Weblog Archives

and those bright lights

Just after 9 Wednesday morning, we said goodbye to Felix The Bear. He left us peacefully and quietly, surrounded by his staff who love him.

It's been a really sad and difficult few days for me and my family. I keep looking for The Bear in the usual places (not because I think he's still alive, but out of habit) and when he's not there, the tears come. I discovered yesterday that I have this totally illogical construct in my mind where I somehow hoped that we could trade the sick, sad, dying Felix for the healthy, tough, stumpy little Bear we used to know . . . but he's never coming back, and he really is gone. This reality keeps hitting me with varying severity and no warning. I'm kind of a wreck right now. I really, really miss him.

I've got some Onion, Dungeon and ACME work to do and I'm not feeling particularly creative or inspired right now . . . so I need to put what little energy I have into fulfilling those commitments. I don't think I'll be posting here much for the next few days.

dash seven

I worked in the yard most of the weekend. All the rain has finally gone away, and now there are a mountain of weeds to remove.

There's something incredibly satisfying about getting into my overgrown backyard with the garden claw, a shovel, a rake, some pruning shears, a beer, and taming the wild overgrowth.

It was pretty sad that Felix wasn't there to walk over and talk to me while I tore through the dandelion patch that's constantly trying to move in under the orange tree. I know he's not coming back, but I can't help it — I keep looking for him, and expecting him to show up in all his regular places. I think I'm going to talk with a grief counselor, because my level of sadness seems very disproportional to the loss. I think there's some other stuff wrapped up in my mourning, maybe about my Aunt Val, and a family friend who we lost in November of last year. I really appreciate all the kind comments and e-mails from so many WWdN readers. Thank you, everyone.

We had a preview show at ACME on Saturday night for the new sketch show Acme: A Day In The Life. I was really nervous and felt like I was totally unprepared to get out there and give up the funny . . . but I think we did really well. There were some sketches that didn't work and others that I thought wouldn't work (including one of mine) that killed. I felt like the company is in exactly the same place right now as Love Machine was when we were three weeks from opening, and I'm confident that this show is going to be just as great. We open on April 16th.

The kids are on Spring Break this week, so we stayed up late last night, listened to A Ghost Is Born (The kids are getting as sick of Wilco as they are of The Pixies. I remember feeling so sick to death of The Beatles when I was a kid, and I love them now . . . so we'll have to check back with Ryan in Nolan in twenty years or so and see how they're doing.) and played the Radica World Poker Tour game that plugs into your TV. It was a consolation prize when I played in the WPT Invitational, and it's surprisingly fun.

We played against three computer opponents, all set on Expert. I went out first when my AK got busted when the computer opponent called me with AJ and caught his J on the flop. Ryan went down shortly after that, not realizing that it's pretty tough to go on a stone bluff against a computer. This left Nolan to defeat the computer menace and prove once and for all (for one game, at least) that humans are superior to computers.

It looked dicey a few times, but Nolan caught cards when he needed to, and ended up winning it all.

Yeah, it was as anti-climactic as it sounds, but it was fun to hang out with them until we could no longer stay awake around midnight.

Three unrelated things that don't really fit anywhere else:

• I'm an official Spokesman for igrep! It's incredibly cool, and I'll get into the details later today. Until then, you can read the press release here


• Though I was approved for AdSense, I'm having serious second thoughts. I don't want to turn WWdN into some ad-fest. I think I'll work on a different way to cover the Vet bills, like some autographed book sales and stuff.


• Trackbacks are disabled until I can either:
  1. Kill all the Spammers
  2. Reconfigure MT to allow trackbacks only on entries less than X days old.

you gee ell why

Holy shit.

I just realized something.

My website is one of the ugliest things on all the Internets.

Isn't that weird? I've looked at it every single day since 2001, and it just suddenly hit me this morning: I need to redesign and update the site, and I need to do it about a year ago.

So watch for some massive overhauling very, very soon.

Update: I'm not going to fill this up with stupid "bells and whistles," as some people have feared. I'm mostly going to move some things around, optimize the site so it hopefully loads faster, and remove a lot of the visual clutter that's all over the place right now. Don't worry. I'm doing everything I can to ensure that it doesn't suck.

UpdateUpdate: I also think the BlogAds have got to go. I've tried them out for a little while, and it just doesn't feel right to me anymore. If I was making a huge pile of "Indecent Proposal" money with them each month, it'd be one thing . . . but I really don't, and I think the "sell-out-ish-ness" I'm currently feeling isn't offset by the small amount of revenue they generate. So when the current ads run out, they'll be gone. I'm also working with my friends at igrep to get a smaller, more seamlessly-integrated search box for my site. Right now, I feel like WWdN is an explosion of advertising, and the content is struggling to get a seat at the table. The opposite should be true, and I'll take care of that in the next week or so.

And I looked at Wordpress, because it sounds like it does all the things I want to do . . . I started the "five minute" install around 10 this morning . . . and I'm still trying to make the goddamn thing work at 7:30 tonight. Which is not a comment on WordPress, at all. It's a shining testament to how shitty my computer skills have become lately. Heh — it's almost like my creative and techincal skills are inversely proportional to each other.

Now I have to leave and somehow make it to Hollywood for rehearsal in 4.5 minutes. Bending Spacetime is getting *really* hard, you guys.

Oh, and I keep trying to comment on my own goddamn blog, but TypeKey is acting really weird and keeps logging me out and pissing me off. So if that's happening to anyone else, you're not alone, and I'll see what I can do about it.

As soon as I have time. Which I don't. Now I have to be in Hollywood 2 minutes ago.

mail call!

I think it's time to open the WWdN mailbag . . .

Subject:Wil how a terrible news that ya are a lefty
Date: April 10, 2005 1159
From:Craig R.
To:Wil Wheaton
Message:Will sorry to hear that you are one of those lefty's from Holly Wood ... Though it should not surprise me much of what comes out of Holly Wood these days . You are just like the other sewer crap that comes out of Tensile town , I'm referring to the Pathetic schmucks such as Whopi Goldberg , Ya know her a as the faithful bar tender on the Enterprise . Martin Shean , Susan Surandan and Sean Pen . Ya all just have to face it Bush got over 51 to 52% of the vote just look at the map. So face the facts hippie and live with it BUSH WON BY A LAND SLIDE !!!! NOW I KNOW IT DON'T SET WELL WITH UR INTELLECT . HAVE A NICE LIFE AND LEARN TO SUFFER IN SCONCE ... OH BY THE WAY KERRY VOTED TO CUT THE INTEL.. BUDGET BY 80% READ THE SENATE VOTING RECORDS. GUESS YOU WILL BE OFF MY MOVIE LIST WHEN YA COME OUT IN THEATERS AT LEAST PATRICK STEWART KNOWS WHEN TO KEEP SILENT. YA CAN LEARN ALLOT FROM HIM ON CLASSY BEHAVIOR. YOUR JUVENAL AND CHILDISHNESS IS STILL SHOWING SO WHY DON'T YA GROW UP.

FORMER NEXT GENERATION FAN.
CRAIG R.

Dear Craig,

I learned allot from your classy e-mail. I was unaware that 51 to 52% of anything was a landslide, but we sewer crap probably use a different kind of math than you do. I apologize if that don't set well with ur intellect.

Next time I see Martin Shean, Susan Surandan or Sean Pen I'll be sure to share your insights with them. Maybe we can all trade our juvenal and childishness for suffering in sconce.

Best Wishes from Tensile town,

Will Wheaton

(I'm not sure if this is real, or not. If it's not, it's the funniest satire in history. If it is . . . it explains so much.)

thirty dialogues bleed into one

We had our last preview show for ACME A Day In The Life on Saturday night. Previews are scary, because they're the first time we put our material up for a real audience, but they're also extremely important. Previews help us figure out what sketches need work, what sketches can be left alone, and what sketches need to be quietly taken behind the shed and told a story about the Rabbit Farm.

In this show, we've got a fairly complicated stunt to work out, as well: we're doing this thing where the whole show takes place in one day, and the same characters show up in more than one sketch, with some incredibly hilarious call backs. We were unsure if the audience would get what we were doing, and worried that even if they did, they may not think it's as clever and funny as we do. But over both previews it's worked incredibly well, and I think it's going to reward audiences who are paying attention.

We open this Saturday night:

WHAT: ACME A Day In The Life
WHERE: Acme Comedy Theatre
135 N. La Brea
Hollywood, CA 90036
(323) 525-0202
WHEN: Saturday, 8 pm.

I was blown away by the number of WWdN readers who came to see Love Machine. I hope you will all come out and see A Day In The Life, too. I promise you won't regret it.

Dancing Barefoot — Live on stage!

In an effort to be more like my hero David Sedaris, I'm doing a live performance of Dancing Barefoot, which will be recorded and turned into an audiobook!

Details:

WHAT: Dancing Barefoot, live on stage!

WHERE: Acme Comedy Theatre (where else? ;)
135 N. La Brea
Hollywood, CA 90036
(323) 525-0202

WHEN: Wednesday, April 20th and Wednesday, April 27th at 8 pm.

TICKETS: $12

I will have a very limited number of Dancing Barefoot books for sale, and if you already own a copy that you'd like to get signed, please bring it out. I'm happy to do that.

I just love Dancing Barefoot. When I read from it, I get to revisit the great memories I wrote about, but I also get to remember how fun and exciting it was to write, publish, and release it. In contrast to the frustration and disappointment I experienced with Just A Geek, I have nothing but fond memories of the Monolith Press run of Dancing Barefoot.

This is going to rock! \m/

lorem ipsum dolor sit amet . . .

Via boingboing, I found the Dummy Text generator:

There's a voice that keeps on calling me. Down the road, that's where I'll always be. Every stop I make, I make a new friend. Can't stay for long, just turn around and I'm gone again. Maybe tomorrow, I'll want to settle down, Until tomorrow, I'll just keep moving on.

80 days around the world, we'll find a pot of gold just sitting where the rainbow's ending. Time - we'll fight against the time, and we'll fly on the white wings of the wind. 80 days around the world, no we won't say a word before the ship is really back. Round, round, all around the world. Round, all around the world. Round, all around the world. Round, all around the world.

Ten years ago a crack commando unit was sent to prison by a military court for a crime they didn't commit. These men promptly escaped from a maximum security stockade to the Los Angeles underground. Today, still wanted by the government, they survive as soldiers of fortune. If you have a problem and no one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you can hire the A-team.

I think I may use this to create my next masterpiece!

it's a lullaby from a giant golden radio

Anne's away overnight celebrating a Big Birthday with her friend, so I'm home alone with the kids.

That means pizza for dinner, Family Guy and Futurama on TV, and some general goofing off until their bedtime which was a few hours ago.

After they went to sleep, I sat at my desk, fired up my Death Cab For Cutie / Wilco / The Shins / Nada Surf playlist, and worked with my friend Russ on the Great WWdN Redesign of 2005. It's coming along nicely, and I'm really excited to get it finished.

Riley has slept under my feet for much of the time I've been here, while Sketch has walked in and out of the room about a hundred times (that guy who said "A cat is always on the wrong side of a closed door" was talking about my Fat Guy). Sketch has been coughing a lot the last week or so, and I'm really worried that he's nearing the end of his life. I just can't afford the ~300 dollars it costs every single time I take him to the vet, (and he hates the tests and the drive there) so I'm just consulting with her on the phone once or twice a week, and hoping for the best. Sketch's little heart is sick, and his disease is clearly advancing, but he still sits in my lap when I write, and sleeps on my chest every night . . . the thought of losing him (probably sooner than later) is just too much to bear. It's really hard to face that reality, because the rest of him is healthy and happy. I guess when it's time, he'll tell me, just like Felix did.

I think he knows I'm writing about him — he just walked over to me, put his little paws up on my leg, and meowed until I picked him up. He's looking over my hands as I write this . . . Hi Sketch. I love you, you fat little guy.

(Just in case he can read . . . I swear, he's turning his head to follow the cursor while I type. Heh.)

It's just after midnight now, and I've been working without a break since I put the kids into bed around 9:30, so it's time for bed.

Before I sat down to write this, I walked through the house and checked the doors to make sure they were locked, turned off lights, got myself a glass of water . . . and walked out onto the porch to call Felix in for the night.

I really did it. I opened the door, and without even thinking called out, "Feeeeeeelix! The Bear! The Be—" before I remembered that he's not ever going to come trotting across my lawn and up the driveway again.

That made me sad, and I cried a little bit before I walked back into the house. Then, I walked past the little memorial we made in the house for The Bear, with his (now empty) cup of water, his dish and his little paw prints in plaster, and I cried a little bit more. I still miss him. A lot.

And now Sketch is still sitting on my lap, looking back at me with his little fangface, and the tears are threatening to come back, this time for him.

I think it's time to go to sleep.

in a bowl behind the bank

I have an audition for a play this morning. I'm excited, because this is something that I can totally do, but I'm slightly nervous, too . . . in situations like this (where I feel pretty confident), it's easy to grip the bat too hard. So here's how I'll have a successful audition:

1. keep it simple
2. respect the material
3. make it my own
4. don't over-think or over-complicate it (see number one)
5. have fun
6. when I'm done, let it go

. . . don't forget that "successful" doesn't necessarily mean that I get the job . . .

This week's Games of our Lives is Tapper:

For maximum fun, whenever your video-game counterpart chugs a beer, chug one of your own. If you can make it past level three, you're an honorary Frat Guy. At level seven, you're an honorary Kennedy. Past level 10, you're Ted Kennedy.

I feel like I'm starting to hit my stride with Games of our Lives. Writing it is currently the highlight of my week.

Later today, I have another audition, this time for a cool improv job. I get to work with my friend Travis from ACME, so I'm really looking forward to that. Whether we get the job or not, I'm guaranteed to have fun there.

It's kinda weird to write about auditions . . . they used to be so important to me, but my priorities have changed, and my focus has switched so much in the past few years, they're not life-or-death any more. I can honestly say that I just hope to have a good time, and not stink up the place. At the very least, I usually get a good story out of the thing.

. . . and that's when I realized that I was really a writer: the day I started treating every experience I had as an opportunity to get a good story . . .

it's a luscious mix of words and tricks

When I was much, much younger, all the world was a stage, and I was more than happy to be one of the players. I had a hard time shutting off that thing that makes me an actor, and most of the time, I was "on" in some way or another.

It got to be a little obnoxious, I think, but as the I portion of my INFP began to assert itself, I found that I was happier when I was out of the spotlight. Sure, I'm very happy to be on a stage, but I prefer that stage to be in a theatre, rather than constantly under my feet.

This morning I wrote: ". . . and that's when I realized that I was really a writer: the day I started treating every experience I had as an opportunity to get a good story . . ."

I guess the world is still a stage, I still have my exits and entrances, and in my time I've played many parts . . . but right now, I play the part of The Writer.

This creates a bit of a conflict when I am supposed to be The Actor.

I drove to the Music Center for my audition today. I would have taken the train, but I lost track of time at home — wait for it — writing. It's about a 45 minute commitment to take the Metro, and I can drive it in 20 minutes, so drive it I did. The entire way there, I put myself into The Actor's space: I must look crazy to other drivers, talking to myself about why the character does this thing, and what made him to that other thing, gesturing wildly, and occasionally shouting out dialogue. By the time I got to my audition, I was The Actor.

As soon as I walked into the building, The Writer completely took over. Without realizing it, I absorbed every detail I saw: the beautiful black and white photos of actors on stage at the Taper, the Ahmanson, the Chandler. The huge blow-ups of Playbills, posters, and programs, representing decades of shows. The actors quietly walking down the halls to rehearsals and workshops, their minds clearly locked deep into the scripts they clutched in their hands. The barely audible sound of a singer and a piano drifting up the halls from an unseen rehearsal room, working its way past those photos and posters to meet my ears while I signed-in.

There is this intangible thing that makes theatre completely different from everything else I do as an actor. It feels more . . . noble. When I audition for television or film, I usually wait with legions of actors in rooms that are always filled with a cacophony of ringing phones, ka-chunking copiers, whirring fax machines, and agitated assistants, while we vainly try to concentrate and prepare. There is always a sense that we are incredibly unimportant to the whole process; a necessary, but ultimately disposable, evil. There are notable exceptions (like when I auditioned for CSI) but more often than not, when we finally enter the room to do our thing, they don't even know we're there.

The few times I've been fortunate enough to audition for theatre (in Los Angeles and in New York) there's an entirely different energy: it's calm, it's quiet, there are never more than four or five actors preparing their materials. There's a sense of reverence for the craft, for the art. I realize this sounds incredibly pretentious, but it's true. The overwhelming feeling I got today, which is the same I've felt whenever I've auditioned for theatre is This Matters.

As I sat there this morning and listened to the piano, I tried to read over my lines, but The Writer shoved The Actor out of the way, and did his best to suck in every last detail. I've realized that when these conflicts come up, I should just get out of the way and let them duke it out. If The Actor is ready, The Writer can do his thing. If The Actor needs more work, The Writer usually sits quietly and waits his turn.

After a few minutes, the door opened, and an actor walked out. He looked spent, but happy, like he'd left it all on the floor in there.

"Wil?" The casting director said.

"That's me," I said, as I picked up my sides.

She introduced herself, and walked me into the room. It was a long rectangular space, with a bare wooden floor and a small table at one end near the door. A few metal chairs lined up against the long wall to my left. The room was huge, but it felt more welcoming and more comfortable than many of the "intimate" television offices I've sat in recently.

I looked around, and realized that I'd read in this exact room about a decade ago, for a play at the Taper. I forget the title, but it was a great bit of work, and I was totally not up to the task. I didn't deserve the opportunity; I got the audition because I was A Famous Guy, and I did as poorly as you'd expect.

That memory flashed through my mind as I was introduced to a bunch of people, and it wasn't until I got to the director that I was sort of back in my body. I shook his hand, and — holy shit — I connected to him immediately. I don't know why, and I don't want to over-think it, but there was some visceral connection, like I'd known him for a thousand years.

"This is going to be awesome," I thought.

"Do you have any questions?" He said. Even if I do have questions, I never ask them. In a casting session, they want to know that you are completely prepared, you totally grok the character and the material, and asking questions usually indicates that you don't, or you're really nervous. Unless the material is really unclear, and I absolutely need to know something, I always decline the opportunity.

Fortunately, today, I really didn't have any questions, so I just said, "I have a take on this character. I'd like to show him to you, and when I'm done, we can see where we are. Is that cool?"

He smiled warmly. "That's fine, Wil."

"I think I'm going to sit for this scene, is that okay?"

"Of course. But feel free to walk around if you are inclined."

I picked up one of the metal chairs, and carried it to the middle of the room. Two actors sat opposite me in metal chairs of their own. They smiled at me as I sat down and picked up my sides.

I did the scene. I wasn't 100% off-book, but I was connected to the material and the character. I thought I knew what the scene was about, and why this guy was saying the things he said, so I just . . . did that.

When I was done, the director said, "That was great, Wil." He turned to the casting director and said, "Do we have any other scenes for Wil to read?"

"No, that's it," she said.

"We have a ton of scenes for [the character]," one of the other men at the table, who I think was a producer, said.

The three of them talked for a moment, and they found another scene, which I think is an audition scene for a different character. The director walked up to me and handed me the sides.

"He doesn't talk very much in this scene," he told me, "but I just want to see you do a little bit more."

Outwardly, I smiled and thanked him. Inwardly, I had torn off my shirt, Brandi Chastain-style, and I was running laps around the room.

He gave me some background on the relationship, and told me what he thought the character was emotionally experiencing.

"Okay?" he said.

"Yeah, sure." I nodded.

"Would you like a minute to look at that?" The casting director asked me.

"Yeah, that would be great," I said.

I walked back out into the waiting room, sat down on this big comfy couch, and read the scene.

Wow.

See, the material is so amazing, it's so clear and so beautifully crafted, and the direction I got was so clear, so specific and precise . . . all I had to do was open my mouth and hope that I didn't get in the way of the words.

While I read the scene, two older actors stopped in near the couch where I was sitting. The man wore a tweedy jacket, the woman a big, breezy dress. They both held scripts under their arms and talked enthusiastically about a workshop they were doing. This matters.

I went back into the room.

"Are you ready?" The director asked me. He said it in such a friendly way, so reassuring and so kind . . . I can't even begin to describe how wonderful it feels (and how rare it is) for a director to make me feel like he really wants me to do well. In fact, is looking forward to it.

"Well," I shrugged, "We'll see!"

We laughed as I walked back into the room, and stood next to this metal chair that I'd sat on for my first scene.

I read the second scene. Considering that I'd had about six minutes with the material, and The Actor was fighting with The Writer the whole time I was trying to prepare, I felt that I did quite well. I felt connected to the material. I felt like I belonged in this room.

When I finished, the director said, softly, "That was beautiful, Wil. Thank you for coming in."

"Thank you," I said. I handed the sides back to the casting director, and let the door close behind me when I left.

The Actor looked at The Writer. "Did you get that?" He said.

The Writer nodded. "I got all of that," he said. "Nice watching you work."

"The feeling is mutual," The Actor said.

They walked across the parking lot and got into the car.

it's demanding to defeat those evil machines

In June, I'm going down to New Orleans to give a keynote about igrep at the 2005 Red Hat Summit.

So last week, I did a quick e-mail chat with Red Hat magazine, which hit the web today. In it, I talk a little bit about my experiences with Linux:

". . . after about a week of running Linux, I couldn't believe that I'd ever willingly chosen to run Windows. I did my first complete switch with Mandrake and I've never looked back. I'm composing this response in Kate, on my primary machine, which is running kernel 2.6.8."

I also talk about being the spokesman for igrep, what igrep is, and why I think it's cool:

"igrep is a focused, targeted search engine aimed at developers. Because it only searches resources that are specifically relevant to developers, it saves them time and effort when they're working on their various projects. Time developers don't have to spend digging through piles of irrelevant search results is time they can spend goofing off. And isn't that the whole reason we started using computers in the first place?

I'm using igrep on WWdN right now as a proof of concept, to showcase how powerful the igrep technology is. I think that igrep could eventually branch out into a whole new type of searching: rather than going to google (which is still a great tool, by the way) and trying to include and exclude terms and results to find what you're looking for, you could use an igrep search to do that work for you. I don't think we're going to completely replace search engines like Google or Yahoo, but this could be the beginning of vertical niche searching for all sorts of things, like blogs, online comics, sites related to Star Wars . . ."

Incidentally, because I'm a spokesman for igrep, I get paid to represent it. My credibility is very important to me, so I wouldn't have accepted the position if I didn't believe in it, but I want to be completely up-front and honest about that. I will occasionally blog about igrep-related things (like appearances and stuff), but this isn't going to turn into the igrep blog. (Remember when Bill Cosby co-starred with all sorts of Coca-Cola products in Ghost Dad? I'm not going to do that.)

In the same issue of Red Hat Magazine, there's a nice introduction to encrypting e-mail, called "It's 2 a.m. Do you know who's reading your e-mail?" It's targeted to Red Hat users, so it won't be a good HOWTO for you if you don't use Linux, but it's a good overview of public-key cryptography.

If you've visited my contact page, you know that I'm a privacy and encryption advocate. However, as Bunny Macintosh once observed, my enthusiasm for encryption results in lots of e-mail from guys with ponytails, and hardly any e-mail from hot girls. She has a point: encryption is currently beyond the comprehension of most normal people (and the vast amount of documentation out there is written for propellerheads) but that doesn't diminish its importance.

If you're not a Linux user, but you use Thunderbird for e-mail (and you should) there's a plugin called Enigmail that's remarkably easy to use. You can learn how to use it with How to secure your e-mail with GnuPG and Enigmail.

You shouldn't encrypt because you have something to hide; you should encrypt because you have the right to keep your communications and your files private. I encourage everyone, whether you're a ponytail, a hot girl, an überGeek or someone who is online for the first time with a free AOL CD to read these articles and start encrypting your e-mail. Then you can send it to me, and we'll all geek out together.

Privately, of course.

i drink good coffee every morning

Found out yesterday afternoon that I won't get a chance to be The Actor. "They liked you very much, but it's not going any further," is what my manager told me. The feedback wasn't any more specific than that, so I have to go with my instinct, which tells me that I did an okay job, but I probably should have been off book (not really possible with just two days to prepare, but if other actors could do it, it puts me at a disadvantage). The play takes place in New York, and it wouldn't be the first time in my life that I didn't get an acting job because I don't have that ephemeral thing that makes New Yorkers New Yorkers.

It's hard not to second-guess myself when I don't get an cast in a role, especially since the ratio runs about 600:1 in favor of rejection . . . and though The Actor is profoundly disappointed that I won't get a chance to be part of this production, The Writer is pretty proud of what we got out of the experience. In fact, I told Anne yesterday that I feel like I'm standing at the gates of something cool. I don't know what it is, but I think I'm about to scrape something wonderful off my brains.

return of trackbacks

I'm trying out a new MT plugin called SpamLookup, which should help out an awful lot with the trackback spam. It' still beta, so if anyone notices anything weird, let me know and I'll pass it along to the developer.

Unless it completely doesn't work, Trackbacks should be working again.

kid, you've paid your dues

So there are these Star Wars fans Übernerds who are lining up in front of Grauman's for the premiere of "Revenge of the Sith" in a couple of months.

The only problem is, "Return of the Sith" isn't going to screen at Graumans. For reasons that are best left to the shadowy corners of The Film Distribution World, it will be playing at the Arclight, which is about a half-mile away. (The Arclight, by the way, is the best theater in Los Angeles. Nobody else even comes close.)

When they found out about this unfortunate turn of events, the Star Wars Nerds naturally packed up their stuff, and walked down the block to Arclight.

Except they didn't.

They're keeping the line right where it is . . . as a self-described act of protest.

Before I go any further, I'd like to make something crystal clear: Camping out for a couple of months before the opening of a movie is a little weird . . . but essentially cool. That kind of passion is what makes it so much fun to be a Nerd. But camping out at the wrong theater and refusing to move in protest is hilarious, and it's what makes it embarrassing to be a Nerd.

We've been covering this story pretty heavily over at blogging.la. In fact, my friend Sean was the very first person to break this dramatic story, long before the rest of the media got on board:

Since I know everyone is dying to find out what's going on with the Star Wars line I've taken it upon myself to read through the entire thread at liningup.net as well as call them several times now and here's the facts of the moment:

1. The Star Wars line is still outside of Graumans.
2. Graumans has confirmed that Star Wars will not be playing at Graumans.
3. Arclight has confirmed that Star Wars will be playing at Arclight.
4. The Star Wars line is pissed because they think Star Wars should be at Graumans, not at Arclight, so they are not moving the line in protest.

I thought that was so hilarious (see my points, above) that I left a comment on that entry, using the dreaded phrase, "Get A Life."

Oops. Turns out some of The Star Wars Nerds have no sense of humor about themselves. I got some upset e-mail, and while I composed a reply, the saga continued to unfold:

OK, who would have guessed that in the very small group of people who are willing to line up months in advance of a movie to get tickets, in front of a theater where the movie isn't going to be playing, there would be room for cliques and infighting between the popular super nerds and the unpopular super nerds? I wouldn't. And I would have been wrong. A post in this thread by "certified instigator" has just confirmed the existence of said infighting. Read on...

"No one is talking about leaving the line. The popular clique has flat out refused to be open minded about where we see the movie as a group. They insist that no matter what we - as a group - decide they will not see it it at the Arclight.

They make it very clear here on the boards and in line. That splitting up the group is better than seeing the movie at a theater the popular clique doesn't like.

Many people I've spoken to are willing to see it at a theater they don't prefer in order to keep the group together. But they are less popular and way less vocal."

OMFG.

OK, so some waiters in line want to keep the line together no matter what theater it's shown at, and other linesters don't give a crap about the line and only care what theater they see it at - and this is shaking the foundation of the line to it's core. TO IT'S CORE!

There were cliques in the line? There's a popular clique, which implies that there are unpopular Nerds who are lining up at the wrong theater?! This new information took an already hilarious story and exploded it into the surreal realm of Terry Gilliam-esque humor. I couldn't help myself, and I posted that they should have taken my advice (about getting a life, I mean.).

My little quip ended up pouring even more gasoline on what was now a full-blown Nerd War between the Nerds at Blogging.la, and the Star Wars Nerds. The upset e-mail I'd received was followed-up with some honest-to-goodness hate mail, so I tried to smooth things over with an open letter of my own:

Dear Star Wars Line,

I'm really sorry that you're so offended. I was just playing around. I learned a long time ago that I have to be able to laugh at myself. (I'm the guy who had not one, but *two* newsgroups dedicated to hating him, remember?) I think it's awesome that you guys are raising money for charity, but I hope you can see the humor in a bunch of people waiting in line at the wrong theatre, refusing to move to the theatre a couple of blocks away that *is* showing the movie. And framing it as an act of protest . . . well, that's really funny. Movies are not the sort of thing that one generally associates with protests. Civil rights? Sure. Anti-war? Sure. Clean up this toxic waste dump? Sure.

But we're not moving until you put the movie here? We're not moving in protest? And look at the drama surrounding the whole thing: There are "cliques" of people, and "cool kids" and "factions" waiting in line at the wrong theatre, refusing to move in protest? And the self-righteous indignation? If you can't see the humor in this, you're really missing out.

[. . .]

Again, I am truly sorry that you and other lining-up-ers are so offended . . . but I wish you could see the humor, also. I didn't intend to put you all down. I'm sure you're all great people who believe they're doing the right thing for the children. I was just enjoying the absurdity and humor.

I sincerely hope that you all enjoy your time in line, and I hope that the final movie doesn't suck as much as Episode One.

May The Force be with you,

Wil

As an olive branch, Sean and I designed some T-Shirts for the Star Wars Nerds, so they'd have something to pass down to their own children, years from now:

Sadly, our peace offering was viewed as further ridicule, and I got yet another angry e-mail.

Heartbroken that the Star Wars Nerds were more interested in feeling persecuted and righteously indignant, and saddened that they just couldn't see the humor in the whole thing, I vowed to just let it go.

And I did, until yesterday, when my favorite secret Ninja, Jessica Mae Stover asked me if I wanted to go with her to take pizza to the Star Wars Nerds, who still inexplicably refuse to move to a theatre where they'll actually be able to see the movie:

Hey WW,

I’m going to visit the Star Wars nerds on Thursday evening-ish.
Link: http://www.jessicastover.com/blog.php?id=275

You should come along and bring your family. Pop culture history and such,
not to mention excellent material for blog writing.

I mean, seriously, they need our help.

And pizza.

Plus, you'll probably be their king or something.

I replied, "You know the Star Wars nerds hate my guts, right?"

She did not, but after reviewing the entire turgid story, we agreed that it would probably be best if she went without me.

When she blogged about her self-described "Nerd Outreach", I broke my vow of silence, and wrote an entry about it at blogging.la:

Jessica (the cutest ninja who will ever kick your ass) has updated her site:

Jessica: Do you hate them because of something Wil Wheaton wrote?
Female Nerd: Yes! I used to stick up for him to all these guys, then he went and, and…
Jessica: I read the column. It was only a bit of loving mockery. He’s a nerd. He’s allowed.
Female Nerd: I even asked him to come down here, to meet me face to face and he wouldn’t do it.
Jessica: Were you going to challenge him to a duel or something?
Female Nerd: It’s not just that. It’s the shirts they made and everything… I mean, Argh!

[. . .]

Maybe I should have offered a duel, or a The Force Off, or a Pod Race, or something like that. I'm pretty crushed, but I'm getting therapy, and I should be in a good emotional space right around the time the movie opens at the Arclight.

It's too bad that the Star Wars Nerds — who are in line at the wrong theater and refusing to move in protest — are unable or unwilling see the humor in the whole situation. Until their Alpha Nerd decided that it was more important to be persecuted and self-righteous, and wouldn't accept my apology, I actually felt bad for offending them. Now? Not so much. Anyway, I'm pretty sure that the average WWdN reader has a good sense of humor, and you should take a couple of minutes to go read my last post on the subject at blogging.la. Jessica's entry (linked in my b.la post) is one of the funniest things I've read on the Internets in a long, long time.

one by one

My friend Danica McKellar, (probably best known for playing Winnie Cooper on The Wonder Years) is a fantastic actor and writer. A few years ago, we worked together in a short film called Speechless . . . which she wrote and directed.

Yesterday, Danica e-mailed me that she'd done a photoshoot for Stuff Magazine.

I did a photo session for "Stuff" magazine last Wednesday-- the first time in my life, ever, taking pictures in lingerie!!

The editors of Stuff want to know which hottie from the 90s Stuff readers would like to see in their magazine. Now, I've known Danica since forever, so she's like a little sister to me. The Protective Big Brother in me wants to say, "No way am I going to encourage people to check you out in sexy pictures!" But there's no denying that she's grown up to become quite a beautiful woman. Her competition is Jennie Garth, Elizabeth Berkley, and Kari Wuhrer. Though I had a mad crush on Kari Wuhrer when I was younger (read: last year), and I knew Elizabeth when I was a kid the world has already seen a whole lot of them in (and out of) lingerie. Danica is my good friend, and I'll gladly endure the trauma of seeing her in lingerie so she can make the cover of Stuff. I know how Hollywood works, and if she wins, it will help her career tremendously. It would be sort of impossible to see her just as little Winnie Cooper, wouldn't it?

So if you want to help her out, head over to Stuff Magazine, and click on Which hottie from the 90’s would you like to see in a Stuff shoot? (It's on the left, near the big question mark and I can't link it directly)

Oh, and geeks will love this: Danica has Bachelor of Science in Mathematics from UCLA, where she co-authored a math proof . . . as an undergrad. Yeah, seriously. she was also the only undergraduate invited to speak at Rutgers University's biannual Statistical Mechanics conference a few years ago. So she's, like, a hottie with a big old brain in her head. So quit reading this and go vote for her, already!

Reminder: ACME A Day In The Life opens tonight!

I've got the familiar blend of nerves and excitement, because in just six hours, the last few months of writing, rehearsing and workshopping all pay off.

As I wrote the other day:

In this show, we've got a fairly complicated stunt to work out, as well: we're doing this thing where the whole show takes place in one day, and the same characters show up in more than one sketch, with some incredibly hilarious call backs. We were unsure if the audience would get what we were doing, and worried that even if they did, they may not think it's as clever and funny as we do. But over both previews it's worked incredibly well, and I think it's going to reward audiences who are paying attention.

Even though I know my lines, even though I know my characters, and even though I'm confident that we'll kick all sorts of ass, I've been reviewing my sketches, double-checking my costumes, and anxiously passing the time until I leave for my call at 5 this evening.

I love opening a new show! For all of you WWdN readers who have been lining up in front of The Groundlings for the last five weeks, here are the details for our show:

WHAT: ACME A Day In The Life
WHERE: Acme Comedy Theatre
135 N. La Brea
Hollywood, CA 90036
(323) 525-0202
WHEN: Tonight, and every Saturday until the end of June, at 8 pm.

set my soul on fire

Late last week, my manager called me.

"Do you want to play poker next week?" He said.

"Chris, I always want to play poker. Where's the game?"

"It's in Vegas —" he began.

"I can't afford to go to Vegas right now," I said.

He patiently told me to wait, and listen to all the details.

"Sorry, Chris. My brain is going in a million directions right now. We open the ACME show on Saturday, and . . . well, just a whole bunch of other stuff."

"Okay, here's the situation: World Poker Tour has invited you to play in the WPT Championship next week."

"Well, that's really cool, but I don't have twenty-five thousand dollars to spend on a poker tournament." I said.

He laughed. "You're freerolling!"

He explained that Mekhai Pfeiffer, who finished first in my Hollywood Homegame, and Andrea Parker, who finished second, couldn't make it out to the tournament.

"So I'm the Secretary of the Navy!" I said.

"What?"

"You know, I'm next in the line of succession."

"Isn't that the Speaker of the House?"

"I don't know, and now the joke isn't funny."

Of course, it wasn't funny to begin with, but Chris was too polite to say what we were both thinking.

"So do you want to play?"

"Let me think about it for a second. YES! How many days is the tournament?"

"It starts Monday, and goes through until Sunday."

"Oh, shit."

"What?"

"I can't go. I'm performing Dancing Barefoot on Wednesday, and I'm doing the sketch show on Saturday."

"What do you want to do?"

The question, translated into the secret sideband which accompanies many of our conversations was actually, "Do you want to blow off your shows at ACME so you can play poker in Vegas?"

"Well," I said, "I'm not going to blow off ACME so I can play poker in Vegas."

"Oh, good, that's sort of what I was wondering." He said.

"But if I'm even still alive by Wednesday, they could just blind me away while I'm in Hollywood . . ." I said, "Yeah! I'll come home for the shows, and they'll just blind me away!"

"Doesn't that mean you'll bust out?"

"Maybe. That doesn't matter. I could write a great story about this, like one that could get into a magazine or something!"

I've been secretly working on a poker book for a few months. It's an anthology of stories that I've published on my blog, and it needs one more longish story before it's something I can publish.

The Writer said, "Chris, no matter what happens, I am going to get a great story out of this. Can you imagine? If I was in the pack at the top, and I had to leave to come back to Los Angeles to do a show? That would be really dramatic! Or if I'm short-stacked, and I know that I have to go home anyway, so I get really agressive, and pick up a bunch of pots . . . so I get into the top pack and have to leave anyway?! This is going to be so cool!"

Though I was sitting on the couch when the phone rang, I was now excitedly pacing around my house. I walked through my kitchen and into my back yard, scattering about two dozen birds off the feeders as I passed them on the patio.

I stood on the grass in my bare feet, and had a thought. What if it's going to suck for WPT that they're giving me a freeroll into this tournament, but I have to leave in the middle of it? Would that be lame?

"Okay, I think you should call them, and tell them that I want to play, but explain that I have to come home no matter what. If that is going to suck for them, they can move down to the next player on the list, and I'll completely understand."

"I'll do that, and call you back."

We hung up, and I ran back inside to my office. I grabbed all my poker books off my shelf, and started reviewing. I'm a good limit player, and I'm great in live games . . . but I don't have a whole lot of tournament experience. Maybe I could get some help from TJ, and Doyle, and Mike Caro . . .

I sat down on my floor, and started reading. As I absorbed advice from the masters, I felt like I was getting back on a bike.

About thirty minutes went by. I underlined passages, used post-its for bookmarks . . . and realized that I was unconsciously doing what I read about in Positively Fifth Street.

"Oh man, I could write my version of Positively Fifth Street!"

The phone rang. It was Chris.

"Hello?"

"You're going to Vegas!"

I took the phone away from my head, and shouted out in excitement.

"You'll have to take care of your travel and meals, but they'll get your room. Is that okay?" He said.

"Yeah! That's fine. Are they okay with me leaving?"

"They're fine with it." He paused. "Do you think you'll really be live on Wednesday?"

"I don't know," I said. I looked down at the pile of books scattered across the floor. "I'm already over my head," I thought.

"I'm just going to do my best, have fun, and try to get a good story out of it." I said. "Chris, this could be my version of Positively Fifth Street!"

"Uh, Wil," he said, "don't you need to make the final table if you want to do that?"

"Oh. Right. That." I said. "Well, maybe it'll be called Positively Short Stacked."

He laughed, because it was funny. I laughed because I was embarrassed. Who was I kidding?

"Have a great time while you're there, and keep me updated." He said.

"I will."

---

So here I am, at the start of a week in (and out of) Vegas. I flew in yesterday afternoon, and just found out about fifteen minutes ago that I don't start playing until tomorrow at noon. Which is good because I need to write two Games of our Lives columns, and prepare for my Dancing Barefoot reading on Wednesday. And it wouldn't hurt to get some practice playing in a few live games today.

casino queen

After breakfast, I came back upstairs to work on Games of our Lives.

I got into the elevator, and held the door open for about a half-dozen people. When they were all in, I was closest to the buttons.

"Where y'all going?" I said. Normally, I don't say "y'all," (and in this case, the proper conjugation would have been "all y'alls,") but I've got The Nerves, and sometimes that makes me say weird things.

They all said the same number, which happens to be the same floor as me.

"Oh, I hear all the cool kids are staying on that floor," I said. (Longtime WWdN readers will understand why I didn't say, "It's the floor that's sweeping the nation.")

"Yeah, I hear it's the floor where all the winners are staying," this businessman with an NAB badge around his neck said.

"You mean it's where the losers are staying!" This forty-something woman said. In one hand she held one of those plastic footballs, presumably filled with something scandalous like Sex on the Beach.

"Hey! Speak for yourself, lady!" I said with a laugh. I'm normally not this chatty in elevators.

She looked at me, and her eyes focused (eventually) on my WPT badge.

"Oh!" She said, "You're in the poker tournament?"

"Yeah," I said.

"How are you doing?"

"Well, I'm still alive," I said. Somehow, it sounded cooler than, "I start tomorrow, and I'm scared out of my fucking shit right now," while still technically true.

She extended her left hand toward me. Liver spots, huge gold bracelet, 790 carat diamond ring on her middle finger. No wedding ring. Loud, pinkish-orange polish on otherwise tasteful acrylic nails.

"Give me some of your luck, kid!" She said. I tried, but failed to identify an accent.

Okay, how much do I love that this woman just called me "kid?"

"No way," I said. "I don't want to get any of your 'loser luck' on me."

The whole elevator laughed, including The Football Lady.

"I tell you what," I said, as we arrived at our floor, and the doors opened, "If I'm still in the tournament on Sunday, you can touch me then."

"It's a deal!" She said.

I walked out of the elevators and turned to the right. They went to the left. As the distance between us grew, I heard her friend say, "He's right, Melissa. Keep your loser luck to yourself."

Their laughter echoed down the hall as I put the key into my door.

look honest when you're telling a lie

Eating antacids like they're Skittles. Taste the rainbow of anxiety.

Spent about an hour with Lee Jones yesterday afternoon, got some excellent coaching on NLHE strategy. I like Lee. He's a good guy and knows poker. Nerves settled a little bit, traded antacids for a Zantac.

Had dinner with Greg Raymer last night, (he ate real food, I ate pickled ginger, steamed tofu and rice) before heading to Aladdin to play the hundred dollar 1-2 NLHE game with Lee. Fossilman is the nicest guy in the world, but I hope I don't ever have to play against him. I hear that he was the chip leader for much of yesterday afternoon.

Wind nearly blew me off my feet getting to Aladdin, finally walked into the Poker Room around 10:30. Sat down and played with people from the WPT crew and production staff. Only opened a few pots: early on with pocket tens. The flop came 10-6-7, guy ahead of me makes it 75, I call all-in, he shows 8-9h for the straight. Misread him. Thought he was over-betting to push me out. Luckily, he liked to tell everyone why he did what he did, so I figured him out pretty quickly and he only got five bucks from me the rest of the night. Still tilted from the huge loss early on, though, and never fully recovered.

Bought back in, played the tightest I've ever played in my life. Eventually made it 10 to go UTG when I found pocket kings, no callers except the button. Flop is A-A-x. I check, he checks. Turn is another baby card, I check, he checks. River is also a blank, he bets 10. I rase it to 25, he folds. I want so badly to show my cowboys but I don't. That's proably the most I was going to get on that hand, because I would have folded to a set of aces if he'd played back on fourth street. Only made about 30 bucks on the hand.

Folded for two hours, made a little stab with A-10 of Diamonds in the BB, threw it away when the flop paired, completely missed me, and UTG made it 20 to go. Good fold: he had a set. Nerves finally relaxed. Though I didn't make lots of money, my bets were appropriate, and my instincts proved to be right on every hand until the last I played.

Eventually got all my money in with KJ. I hate KJ. For whatever reason, it just never holds up for me. I almost threw it away when my pre-flop 10 was called, but it was late, I was tired, and Bad Wil (with apologies to McManus) said, "Come on, man, double up or go home broke. Who loves you, baby?" Moved in for about 80, called by AJ, jack on the flop, no king. Went home broke.

Finally got into bed around 2, stared at the ceiling for what felt like an hour, but was probably about ten minutes. Woke up on my own around 9:30.

Waiting for room service to bring breakfast. Need coffee and a waffle. Sitting down in seat 4 at table 37 in two hours.

Holy Shit. Taste the rainbow.

WPT Championship, Day Two

Hooray for computer issues. My iBook is acting up, (details, including lots of NSFW language in the audioblog) but I took a chance on making it go this morning . . . so far, so good. I'm using Safari, so I wonder if the problem is with an older version of Firefox, because Thunderbird does the same thing. Maybe something's corrupt in some library or something.

Well, I'm not going to worry about it right now, because I need to focus on the tournament.

I'm still alive, but barely. Yesterday I played pretty well, other than two huge fucking stupid dipshit rookie idiot mistakes that cost me 30K in chips, tilted me, and took about an hour of play before I recovered, mentally. Details on that stuff will come later on, as I understand some of my possible competition here is reading my blog.

Cool note: Andy Bloch told a writer for Pokerwire yesterday that my blog was really cool, and very well-written. Sweet!

So I was all the way down to about 25K in chips near the end of the day, when I finally got a hand I could play. On the button, or in the cutoff (can't remember and my notes are messy) UTG raised it to 1800. With the blinds at 300-600, this was a standard steal-raise, but I had decided that this was my Moment iof Truth: I was all-in on this hand no matter what . . . I just wanted to play it right so I could get some action from at least one of the players, probably the raiser, who was this guy Victor (pro player, I forget his last name. Very nice guy, though.) I re-raised to 6000. He thought about it for a long, long time, asked me how many chips I had, all that stuff. Since I had decided I was going to move on this hand no matter what, I wanted a call, so if he was looking for weakness, he wasn't going to find it. Eventually, he called. The flop was 9-7-x, all different suits. He checked, I moved in immediately.

He thought about it again, and eventually said to one of the other guys, "He hasn't played a hand in four hours." I just looked at the flop, and hoped he called. I loved this flop.

"Do you have Kings?" He said.

"It'll only cost you about 20,000 to find out, Victor," I said.

"I worked hard for these chips, man," he said.

"You sure did."

He tapped his cards, fiddled with his chips, rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses, and folded.

I nodded and raked the pot.

Next hand I got was also a monster. Two playable hands in a row took a little bit of the sting off of the relentless string of K-2o, 5-3o, and J-7o bullshit I'd been looking at all day.

I raised it up to 6000, got one caller. The flop was a Jack and two baby cards. The caller bet half the pot, I moved in, he folded quickly.

I gave about 1800 back in blinds and antes, and ended the day around with 37375 in chips. That puts me around 272 in a field of about 314 or so, and it means that if I don't double through before the end of the first or second level today, it's only a matter of time before I'm out.

I talked with Travis from ACME last night, and if I'm still alive in this thing this afternoon, we're cancelling the Dancing Barefoot performance tonight, and moving it to next week.

I only have to make it to 100th place to get $30,000! That would pay for all my kitties, and the knee surgery Ferris has to have on Monday. (Can I get an "Oy vey," please?)

Time for breakfast, then a quick shower. I've got Darwin with me, so he's channeling all the Monkey Mojo I can get.

your cowboys are no good here

The only thing worse than having pocket kings busted twice (by AQo, then AKo) in three hands, moving me to the other side of the rail and out of the money, was my goddamn iBook crashing so hard it wouldn't even boot, leaving me with no way to blog about the last few days. Five times in two years (across two different machines — this most recent time just a couple days after I got the damn thing back from the Apple Hospital) is just about my limit, so I think I'm done with it, and now I'm shopping for a new laptop. I'll look at the Powerbook if I can convince Apple's Customer Service to help me out, otherwise I think I'm giong to break down and get one of those Dark Side laptops, so I can play ultimatebet, or partypoker, or pokerstars while I'm on the road.

Or in my bedroom. Or in my living room, kitchen, or just about anywhere else, because if I liked poker before, I am madly, passionately, stupidly in love with it now.

My friend Chris wrote in his blog a month or so ago about this moment when his game suddenly changed; when all the books, homegames, the online and live tournaments, the WPT and WSOP on TV, and everything else all combined to kick his game up to a new level. That happened to me while I was nearing the end of the first day at Bellagio. It never would have happened if I hadn't sat with Lee Jones at Aladdin on Monday night, but somehow everything he told me, plus the little bit of reviewing I did, then putting that into action against some amazing players . . . I may not have much money to show for it (though I did kill a guy at Flamingo late last night in the 1-2 NLHE game with . . . wait for it . . . Kings) but my game is better, I've made great new friends, and I proved to myself that I actually can compete at a higher level than I could ten days ago.

I didn't make the money, but I played the best poker of my life. I sat there with the best, and I played with them. They made plays at me and I played right back. I took down a few good pots from some great players, and I can take some comfort in knowing that I was finally knocked out by one of the best players in the world. I always got my money in good, and I only needed to get lucky twice. Once I did, and once I didn't. Hell, that's poker. I wouldn't change a thing.

I made some great new friends in Vegas. John Vorhaus, who is blogging the tournament for Ultimate Bet, and Jen Creason, who updates for PokerWire.com cheered for me when I was a player, and welcomed me into their world when I traded my chips for a notebook.

I'm home for another ten minutes, then off to ACME for the show tonight, then back to Vegas tomorrow morning to cover the final table.

In the past, whenever I've had the good fortune to experience anything great, writing about it has always been as much fun (and sometimes more fun) than the original experience itself. I'm so excited to start writing this story . . . I have a feeling that the story that eventually comes out of this week is going to fucking rock. (Well, for me, at least ;)

numb

About forty minutes after I landed back in Vegas yesterday morning, my kitty Sketch had a heart attack. He was in "His Spot" on my bedroom floor, and Anne held him while he died.

He looked fine when I left, so I didn't even scratch his chest like I always do. I just told him, "I love you, Fat Boy. I'll see you tomorrow."

Anne said that it happened so fast, it was over before she had a chance to freak out.

I had to stay in Vegas and write about the final table of the championship, so my psyche just sort of put me into shock until I got home this afternoon. Since I walked into my house, I've been moving between the hysterical sobbing and the weird numbness.

I think I'm going to take a few days off, meet my deadlines, and cry a whole, whole bunch.

the show must go on

I spent much of yesterday writing for Dungeon and The Onion, and the rest of it playing some SNGs on Poker Stars (I cashed four of five times: third place three times and second once for a total gain of about 2 bucks. Go me.)

Anyway, when I woke up, I felt like I was just going to stare at the wall all day, and I'm glad I had responsibilities I couldn't blow off, and something else to do that would keep my focus off my grief the rest of the time.

Late last night, though, I transferred some photos of Sketch from my digital camera into my iMac . . . I'd been teetering on the edge of hysterical grief all day long and that shoved me right off the ledge. I collapsed on my couch and cried until my chest hurt and my cheeks stung. I really, really miss him.

(And a huge thank you to everyone who has sent e-mails, and comments offering support and understanding. You understand what this loss means to me. To everyone else who thinks it's a good time to be cruel and heartless: a huge go fuck yourself.)

Anyway, tonight I've got my performance of Dancing Barefoot at ACME. Just like the writing yesterday, it's going to be tough to get up on my feet and focus, but I'm glad it's there. As we say in showbusiness: The Show Must Go On.

Here are the details, reprinted from a couple of weeks ago:

In an effort to be more like my hero David Sedaris, I'm doing a live performance of Dancing Barefoot, which will be recorded and turned into an audiobook!

Details:

WHAT: Dancing Barefoot, live on stage!

WHERE: Acme Comedy Theatre (where else? ;)
135 N. La Brea
Hollywood, CA 90036
(323) 525-0202

WHEN: Tonight — Wednesday, April 27th at 8 pm.

TICKETS: $12

I will have a very limited number of Dancing Barefoot books for sale, and if you already own a copy that you'd like to get signed, please bring it out. I'm happy to do that.

I just love Dancing Barefoot. When I read from it, I get to revisit the great memories I wrote about, but I also get to remember how fun and exciting it was to write, publish, and release it. In contrast to the frustration and disappointment I experienced with Just A Geek, I have nothing but fond memories of the Monolith Press run of Dancing Barefoot.

This is going to rock! \m/

If you're in LA (or near LA, or have a lot of blog readers in LA) would you help me out and mention this to your readers? I think it's going to be a good show, and I'd like as many people as possible to know about it.

Update: My friend and fellow ACME Main Company Performer, Shane Nickerson, recorded a hilarious Video Blog about tonight's performance. It's the first real laugh I've had all week. Thanks, Shane. :)

the inside of outside

The performance of Dancing Barefoot at ACME went well. I guess about 35 people came, and we had a great time together. It was about 40 minutes too long, but luckily for me, (and the audience) I performed for probably the only audience in the world who wouldn't mind such a long show.

Because I was in Vegas, and then lost my Fat Boy, I never really had a chance to get excited or nervous about the show. It was just a commitment on my calendar that I had to prepare for. It wasn't until I was driving down Beverly, near Highland, that I got that familiar rush of excited anticipation that comes before I do a show for the first time.

We played with a few different visual styles, but eventually chose to keep the stage very stark: it was just me, a mic stand, and a stool with some water on it. We put a color wash across the back wall that we could change when the stories changed (flickering orange for Inferno, red for flashbacks, and blue the rest of the time), and used spotlights to isolate me. I dressed in all black (if you saw ACME Love Machine, it was the same costume I wore for Untitled Office Sketch Number Nine.) After the show, I got several compliments from people who thought the staging was cool. Honestly? I thought it looked pretty cool, too. Mike and Travis did a great job putting it together.

I read Ready Or Not, Here I Come, followed by We Close Our Eyes, and then Inferno to finish the first act. After a brief intermission, I did most of The Saga Of SpongeBob Vega$Pants (or how i learned to stop worrying and love star trek).

I had a really great time, even though I made some serious gaffes a few times, like introducing Inferno: "This is called Inferno. It's a love letter to my wife." Pause. Frown. Look at book. Look at audience. "Wait. No it isn't." Pause. Swallow. Sweat. "This is called We Close Our Eyes! It is a love letter to my wife." Pause. Look at book. Look at audience. Wipe brow. "Thank you for coming to my dress rehearsal."

Then, when I read Inferno: "This is called Inferno." Pause. Pause. Pause. "Maybe you've heard of it."

I had a really good time, and I can't wait to do it again. Travis and I are going to edit the hell out of it, so the second half is closer to 35 or 40 minutes, and the first half is closer to 25 minutes. We figure that Vega$Pants has three main bits: Meeting WFS, totally dying onstage, and going on Star Trek: The Experience. I'm going to take those sections, write some new "bridges" to tie them all together, and the result will be the second act.

I didn't get the greatest audio, because I ended up going off the mic an awful lot, but we're definitely going to do this again, and I'll get good audio from a future performance.

I want to thank everyone who came out to watch the show, especially my Mom and Dad. As I said in the show, if you're really lucky, maybe one day you will get the opportunity to be heckled by your own father. (It was really funny. You had to be there, I guess.) I know it was much longer than it should have been, and I really appreciate you all staying with me through the whole thing.

Update: There are only a few comments right now, but many readers have asked if a DVD or streaming video from ACME will ever be offered. We've thought about taping ACME shows in the past, but with a cast of 10, SAG and Equity rules make that sort of thing not worth the effort. However, since I am the writer and sole performer of this particular show, it's a lot easier. Streaming is not an option, but a DVD certainly is. I'll look into the costs, and see what I can do.