I talk about this in more depth in Just A Geek, but for years I lived with a very profound sense of shame. The huge acting career that I'd hoped for when I left Star Trek never happened, and as I grew through my twenties, I realized just what an epic asshole I'd been throughout my teenage years. Regret was a constant companion, and it was very hard for me to face friends and family, because I felt like I'd let everyone down.
Of course, that wasn't the case. I had most certainly let myself down, but to the people who loved me, how I was doing in my career was unimportant. It took me several years to get over myself, (to follow that process in every excruciating detail, just go back to the beginning of WWdN's archives, and start reading) but once I finally did, I realized how many years I just . . . wasted.
So last week, I called my mom. I've talked with her before about my feelings of disappointment, shame and regret, and I recalled that conversation.
"So now that I'm over all of that, I feel good, and happy, and at peace with my life and career . . ."
"It's good that I can separate my life and my career. There's a lesson I wish I'd learned ten years ago." I thought.
" . . . and I realize how much I miss seeing you and dad," I said. "I'd like to make an effort to do more things together."
"We'd like that," she said.
"So could we plan on getting together at least twice a month for dinner, or something?"
"Sure! Just give us a call."
"Okay, I will. I love you, mom."
"I love you too, Willow."
Tuesday night, Anne and I realized that we'd both be up near my parents' house on Thursday, so I called my mom and asked her if we could bring the kids up for dinner.
"I'll bring everything to make grilled teriyaki chicken sandwiches!" I said.
"That would be wonderful. I'll make a salad, and I'll even warm up the pool," she said. Then, sotto voce: "Don't tell your father."
I giggled. "Okay. We'll see you Thursday!"
So last night, Ryan and I were in my mom and dad's kitchen, preparing dinner, when my sister came downstairs.
"Are you eating with us?" I said, as I pounded a chicken breast.
"Yeah," she said.
"I didn't realize you were going to be joining us," I said, "so I only bought one package of sandwich buns."
"Oh, that's okay," she said, "I can't eat chicken anyway."
"I got her a steak," my mom said, from the dining room.
"Would you like me to save you some teriyaki sauce and some pineapple, so you can have teriyaki steak?" I asked her.
"I don't know if I want to make filet mignon into teriyaki steak," my sister said.
"Filet mignon?!" Ryan said, and turned to me. "Wil, I don't eat chicken either."
We all laughed.
"Just kidding," he said, " . . . or am I?"
I turned to my mom. "I'm so glad we came up tonight."
"Me too," she said.
Dude! This is too cool!
Tomorrow, I have an audition to do voicework for Twisted Metal: World Tour!
I've played so much Twisted Metal over the years that if I hear Rob Zombie in the car, I have to change the station, or I may get a little . . . aggressive.
This would be like a Trekkie getting to work on TNG, or me getting to work on Family Guy or Futurama.
There's currently a copy of Dancing Barefoot, that I autographed, on eBay. It's a charity auction, and 100% of the money raised goes to the St. Jude's Children's Research Hospital.
So if you're looking for an autographed Barefoot, and you woke up today thinking, "Man, I really need to support St. Jude's . . . " you need to look no further than this auction.
The second part of the interview I did with Sequential Tart is up, as well as the very first official review of Just A Geek.
I read the entire interview (including part one) yesterday, and observed that Trisha and I talked just like we were a couple of friends, having a beer and playing darts. Everyone isn't going to be as cool as she was, and I have to be careful in future interviews . . . if Trisha were a jerk (she's not) she could really have taken advantage of my trust and the easy rapport we developed right around "hello." If I'd stopped to think, "Dude, you're doing an interview. Watch what you say, and be succinct," it wouldn't be nearly as rambling and "conversational" as it is . . . but it would also be pretty middle of the road, and not true to who I am. So here's a public thank you to Trisha for not being a jerk, and burning me the way Entertainment We(a)kly did so many years ago.
Warning: I talk about politics in the second part, and it prompted the first ever disclaimer (". . . the political opinions of Wil Wheaton do not reflect the opinions of the staff of Sequential Tart or its writers") that's ever accompanied any of my comments. So if you're part of the "You're with us or against us" crowd, I'll just spare us both the headache, and urge you to go read the latest Strongbad e-mail instead.
It's here! Kris made it! One hundred days of treatment for leukemia. This was the biggest goal for her and she did it!
I am so happy to be able to write this with such a happy ending. It's been a very tough road for Kris, but I think a big part of staying so strong and focused on getting this far was all of the support she got from everyone who sent "mojo" her way and encouragement with all the donations (by the way, final score . . . $27,535.) Kris is feeling great and is going to be waiting at the finish line when we do the marathon in San Diego this Sunday.
Last week Kris called me and said she was really over not having any hair. She was going to go to a concert with her husband and just wanted to look "normal." I know of this great wig shop in North Hollywood that also has a full beauty supply upstairs so we could test out some new make-up after getting new hair. With all the radiation and chemo, Kris lost all but about five eyelashes and three hairs in her eyebrows. Her skin tone is very gray and her entire body is very dry and flaky. Time for a change! I picked her up and we headed down for a makeover.
The girl in the wig shop was very nice and helpful, and we had a great time picking out wigs. Before Kris lost her hair, she had fairly long, slightly curly, light brown hair. We decided that jumping back into that might look a bit strange since all of her family, friends and neighbors have seen her with no hair and a chenille cap on for the past few months, so we looked for something a little more believable.
She thought maybe her husband might like a red head. We both started laughing because she tried on a wig that looked like Ann Margaret. I think the sales girl was a little uncomfortable at how silly we were being because Kris obviously looks like she has been very sick. But this whole experience has been so strange for both of us. We always talk about it like it's this separate thing we're watching happen to someone else. It has been an incredible learning experience though.
So we continue to pick out ridiculous wigs and Kris says "I can't believe we forgot a camera!" I thought the sales girl was going to pass out. She seemed shocked that we were having so much fun with this. She tried on several others. One looked like "Mama's Family", another like a hooker. We finally decided on a shoulder length one with a cute flippy style. The bangs were kind of long, but I could trim that later. (By the way, she got a Raquel Welch wig. It's synthetic hair, but very light and natural. And very reasonably priced. Around $90 versus the human hair wigs that average $400 and up.) She even ordered another one in a slightly lighter color and a little shorter for variety in summer!
Next, we went upstairs to find some make-up. She really wanted eyebrows and some color back in her face.
There were several girls working at this place, a few actually at the make-up counter. We looked around at all the different choices. I looked for someone to help us. It was then that I noticed that every counter we stopped at, the sales girl seemed to disappear. I became very aware of the people working there avoiding us. I didn't point this out to Kris. Maybe she didn't notice. I couldn't believe this was happening. Didn't they know what an awesome person Kris is? Didn't they know she doesn't always look like this? Why were they avoiding her? I felt sick to my stomach at the thought of anyone going out of their way to avoid helping someone just because of the way they look. But then again, we were in Hollywood.
I decided to take matters into my own hands. First, eyebrows. We found a good color so I drew them on. I didn't realize what a difference eyebrows and lashes make. Just giving her eyebrows seemed to put life back into her face. Next, I lined her eyes with a light brown powder liner. That made an even bigger difference. Laura Mercier makes a great tinted moisturizer. You can choose from several different colors and it's great because it's not thick and cakey like foundation can be. A little blush and lip gloss (her lips are way too flaky for lipstick) and she looked like her old self again. She was so excited she whipped her new hair out of the box and put it on in the middle of the store. Of course, there was no reason to feel self- conscious because there were still no sales girls anywhere near us.
She was very excited and wanted to buy everything I used on her. I went across the store to a girl and asked her for help at the counter we'd been at for the past twenty minutes. She said she'd be right with us. We waited another five minutes before I asked someone else for help. The very unfriendly girl gave Kris the items we asked for and we were on our way.
Kris was so happy that she kept looking in the mirror on the way home. She said she has been avoiding mirrors for months because she gets depressed when she sees how she looks. But now she couldn't wait for everyone to see her. I'm so glad I got to be a part of that.
Kris came into the salon where I work the next day for me to trim the bangs on her wig. Her lack of eyelashes make her eyes very sensitive to anything around them. The bangs kept rubbing on her eyes. I had just finished Wil's mom's hair when Kris came in. Again, we forgot the camera. Wil's dad was on his way down to the salon, so we asked him to bring his camera. So we were able to capture this moment thanks to Rick (thanks Rick!).
Kris is now looking great and feeling great. And so are we. We've been walking like crazy preparing for this Sunday. My final post will be next week. I'll tell you all about the marathon and will include a ton of pictures from the whole experience.
Thank you so much for all of your support. We never could have done this without you!
Anne and I have to get up at 4am on Sunday for the marathon, so all this week, we're trying to reset our internal body clocks (notice I didn't say 'circadian rhythm') a little bit earlier than normal,(so we're not in a stupor at the starting line) by getting up earlier, and walking first thing.
Oh man, it's hard. It was harder to get up this morning and walk three miles than it was to walk 13 miles on the weekend . . . but we're doing it, and it feels very good to tell myself, "Look, man, you made a commitment to this marathon, and to Kris, and to Anne, and to everyone who has supported you. Get your fat lazy ass out of bed and walk."
Anyway, I'm currently sitting at my dining room table, having a cup of coffee, and catching up on overnight e-mails. Anne just took the kids to school, but before they left, I asked them to hold a good thought for me at 10:50 this morning — as long as it didn't disrupt their class.
"Why?" Nolan said.
"Because I have an audition."
"What's it for?"
"It's a voice over commercial for Papermate."
He grabbed his backpack, and while he was picking up his lunch in the kitchen he said, "Break a leg, Wil!"
That was so cool.
"Thanks, Nolan. I'll do my best."
"Okay! I love you! Bye!"
So now the house is quiet again, except for Felix crunching his breakfast behind me in the kitchen, and the chirping of baby birds in our breezeway.
I'm already tired . . . but it's good tired, and I'm ready to face the day.
I've been alluding to some sort of exciting announcement for at least a week now, but every time I think I'm going to make it, something else comes up, and it keeps getting delayed.
So I guess I should just make the announcement, and go back to folding my clothes.
(Totally random aside: even though I'm married and have two stepkids, I still do laundry like a bachelor. About once every two weeks, my clothes will spill out of the hamper, and I'll hear Anne call, "Wil?" from the bedroom.
Excitedly expecting some Skyrockets in Flight, I'll race back there, only to find her standing near the hamper, one hand on her hip, the other pointing at the mass of clothes, as she gives me The Look.
My wife is the most patient and wonderful woman on the planet.)
Anyway, before I start going on and on about how awesome Anne is, here's the Big news: starting with issue 114, I will be writing the back page of Dungeon magazine. My column is called . . . wait for it . . . "Wil Save."
I've been reading Dungeon and Dragon off and on for years, but I've been playing D&D; since the early days of the red box set. All through high school, I played GURPS, Illuminati, Car Wars, OGRE, Awful Green Things . . . and some games that were not released by Steve Jackson Games. The point is, I've got lots of sources for inspiration, and I will spend my first few columns looking back on 15 years of gaming, and what it means to me to be a Gamer now, compared to when I was younger.
It's a pretty big deal to me to have a regular column anywhere . . . but to have the back page is something that I didn't think I'd ever get, and I'm very grateful to the droogs at Dungeon for giving me an opportunity to share some of my experiences with their readers.
Bad News: Looks like I didn't book any of those voice over jobs, since it's been over a week and I haven't heard anything.
Good News: WWdN reader Zack, was inspired by the possibility of my joining the cast, and penned the following missive, which made me giggle, then laugh, then fall over.
Not necessarily in that order.
FADE IN:INT. DRUNKEN CLAM - NIGHT
BRIAN sits down at the bar with a martini, depressed. He SIGHS. Sitting next to him is WIL WHEATON, who notices.
WIL WHEATON
Something wrong?BRIAN
Oh, I feel like no one treats me with respect, and judges me before they get to know me.WIL WHEATON
Really? Same thing happens with me. What's your problem?BRIAN
Eh, I'm a talking dog.WIL WHEATON
(takes a drink)
Mmm.BRIAN
What's yours?WIL WHEATON
Oh, I played Wesley on 'Star Trek: The Next Generation.'Brian's eyes go wide with horror. Wil notices. PETER and QUAGMIRE walk up. Peter has a beer.
WIL WHEATON (CONT'D)
What?BRIAN
(caught)
Oh? Uh, um, nothing, nothing.
(points)
Hey, is that one of those old 'Narc' arcade games? Where, you ah, yeah --He dissolves into mumbles as he quickly gets up and rushes off. Wil looks dejected. Peter pokes Wil.
PETER
Hey, ah, just one question -- ?WIL WHEATON
Yeah?PETER
Did you, ah, did you ever...you know, think about Dr. Crusher when you...?He makes a 'come on' gesture.
WIL WHEATON
What? I...I...she was my MOM!PETER
(egging him on)
Yeah, but she was just an ACTRESS...WIL WHEATON
Trust me, I...PETER
(overlapping)
It's okay, I just wanna--WIL WHEATON
You're making me uncomfortable...PETER
Come on, I'm not trying to give you a hard time, just, you know, I'm a fan, I'm curious -- hell I'd have done it. I mean, she was hot, huh?Wil relaxes a little.
WIL WHEATON
Well..
(laughs)
Well, maybe there was this ONE time--PETER
(cuts him off)
OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!WIL WHEATON
(overlapping)
Wha--PETER
She's -- she's your MOM! I didn't think you'd actually ADMIT --WIL WHEATON
Wait, you said --PETER
That is the sickest...you, you -- GOD!He throws his beer in Wil's face and stomps off. Quagmire looks at Wil with disgust.
QUAGMIRE
Pervert.He walks off, unbuckling his belt as he goes.
QUAGMIRE (CONT'D)
(from off)
Hey ladies, anyone wanna play 'Clamdigger?'Wil stares as we hear SCREAMS and a loud SLAP.
QUAGMIRE (CONT'D)
(from off)
Oh!FADE OUT.
THE END.
Anne and I walked 13 miles today, along The Strand from Dockweiler to Hermosa and back.
It was a perfect day to walk. Blue skies, a light breeze, tons of friendly people out walking their dogs, and a beach absolutely packed with people playing volleyball. There was this festive atmosphere everywhere, and I felt like my soul got a little recharge while my body got a light workout.
The marathon is on Sunday, and we're making sure that we're properly conditioned (we are) and that our pace hasn't changed (it hasn't. We're still about 4.2 MPH). We walked nine miles yesterday, and I think we're taking tomorrow off . . . my feet are aching.
Now it's time for a quick shower, and then dinner: I'm barbecuing chicken and serving it with black beans. Goodtimes.
My dad's family has a long tradition associated with the Los Angeles Dodgers, going all the way back to the very first day they ever played here.
As a result, my dad's family has had season tickets at Dodger stadium since the place opened -- and they rock.
My parents only get a few games a year, and Anne and I usually can't go for some reason or another . . . but we get to go tonight! I am going to watch Randy Johnson pitch from just a few feet off the field. How cool is that?
It will also be the first Dodger game that I've been able to attend in person this season.
This is a pretty cool way to kick off the long weekend, eh?
The server that houses WWdN got hit by a script kiddie last night.
I'm very impressed. It takes a lot of brains and courage to run a script against a webserver. Very, very grown up.
My wife said, "I don't get this. What exactly have you ever done to anyone? Why are these idiots suddenly harassing you?"
I don't think it has anything to do with me, I told her. I share a server with some other sites, and one of them must have been compromised.
"It was probably this phpnuke exploit that's been out there for --" I said.
"You lost me at phpnuke," she said. I laughed.
"It's pretty sad that someone has to destroy something to feel good about themselves," she said.
We were washing dishes from dinner at the time, and Nolan came into the kitchen, ready for bed.
"What got destroyed, Wil?" he said.
"Somebody cracked the server that hosts my website," I said.
"That's stupid." he said.
"Yeah."
"Will you tuck me in?"
"Sure." I dried the dish I was washing, and he took my hand in his as we walked back to his room.
"I had a really good time tonight," he said.
"Yeah, me too!" I said. After dinner, we played Hold'Em, then charades. It was a wonderful family evening, like you'd see in some lame 50s TV show.
We got to his room, and he hopped into his bed. Felix was already there, purring loudly.
"Look! I'm on Felix's rotation!" Nolan said. Felix moves from my room, to Nolan's, to Ryan's, and to the living room. He'll spend a few nights, or even a few weeks, in each spot. It's pretty cool to be on his rotation, because it feels like you've been "chosen."
I smiled, and rubbed Felix's chin. He flipped over on his back and purred even louder.
"Sleep well, kiddo," I said.
"Okay," he said. "I love you, Wil."
"I love you too, Nolan. I'll see you in the morning."
He reached out his arms, and hugged me tightly. I kissed his head and squeezed him back.
I passed Ryan's room on my way back out to the kitchen. He was reading in bed.
"I had a great time with you tonight," I said.
"That was rad." he said. Then he said something that's so funny, but so wrong, I won't repeat it. Something about Anne rivering trips to beat my two pair. I will, however, repeat what he said next: "Oh yeah, I went there."
"Did you just quote Family Guy?" I said.
He laughed like Peter Griffin.
"I thought so. Okay, when you get back from your dad's this weekend, I'm introducing you to Monty Python. You're ready for it."
"Isn't that for nerds?"
"You're ready for it," I repeated. "Sleep well."
Earlier today, I got to see the jacket for my book, and I got to share it with my family who I love. Then, I got to have dinner with my family who I love. Then, I played poker with my family who I love, then I played charades with my family who I love. I spent the entire night with my family who I love, creating wonderful memories, while some stupid coward spent his night alone, trying to make himself feel important and relevant by destroying something. Anyone can destroy something. It takes something more to create something.
*Commenting is turned off until we can get some more perl modules installed on the new server.*
A few people have e-mailed me recently and wondered where my posts from the politics department have all gone. There's no shortage of things to be outraged about: the torture in Abu Ghraib, the daily barrage of lies coming out of the Bush administration about the war, the New York Times's half-assed apology for helping Bush and the neocons mislead the country into war (way to let Judith Miller get off scott-free, Times. That's some top-notch responsibility-taking you've got going there) . . . but here's the deal: I'm actually getting paid to write some things now (more on that tomorrow), and I have editors and readers who expect things on time -- that don't totally suck -- so I don't have a lot of "extra" time right now. When I write about political issues, I like to heavily research and footnote my comments. My goal when I write about politics is not to simply rant and rave . . . it's to hopefully enlighten, and inform people. Right now, I don't have time to do that, but there are others on the Intarweb who are doing a fantastic job: Salon, DailyKos, Atrios, Josh Marshall, The Daily Howler, Juan Cole, and Kevin Drum are just a few of the sites I read at least once a day. I do a lot of nodding along in agreement when I read them, and they always say what I would say, with more eloquence and passion than I can currently muster.
It's a strange thing, the concept and reality of "time." There are so many things that I want to do in a day, and there really isn't enough time to get it all done. As I get older, I find that my time is more and more valuable . . . and I have less and less of it. I'm still working up the D&D; campaign for Ryan and Nolan, and I just joined a new campaign as a player . . . the first campaign I've played in since high school. I haven't had time to sit down and play poker in ages, and I'm still reading the same book I started almost three weeks ago. Roger Waters was on to something, man.
So in consideration of this time thing, and how it ties into the lack of political writing, which is, I guess, what this entry has become all about: I can only write so much, and I can only write so much that's not total crap. It takes more time energy to write a good political post than it does to write about something that truly brings me joy and makes me happy. And you know what? There's enough anger and strife in the world right now. I'd rather put my time and energy into reflecting on the things that make me happy, than the things that piss me off.
When I put myself in lockdown to finish Just A Geek, I opened up this creative vein, and all kinds of stuff came flowing out. I wrote almost daily for Best Week Ever, put up a few things at the Cult of the One Eyed Cat, and contributed pretty frequently to blogging.la . . . but once I was done, I just . . . ran out of energy. My friend Kathleen described it as "red-lining" for weeks, which made a lot of sense to me. Since I finished, I feel like my creative engine was so heavily taxed for so long, it takes longer to get it started, and it's harder to rev it up to a point where it churns out lots of good stuff.
Over the last week or so, I've started to feel creatively rested, and I think I'll be able to write here more often . . . but more importantly, I'll get back to more narrative work, like lying in odessa or some of my recent blogs about the kids.
I gave a talk to Nolan's humanities class about two weeks ago (man, speaking to thirty 12 year-olds is harder than addressing a convention hall of thousands!) and I discussed how writing can take you places -- emotionally, and physically -- the same way reading a good book, or watching a good movie can.
For the time being, when I write, I'm going to visit some cool places . . . but now, I'm going to read my Expanded Psionics Handbook.
