Author: Wil

Just A Geek has gotten a couple of nice reviews recently, and I wanted to share them with WWdN readers, because the book wouldn’t even exist without your support and encouragement.
Richard says:

It’s inspiring stuff. Wil’s tackling the challenges that life has thrown at him full on. In doing so, he’s rediscovered a skill for writing that is engrossing, engaging and even endearing. You feel for the guy as he tells of his struggles, as a working-class actor, to land roles in movies and shows; as he struggles to make ends meet. But you also cheer with him when he scores victories, and things come together, either getting back on the Trek circuit, or making the leap to embracing his current situation. He’s a long way away from the loaded actor I suppose I thought he was having had such roles earlier in his career. He really is Just a geek.

And The Impuslive Buy writes:

Despite not having chapters devoted to such things as the snacks you should have for a successful Dungeons & Dragons gathering, Just A Geek was a great read. Wil gives you a look into his personal life and his difficult journey to find himself.
This book was so entertaining that it was the first book in a long time I did not want to put down.
From reading Just A Geek, you find out that despite being a great actor and a wonderful writer, Wil is just a normal guy with basically the same problems we have all faced at one time or another, except we probably don

When I got home from What’s My Line? Live On Stage last night, I tossed my bag onto the couch (it’s a bag, okay? From ApacheCon, and I keep my books and appointment calendar and some gum and kleenex and stuff in it . . . but it’s not a purse. Let’s be clear about that. Not. A. Purse.) Uh, I tossed my not-a-purse onto the couch and went into my office to check my e-mail and scan the news headlines.
I was a little surprised when I sat down and saw that Google News, which is my homepage, was displaying a 502 error. I hit F5, and the page came back up . . . and revealed that the HiveMind at Google has bestowed upon us the ability to customize Google News.
Holy crap, man! It’s very cool. I now have a “Wil Wheaton” section, a “Fark” section, and a “Monkey Attack” section, to go along with all the other default sections. I also got rid of the “Business” section, which I never read anyway. Control freaks of the world rejoice!
Whenever something comes along that makes the Internets more useful, I sing a little song and jump around a little bit.
Good jorb, Googleoids.

Maybe it’s because I grew up in a concept-album-o-centric house. Maybe it’s because I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know all the words to Abbey Road and Dark Side of the Moon. Maybe it’s because I’ve always hated pop music with the white-hot intensity of a billion supernovas. Maybe it’s the beer talking, Marge, but you’ve got a butt that won’t quit. Maybe it’s because my Id beat the everliving shit out of my Superego years ago . . . but music has never been light, disposable, background noise to me. Music has been as much a part of my life as oxygen and water, and I’m über passionate about what I like and don’t like.
I know that I’m late to the party on this by about eight years, but about two weeks ago I discovered a band I really like: Wilco.
Oh my god. Yankee Hotel Foxtrot.
The last album to work its way deep into the nanofibers of my being like YHF was OK Computer. I’ve heard the name “Wilco” all over the place, especially because I’m such a nerd for The Conet Project, but I can’t believe I hadn’t actually heard this record until now.
I’ve been so totally blown away by YHF that yesterday, I picked up two more Wilco discs: being there, and a ghost is born.
Oh my god. Being There.
Oh my god. A Ghost is Born.
If my Wilco Smart Playlist was an audio tape, I would have burned it out in the last 24 hours. If it was a pair of shoes, the heels would be worn right through. If it was a million dollars, I would have used it to buy you a fur coat (but not a real fur coat, because that’s cruel.)
If you like some of the other books and movies and crap that I like, and you haven’t heard it yet, get Yankee Hotel Foxtrot right now. It’s not filled with jaunty little hooks that you can sing to yourself while you wait for the train — it’s much better, and much more rewarding, than that.

My CSI airs tomorrow night, and E! Online’s Guilty Pleasures said some nice things about it today. There’s no perma-link option that I can find, so here’s the blurb:

CSI: The Next Generation
It’s not like we sit around reading blogs while we’re supposed to working–we totally don’t–but sometimes our work leads us to read blogs. (Just trust us, okay?) Anyway, fans of CSI, blogs and Star Trek: The Next Generation will find no greater confluence of goodness than on this week’s episode of the forensic crime-stopper series CSI (Thursday, 10 p.m.), starring Wil Wheaton, onetime Ensign Wesley Crusher and current blogger, as a homeless man who, at least according to Wheaton’s blog, has bad hair and rage issues. Certainly, more drama will ensue, and we can’t wait to watch and then read about it on Wheaton’s site. After work, you know.

After my episode airs, I’ll be able to write in a lot more detail about the specifics of filming it, and comment on how the final cut reflects and differs from what we shot.
Man, it’s only one day away! I can’t believe it’s already here.

I really like the way my backyard looks right now. I don’t want to be prideful about my gardening efforts, but damn! Anne and I have worked hard recently to landscape the damn thing, and it just looks great.
I’ve been writing pretty much non-stop since I got out of bed today. When I get stuck, or just need a break, I look out the window and stare into the yard, so my conscious mind can take a walk and let my creative mind do its thing. My lawn, which through a combination of mowing, feeding, and 38 inches of rain in the last several weeks is lush, thick, and a beautiful greenish blue. Ferris and Riley can usually be found chasing each other across it, though right now they’re both sleeping under my desk. Ferris has her head on my foot and whenever I try to move it, she grunts at me and wags her tail. Riley is blisfully unaware of anything, sprawled out asleep on her back like a cat. My orange tree, which I agressively pruned a back in January, is covered with blossoms, and a light breeze keeps pushing their scent through my open window. Two hummingbirds just buzzed past. Cool.
I have several bird feeders that hang all over the place. Most of them have a basic seed mixture (yeah! 3 bucks at the pet store for 20 pounds!) but one of them is this sock filled with some spiffy stuff called Nyjer seed that is like crack for finches. That sock is so covered with birds I can’t even see it! All of my other feeders are also heavily populated with sparrows as well, and it seriously sounds like I’m renting office space in an aviary.
There’s some tree-trimming going on in my neighborhood, so the not-entirely-unpleasant drone of distant chainsaws underscores the bird’s singing. For some reason, the sound of yard work always makes me feel secure, and brings to mind happy childhood sense memories that I can’t see, but feel nevertheless.
Anyway, I’m putting this all down right now because someday I’ll read through my archives, see this, and remember exactly what this moment felt like.