Author: Wil

After breakfast, I came back upstairs to work on Games of our Lives.
I got into the elevator, and held the door open for about a half-dozen people. When they were all in, I was closest to the buttons.
“Where y’all going?” I said. Normally, I don’t say “y’all,” (and in this case, the proper conjugation would have been “all y’alls,”) but I’ve got The Nerves, and sometimes that makes me say weird things.
They all said the same number, which happens to be the same floor as me.
“Oh, I hear all the cool kids are staying on that floor,” I said. (Longtime WWdN readers will understand why I didn’t say, “It’s the floor that’s sweeping the nation.”)
“Yeah, I hear it’s the floor where all the winners are staying,” this businessman with an NAB badge around his neck said.
“You mean it’s where the losers are staying!” This forty-something woman said. In one hand she held one of those plastic footballs, presumably filled with something scandalous like Sex on the Beach.
“Hey! Speak for yourself, lady!” I said with a laugh. I’m normally not this chatty in elevators.
She looked at me, and her eyes focused (eventually) on my WPT badge.
“Oh!” She said, “You’re in the poker tournament?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“How are you doing?”
“Well, I’m still alive,” I said. Somehow, it sounded cooler than, “I start tomorrow, and I’m scared out of my fucking shit right now,” while still technically true.
She extended her left hand toward me. Liver spots, huge gold bracelet, 790 carat diamond ring on her middle finger. No wedding ring. Loud, pinkish-orange polish on otherwise tasteful acrylic nails.
“Give me some of your luck, kid!” She said. I tried, but failed to identify an accent.
Okay, how much do I love that this woman just called me “kid?”
“No way,” I said. “I don’t want to get any of your ‘loser luck’ on me.”
The whole elevator laughed, including The Football Lady.
“I tell you what,” I said, as we arrived at our floor, and the doors opened, “If I’m still in the tournament on Sunday, you can touch me then.”
“It’s a deal!” She said.
I walked out of the elevators and turned to the right. They went to the left. As the distance between us grew, I heard her friend say, “He’s right, Melissa. Keep your loser luck to yourself.”
Their laughter echoed down the hall as I put the key into my door.

Late last week, my manager called me.
“Do you want to play poker next week?” He said.
“Chris, I always want to play poker. Where’s the game?”
“It’s in Vegas —” he began.
“I can’t afford to go to Vegas right now,” I said.
He patiently told me to wait, and listen to all the details.
“Sorry, Chris. My brain is going in a million directions right now. We open the ACME show on Saturday, and . . . well, just a whole bunch of other stuff.”
“Okay, here’s the situation: World Poker Tour has invited you to play in the WPT Championship next week.”
“Well, that’s really cool, but I don’t have twenty-five thousand dollars to spend on a poker tournament.” I said.
He laughed. “You’re freerolling!”
He explained that Mekhai Pfeiffer, who finished first in my Hollywood Homegame, and Andrea Parker, who finished second, couldn’t make it out to the tournament.
“So I’m the Secretary of the Navy!” I said.
“What?”
“You know, I’m next in the line of succession.”
“Isn’t that the Speaker of the House?”
“I don’t know, and now the joke isn’t funny.”
Of course, it wasn’t funny to begin with, but Chris was too polite to say what we were both thinking.
“So do you want to play?”
“Let me think about it for a second. YES! How many days is the tournament?”
“It starts Monday, and goes through until Sunday.”
“Oh, shit.”
“What?”
“I can’t go. I’m performing Dancing Barefoot on Wednesday, and I’m doing the sketch show on Saturday.”
“What do you want to do?”
The question, translated into the secret sideband which accompanies many of our conversations was actually, “Do you want to blow off your shows at ACME so you can play poker in Vegas?”
“Well,” I said, “I’m not going to blow off ACME so I can play poker in Vegas.”
“Oh, good, that’s sort of what I was wondering.” He said.
“But if I’m even still alive by Wednesday, they could just blind me away while I’m in Hollywood . . .” I said, “Yeah! I’ll come home for the shows, and they’ll just blind me away!”
“Doesn’t that mean you’ll bust out?”
“Maybe. That doesn’t matter. I could write a great story about this, like one that could get into a magazine or something!”
I’ve been secretly working on a poker book for a few months. It’s an anthology of stories that I’ve published on my blog, and it needs one more longish story before it’s something I can publish.
The Writer said, “Chris, no matter what happens, I am going to get a great story out of this. Can you imagine? If I was in the pack at the top, and I had to leave to come back to Los Angeles to do a show? That would be really dramatic! Or if I’m short-stacked, and I know that I have to go home anyway, so I get really agressive, and pick up a bunch of pots . . . so I get into the top pack and have to leave anyway?! This is going to be so cool!”
Though I was sitting on the couch when the phone rang, I was now excitedly pacing around my house. I walked through my kitchen and into my back yard, scattering about two dozen birds off the feeders as I passed them on the patio.
I stood on the grass in my bare feet, and had a thought. What if it’s going to suck for WPT that they’re giving me a freeroll into this tournament, but I have to leave in the middle of it? Would that be lame?
“Okay, I think you should call them, and tell them that I want to play, but explain that I have to come home no matter what. If that is going to suck for them, they can move down to the next player on the list, and I’ll completely understand.”
“I’ll do that, and call you back.”
We hung up, and I ran back inside to my office. I grabbed all my poker books off my shelf, and started reviewing. I’m a good limit player, and I’m great in live games . . . but I don’t have a whole lot of tournament experience. Maybe I could get some help from TJ, and Doyle, and Mike Caro . . .
I sat down on my floor, and started reading. As I absorbed advice from the masters, I felt like I was getting back on a bike.
About thirty minutes went by. I underlined passages, used post-its for bookmarks . . . and realized that I was unconsciously doing what I read about in Positively Fifth Street.
“Oh man, I could write my version of Positively Fifth Street!”
The phone rang. It was Chris.
“Hello?”
“You’re going to Vegas!”
I took the phone away from my head, and shouted out in excitement.
“You’ll have to take care of your travel and meals, but they’ll get your room. Is that okay?” He said.
“Yeah! That’s fine. Are they okay with me leaving?”
“They’re fine with it.” He paused. “Do you think you’ll really be live on Wednesday?”
“I don’t know,” I said. I looked down at the pile of books scattered across the floor. “I’m already over my head,” I thought.
“I’m just going to do my best, have fun, and try to get a good story out of it.” I said. “Chris, this could be my version of Positively Fifth Street!”
“Uh, Wil,” he said, “don’t you need to make the final table if you want to do that?”
“Oh. Right. That.” I said. “Well, maybe it’ll be called Positively Short Stacked.”
He laughed, because it was funny. I laughed because I was embarrassed. Who was I kidding?
“Have a great time while you’re there, and keep me updated.” He said.
“I will.”

So here I am, at the start of a week in (and out of) Vegas. I flew in yesterday afternoon, and just found out about fifteen minutes ago that I don’t start playing until tomorrow at noon. Which is good because I need to write two Games of our Lives columns, and prepare for my Dancing Barefoot reading on Wednesday. And it wouldn’t hurt to get some practice playing in a few live games today.

I’ve got the familiar blend of nerves and excitement, because in just six hours, the last few months of writing, rehearsing and workshopping all pay off.
As I wrote the other day:

In this show, we’ve got a fairly complicated stunt to work out, as well: we’re doing this thing where the whole show takes place in one day, and the same characters show up in more than one sketch, with some incredibly hilarious call backs. We were unsure if the audience would get what we were doing, and worried that even if they did, they may not think it’s as clever and funny as we do. But over both previews it’s worked incredibly well, and I think it’s going to reward audiences who are paying attention.

Even though I know my lines, even though I know my characters, and even though I’m confident that we’ll kick all sorts of ass, I’ve been reviewing my sketches, double-checking my costumes, and anxiously passing the time until I leave for my call at 5 this evening.
I love opening a new show! For all of you WWdN readers who have been lining up in front of The Groundlings for the last five weeks, here are the details for our show:

WHAT: ACME A Day In The Life
WHERE: Acme Comedy Theatre
135 N. La Brea
Hollywood, CA 90036
(323) 525-0202
WHEN: Tonight, and every Saturday until the end of June, at 8 pm.

My friend Danica McKellar, (probably best known for playing Winnie Cooper on The Wonder Years) is a fantastic actor and writer. A few years ago, we worked together in a short film called Speechless . . . which she wrote and directed.
Yesterday, Danica e-mailed me that she’d done a photoshoot for Stuff Magazine.

I did a photo session for “Stuff” magazine last Wednesday– the first time in my life, ever, taking pictures in lingerie!!

The editors of Stuff want to know which hottie from the 90s Stuff readers would like to see in their magazine. Now, I’ve known Danica since forever, so she’s like a little sister to me. The Protective Big Brother in me wants to say, “No way am I going to encourage people to check you out in sexy pictures!” But there’s no denying that she’s grown up to become quite a beautiful woman. Her competition is Jennie Garth, Elizabeth Berkley, and Kari Wuhrer. Though I had a mad crush on Kari Wuhrer when I was younger (read: last year), and I knew Elizabeth when I was a kid the world has already seen a whole lot of them in (and out of) lingerie. Danica is my good friend, and I’ll gladly endure the trauma of seeing her in lingerie so she can make the cover of Stuff. I know how Hollywood works, and if she wins, it will help her career tremendously. It would be sort of impossible to see her just as little Winnie Cooper, wouldn’t it?
So if you want to help her out, head over to Stuff Magazine, and click on Which hottie from the 90

So there are these Star Wars fans Übernerds who are lining up in front of Grauman’s for the premiere of “Revenge of the Sith” in a couple of months.
The only problem is, “Return of the Sith” isn’t going to screen at Graumans. For reasons that are best left to the shadowy corners of The Film Distribution World, it will be playing at the Arclight, which is about a half-mile away. (The Arclight, by the way, is the best theater in Los Angeles. Nobody else even comes close.)
When they found out about this unfortunate turn of events, the Star Wars Nerds naturally packed up their stuff, and walked down the block to Arclight.
Except they didn’t.
They’re keeping the line right where it is . . . as a self-described act of protest.
Before I go any further, I’d like to make something crystal clear: Camping out for a couple of months before the opening of a movie is a little weird . . . but essentially cool. That kind of passion is what makes it so much fun to be a Nerd. But camping out at the wrong theater and refusing to move in protest is hilarious, and it’s what makes it embarrassing to be a Nerd.
We’ve been covering this story pretty heavily over at blogging.la. In fact, my friend Sean was the very first person to break this dramatic story, long before the rest of the media got on board:

Since I know everyone is dying to find out what’s going on with the Star Wars line I’ve taken it upon myself to read through the entire thread at liningup.net as well as call them several times now and here’s the facts of the moment:

1. The Star Wars line is still outside of Graumans.
2. Graumans has confirmed that Star Wars will not be playing at Graumans.
3. Arclight has confirmed that Star Wars will be playing at Arclight.
4. The Star Wars line is pissed because they think Star Wars should be at Graumans, not at Arclight, so they are not moving the line in protest.

I thought that was so hilarious (see my points, above) that I left a comment on that entry, using the dreaded phrase, “Get A Life.”
Oops. Turns out some of The Star Wars Nerds have no sense of humor about themselves. I got some upset e-mail, and while I composed a reply, the saga continued to unfold:

OK, who would have guessed that in the very small group of people who are willing to line up months in advance of a movie to get tickets, in front of a theater where the movie isn’t going to be playing, there would be room for cliques and infighting between the popular super nerds and the unpopular super nerds? I wouldn’t. And I would have been wrong. A post in this thread by “certified instigator” has just confirmed the existence of said infighting. Read on…

“No one is talking about leaving the line. The popular clique has flat out refused to be open minded about where we see the movie as a group. They insist that no matter what we – as a group – decide they will not see it it at the Arclight.

They make it very clear here on the boards and in line. That splitting up the group is better than seeing the movie at a theater the popular clique doesn’t like.
Many people I’ve spoken to are willing to see it at a theater they don’t prefer in order to keep the group together. But they are less popular and way less vocal.”

OMFG.
OK, so some waiters in line want to keep the line together no matter what theater it’s shown at, and other linesters don’t give a crap about the line and only care what theater they see it at – and this is shaking the foundation of the line to it’s core. TO IT’S CORE!

There were cliques in the line? There’s a popular clique, which implies that there are unpopular Nerds who are lining up at the wrong theater?! This new information took an already hilarious story and exploded it into the surreal realm of Terry Gilliam-esque humor. I couldn’t help myself, and I posted that they should have taken my advice (about getting a life, I mean.).
My little quip ended up pouring even more gasoline on what was now a full-blown Nerd War between the Nerds at Blogging.la, and the Star Wars Nerds. The upset e-mail I’d received was followed-up with some honest-to-goodness hate mail, so I tried to smooth things over with an open letter of my own:

Dear Star Wars Line,
I’m really sorry that you’re so offended. I was just playing around. I learned a long time ago that I have to be able to laugh at myself. (I’m the guy who had not one, but *two* newsgroups dedicated to hating him, remember?) I think it’s awesome that you guys are raising money for charity, but I hope you can see the humor in a bunch of people waiting in line at the wrong theatre, refusing to move to the theatre a couple of blocks away that *is* showing the movie. And framing it as an act of protest . . . well, that’s really funny. Movies are not the sort of thing that one generally associates with protests. Civil rights? Sure. Anti-war? Sure. Clean up this toxic waste dump? Sure.
But we’re not moving until you put the movie here? We’re not moving in protest? And look at the drama surrounding the whole thing: There are “cliques” of people, and “cool kids” and “factions” waiting in line at the wrong theatre, refusing to move in protest? And the self-righteous indignation? If you can’t see the humor in this, you’re really missing out.
[. . .]
Again, I am truly sorry that you and other lining-up-ers are so offended . . . but I wish you could see the humor, also. I didn’t intend to put you all down. I’m sure you’re all great people who believe they’re doing the right thing for the children. I was just enjoying the absurdity and humor.
I sincerely hope that you all enjoy your time in line, and I hope that the final movie doesn’t suck as much as Episode One.
May The Force be with you,
Wil

As an olive branch, Sean and I designed some T-Shirts for the Star Wars Nerds, so they’d have something to pass down to their own children, years from now:
Sadly, our peace offering was viewed as further ridicule, and I got yet another angry e-mail.
Heartbroken that the Star Wars Nerds were more interested in feeling persecuted and righteously indignant, and saddened that they just couldn’t see the humor in the whole thing, I vowed to just let it go.
And I did, until yesterday, when my favorite secret Ninja, Jessica Mae Stover asked me if I wanted to go with her to take pizza to the Star Wars Nerds, who still inexplicably refuse to move to a theatre where they’ll actually be able to see the movie:

Hey WW,
I