Month: September 2004

The familiar smell of freshly brewed coffee woke me a few minutes after Anne got up. I was still half-asleep when I walked into the kitchen and said, “Is there coffee?”
“There is totally coffee,” she said.
I filled my new favorite mug with Peet’s French Roast. It’s a cheesy looking thing that says “Crabby ’till I get my coffee” with a picture of a frowny crab holding a mug of coffee in each claw. It came from Cannery Row, of course.
“Are you crabby ’till you get your coffee?” she said.
“Uh-huh.” I said, as I wiped sleep from my eyes and took my first sip. I kissed the back of her neck and said, “But I’m not crabby now.”
I’ll spare you the rest of how sickeningly cute we were at each other, but if you’ve ever been stupid in love with someone, you probably know what I mean.
The kids ate breakfast, and Anne took them to school. When she got back, she said, “You want to take the girls to the park?”
Ferris has a limited vocabulary, but I’m convinced that she knows the phrase “take the girls” because whenever she hears it, she runs to the cabinet where we keep their leashes, and kicks the door.
“Yeah. That will be fun.”
Fifteen minutes later, they were running around with other dogs while we watched like proud parents.
“I love the way dogs play just like little kids,” I said.
Ferris ran over, dropped a dirty tennis ball at my feet, and looked up at me. Riley sat next to her, trembling with excitement.
“Did you want me to throw the ball for you?” I said.
Riley jumped up and ran in a little circle. Ferris barked.
“Okay,” I said, and threw it as far as I could.
The dogs chased it at full speed, right through a big mud puddle.
“I guess I’m taking my car to the carwash today,” I said.
Anne looked at me. “How are you doing this morning?” she said.
“I’m okay.”
“You’re still dwelling on that stupid Entertainment Weekly thing,” she said. Not a question.
My left eye began to twitch. It’s been doing that for about a week, and I really wish it would stop.
“Yeah.”
“I know that it sucks, but you’re wasting a lot of energy on a few words.”
Riley got to the ball before Ferris, but kicked it across the grass. Ferris darted to the side, and picked it up.
“You know how they said I ‘endlessly lament’ in my book?”
“Yeah.”
“I used some linux tools to grep my manuscript last night. I wrote ‘I used to be an actor’ six times. That’s 48 words out of a manuscript of over 84000 words. That’s like point oh oh oh two three eight something something. It’s hardly ‘endlessly.'”
“Oh my god,” she said. “You are such a nerd.”
Ferris dropped the ball back at my feet, and took off before I could bend over to pick it up. Riley followed her, right through the mud puddle.
“It’s just that –”
Anne put her hand on my shoulder, and turned me to face her.
“You have to let this go. You know what the truth is, and so does everyone who reads your website.”
“But it sucks.”
“Let it go, Wil.”
I drew a deep breath, frowned, and rubbed my hands down my face. Ferris picked up the ball, and started to run back.
“I know. It’s just not as easy as I wish it would be.”
“I know. But if you dwell on it, you’re going to start whining,” she said. “You’re dangerously close to whining right now.”
Those were the magic words. She was right, and I knew it. I did not want to become a whiner. Somehow, I had to just let it go, learn something from it and just move on.
“You’re totally right.”
When Ferris was about fifteen feet away from us, she suddenly dropped the ball, and ran after a beautiful golden retriever. Riley scooped up the ball, brought it back to us, and lay down at our feet.
“Are you tired?” Anne said to Riley, in the overly-happy ‘I’m talking to the dog’ voice.
“Did you play too hard?” I said, in the same voice.
Riley rolled onto her back, and stretched out as far as she could. She was covered in mud.
Anne and I laughed, and I scratched the only part of her belly that wasn’t muddy.
“We are such geeks,” I said. Across the grass, Ferris and the Retriever were playing an excited game of you-chase-me-then-I’ll-chase-you.
I looked up at Anne. “When we get home, I’m going to write in my blog. I’m going to thank everyone for their support, and see if I can pick up a lesson from this. If I can, I’ll write about that also . . . but that will be the end of it.”
After a few minutes, Riley got up, and joined the game of you-chase-me-then-I’ll-chase-you, with an emphasis on the you-chase-me part.
While I watched the dogs run around, I marked how lucky and happy I am. “I have fantstic kids. I have a wife who loves me as much as I love her, and I was able to spend my Monday morning at the park with my dogs. I’ve got the freedom to write what I want, when I want, and I have the privilege of sharing these things with a wonderful audience who choose to give me a little bit of their time.
So fuck what some jackasssays, who doesn’t know me, and who didn’t make an effort to find out what I or my book was about. Yeah, the truth is important to me, but just like I can’t please everyone, I also can’t expect everyone to live an honest and honorable life, either. The world is filled with jerks, and probability just says that sooner or later I’m going to run into one of them.
If I spend all sorts of time dwelling on one person who was an idiot, it’s disrespectful to all the thousands of people who have been kind . . . not to mention a huge waste of energy.
There’s another reason the Entertainment Weekly thing hurt: so far, the mainstream media have ignored me and my book, and it has felt like a real rejection. But there’s something I had forgotten: Real People have not done either of those things. Real People have taken the Journey with me, on the website and in the book, and those people get it. If the mainstream is too busy with Paris Hilton, or just doesn’t *want* to get it, there’s nothing I can do about it.
Who did I write this book for? The mainstream media? Hollywood? Critics? Or did I write it for Real People? Did I write it for myself? The answer is easy. Just look at who the book is dedicated to. It’s not ‘The Media.”
I know that it’s risky to be totally honest, because some people view that as weakness, and attack. But the unexamined life is not worth living, right? If I’m not totally honest with myself, how will I ever learn and grow? Should I stop examining my life now, because I wrote a book about it?

Well, right now I need to examine my life, and I need to be totally honest with myself. I have to own up to something: I *did* hope that my book would get noticed by the Industry. I hoped that it would get noticed by critics, and I hoped that The Media would pay attention . . . but all that happened after it was published. When I wrote it, I hoped that my story would be amusing, interesting, and maybe even inspiring to people.
And you know what? That’s exactly what Real People tell me when they read my book: they were amused, interested, and occasionaly inspired.
What a myopic fucking fool I’ve been! What a stupid, stupid jerkass! I was so worried about impressing The Cool Kids, I forgot who I am, and why I do this. And even worse, I disrespected — even if unintentionally — the very people who have been with me on The Journey all along. It’s not some stupid magazine that owes *me* an apology; it’s *me* who owes all those Real People an apology.”
I turned to Anne. “I know what I’m going to write when we get home.”
“Good,” she said. “Just let it go.”
“I just did.”

Last week, Entertainment Weekly called my manager, and said that they were going to write announce Just A Geek in this week’s issue. I told my manager that I was concerned, because Entertainment Weekly has always written really cruel and misleading stories about me and my website, but the reporter assured him that this would just be a nice blurb announcing the release of my book.
Since the mainstream media have completely ignored me and Just A Geek, I was pretty excited that an influential magazine like Entertainment Weekly was going to give me a little ink.
That “nice blurb?” I just saw it on page 83:

“Whiner of the Week”
In his blog-cum-memoir Just a Geek, the former Star Trek, TNG cast member, now 32, fills 260 pages endlessly lamenting, “I used to be an actor when I was a kid.”

It’s pretty clear that the person hack who wrote this awful, mean-spirited, and misleading blurb didn’t read the entire book, because I DON’T spend 260 pages “lamenting I used to be an actor when I was a kid.” I spend the first chapter talking about those feelings, because it’s an important foundation for the rest of the story. A responsible journalist would know that.
It’s one thing to criticize the way I write, or opine that I spend too much time on one thing, and not enough time on another. That’s totally valid opinion . . . but to completely misrepresent me and the content of my book this way is despicable.
Someone at that magazine must have a vendetta against me, because Entertainment Weekly has tried very hard to portray me in a consistently negative light. When they reviewed WWdN about two years ago, they selectively quoted me out of context, and made me look really bad, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that they’re at it again, but it still hurts.

Around 6:30 PM Pacific Time tonight, I’m going to be on Your Mac Life to talk about Just A Geek, my iBook woes (and what looks like a very positive resolution to said woes), and some other geeky goodness.
Details on the show, like how you can listen and stuff, are in the link above.
As I did last time I was on the radio, I’ll probably update this entry with a running critique of my performance.
Update: There weren’t any breaks, so I can’t do a running commentary . . . so I’ll just assess: I felt good. I think I was able to talk about the book enough to promote it, but also not just shill for it, you know?
I also said “You know?” WAY too many times. I am *so* from The Valley (really, I am.)
I felt a good rapport with Shawn, the host, which is always a bonus. I was a little surprised that he was so stricken by the honesty of my book . . . I mean, I knew it was honest because I wrote it, but that’s a theme that keeps coming back around: readers are stunned by how honest and direct I am in it. Maybe we (me, O’Reilly, and my publicist) should be talking about that in the marketing?
Anyway, I am mostly happy with the show. I can’t sit here and pick out any major moments that I liked or hated, which usually means that I was focused, and didn’t suck out loud.
Cool!

I’m sort of a baseball geek. I read the Baseball Prospectus every year, Rob Neyer is one of my favorite sportswriters of all time, and I positively HATE Paul DePodesta for Kevin Malone-ing my Dodgers.
Okay, so the last one has more to do with being a life-long Dodger fan, and less to do with stats . . . unless you believe, as I do, that pitching wins in the baseball playoffs the same way goaltending wins in hockey playoffs.
But anyway, the whole point of this post is to share a cool item, brought to us by my Baseball Page-A-Day calendar:

On this date, in 1911, Grover Cleveland Alexander, who was a rookie at the time and playing for the Phillies, outlasted Cy Young, who was playing for the Braves. The final score was 1-0.

So that’s cool and all, because Alexander went on to 373 career victories . . . but Cy Young, who held his own against the rookie, was forty-four.
I say that, in their honor, we re-raise the mound, eliminate the DH, and tell the crybabies players who wear body armor that if they’re going to crowd the plate, they may just get brushed back.

On Friday night, I watched the DVD of Goodfellas. It’s as good as I remember it.
On Saturday, Anne and the kids went down to her friend’s house at the beach, and I met up with several of my friends from ACME, including Shane, (who you should be reading if you’re not already) and went to Canter’s Deli in the Fairfax district. Canter’s is a true Los Angeles institution, where hipsters routinely share the room with octogenarians, and you’re just as likely to get cussed out by the 70 year-old waitress as you are to get patted on the head and called “honey.” It’s rad. Saturday night I played poker for about 3 hours. I’m saving the details for a cool poker story . . . but oh my god. I’m back on my game, and it feels good!
On Sunday, Anne and the kids came home fairly early. We dropped them at the movies, and ran tons of errands while we were “kid-free.” For dinner on Sunday night, I made Beercan Chicken on my grill, which is usually really good, but this time something went horribly wrong, and when I opened the grill to turn the bird around, there was fire shooting out its ass, and smoke shooting out its head! I figure that there was a lot of fat on the bird that caught fire as it was dripping off. The whole skin got charred, and popped off in one piece when I touched it (think the Turkey in Christmas Vacation) but the chicken itself was incredibly good. Nolan declared that it was the “best chicken ever.”
Yesterday, my parents invited us up to their house for an end of summer barbeque, and swimming. It was the first time all summer I went in their pool, which is really kind of sad. We played swimming pool wiffle ball, and had our first and last family dinner of the summer.
It was over 100 all weekend, but we finally have air conditioning! I got one of those wireless thermometers, so I can see what the outside temperature is compared to the inside, and I loved seeing OUTSIDE: 104 INSIDE: 79
Ryan started school today. Holy crap. I’m the parent of a 10th grader.