tamed by the purr of a jaguar

Thank you to everyone who commented on my last post. I had no idea so many new readers were visiting my blog; I'd just assumed that the Internet had gotten bored with me, moved on to whatever the new hotness is, and I was writing for the few, the proud, the geeky who had been here forever.

Knowing that there are a significant number of you who are new to my words is incredibly inspiring to me, and I woke up early this morning (not my choice – more on that in a second) feeling pretty excited to fire up Typepad and write in my blog. I haven't felt like that in a long, long time. So thank you to those of you who have been here for a while, and thank you to those of you who are recent arrivals. I hope to make it worth your while to spend some of your time with me.

So let's talk about this morning, shall we? Last night, I celebrated the 4th of July the way the founding fathers intended: I went to the Hollywood Bowl with my wife, our son, his girlfriend and our good friend BURNS! (his actual name, with the ! and everything) to see Hall & Oates perform with the Hollywood Bowl Orchestra.

It was a very short concert, because of the 10pm noise curfew, but it was still a whole lot of fun. Initially, Ryan and I thought that Darryl Hall looked like Hasselhoff, but we later decided that he actually looks sort of like Thor, if Thor were a rocker. Oates doesn't have his epic moustache, and I'm not going to lie to you, Marge: a little bit of me died inside when I saw that.

But then I was clapping along with Private Eyes (CLAP!)* and I didn't seem to mind all that much.

Even though we took the Red Line to Hollywood like intelligent people who don't want to spend an extra fifty hours** waiting to get the hell out of Hollywood, we still didn't get home until almost 11. We were all pretty amped up from the fireworks and clapping along with Hall & Oates, so we were all awake well after midnight. I actually ended up reading comic books in bed until almost 2, before drifting off to sleep to dream of maneaters and the M-E-T-H-O-D-O-F-L-O-V-E.

Four hours later, at six fucking o fucking clock in the fucking morning, my asshole cat decided that he was going to chase a ping pong ball around my bedroom, jump up onto my bed and attack my feet, and then make that one particular sound all cat — I almost said "owners" but we all know the correct term is "staff" — hear when the cat wants to go outside. So I dragged myself out of bed and opened the door for him to go do whatever the hell a cat does at six fucking o fucking clock in the fucking morning … which, as it turns out, is make that same noise again ten minutes later until I let him back into the house.

And that's the story of how I only got six four*** hours of sleep last night, but don't really care because I woke up feeling energized and excited, knowing that writing silly stuff in my blog is actually worth the effort, because you — yes, you — are still coming around to read it, even if it's only a stupid story about my cat.****

* They're watching you (CLAPCLAP!)

** Duration possibly exaggerated for comedic and editorial effect.

*** Okay, maybe I'm a little more tired than I originally thought. Also, math is hard.

**** But the writing is the thing, even if it's something stupid about my cat. I have to get this stuff out of the way so I can write the good stuff.

107 thoughts on “tamed by the purr of a jaguar”

  1. Sorry, forgot to post yesterday…fairly recent reader.
    I understand completely…with my cat, it was “stand on my head and poke her face through the blinds, because, hey, those damn noisy birds are up and she wants to go chase them”.
    Continue being you, Wil!

  2. Also, I think you write better when it is from the heart and not forced. So write more like the Keystone Cops meaning whatever in the heck comes up! You do not have to writr a polished story with a perfect 3 act structure! Its a fun blog!

  3. My cat, Ramses, insists that 5:45am is his feeding time, even though he knows FULL WELL that I don’t get up til 6:45. His methods of informing me of my error have ranged from toe biting, incessant mrowing, purring in my face. and thwapping me in the back of the head, to his current annoyance of choice – licking my back. I swear he has the roughest tongue of any cat I’ve ever owned.
    Shutting him out of the room is not an option. He reaches his paw underneath the door, grabs hold of it, and rattles it until I give in. That and he’s a total loudmouth. But I can’t stay mad at him long when he looks at me with those baby blues. :)

  4. I am reading your blog since 3 years now, and check it nearly every da. I also told all my friends about your blog. You’re a good man Mr. Wheaton.

  5. Dude, I’ve only been lurking here for a few months, and only posted one time previously, but as far as I’m concerned, this place is ALWAYS worth my time. I usually either learn something, or have something to laugh about, and frequently both. You, and your blog, fucking rock, sir. \m/

  6. Hi Wil,
    I’m so glad you discovered all of us recent readers. I’ve been checking your blog on a regular basis since around November of last year, right around the time I read “Just a Geek” on my kindle.
    Without meaning to be too emotional and dorky, you’ve been an inspiration to me. I can identify with how you’ve made choices in your life and your writer’s voice is friendly and a comfort.
    I hope you will keep entertaining me with stories about the cat and any other thing that inspires you.

Comments are closed.