Month: September 2005

I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m on horror overload, and I don’t mean the cool guy-in-a-hockey-mask kind of horror. I mean the truly awful Colonel Kurtz kind of horror.
The last time I felt this way was about four years and five days ago, so I’ve made a conscious effort in the last day or so to actively look for and appreciate the things in life that make me happy, even if they’re little things.
I guess Great Minds Blog Alike, because I checked in on my pal (and incredible Just A Geek illustrator) John Kovalic’s Muskrat Ramblings, this morning, and discovered “REASONS TO BE CHEERFUL, PART III” where John lists . . . wait for it . . . three things that make him happy. Here’s one of them:

3) MY GROUNDHOG. Well, not “my” groundhog. But along with the wild turkeys, he’s been coming by the backyard pretty regularly, feasting on the nuts fallen from the trees. I half expect, Caddyshack style, him to start grooving to “I’m Alright.”

I’m picking up this ball, and running as fast as I can with it.
I now present Three Things That Make Me Feel Cheerful. By Wil, (Age 33).

1. When I get into bed each night, my cat, Biko, jumps up from wherever he is, and snuggles into the space between my neck and my shoulder. More often than not, I drift off to him purring. He also likes to sit on the edge of the bathtub while I’m shaving and talk to me. He doesn’t know that I can see him in the mirror, and it always makes me smile when I see him cock his head to the side, and reach out for me with his little white paw.
2. We call our dog Riley “Riley Monster,” because . . . well, she’s a monster. She’s twenty-two thousand megawatts of potential energy, wrapped up in 51 pounds of little white dog. She’s always happy, and if she could talk, she’d say things like, “I just wanted you to know that I love you!” or “Hey! I’ve been chasing a bug! (Because I love you.)” and “Do you see how good I’m being? Look at me sit here and wag my tail so fast it’s a blur. (I love you!)”
3. Yesterday, my friend Travis, who is the director and owner of the ACME called me, and invited me to participate in a show called NOW That’s What I Call ACME, Volume I. It’s a “best of” show, and the assembled cast is outstanding. I am so honored and lucky and grateful that he asked me to participate! The shows start in October, and run every Saturday until the third week of November.

So that’s my list for today. What’s yours?

I was working on a story about my childhood that features the constellation Orion when the phone rang. Caller ID said it was Anne.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Can you go outside?” She said.
“Sure,” I said.
“Okay. Walk out onto the porch, and look to the West.”
I got up from my desk, and made my way to the front of the house.
“How’s are my grills?” She said. We call our dogs The Grills instead of The Girls. I have no idea why.
I put on my I’m-talking-to-the-dogs voice. “How are you Riley?”
She jumped up at me and barked.
“Riley says that she’s got teeth,” I said.
“And how’s Ferris?”
“She’s got her pout on.” I said. “I think she’s been watching the Pods too much.”
“Or she wants to go for a walk,” Anne said.
“Maybe,”I I said. I can’t say the word “walk” or “around” or “go for” or any words that rhyme with them, because . . . well, The Grills are smarter than the average pooches.
I opened the front door, and walked out onto our porch. The smell of freshly-cut grass brought a smile to my face, if a sneeze to my nose, and the cool September evening was a welcome break from the stifling September days we’ve been having.
“Okay,” I said, “I’m outside. What am I looking for?”
“Just look up to the West,” she said.
My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I saw it: Jupiter and Venus, low in the pale blue sky, clear as anything.
“Do you see them?” she said.
“Yeah,” I said.
“The planets?”
“Oh,” I said, “I thought you meant the Kims, who leave their drapes open.”
“. . . what?”
“I’m just kidding. Of course the planets! Thank you for sharing that with me.” I looked some more. “You know what else is cool? Those tall palm trees across the street are silhouetted black against the blue sky, and the crescent moon is sitting right on top of one of them. It’s like a painting or something.”
“Oh! One of those seventies oil paintings with a really heavy wooden frame!” She said.
“Yeah, and a beach, and some velvet!” I said.
“And it’s in the living room, right next to that naked lady statue that hangs from the brass chain with oil dripping down wires around her!”
“Dude,” I said, “you just described my next door neighbor’s house from my childhood.”
“I think I just described everyone’s next door neighbor’s house from our childhood.”
Ryan called from inside the house. “Wil, I need some help with my homework!”
“I have to go help Ryan,” I said.
“Oh, with what?” She said.
“I don’t know, but I hope it’s not math.” I said.
“Yeah, math is hard,” she said.
“It sure is. When will you be home?”
“In about an hour,” she said.
“Okay, I’m counting.” I said. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I hung up the phone, and looked up into the sky. Venus looked back, which felt very appropriate.

I’m playing in the WCOOP again today, and I’ll be live blogging the action over at CardSquad, for those who are interested. You can also download the PokerStars client and search for player “Wil Wheaton” if you’d like to sweat me from the rail. The tournament begins at 3PM EDT, which is in about six minutes. Eep!

Like everyone else, I’ve been reading The Interdictor for the last week or so. I’ve even gone so far as to add a live bookmark to Firefox, so I can quickly tell if he’s updated or not.
I have found his insights to be very interesting and often moving, like this paragraph from last night:

It’s funny when you notice the effects of sleep deprivation on yourself. Keeping this journal reminds me of Flowers for Algernon. I catch myself making careless errors every now and then. Silly things like forgetting to grab a flashlight or the right keys. And then there’s the deterioration of physical coordination. I have to go down the stairs more slowly and I make a lot more typos so I’m constantly hitting the backspace while I’m typing. And it’s taking a little longer to process information. The days start to blur too and it hasn’t been two weeks yet. I bet some psychology major could have a field day tracking my psychological state for the last 10 days or so.

His story is amazing. If you’ve got some time, it’s worth heading over to his Live Journal, and reading the archives.

In this week’s Games of our Lives, I ask:

Ever wonder what Donkey Kong would have been like if the game had talked to you in a weird underwater voice? Or what if, instead of playing a tough little carpenter fighting a giant cool gorilla, you were a wussy little lumberjack fighting a giant lame-o bird? And what if the game really, really sucked?

Head on over to the AV Club, if you’d like to know the answer.