I mowed the lawn yesterday afternoon for the first time in since June.
Now, you have to understand something about my lawn: I love my lawn. I’m talking sing-songs-to-it-at-night love. I’ve invested a few thousand dollars in it, and about fifteen tons of heart and soul. There’s a lot of sweat, too, but thinking about all that sweat pooled around on the grass is just gross, so I’m not going to talk about the sweat.
It’s not easy for me to let just anybody care for it, but this summer, since we were going to be gone so much, we hired this “gardener,” guy that some of our neighbors use to mow it and make sure the lawn was taken care of. A really nice guy, but more of a “mow and blow” guy than anything else.
Well.
The gardener mowed my lawn . . . and the results blow. Over summer, my lawn got cut way too short, caught a fungus, got sunburned in the middle, and ugly spots of St. Augustine are currently popping up through the formerly pristine Marathon II.
So the gardener has been demoted to just the back yard, which has been in various stages of death and weed infestation since we moved in, anyway, and I’m currently nursing my beloved front lawn back to health.
It was surprisingly soothing and satisfying to take care of the lawn myself. In the past, I’ve always felt like it was a major chore . . . but yesterday, it was different. I put on my iPod, and listened to The Smiths while I cut it in a cool diagonal, pseudo-outfield pattern. The smell of freshly-cut grass always reminds me of growing up, and the iPod provided me with some much-needed isolation while I worked.
About halfway through the job, “Big Mouth Strikes Again” came on, and it reminded me of my awesome Route 66 road trip to Tulsa with Anne. I remember listening to Fred and singing that song with her in Texas or New Mexico or something.
That trip . . . it really was the best trip ever. When I organize all the pictures we took (look for them to be added to the gallery in a few days), I hope I can dramatize the whole trip and make it a story. Something for Dancing Barefoot II: Electric Boogaloo.
Heh.
When I came inside, I went to listen to the audio blog, so I could jog my memory . . . and I discovered that it’s gone, and I can’t login to my blogger account or my audblog account! I wasn’t 100% thrilled with the stuff I produced . . . but I miss it, now.
Dammit.
Ferris wants to eat. Ha! Not for another 25 minutes, baby! I’m MAD with Aplha Male power!!
*cackle*
I get to go to the Dodger game with my mom and dad tonight. Not only that, but I get to sit just two rows above the Dodger Dugout! So if you’re watching the game on TV, you may catch a glimpse of my smilin’ mug (or crying, if the Dodgers stay true to form).
UPDATE: Alert WWdN reader Mugsy just pointed out that the audioblog is still there. It must have been a network error when I tried to access it. Now if I can just get into my audioblog . . . 🙂

This is one of the funniest blogs I’ve ever read.
Por Ejemplo:

Thursday, September 11, 2003

Lullabuy
by Jessica Delfino
This is the lullabuy my mother used to sing to me when I was a little girl.
Slow tempo in C
You should go to sleep right now
You should go to sleep right now
Close your eyes and rest your head
I’ll tuck your body into bed
Be glad that you are young right now
because It just gets worse from here

Take some time and read this site. She’s a brilliant writer.

Last weekend, I spent the bulk of Saturday at my friend Sean and Caryn’s gallery, where I volunteered at a show called “Cruel and Unusual“, benefitting the West Memphis Three . There were tons of volunteers, and we formed different “teams”. The teams started out with official-sounding names like Team Parking Lot and Team Set Up The Tables.
It only took a few hours for new, more humorous teams to form, like Team I’m Going To Take A Leak, and Team Move The Trash Can From Here To Over There. I was a member of the ad-hoc Team Caution Tape, who were responsible for, you guessed it, hanging up yellow caution tape to keep the guests away from a dangerous-but-inviting construction site.
For a brief time I was on Team Keep The Papparazzi Out Of The Gallery, but we decided pretty quickly that it was far too ironic, and I ended up on Team Drink, where I discovered the boundless love that is Vitamin Water. Holy mother of crap about the Vitamin Water, man. This stuff is awesome. I drank so much of it, I got the radioactive pee.
There were several Big Time Celebrities scheduled to speak, including Jello Biafra and Winona Ryder, but I had to leave before they took the stage, because Anne and I were meeting John Kovalic and his wife Judith at this tikki-esque restaurant in Glendale called Damons.
John Kovalic was in town with his wonderful wife Judith, and their friends Letitia her husband Markus. We met up with them for dinner at this Tikki-esque restaurant in Glendale called Damons, where we had Mai Tais and steaks. Anne and I had a great time with them, and they’ve all been given a permanent spot on our extremely short list of Good People.
This weekend, Anne was out of town with her best friend, so it was just me and the dogs. I called some of my friends and tried to organize a poker night.
“Hey, It’s Wil. Anne’s out of town, and I’m just hanging here with a couple of bitches. You wanna come play cards?”
Sadly, everyone already had other plans. So I spent the entire weekend reading comic books and watching DVDs.
Update: I can’t believe I didn’t mention anything about the Improv show! I promise you that it’s not related in any way to my threat to kill my mind with beer.
I had a very good time, the audience seemed to really enjoy it, and the other improvisers were all very kind and talented. It wasn’t the best show I’ve ever been in, but it wasn’t the worst, by far. I could have done some things differently, like leaving a scene where I clearly wasn’t needed, and maybe not “driving” another scene too hard, but that’s just Monday morning New Choicing.
Afterward, I went next door to the new Amalfi restaurant, and hung out with some of my pals from ACME. I made it home around 2 a.m., but the adrenaline from the show (And the Bawls I drank before the show) kept me awake until almost 5. Three hours is all it took for me to figure out that I am the WORST NCAA College Game Day player in history. I am so bad, in fact, that when the computer kicked my ass for the 10th time in a row, a graphic of a hillbilly with no thumbs popped up, and he said “Hey! Eh bit eh ken beet y’all!” Shortly after that, I realized that it was probably time to go to sleep.
Did you get all the way through this without hearing Loverboy in your head? If so, you’re one up on me.

Note: I wrote this earlier this morning, but decided not to post it. It was really written for my dad, anyway.
I sent it to my him, and he called me a few minutes ago and said, “You should really put that on your website.” My mom shouted her agreement (from the kitchen, if I recognized the echo correctly.)
Since I spent most of my teenage years telling my parents off, I try to listen to them now, so I’m behaving myself, and publishing this, at their request.
Jeebus.
I just heard that Johnny Cash and John Ritter have died.
When I was 13, my parents took me and my siblings in their RV up to Yellowstone, through Nevada and Utah. It took three weeks, and we stopped at just about every national park along the way. On this trip, my dad brought a Johnny Cash tape, and he played it like crazy. One of the songs on that tape was Ring of Fire. That Johnny Cash tape was the only thing he played that I’d remove my walkman (and Iron Maiden) to hear.
The thing was, just from the sound of his voice, I knew Johnny Cash was the kind of guy who didn’t take shit from anyone. If you saw him, and you knew what was good for you, you just didn’t fuck with Johnny Cash. My friend Mykal met him a few years ago, though, and said that he just overflowed with kindness and appreciation for his fans.
While I was reading about Johnny Cash, an e-mail arrived that told me John Ritter had died, too. He was only 54.
My dad is only 54. 54 just doesn’t seem that old to me. It’s certainly not an age when we start thinking about people dying, I can tell you that.
My dad used to play little league with John Ritter.
I haven’t seen John Ritter in person in over ten years, but I felt like I had a sort of connection to him, because he knew my dad, and we’d done some charity things together back when I was a celebrity and did those sort of things.
But I have to be honest here. When I heard about these two men passing, the first thing I thought was, “Oh shit. My dad’s gonna die someday,” and of course all the thoughts that go along with that.
It seems like we always take time to say hi to our moms, and we always take time to tell our moms we love them.
I’m taking this time right now to tell my dad that I love him. I don’t say it enough.
I love you, dad.

I’m doing Improv tonight at ACME. If you’re in Hollywood (or within reasonable driving distance) and you wanna see the comedy stylings of one Wil Wheaton and his good friend J. Keith vanStraaten, you should come out and see us.
Or not. I don’t care. I’m not the boss of you.
I haven’t performed since we did the EarnestBorg9 show at the Grand Slam Convention in Pasadena a few months ago . . . so I’m a little bit nervous. I’ve been playing warm-up games with myself all morning.
(Did I just admit to playing with myself?)
NEW CHOICE!
(Did I leave the coffee pot on?)
NEW CHOICE!
(If I ran down the street in just my robe, how far would I get before somone called the cops?)
NEW CHOICE!
(That fucking gardener is out there trying to kill my lawn again. I’ll sic the gnome on him! That’ll fix him good!)
. . .
Yeah, so I have to go release the Gnomes, and keep practicing. I hope I get funny by 10PM.