and was grabbing a much-needed nap.

Now, before we roll the tape again, there's something that happened to me while I was signing autographs that was really funny, and I forgot to mention it before.

I was wearing this T-shirt that I really like, made by a very cool, subversive company. It's a black T-shirt, with a picture of a hand making rock-and-roll devil horns, and it says, "Keep music evil".

About 200 or so people into the day, this woman comes up to me, to get her collectible plate signed, in gold, because John DeLancie signed his in silver, so now silver is the color reserved for "Q".

She sees my shirt, and she becomes hysterical. She is pointing, at my shirt, and she screeches at me, "You are going to hay-ell! You are going to hay-ell!"

"Why am I going to Hell, ma'am?" I asked back, trying to figure out if she was joking.

"You're wearing that shirt! And that shirt promotes SATAN!"

Okay, she's definately not joking.

"So I'm going to Hell, because I'm wearing a shirt? Is that right?"

"Yes! You! Are! Going! To! HAY-ELL!"

"Well, as long as I'm not going where you are, ma'am."

And she leaves, but not without her plate...

So, I've got that going for me, which is nice.

Okay, back to our story...

So I took a nap. One of those naps that lasts only 30 minutes, but feels like a whole night's sleep.

I woke up, ate, showered, changed, packed my bags with costumes and props, and headed back to the con for the talk, and my show.

For those of you who don't know what Star Trek conventions are, I'll make a feeble attempt at an explaination. Conventions (or "cons", as the cool kids call them) are part trade show, part collectible show, part geek-fest, part love-in. Well, not the love-in part, but it's prolly better that way.

Promoters hire actors, writers, producers, etc., from the show to come to a hotel conference center, and give a talk and sign autographs for the fans. There are also people who sell collectibles and bootlegs and stuff, and they usually run episodes of the show on a big screen. Think Rocky Horror Picture Show, but slightly less cool.

Going to conventions used to be lots of fun, because we could get onstage and talk about what was coming up this season, dish dirt about each other, and let the fans see us as we really were, not just as our characters.

But since I stopped making the show, going to cons started feeling lame. I felt like I was resting on my laurels, and, quite honestly, I felt like a tool being there, especially since there were 2 other shows on (DS9 and Voyager)--

Oh! Tangent!

This guy comes up to me one day, and he is *SO* out there. For those of you who know what this means, you'll get the image, perfectly: He was a Gamer.

So this guy corners me, and starts his conversation by saying, "I'm not that big a Trekker, but..."

Okay, here's the deal. "Trekker" is a term devised by fans who don't like being associated with the "wierd" ones, whom they refer to as "Trekkies". So when a guy who looks like a Gamer tells me that he's a "Trekker", it sends off a few warning flags. Methinks the Trekkie doth protest too much, you see.

He must have sensed my unease, because he went on, "I mean, I really like the show, but I've never been to a convention. Conventions are for wierdos. I own all the episodes on video, and I can quote most of them, but I've never been to a convention. Conventions are for wierdos. Sure, I have lots of the technical manuals, and I've read them a few times, and I wrote Mike Okuda about some inconsistencies between the movies and the series, but I've never been to a convention. Conventions are for wierdos. And I just want you to know that I always liked Next Generation the best, I mean, I watched all the episodes of DS9, but I only watched about half the episodes of 'V'ger'"...Yes, he called "Voyager" "V'ger", in a throwback to Star Trek: The Motion Picture...anyway, he finishes up his disclaimers, and begins asking me all these questions about Star Trek, like, trivia and shit, and when I don't know the answer, he snorts, he snorts! and tells me what the answer is. Now, keep in mind that I am simply not allowed to say, "Dude. You are the Freakest Link. Goodbye," and walk away. I have to stand there, and take it like a man...which I do.

/tangent

So I didn't want to do cons, because it made me feel like a loser, standing there, talking about what I did so many years ago...then I saw "Galaxy Quest".

I *loved* "Galaxy Quest". I thought it was brilliant satire, not only of Trek, but of fandom in general. The only thing I wish they had done was cast me in it, and have me play a freaky fanboy who keeps screaming at the actor who played "the kid" about how awful it was that there was a kid on the spaceship. Alas.

When I saw "Galaxy Quest", I remembered how much fun I used to have at conventions, and I missed it. I missed the interaction with the fans. I missed the chance to tell stories about my life on TNG...but mostly, I missed the sex. The hot, Klingon-forehead-wearing fansex.

WHAT?! Just kidding. I just wanted to see if you were skimming or not.

Okay, serious: I missed it. I thought it would be fun to do one again, and I did, and it was, and Dave Scott, the promoter, asked me to come participate in the Vega$ show.

Something about the market for conventions: It's really changed over the years, especially for the guys from the original Star Trek, and TNG. There just aren't that many stories to tell that the fans haven't heard, and it's not like they can get up on stage and talk about what's coming up next week, you know? And most of the people who want to collect autographs and pictures have already gotten stuff from all the people they like. Add that to a few evil, shitty, dishonest promoters who've come and gone over the years, and the result is: most people are over conventions. So a few actors and promoters got this really nifty idea. This wonderful, awful, Grinchy idea...they needed to add something to the convention experience, to make it worthwhile for the fan to come to the show, and they [the promoters] needed to make sure that they would continue to earn money, so the whole thing was worthwhile for them, too. So the idea, which I hear was hatched by John DeLancie, was to sell an extra ticket for a dinner event, and invite the actors to come to that event, and, when the fans are done with dinner, perform for them.

This is the coolest thing, ever, I think. From the fan's perspective, it is a chance to see an actor they love, in the flesh, performing for them. Lots of actors wrote their own plays about their characters, and they perform them at these cons. I mean, if you're a Trekkie, how cool is it to see Nimoy and DeLancie perform "Spock meets Q"? I'm not a huge fanboy, and it was exciting to *me*, so you can imagine.

Now, from the actor's perspective, this is a great thing. We love acting. We love performing. Is there anything better than having an audience, who, by all accounts, wants to like you, come and see you perform? It's great!

So, to make this longer without telling you anything new about Vega$, Dave Scott asked me if I'd be willing to do something for one of these cabarets. I thought it would be rad, but I didn't know what I'd do...see, I really wasn't interested in writing some sort of "Where's Wesley Now?" play, and performing that. That would have just been lame. But, there's this other thing I do...this sketch comedy thing...

As most of you know, I am a writing and performing member of the ACME comedy theatre in Hollywood. We're a great company, and we have some VERY funny people in the group, so I approached them about doing a sci-fi oriented comedy show for some sci-fi fans. The ones who didn't run away came with me to Vega$.

We named the group "Mind Meld" and we called the show "Assimilate This!"

...wow. I've really just gone in a big circle here. I've been writing for an hour, and I haven't gotten close to telling the stories I want to tell. And now I have to leave for an interview (With the Los Angeles Times, thank you very much!).

So I guess The saga of SpongeBob Vega$Pants will have to continue this afternoon.

Call To Action

I don't, and won't do this very often. The purpose of my weblog is to tell my stories, and let you know what I'm thinking about. I get on my soapbox, to be sure, but not like this, and not very often. But these are dangerous times that we're living in, and this is very serious.

The summary is: John Ashcroft is trying to force through laws that run completely counter to the Constitution and Bill of Rights, and he is doing it right now because we're all scared of terrorism.

But the terrorist threat will be taken care of someday, and these laws will still be around, for the gleeful abuse of anyone who wants to silence you.

I listened to Congress "question" Ashcroft today. I put "question" in quotes, because, as a member of the SAG Board Of Directors, and through serving on lots of committees there, I have learned to discern the difference between posturing and speechmaking, and actual questioning to help inform debate, and help someone decide how to vote.

What I heard today, on NPR, was posturing and speechmaking from the committee, not real questioning, because everyone knew what would happen: no one dares oppose this sweeping legislation that Ashcroft, Bush, and Company are asking for, lest they appear "soft on terrorism". We have seen the amazing success of a congress who refuses to be "soft on drugs", right? I mean, they've done a great job, right? There's no drug problem anymore, right? Our prisons aren't full of first time, non-violent offenders, right? Yay. Go Congress!!

The Electronic Frontier Foundation posted the following background today. I quote it here:

Attorney General John Ashcroft distributed the proposed Anti-Terrorism Act/Mobilization Against Terrorism Act to members of Congress after Monday's press conference at which he indicated that, among other measures, he would ask Congress to expand the ability of law enforcement officers to perform wiretaps in response to the terrorist attacks on the United States on September 11, 2001. Ashcroft asked Congress to pass anti-terrorism legislation including "expanded electronic surveillance" by the end of this week. The PSCSEA bill appears to be a "backup plan" for S.A. 1562; if it does not pass as part of H.R. 2500, it can be reintroduced separately in slightly different form as a new bill. Sen. Patrick Leahy is also expected to introduce a more moderate proposal sometime early next week.

One particularly egregious section of the DOJ's analysis of its proposed legislation (ATA/MATA) says that "United States prosecutors may use against American citizens information collected by a foreign government even if the collection would have violated the Fourth Amendment."

"Operating from abroad, foreign governments will do the dirty work of spying on the communications of Americans worldwide. US protections against unreasonable search and seizure won't matter," commented EFF Senior Staff Attorney Lee Tien.

Additional provisions of the proposed Anti-Terrorism Act (ATA)/Mobilization Against Terrorism Act (MATA) (whatever the final name will be) include measures which:

make it possible to obtain e-mail message header information and Internet user web browsing patterns without a wiretap order;

eviscerate controls on roving wiretaps;

permit law enforcement to disclose information obtained through wiretaps to any employee of the Executive branch;

reduce restrictions on domestic investigations under the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act (FISA);

permit grand juries to provide information to the US intelligence community;

permit the President to designate any "foreign-directed individual, group, or entity," including any United States citizen or organization, as a target for FISA surveillance;

prevent people from even talking about terrorist acts;

establish a DNA database for every person convicted of any felony or certain sex offenses, almost all of which are entirely unrelated to terrorism;

EFF Executive Director Shari Steele emphasized, "While it is obviously of vital national importance to respond effectively to terrorism, this bill recalls the McCarthy era in the power it would give the government to scrutinize the private lives of American citizens."

During the Congressional session considering the Combating Terrorism Act, which was introduced as amendment S.A. 1562 to an omnibus appropriations bill, H.R. 2500, Senator Patrick Leahy (D-VT) expressed concern that he was asked to vote so rapidly on such important legislation within minutes of receiving it and without conducting hearings in the Intelligence, Armed Services and Judiciary committees:

Maybe the Senate wants to just go ahead and adopt new abilities to wiretap our citizens. Maybe they want to adopt new abilities to go into people's computers. Maybe that will make us feel safer. Maybe. And maybe what the terrorists have done made us a little bit less safe. Maybe they have increased Big Brother in this country.

If that is what the Senate wants, we can vote for it. But do we really show respect to the American people by slapping something together, something that nobody on the floor can explain, and say we are changing the duties of the Attorney General, the Director of the CIA, the U.S. attorneys, we are going to change your rights as Americans, your rights to privacy? We are going to do it with no hearings, no debate. We are going to do it with numbers on a page that nobody can understand.

EFF shares Senator Leahy's concerns in this time of national crisis. EFF Legal Director Cindy Cohn commented, "These proposals significantly impact the civil liberties of Americans. We urge legislators to please slow down and consider the long-term consequences of your votes."

"I believe that deep in their souls, Americans understand that the reason this country is so great--is so worth defending--is because it is free," explained EFF Executive Director Shari Steele. "We should be very careful to make sure that any legislation that passes is truly needed to address national security concerns."

During World War I, the US Congress hastily passed the Espionage Act which was notorious for decreasing freedoms without improving the security of the American public, under which Congress granted the Postmaster General (who delegated it to 55,000 local postmasters) the authority to read any mail and remove any material that might "embarrass" the government in conducting the war effort.

So here's the call to action: Gohere, and write, call, fax, and email your congressperson, and let them know that this scares the shit out of you. EFF has sample letters, and a very easy form to use to email your government officials.

Ashcroft is seeking to broaden the definition of "terrorist" to include ludicrous things, that defy common sense. I quote something I posted at Fark today:

If I remember my American History correctly, the founding fathers that Bush & Co. are so gleeful to invoke when it serves their message founded the USA the way they did, because they felt that governments had a tendency to oppress their citizens.

Keeping our critical thinking pants on, and taking off our emotional, angry, freaked-out-because-of-september-11th-pants, let's think about this: things like a national ID card, backdoors for crypto, and expansion of search-and-siezure abilities for law enforcement have been things The Man has been trying vigorously to get over the last few years. Historically, government has taken advantage of times like these to expand their powers...and I don't like that.

Does it bother anyone else that we have an "Office of Homeland Security"? Sure, it's a good idea now, but I see the ghost of McCarthy looming just over the horizon.

Anyone who is not terrified by this cynical powergrab either doesn't understand the issues, is living in a dreamworld, or is George W. Bush.

Please, please, please, if you never do anything else I ask you, please, I implore you, don't sit on this. Our American way of life is in grave, grave danger.

Priorities

Anne just called me, very upset, from her cell phone.

She told me that she and the kids are missing me, because I'm spending so much time online. She said that she's tired of feeling like I'm married to the computer and my website, and that she's been going to sleep alone for the last 2 weeks, and I wake her up at 1AM when I get into bed.

I was all ready to argue with her that I need to spend time here, and that I have a responsibility to my readers and all that...but something stopped me. It was that little voice in the back of your head that sometimes saves you from saying stupid things to cops. The self-preservation voice. My SP voice said to me, "Dude. Listen to your wife. She is telling you that you're neglecting her, and the family. Not cool. Not cool."

Now, here's something about me: I don't do well with ultimatums. More than once in my life I've gone and done something, specifically to spite someone who tried to tell me what to do. Matter of fact, it was a major contributing factor in my desicion to leave Star Trek.

So I did listen to her, and she didn't give me an ultimatum. She said that she was starting to resent the computer, and me, because the family is suffering. I could hear the sadness in her voice, as she told me that it was up to me to figure out how to balance this stuff out.

Thing is, she's right. I didn't realize it, but I'm putting in more than half of my waking hours on this, between reading and replying to emails, reading the comments here, and (recently) at fark, and posting comments of my own. I mean, I am constantly listening for the new mail sound, so I can run over here and reply, and I'm checking the site a few times an hour for new comments and discussion. Anne told me that the kids are bummed that I'm doing so much stuff on the website, and not just hanging out, and that's just not cool.

In my efforts to make myself accessible to people who I've never even met, I have made myself inaccessible to the people who love and need me the most: my family.

Thing is, if my relationship with my wife is not taken care of, and isn't the first priority in my life, everything else seems to fall apart. It's corny and cliche, but Anne is everything to me.

So here's the deal:

I love my wife and I love my step-kids, and, while I feel a sense of responsibility to everyone who comes to visit here, and I really do want to reply to all the emails, and take part in the discussions, I'm going to have to let this take a back seat for a bit, and focus my time, attention, and energy on my family.

The short term result of this will mean a greater lag time in replying to emails (sorry in advance, though you'll still get the autoresponse) and even less AIM time. I will still update the blog, because the Vega$ story really is cool, and I'm having a fun time writing it, but cut me some slack if I don't get right back to you, okay? It's nothing personal. It's just a re-focusing of my priorities.

The Return of the Son of SpongeBob Vega$Pants

A long itme ago, in an entry far, far away, I started to tell a story...it was the story of SpongeBob Vega$Pants...So...here we go:

Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?!

SpongeBob Vega$Pants!!

Where was I last time? Ahh, after a terribly long tnagent (That's right, I called it a 'tnagent'. It's part of being average), I ran out of time...let's see where I was before I got sidetracked:

I'd explained (sort of, in a very average, not interesting, you'd-only-read-it-if-I-were-famous way) what a Star Trek convention was. I'll pick up the story as I'm standing backstage, getting ready to go on.

I'm supposed to go on at 5PM, and I'm supposed to talk from 5 to 5:50. I usually talk for 70-90 minutes, so only having 50 minutes is really tough. I'm nervous, because I don't think I have a lot of time to work the audience. I have to go out there, and nail 'em with a funny, so they get on my side.

Well, I've got three things going against me before I even take the stage:

1. I'm the last speaker of the day. So the fans are tired, and a little burned out.

2. I'm following Michael Dorn and Marina Sirtis, who the fans LOVE.

3. I was Wesley Crusher.

So I am pacing backstage, looking at my notes, trying to relax and focus, and getting more and more nervous that I'm going to suck.

See, here's the deal: contrary to what many people think, I care about how I do at a convention. I care about what the fans think of me. Oh, yes, I do. I don't just write off the fans like a certain WILLIAM FUCKING SHATNER, because I, myself, am a fan. I also realize that the entire Star Trek franchise owes an extreme debt of gratitude to fandom, because without that core fanbase, Gene would have never been able to sell the idea of TNG to Paramount, and then there's no DS9, no Voyager, no Enterprise. So it's important to me not to suck.

Finally, at 5:15, Dorn and Marina are done, and I'm going to go on. My mouth and throat get dry. My hands sweat, and shake a little bit. Jesus, you'd think I was going on a date, or something. It's usually not like this...but this time is different, because I've got friends in the audience, and my wife is there, and the last thing I want is to have a whole room hate me in front of them.

Dave Scott takes the stage, and he gives me this great introduction, about how funny I am, and about how much fun they're all going to have...and I'm just thinking, "Great, dude. Please. Build me up more. Keep raising those expectations. Woo."

I hear the intro finish, and I come out on stage...and they're all standing up, applauding, "whoo!"-ing, and stuff...and I think, "Okay, Wil. Start it off with a joke...that's what they're expecting..."

So I tell a joke about the water we've all been drinking. Here's a little background, on the wa