Month: November 2005

I had to use Anne’s car to drive the kids to school this morning, and when I turned it on, her XM radio was tuned to the 80s station.

Ryan hopped into the car, and though I was seriously rocking out to NuShooz, grabbed the radio and changed it.

"What do you think you’re doing?" I said.

"Changing the radio station." Translation: You are so lame. I rule because I am sixteen.

"Well, when you’re driving in your car, you can change the radio all you want. But when I’m driving, if you’d like to change the radio, please ask first." Translation: I may be lame, but I’m still your parent.

I backed out of the driveway.

Ryan sighed and rolled his eyes. "May. I. Change. The. Station?" Translation: You are so lame. Now I will use the words you requested, but I will deliver them as sarcastically as possible. I rule because I am sixteen.

"No," I said. "You may not." I took a deep breath, "Baby! Ah-ah-ah- can’t wait! Muh-nah-nah-nah-nah-bop-de-bop Muh-nah-bup-bop-be-bop!" Translation: I can be just as annoying to you as you are to me. Age and treachery will always win over youth and vigor. I rule because I am thirty-three.

From the backseat, Nolan said, "Wil, this is really horrible . . . radio. You will note I did not call it ‘music.’" Translation: I’m not going to join in the lameness this morning. Rather, I will make a joke to diffuse the tension. I rule because . . . I just do.

"I know," I said. "But now that I have the power of horrible 80s pop music, there is nothing that can stop me."

Ryan and Nolan both said, "What?" Translation: What?

Before I could dazzle them with yet another brilliant non sequitur, the song ended, and the opening strains of Mr. Roboto filled the car.

I stole a sideways glance at Ryan, and caught him stealing a sideways glance at me.

"Is this Mister Roboto?" He said. Translation: Uh-oh. I love this song, and I know you’ve heard me listening to it in my bedroom. How am I going to maintain my carefully-crafted facade of indifference to everything?

"Yep," I said. "You’re wondering who I am-machine or mannequin! With parts made in Japan, I am the modren man!"

"Did he just say ‘modren’?" Nolan said. Translation: What the hell does modren mean? Can I say hell in my thoughts? I guess I can, since nobody can hear me. Hell hell hell. Hell damn hell. Damn damn crap. Crap damn —

"Inded he did," I said.

"What is ‘modren’?" He said.

"It’s Dennis DeYoung’s concept album version of modern," I said.

"Does this have something to do with mullets?

"You know it does," I began.

"Because the mullet was the official harcut of rock and roll in the eighties," Ryan said. "I remember." Translation: I was paying attention to you that one time. But you’re still lame. Nothing personal.

I put on my best Dennis DeYoung voice and nudged the volume knob just a bit closer to eleven. "I’ve got a secret I’ve been hiding under my skin! My heart is human, my blood is boiling, my brain I.B.M!"

I glanced at Ryan again. His right leg was bouncing along with the music, and his head was bopping just a little bit. Translation: Must . . . maintain . . . carefully . . . crafted . . . cool . . . but . . . losing . . . battle . . . against . . . the . . . rock . . .

I pulled into a long line of cars and waited to make a left.

"Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto, domo…domo," I looked in the mirror at Nolan, who was struggling to suppress a smile.

"Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto, domo…domo," I looked at Ryan, and pointedly turned up the volume again.

"Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto, domo…domo," I pulled the middle and ring fingers of my right hand into my palm, and folded my thumb over them. The light changed, and we inched toward the intersection. I subtly rocked the goat back and forth, just at the wrist.

At the top of my lungs, I belted out, "Thank you very much-oh, Mr. Roboto, for doing the jobs that nobody wants to. And thank you very much-oh, Mr. Roboto, for helping me escape just when I needed to!" Ryan shook his head, and began to smile.

"Thank you-thank you, thank you! I want to thank you, please, thank you!" I sang, a bit of Shatner creeping into my Dennis DeYoung.

Ryan laughed. Translation: Okay, you’re still lame, and I’m still so cool because I’m sixteen, but we’ve got a long history together, and now that I realize you’re not buying into my bullshit — yeah, I said bullshit. What are you going to do about it? — I’m going to give it up and enjoy this. Because I am sixteen, not only do I rule, but I can completely change my attitude in a nanosecond.

Traffic grew heavier as we got closer to the school. I turned the radio down to a reasonable volume. Translation: I don’t need to embarrass you in front of your peers . . . this time.

"The time has come at last to throw away this mask, so everyone can see my true identity…" I sang.

Ryan joined me: "I’m Kilroy! Kilroy! Kilroy! Kilroy!" Translation: See? I may be totally cool because I’m sixteen, but I’m not totally lame, either. Remember, if is you who must learn how to deal with me now, because my brain is all messed up. I’m not trying to be a jerk. Honest. I can’t help it sometimes.

"Who is Kilroy?" Nolan said.

"I have no idea," I said, as I pulled to the curb and they opened the doors. "But you can be sure he wore a mullet."

"I love you guys," I said. "Have a great day." Translation: I love you guys. Have a great day.

"Okay," they said, "we will." Translation: We love you, too. Even though you’re totally lame.

I pulled away from the curb, as Mötley Crüe’s Home Sweet Home began to play.

I sang, "You know I’m a dreamer, but my heart’s of gold . . ." No translation is necessary. 

It’s amazing the things you can learn from the Wikipedia.

During a bit of research just now, I ended up at The Mullet. The list of well-known people who have worn The Mullet over their lifetimes is quite impressive. Here is an incomplete and randomly-ordered sample:

• Jaromir Jagr
  – Hockey player. Used the mullet most of his carreer, but changed to
  short hair in late 1990s. His point totals have dropped since getting
  rid of the mulllet.
• James K. Polk – U.S. President in the 1840s. Appears with a clearly defined mullet in most photographs
• Keith Richards – spent the Rolling Stones’ peak years in a mullet.
• James Hetfield – musician; lead singer and rhythm guitarist for Metallica.
  Many would see Hetfield’s as the mullet that finally put an end to
  their acceptability. In 1995 his mullet was one of the most extreme
  mullets featured in the Beastie Boys‘
  article, with very short top and sides, and perhaps without such a high
  profile proponent, the Beasties might never have been moved to write
  their article. His cutting of his mullet in 1996 was taken by many fans as a sign that he had sold out.

I’m Wil, your guide to the world of facts. (With apologies to Futurama.)

Ah, one more bit of praise for WikiPedia: A few months ago, I noticed that there was an error in my filmography there. I posted about it in my Slashdot journal, and the error was corrected within ten minutes. Contrast that with my entry at IMDB, which contains numerous errors. I’ve repeatedly contatcted IMDB to get the errors corrected, most recently over a month ago. To date, the IMDB has never responded to my requests, either via e-mail, or by editing the content.

Jason Kirk is a fellow writer, poker player, and poker blogger. Last Friday, he interviewed me for PokerMagazine.com:

JK: You’ve already alluded to your history
with pocket Kings in no-limit holdem. What goes through your mind today
when you look down and find them?

WW: "Oh no, not again." (laughs)
I’ve also learned not to talk to the poker gods. Of all the gods in the
world — a lot of gods derive their power from being acknowledged —
the poker gods are the fundamental opposite. They’re kind of like Fight
Club: You don’t talk about them.

At the same time, when I’m playing with people who know me and my
history with Kings, I’m really happy to go broke with them because it
creates a good story.

JK: The semi-private WilWheaton.Net weekly
tournaments on PokerStars have been a pretty big hit since they
started. Someone called them the "world’s biggest home game." Did you
expect such a response when you held the first one?

WW: No. Sort of like Benny Binion in 1972, I hoped someday my tournament would have 50 participants.

JK: What do you think has made them so successful?

WW: I think people enjoy the company. I
know that’s why I like to play. It’s the hardest $10 tourney I’ve ever
played in. If I wanted to play in an easier field, the $22 180-man
sit-and-go’s on PokerStars are way softer. With the Thursday and Friday
games, if I can make it into the money I’m thrilled — I get giddy like
a schoolgirl. And my hourly return if I make the money is about $2. I
made more than that in a $.01/.02 blogger no-limit side game last week!

It was a fun interview. I talked with Jason while I walked around my neighborhood on an impossibly beautiful and warm afternoon, and because he’s a fellow poker blogger and we’ve played together several times in WPBT events and WWdN tourneys at PokerStars, I felt like I was talking with a peer who I could trust to get the story right.

Remember when I wrote about how Annie lost a bet?

Well, she paid up, and it is brilliant. Please enjoy Annie’s blog, which we decided needs to be called Jesus’ Favorite. She has to update it once a day for a week.

I lost a bet. 

So now I have to start a blog. 

It’s that simple. 

Apparently the Kings of Nerdville decided this would be fair
punishment. Not a shot, or a drink, or something normal! But a blog. A
fucking blog. And can you guess who these kings would be? Yep. Bingo.

Wil Wheaton

and

Shane Nickerson

(Actually I think Wil is the King and Shane is the Duke).

Now we have Annie’s, my, and Shane’s recollection of the cast party. It’s like Rashomon, but on blogs. So it’s actually called blogshomon.

I think Annie is my favorite blogger in the history of the world. She
was already one of my favorite writers and performers, so she just
nailed a trifecta. Annie may have lost the bet, but I think she won
this round of our nerdwar.

Elbow and send.

Pauly wrote,

I forgot I had to go eat lunch with Briana and her mother, who hates
me. She’s suspicious that I’m just after her family’s money. "I’m not,"
I told her, "I just like sleeping with your daughter." No wonder the
woman loathes me. Rich people hate it when you tell them the truth. Briana’s father likes me only because he knows that her mother doesn’t like me. I’m just a pawn in their world.

I love that so much. It tells us everything we need to know about the narrator, and boy does it set us up for one hell of a fucking story.

Shane took a picture of the placemat he, Annie (where’s your blog, Annie? Shane’s got other pictures, you know . . . ) and I drew on at the cast party. If you know how to read it, it tells you everything you need to know about the three of us, and why we loved working together at ACME so much.