Author: Wil

Bad News: Looks like I didn’t book any of those voice over jobs, since it’s been over a week and I haven’t heard anything.
Good News: WWdN reader Zack, was inspired by the possibility of my joining the cast, and penned the following missive, which made me giggle, then laugh, then fall over.
Not necessarily in that order.

FADE IN:
INT. DRUNKEN CLAM – NIGHT
BRIAN sits down at the bar with a martini, depressed. He SIGHS. Sitting next to him is WIL WHEATON, who notices.
WIL WHEATON
Something wrong?
BRIAN
Oh, I feel like no one treats me with respect, and judges me before they get to know me.
WIL WHEATON
Really? Same thing happens with me. What’s your problem?
BRIAN
Eh, I’m a talking dog.
WIL WHEATON
(takes a drink)
Mmm.
BRIAN
What’s yours?
WIL WHEATON
Oh, I played Wesley on ‘Star Trek: The Next Generation.’
Brian’s eyes go wide with horror. Wil notices. PETER and QUAGMIRE walk up. Peter has a beer.
WIL WHEATON (CONT’D)
What?
BRIAN
(caught)
Oh? Uh, um, nothing, nothing.
(points)
Hey, is that one of those old ‘Narc’ arcade games? Where, you ah, yeah —
He dissolves into mumbles as he quickly gets up and rushes off. Wil looks dejected. Peter pokes Wil.
PETER
Hey, ah, just one question — ?
WIL WHEATON
Yeah?
PETER
Did you, ah, did you ever…you know, think about Dr. Crusher when you…?
He makes a ‘come on’ gesture.
WIL WHEATON
What? I…I…she was my MOM!
PETER
(egging him on)
Yeah, but she was just an ACTRESS…
WIL WHEATON
Trust me, I…
PETER
(overlapping)
It’s okay, I just wanna–
WIL WHEATON
You’re making me uncomfortable…
PETER
Come on, I’m not trying to give you a hard time, just, you know, I’m a fan, I’m curious — hell I’d have done it. I mean, she was hot, huh?
Wil relaxes a little.
WIL WHEATON
Well..
(laughs)
Well, maybe there was this ONE time–
PETER
(cuts him off)
OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!
WIL WHEATON
(overlapping)
Wha–
PETER
She’s — she’s your MOM! I didn’t think you’d actually ADMIT —
WIL WHEATON
Wait, you said —
PETER
That is the sickest…you, you — GOD!
He throws his beer in Wil’s face and stomps off. Quagmire looks at Wil with disgust.
QUAGMIRE
Pervert.
He walks off, unbuckling his belt as he goes.
QUAGMIRE (CONT’D)
(from off)
Hey ladies, anyone wanna play ‘Clamdigger?’
Wil stares as we hear SCREAMS and a loud SLAP.
QUAGMIRE (CONT’D)
(from off)
Oh!
FADE OUT.
THE END.

Anne and I walked 13 miles today, along The Strand from Dockweiler to Hermosa and back.
It was a perfect day to walk. Blue skies, a light breeze, tons of friendly people out walking their dogs, and a beach absolutely packed with people playing volleyball. There was this festive atmosphere everywhere, and I felt like my soul got a little recharge while my body got a light workout.
The marathon is on Sunday, and we’re making sure that we’re properly conditioned (we are) and that our pace hasn’t changed (it hasn’t. We’re still about 4.2 MPH). We walked nine miles yesterday, and I think we’re taking tomorrow off . . . my feet are aching.
Now it’s time for a quick shower, and then dinner: I’m barbecuing chicken and serving it with black beans. Goodtimes.

My dad’s family has a long tradition associated with the Los Angeles Dodgers, going all the way back to the very first day they ever played here.
As a result, my dad’s family has had season tickets at Dodger stadium since the place opened — and they rock.
My parents only get a few games a year, and Anne and I usually can’t go for some reason or another . . . but we get to go tonight! I am going to watch Randy Johnson pitch from just a few feet off the field. How cool is that?
It will also be the first Dodger game that I’ve been able to attend in person this season.
This is a pretty cool way to kick off the long weekend, eh?

The server that houses WWdN got hit by a script kiddie last night.
I’m very impressed. It takes a lot of brains and courage to run a script against a webserver. Very, very grown up.
My wife said, “I don’t get this. What exactly have you ever done to anyone? Why are these idiots suddenly harassing you?”
I don’t think it has anything to do with me, I told her. I share a server with some other sites, and one of them must have been compromised.
“It was probably this phpnuke exploit that’s been out there for –” I said.
“You lost me at phpnuke,” she said. I laughed.
“It’s pretty sad that someone has to destroy something to feel good about themselves,” she said.
We were washing dishes from dinner at the time, and Nolan came into the kitchen, ready for bed.
“What got destroyed, Wil?” he said.
“Somebody cracked the server that hosts my website,” I said.
“That’s stupid.” he said.
“Yeah.”
“Will you tuck me in?”
“Sure.” I dried the dish I was washing, and he took my hand in his as we walked back to his room.
“I had a really good time tonight,” he said.
“Yeah, me too!” I said. After dinner, we played Hold’Em, then charades. It was a wonderful family evening, like you’d see in some lame 50s TV show.
We got to his room, and he hopped into his bed. Felix was already there, purring loudly.
“Look! I’m on Felix’s rotation!” Nolan said. Felix moves from my room, to Nolan’s, to Ryan’s, and to the living room. He’ll spend a few nights, or even a few weeks, in each spot. It’s pretty cool to be on his rotation, because it feels like you’ve been “chosen.”
I smiled, and rubbed Felix’s chin. He flipped over on his back and purred even louder.
“Sleep well, kiddo,” I said.
“Okay,” he said. “I love you, Wil.”
“I love you too, Nolan. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He reached out his arms, and hugged me tightly. I kissed his head and squeezed him back.
I passed Ryan’s room on my way back out to the kitchen. He was reading in bed.
“I had a great time with you tonight,” I said.
“That was rad.” he said. Then he said something that’s so funny, but so wrong, I won’t repeat it. Something about Anne rivering trips to beat my two pair. I will, however, repeat what he said next: “Oh yeah, I went there.”
“Did you just quote Family Guy?” I said.
He laughed like Peter Griffin.
“I thought so. Okay, when you get back from your dad’s this weekend, I’m introducing you to Monty Python. You’re ready for it.”
“Isn’t that for nerds?”
“You’re ready for it,” I repeated. “Sleep well.”
Earlier today, I got to see the jacket for my book, and I got to share it with my family who I love. Then, I got to have dinner with my family who I love. Then, I played poker with my family who I love, then I played charades with my family who I love. I spent the entire night with my family who I love, creating wonderful memories, while some stupid coward spent his night alone, trying to make himself feel important and relevant by destroying something. Anyone can destroy something. It takes something more to create something.
*Commenting is turned off until we can get some more perl modules installed on the new server.*

A few people have e-mailed me recently and wondered where my posts from the politics department have all gone. There’s no shortage of things to be outraged about: the torture in Abu Ghraib, the daily barrage of lies coming out of the Bush administration about the war, the New York Times’s half-assed apology for helping Bush and the neocons mislead the country into war (way to let Judith Miller get off scott-free, Times. That’s some top-notch responsibility-taking you’ve got going there) . . . but here’s the deal: I’m actually getting paid to write some things now (more on that tomorrow), and I have editors and readers who expect things on time — that don’t totally suck — so I don’t have a lot of “extra” time right now. When I write about political issues, I like to heavily research and footnote my comments. My goal when I write about politics is not to simply rant and rave . . . it’s to hopefully enlighten, and inform people. Right now, I don’t have time to do that, but there are others on the Intarweb who are doing a fantastic job: Salon, DailyKos, Atrios, Josh Marshall, The Daily Howler, Juan Cole, and Kevin Drum are just a few of the sites I read at least once a day. I do a lot of nodding along in agreement when I read them, and they always say what I would say, with more eloquence and passion than I can currently muster.
It’s a strange thing, the concept and reality of “time.” There are so many things that I want to do in a day, and there really isn’t enough time to get it all done. As I get older, I find that my time is more and more valuable . . . and I have less and less of it. I’m still working up the D&D campaign for Ryan and Nolan, and I just joined a new campaign as a player . . . the first campaign I’ve played in since high school. I haven’t had time to sit down and play poker in ages, and I’m still reading the same book I started almost three weeks ago. Roger Waters was on to something, man.
So in consideration of this time thing, and how it ties into the lack of political writing, which is, I guess, what this entry has become all about: I can only write so much, and I can only write so much that’s not total crap. It takes more time energy to write a good political post than it does to write about something that truly brings me joy and makes me happy. And you know what? There’s enough anger and strife in the world right now. I’d rather put my time and energy into reflecting on the things that make me happy, than the things that piss me off.
When I put myself in lockdown to finish Just A Geek, I opened up this creative vein, and all kinds of stuff came flowing out. I wrote almost daily for Best Week Ever, put up a few things at the Cult of the One Eyed Cat, and contributed pretty frequently to blogging.la . . . but once I was done, I just . . . ran out of energy. My friend Kathleen described it as “red-lining” for weeks, which made a lot of sense to me. Since I finished, I feel like my creative engine was so heavily taxed for so long, it takes longer to get it started, and it’s harder to rev it up to a point where it churns out lots of good stuff.
Over the last week or so, I’ve started to feel creatively rested, and I think I’ll be able to write here more often . . . but more importantly, I’ll get back to more narrative work, like lying in odessa or some of my recent blogs about the kids.
I gave a talk to Nolan’s humanities class about two weeks ago (man, speaking to thirty 12 year-olds is harder than addressing a convention hall of thousands!) and I discussed how writing can take you places — emotionally, and physically — the same way reading a good book, or watching a good movie can.
For the time being, when I write, I’m going to visit some cool places . . . but now, I’m going to read my Expanded Psionics Handbook.