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50,000 Monkeys at 50,000 Typewriters Can't Be Wrong

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WIL WHEATON dot NET
WIL WHEATON dot NET

50,000 Monkeys at 50,000 Typewriters Can't Be Wrong

Category: blog

Thank you, guest bloggers!

Posted on 19 February, 2013 By Wil

My inner ear thinks my house is on a boat, and my brain is trying to simultaneously process the incredible week I had on JoCo Cruise Crazy through the exhaustion I earned with all the fun I had. It’s like I got all my mana back, but my hit points are recharging much more slowly.

There will be a full cruise write up when I get myself back to normal and can properly reflect on the week of awesome. Until then, I recommend you visit John Scalzi, who was on the boat and wrote about it at Whatever.

Here are two pictures for your entertainment. First, my badge, so I knew who I was.

Wil Wheaton JoCo Cruise Crazy 3 Badge

And now, the harbor at Saint Maarten:

The harbor at Saint Maarten

I have to take a moment to thank Will, Shane, and Stepto for writing such awesome posts while I was gone. They are so great, I’m leaving their author privileges intact, in the hopes that they drop by from time to time and share awesome stuff with us.

Guest Blog by Shane Nickerson: bombed

Posted on 14 February, 201314 February, 2013 By shanenickerson

 Shane Nickerson hates the word “selfies.” He inhabits nickerblog.com.

bombed

I know I joked about posting compromising photos of Wil, but let’s be honest, there aren’t any. Instead, here’s one of my favorite photos on my phone from Wil’s epic 40th surprise birthday party. A multi layered photo bomb featuring Wil (holding the coolest Dalek stein ever), Chris Mackenzie, Jesse Mackey, Philip “Photobomber” Plait, me and a few others. It was the best surprise party I’ve ever attended. Anne set the bar so high on throwing a surprise party that no one should ever even attempt to throw another one ever for the rest of time forever and ever infinity. That category is now closed out.

I seriously cannot get enough of photobombing. Please everyone keep doing this to pictures ALL OF THE TIMES.

 

Guest Blog by Shane Nickerson: Start

Posted on 13 February, 201313 February, 2013 By shanenickerson

Shane Nickerson is a guy on a couch. You can find him at nickerblog.com.

You don’t have to start with something perfect, but you do have to start with something.

As someone who struggles daily to actually believe that I am an artist, I am constantly inspired by people who push through the darkest hour of creating new things: the self-doubt phase. It’s a gloomy time right after you have a big idea, because all of those negative brainbots activate to convince you that it won’t work/isn’t good enough/has probably been done/shouldn’t happen/is stupid. I’ve had an idea, gotten excited about it, let my mind imagine the possibilities, registered a relevant domain name, then murdered the idea in cold blood when that negativity prevails. All in under an hour.

The alternative, which is much more difficult, is to have faith in an idea. That faith, a firm belief in something for which there is no proof, becomes essential when the dark voices start piping up with the “dude, don’t bother!” or the “who are you kidding, you’re not an artist?” It carries me through the murky transitional zone between “ZOMG IDEA!” and “BEGIN BUILDING IDEA.”  Anyone can think of something. Doing something is much more difficult.

If you listen to critics of art and begin to believe them, you will never make anything. Critics are everywhere. They slam movies, writing, ideas, creative decisions, people, past work, future work and at their worst, assume they understand someone else’s motivation for creating something. They’re on Twitter, on Facebook, blogs, at your work, sometimes in your family. These people shit on other people’s efforts because being a critic is easy. It requires no skill, no effort, and no faith. Most of all, being critical justifies those dark voices in their own heads about why their ideas aren’t good enough. If you’re not careful, it will justify your own as well.

One of the loudest voices in my head, the real dick of all the voices, likes to tell me that what I’m making won’t be perfect. It’s an impossible standard to live up to, perfection, and is therefore an effective weapon against my own creativity. I’m often tempted to give up before I begin. But I’ve tried to stop doing that. After 41 years, I’ve finally begun to realize that you have to start. You have to begin to make something before you can worry about how it’s going to end up. If you don’t start, you have nothing.

I want to be like the people who keep pushing forward, in spite of the critics, self doubt, and uncomfortable odds. They try new things. They take risks. They eat shit sometimes. They get back up and try other new things. Their successes are widely embraced. Their misfires are lonely. Most of all, their art is inspiring.

If I’ve learned anything in my shaky life as an artist, it’s that you must stop talking and spinning and whining and start making your thing today. Pick up a camera. Pick up an easel. Open your laptop and turn off your Internet connection while you write. Find a starting point. Ignore the voices. Ignore the critics. Reward yourself for having ideas by valuing them enough to believe in them.

Failure does not exist.

wheatonbot needs moar coffee

Posted on 6 February, 2013 By Wil

When I do my gag reel intros for Tabletop, I always get them to my producer on Tuesday, because they need to be edited and uploaded by noon on Wednesday for a release on Thursday.

And you just thought it all happened by magic! For shame. For shame.

I’ve been so busy lately, with various secret projects and w00tstock at Sketchfest and preparations for JoCo Cruise Crazy next week, I completely forgot to record my intro for this week’s gag reel. Nick, my producer, emailed me this morning to remind me that I hadn’t sent it in, and that we were running out of time to get it done. I looked at the clock, realized that I didn’t have time to really put myself together and record it, so I asked Anne if she’d just shoot me for a minute or so at our dining room table.

This was also not as easy as it sounds, because she’s doing online traffic school thanks to an epic bullshit ticket (70 in a 65 on the Interstate, no radar, she fought it and lost. Shasta County is corrupt IMHO) and can only take short breaks during the day.

Luckily for us and people who enjoy my bed head posts at G+, the stars aligned and we were able to shoot the intro. Here’s the (in my opinion hilarious) thumbnail that my shows up in my finder when I look at the file:

Wheatonbot needs more coffee.
Wheatonbot needs more coffee.

Yes, that’s the bathrobe I wear every day. I got it from Think Geek. It’s as awesome as you think.

You can see the intro I recorded, and the gag reel it introduces, tomorrow at Internet o’clock on Geek and Sundry. You can see a little tease from the gag reel right now.

a matter of perspective

Posted on 28 January, 2013 By Wil

I just watched, for the first time in over 20 years, the third season blooper reel from Star Trek The Next Generation. It’s going to be included on the Blu-Ray disc, and I get to see it before it’s released to offer any notes or concerns that will be politely ignored.

It’s very, very funny. By the third season, we were all a very close-knit family on the set, and when we messed up, we laughed about it and reset the scene.

Well, everyone, that is, but me. In this reel, when I screw up, I get angry at myself. I try to laugh, but it’s clear that I am frustrated beyond belief. I say, “I am so sorry,” but without any of the 10th Doctor’s charm. My frustration and embarrassment is palpable.

When I watched this just now, I viscerally remembered being that awkward 15 and then 16 year-old kid, with the awful helmet hair, the uncomfortable grey spacesuit with the embarrassing muscle suit underneath it, and almost crippling desire to be the kind of cool I was never going to be. I remembered how, when I was on the bridge spouting nothing but technobabble (which was a large percentage of what Wesley got to do in Season 3, so much so that it lead to my asking to be written off the show), it was so hard to remember because it didn’t mean anything, and that was frustrating on a number of levels. I wanted to be an actor. I wanted to perform a character, and most of what I remember doing that season was plotting courses and saying “Aye, sir.” In the blissful, arrogant ignorance of being a teenager, it never occurred to me that there were eight regular cast members, and everyone except the Holy Trinity of Picard, Riker and Data had their turn spouting technobabble and saying “Aye, sir.” I was the only one who was too young and foolish to understand. I was the only one who was too young and foolish to attempt to understand.

Wesley (and I) did get to do some really great things in Season 3: The Bonding is fantastic and Ron Moore wrote a couple of magnificent scenes for Wesley in that episode, Evolution was pretty awesome (and I got to work a lot with Whoopi, which was as totally cool as you’d expect it to be, and got real character growth from writer Michael Piller), and Yesterday’s Enterprise remains one of my favourite episodes of all time. But, like youth being wasted on the young, most of what made that season awesome was wasted on me.

Season 3 and part of Season 4 are really tough for me to watch, because I regret being such a tool back then. I wish I could go back in time and tell that kid to relax and enjoy what was a pretty awesome job, but I know that he wouldn’t listen to me any more than he’d have listened to anyone else. He was a confused, weird, awkward nerd trying so hard to be an adult, and failing spectacularly.

I wish I could go back in time and have a talk with that kid, but I learned something important from Star Trek when Picard told Riker: “There are many parts of my youth that I’m not proud of… there were loose threads… untidy parts of me that I would like to remove. But when I pulled on one of those threads… it had unraveled the tapestry of my life.”

I will continue to simultaneously feel ashamed of myself, embarrassed by myself, but compassionate towards myself. That kid was doing the best that he could, and I’ll keep trying to accept that. Maybe one day, I’ll even make peace with it.

 

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