The Waiting Is The Hardest Part

The Waiting Is The Hardest Part

To quote Homer Simpson, “Now we play ‘the waiting game’…awww, waiting game sucks! Let’s play Hungy Hungry Hippos!”
Since I don’t yet know what the results of the audition are (if it’s killing you, imagine what it’s doing to me!), and I don’t have Hungy Hungry Hippos, you can read this super cool interview I did with BBSpot while you wait.
Read slowly. It may take a day or three until I hear something.

More Tree Huggin’ Hippie Crap

More Tree Huggin’ Hippie Crap

Last week, I put out a plea for some vibes, mojo, good thoughts, tantric chanting, or whatever anyone felt they could throw my way, because I had an extremely important audition.
I said that if it worked, I would have the coolest story, ever, to tell.
I am the most skeptical person you could ever meet, but I swear, I felt mojo coming my way when I needed it most, and I was relaxed, funny, charming, and all the things I needed to be on my audition.
I don’t let myself get too high or too low about auditions. As I’ve said before, being the best actor usually isn’t what gets an actor the job. There are so many factors that I can’t control, that I just focus on doing my best read, or having my best possible meeting. For me, a successful audition isn’t necessarily one where I get the job. It’s one where I leave the room, knowing that I was the best I can be.
So, having said all that, I can tell you that your mojo and vibes, and all that worked, because I was walking on air when I left that room, and every time the phone rang, I was excited that it would be my agent telling me that I’d been hired.
But the phone call that came was not that I’d been hired, but that they were bringing me back one more time, to perform again, and this time it was between me and one other person.
So here I am, putting out yet another plea for mojo, vibes, good thoughts, voodo dances, or whatever you’d care to send my way.
My final, final, final callback is today, at 3PM.
So, if you can, please send mojo between 3 and 4:30 PM PDT, and I will give up all the details of the project, the audition process, and all that, later on today.

Redefining National Treasures

Redefining National Treasures

So I’m reading my favorite internet hack just now, and I discover that, alas, Rush Limbaugh is deaf.
Mr. Objectivity calls Rush “the world’s most-listened to voice”.
Yipe.
But I don’t really care about that…here’s the quote that inspired me to post:

“President Bush expressed personal concern about Limbaugh’s condition with senior staff late Monday afternoon.
‘The president noted Rush Limbaugh is a national treasure,’ one senior White House staffer said.”

That’s right. Rush Limbaugh is our national treasure.
What?
The Lincoln Memorial…Rush Limbaugh.
Mount Rushmore…Rush Limbaugh.
Our Indefatiguable American Spirit…Rush Limbaugh.
Spudnuts…Rush Limbaugh.
Once again, Curious George shows his brilliance. He really needs to stop showing up to work high, methinks.

Sheena is a punk rocker

Sheena is a punk rocker

The response to the online store at CafePress has been pretty good. I think that having an online store is a great way for people to support the site, and get something that is (hopefully) cool in return, so I’ll go ahead and make a full-blown store here.
Since it is so much damn work to build the store, I’ve created an online poll, to find out what, if anything, people would be interested in having.
I’m also getting closer and closer to the removal of the frameset, but my knowledge of.php is pretty lame, so it’s taking much longer than I’d like. The current problem I’m having is this: I want to have a simple navbar on the left side, as a SSI (like navbar.php). The problem is, I can’t get it to have it’s own CSS. I want the navigation links to never change, and I can not, for the life of me, figure out how to get that one cell to have it’s own style properties. If you know how to do it, please reply in the comments, and you’ll have my eternal gratitude.

Cool

Cool

Earlier tonight, I was playing Tony Hawk Pro Skater 2 on Playstation with my step-son, Nolan. I don’t recall what I was saying, but I was just goofing around, having a good time, and he turned to me and said, “Wil, you are a natural comedian. You always make people laugh.”
Out of nowhere. He even seemed sort of surprised that he said it. He went on to say that he was “a natural video game player”…which is what I always aspired to when I was his age, but I’ll take natural comedian.
Come to think of it, I’ll take anything from my step-kids…at least until they’re surly teenagers. Then it’s clobberin’ time.

Life in the so-called Space Age

Life in the so-called Space Age

I have a cookie for the first person to tell me where the title of this comes from. There are many possible answers, but only one correct one.
So, tonight I watched “All Good Things” in TNN, as I wrapped up a week of watching the best of TNG.
God dammit all to hell if it didn’t reduce me to tears, at the end, seeing all my friends seated around that poker table. I thought, as I watched them, about how much I wished *I* was at that table…and I can admit something here, to myself, and to fandom: I miss Star Trek. I miss working with that amazing cast. I miss being part of that amazing show. Watching TNG all this week has been the closest I will ever get to watching lots of home movies, or reading a high school year book over and over and over again.
So many memories came flooding back over the past few days, and each of them could get their own entry, but then we’d never get to the end of SpongeBob Vega$Pants, the re-code of the site, and I’d probably lose my wife, somewhere along the line…so here are some of them, in list form:
*In the first season, when LeVar was driving the ship (before a certain strapping young ensign took over), the chairs we had were really reclined. More suited for sleeping, than sitting…and that’s what LeVar would do, all the time! When he was in a scene without any dialogue, he would sit in that recliner, VISOR securely in place, and just doze off. More than once, he got busted for snoring.
*In one episode, and I can’t remember the title, so you’ll have to excuse me, Patrick was strolling around the bridge, saying something about how we all needed to consider “the source” of something. Thing is, he was saying consider “the sauce“. I didn’t catch it the first few times, but Brent did, and he turns to me, at the beginning of a take, and, just as they are about to roll, he says, “Patrick wants more sauce.” I asked him what the hell that meant, because Brent was always fucking with me, and he says, “Just listen.” So they roll, we’re in the scene, and Patrick says that we should consider “the sauce”. I crack up. Out loud. I can’t help it. They cut, everyone looks at me, all pissed off, because it was okay for the adults to crack, but if The Kid did it, it was another thing, completely. I point to Brent, stammer that he made me laugh, and Brent just looks angelic (in gold, mind you. I think that helped him pull it off). Nobody believed me, until later, when someone else heard Patrick saying something else, in his, er…unique…accent, and Marina says, “I’m British, and I know that’s not how we talk. So I took the opportunity to point out “the sauce”.
*I remember the first time Wesley got to play in one of those poker games that they had on the show. I remember how genuinely thrilled I was, as a person to be in that scene, because I felt like I was finally accepted as something other than The Kid.
*It’s weird to watch TNG now, because when I watch “Enterprise”, my imagination fills in the ship around what the camera is currently showing…but when I watch TNG, my memory fills in the stage around the set…instead of picturing the rest of the corridors, or the Battle Bridge (my personal favorite set), I remember our chairs, and the craft service table…
I remembered, as I was watching “All Good Things” tonight, about something that happened a very long time ago, which I had forgotten about. Two things, actually, which, at the time, seemed to validate my reasons for leaving.
There was a big deal made about the screening of the final episode of TNG over a Paramount, and I was asked to attend. I agreed, mostly because I wanted to see my friends, but also because I was curious to see how they would have ended it.
They did the screening in a theatre at Paramount, and they sat all of us from the cast together in the theatre. I sat between Marina and Brent, if memory serves. Some of our more high profile guest stars had been invited, and there were some empty seats on the other side of our row where they would have sat if they’d shown…somehow I’m not surprised that Mick Fleetwood didn’t show… but John DeLancie is sitting behind me. That’s important, as you’ll see in a second.
Some stuffed shirt from Viacom gets up, makes some stupid speech that nobody wants to hear bout how great Star Trek is, and he introduces Rick Berman, who comes up to the podium, and makes another speech, about how great the last 7 years have been, and how it was through the work of some people, some people who are here tonight, that TNG was possible. Would those people please stand up? Patrick Stewart. Jonathan Frakes. Brent Spiner. Marina Sirtis. Gates McFadden. LeVar Burton. Michael Dorn. Denise Crosby. John DeLancie.
They all stand. The entire theatre is now on its feet, applauding their hard work, and commitment to the show. Berman is beaming as he applauds them.
They’re all standing up, except for me. Berman looked right at me, and didn’t call out my name. The son of a bitch knew that I was there, and didn’t call me to stand. Later, I asked him why he’d left me out, and he said he didn’t know I was there. I told him that I was the one person, who was sitting with the cast, who wasn’t standing up. Maybe he remembered making eye contact with me, after he called Denise, and before he called on John DeLancie? It sucked, it was petty and it hurt.
Another time, I was invited to a big party for the 25th anniversary of Star Trek, also at Paramount. Again, I can’t remember if this was before, or after the aforementioned snubbing. Again, they sat us all together, and again, there was a “stand up and be counted” thing. Only this time, it was with all 3 casts. Maybe you’ve seen the picture? All three casts are on stage, holding these miniature American flags, which were given to them by astronauts who flew them on various space shuttle missions. Again, I was left sitting, surrounded by empty chairs. I was so embarassed, as I sat there, feeling genuinely happy for my friends, from all the casts, who were standing on stage, and at the same time, I felt so tiny, and so lame…afterwards, I told Berman that I thought that was really shitty, and he said he hadn’t known that I was coming. Well, the thing is, when you’re the executive producer of Star Trek, you approve everything that goes on. Even guest lists.
I recall all this publicly, to maybe give some context to my remarks over the years, and to help you, my dear monkey, appreciate what I will say next: I am filled with regret that I left. Now, I know some asshole out there will say that I feel that way because I didn’t work as much after I left, but the truth is, that was by my choice. As soon as I was off the show, I realized that I could do whatever I wanted with my life, and I quit. Ran away to Topeka, joined a computer company, and discovered that I hated myself. I was truly disgusted with the person I looked at in the mirror each day, and getting away from the environemt I had always lived in was the only way to ensure that I changed all that.
You know who I would be if I had never left? Say it with me, my people: WILLIAM FUCKING SHATNER.
So, regrets? I have a few…but then again, I wouldn’t be the person I am now, if I’d stuck around, and I like who I’ve become.
I’m not sure if this post makes sense…but I’m sure I’ll find out.

Radio Free Burrito Wants You

Radio Free Burrito Wants You

Hey kids,
I’ve been RFB-ing most of the day.
I know, I know, I should have posted about it, but I’m still BETA testing it, as far as I am concerned.
So far, the small cadre of BETA testers and I have been having a really fun time, and one of them, our good friend HuggyBarrell, sent me this Email earlier today:

We have a friend from Faire who’s a performer. He goes by the name Moonie The Magnificent. He’s sorta a comedy juggling act. Anyway, his daughter has children’s lukemia (she was in remission, it came back). She’s going to require a bone marrow transplant. We’ve set up a section on our Faire site that’s got donations for PayPal. I was wondering if you’d be willing to maybe put a blurb about it in your weblog or something? Since he’s a performer, he doesn’t have health insurance, is my understanding.

So, now I get to do something that I truly cherish in my life. I get to use what little celebrity I have for Good, instead of Evil. If you can, would you please give a small donation to help this little girl? As a parent, I can imagine the pain, and heartache of watching your little girl suffer with a horrible disease, and feel powerless to stop it.
You can make your donation by clicking here, or you can buy a CD, that was put together by some of Brad’s friends. The proceeds are going to help Sophie out. You can check it out here.
Look at it this way: you have an opportunity to save a life, today. How cool is that?

Crackity Jones

Crackity Jones

Have you seen this yet? I must admit, it made me howl, which caused my neighbor to come over and shoot at me with his bow and arrow.
That’s all for right now. Data’s on some sort of murderous rampage on TNG…goddammit. I’ve been seeing all these shows that I’ve never seen before, because I was so pissed off and lame when I quit…and I must say, I’m beginning to feel a bit of regret, because the shows are very, very cool.
Matter of fact, that gets its own entry later on.
Thank you to everyone who sent me MOJO…I can honestly say that I felt it, and I only felt a *little* dirty…as soon as I find out, I’ll tell you all about it.
Is it bothering anyone else that the commercials on TNN are all either Miss Cleo, or some K*Tel collection of shity songs that you thought had gone away?

50,000 Monkeys at 50,000 Typewriters Can't Be Wrong

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