Don’t Panic

I’m listening to Coldplay right now. Earlier today, I was listening to Tool, and some Charlie Parker. Does that strike anyone else as a bit incongruous? Speaking of Coldplay, who else thinks that they sound a LOT like Travis, and the first time you heard “Yellow”, you thought, “Boy, Dave Matthews sure has changed his sound.”
Woah…I just went to the Coldplay website, to make sure the link was correct, and their font is “Albertus”, the same font that was used on my favorite tv show of all time, The Prisoner. Matter of fact, it was my fanatical love of The Prisoner that allowed me to understand why anyone would want to wear a spacesuit and go to a convention. Because I used to have a lame little Number 6 pin, and I would wear it to game cons, back in the day.
Oh, that reminds me of this one time I went to a huge game con, and some guy was selling “Put Wesley In The Airlock” buttons. I went up to his table, and he saw me coming, and tried to hide them, but I got there too fast, and I took one. While I was looking at it, I could see the huge drops of sweat falling off his Hutt-like visage, and I asked him, “How much?” He told me 2.50, or something like that, so I bought it, and wore it on my Batman tshirt the rest of the day. That was cool.
Anyway, about Coldplay: I really like this CD. It gives me the same feeling that Hatful of Hollow or The Queen Is Dead did, when I was in ^H^H suffering through high school: it’s soothing, but also kinda of melancholy, but not in a depressing sort of way. The song “Don’t Panic” is really wonderful. I wonder if they’re fans of Arthur Dent & Co?
Enough stream of consciousness ramblings. I wanted to write about a few things that happened today.
I shot some promos for TNN today, for this huge TNG marathon they’re doing when they launch TNG on TNN (I love that; it’s like NBA on NBC, but without the sex scandals, drugs, and fatherless children all over the freaking country). It was REALLY fun. Promos are those things where you see someone say, “Hi! I’m Gary Coleman, and you’re watching the Hour of Yaks, right here on UHF channel 67, Baton Rouge!” They can be REALLY lame, but I always have fun with them. I get the copy, which is usually something like, “Hi, I’m ___, and you’re watching Star Trek: The Next Generation, on Time Warner Cable.” So when I do it, to amuse myself, I say, “Hi! I’m former UN Secretary General Boutros Butros Gali…” and “Hi! I’m the ghost of former Phillipine dictator Ferdinand Marcos…” or whatever. Hey, it makes me laugh, and then when I do the REAL promo, I’m smiling, and people see me all happy on TV, which is good.
So I’m hosting this 5 day marathon, where they’re going to show the “best” episodes of TNG, as decided by the fans, and stuff.
Okay, I gotta stop here, and give a bit of perspective. I thought I’d open up the old IM, since I’m sitting here, anyways, and I’ve spent the last…well, however long it is running Parachutes twice on the CD player, just answering IM’s. I really didn’t think that many people would be interested. I really didnt. I know that sounds like “Singles” where the guy says, “Everyone here has a thing” and the girl says, “I think your thing is that you don’t have a thing.” I’m really not trying to have any false modesty here, or not have a thing…it just surprises me, that’s all. So I open up the IM, and I get over 50 IMs. And I want to reply, you know, and then I get sucked into all these conversations, because these people are pretty cool and making me laugh (Katie) and sending me silly stuff (soma dawling)…and next thing I know, it’s almost midnight, and I haven’t even gotten close to finishing the stories I want to tell for today.
Boy, I am really rambling tonight. Oh well. Deal.
So TNN is doing this marathon, and they’re having 5 of us host 5 days of it, doing things like “I’m Wil, and you’re watching the Five Day Mission on TNN!” and stuff. And I’m shooting the “stay tuned” things, and that sort of thing, and I remembered just how much fun I had when I was doing that show. Now, I know that most people really didn’t like the whole Wesley thing, and there were lots of times when the writing REALLY pissed me off, but, over all, it really WAS a good time. And sometimes I miss it.
Okay, nearly 2 hours have passed between the last paragraph, and this one, because Anne came home, and I haven’t seen her all day, so we sat at the table and talked, while we waited for the bread I was baking to finish. I swear, there is nothing like the smell of bread baking in your house to make everything right with the world, you know?
Now I’m listening to the soundtrack from Almost Famous, and I am a sucker for “Tiny Dancer” (I was long before the movie, though, so gimmie a break, okay? Why do I bring up Tiny dancer, well, because I want nothing more in this world than to go get into bed next to my wife, and hold her hand while I drift off to sleep.
I have LOTS of cool stuff to talk about from today, but I’m gonna write it up tomorrow. So you can comment on this entry,or wait until the next one. It’s up to you.
G’night.

Romper Stomper

From an Email I got this morning:

Wil:
I’m writing a book about Romper Room and came across a TV appearance of you on a California show with Miss Nancy. You told the hosts you used to watch Romper Room “religiously.”
I’m writing to people who were on the show, or who watched the show, to get their impressions of Romper Room. I’m hoping you can answer some questions. What made you watch it? What’s your strongest memory of the program? Were you ever on Romper Room?

My response:
I was never on “Romper Room”, but here is my clearest memory, from watching it as a kid:
I would sit on the floor of our house (which was really a chicken coop behind my grand parent’s farmhouse. Yes, we were that poor), my fingers dug deeply into the golden shag carpeting, my tiny fists balled with anticipation, as Miss Nancy would hold up her magic mirror, and ask it to tell her, today, “did our friends have fun at play?” I would sit up straight, stare into the glorious black and white 13-inch Zenith TV, and wait patiently as she saw Steven, and Jody, and Tina, and Todd, and Michael, and every-fucking-body except WIL! Hey! Miss Nancy! I’m sitting right here! I’ve had LOTS of fun at play! I did the DooBee dance! I ran around pretending I was a fireman! I HAD FUN AT PLAY! WHY CAN’T YOU SEE ME?! AM I INVISIBLE?! *pant* *pant*
I never watched tv shows like the ones I did when I was 4. Jesus, does anyone?

Save Ferris

I’m listening to Cake right now. Have you noticed that Cake is one of those bands that evokes a visceral reaction in people? I mean, they either really, really love it, or they really, really hate it. I dunno, maybe it’s just me.
Here’s the story of Ferris:
My wife is the coolest, ever. You know that stupid corny hallmark-card thing about someone making you want to be a better person? Well, sorry, I like to be anti and all Emo and shit, but it’s true. I love my wife more than anything, and she really does make me want to be a better person. I could gush about her for pages here, but I’m not gonna. I am going to exercise restraint.
Oh, fuck that. I knew from the moment that I saw Anne that I would marry her. Isn’t that weird? Has that ever happened to someone who wasn’t in some godawful Nora Ephron movie? And the way we met…it was all timing. My best girlfriend, Stephanie, worked with Anne for YEARS, but she never introduced us…I mean, she even babysat Anne’s kids, at MY PARENT’S HOUSE when we were younger, and she never introduced me to Anne…because, when we look back at stuff, the timing was just all wrong. We weren’t ready to meet each other. But when we did, it was bootylicious.
Anne is beautiful. I mean, she is fucking hella rad.
Hella.
Hella.
Hella.
I always joke that when we are out, people look at us and complain that there’s another hot babe with a geek. I say that I am Bob Goldthwait to her Nikki Cox, David Copperfield to her Claudia Schiffer, Sigfried to her Roy…I truly adore my wife, and that’s all I have to say about that.
One of the things I adore about her is how she has what Soul Coughing called “Boundless Love”. Anne works every day, takes her kids to school, picks them up, deals with their dad, and still has time to make me feel like I’m important in her life.
We have this fake dog poop that someone gave us a long time ago, and we have the game that we play, where we try to put the poop in each other’s stuff. Recently, I stuck it in the toe of her shoe, which was in her suitcase. She found it when she put her shoe on in Vegas. She put it in the exact middle of my bed, under the sheets, and it scared the hell out of me when I jumped into bed around 230 or something last week. My point is, my wife is cool, okay? Yesterday, when I was sobbing like a little bitch in our bedroom, she came in, sat next to me, put her arm around me, and just sat there, loving me. I could feel it. Then she gave me Kleenex, and told me that she’d leave me alone until I felt better.
So you need to know that to understand the story of Ferris.
Anne is a sucker for hard-luck cases, especially animals. One time a few years ago, she almost got hit on the freeway, because she saw a kitten running in the slow lane…so she stopped her car right there and got out to save the kitten, but it got hit by a car just before Anne could get to it, and Anne sat on the freeway, holding the kitten while it died in her hands.
She was fucked up about it for months.
So about 18 months ago, she and I are on our patio, and we hear this meowing coming from our garage. We both thought it was one of my cats, Biko or Sketch, (who are both inside cats, but occasionally get out), so we went to look…and out comes this skinny black cat with no tail. Anne immediately falls in love with him, and she takes him to the vet, to get him healthy again, while I make the “Found Cat” posters. Long story short: We thought he was going to die, the vet said he was just dehydrated, we got him shots, and Anne named him “Felix”. He has lived with us ever since, and he is one ot the coolest cats, ever.
Shortly after Felix came to live with us, a woman Anne works with told us about this guide dog she trained, who was also named Felix. She told us that Felix works for a guy up in Canada (and you can’t spell “runaway production” without Canada!), and Felix had been hit by a car, and they weren’t sure if he would be able to work as a guide dog any more. I guess when a service dog has to be retired, they give the person who trained that animal the right of first refusal as a place to live out their life, but Rita (Anne’s friend) lives in an apartment with her husband and young son. Not the best place for a 90 pound lab. So Rita asked her if Felix could come to live with us, and of course Anne said “yes”. Long story short: Felix was okay, and he’s still working with his guy in Canada. Which is great, because I can only imagine what the bond between service dog and owner must be like. I would just speculate that it’s similar to parent-child, and I always hoped that Felix would be able to stay with his guy. In the process of waiting to see if Felix would come live with us, we got on a list for guide dogs who flunk their final exam, because we have wanted a dog for AGES, and we thought that would be the best way to get one.
We are ADAMANTLY opposed to pet stores selling dogs and cats, by the way /soapbox.
Anyway, cut to Memorial day this year. We have no dog. Anne is taking the kids to Home Depot, so they can buy the materials necessary to make a grind rail (they’re all about the short boards. I’m all about the long boards. It makes for an interesting dynamic when we skate).
Funny aside: Ryan (12) and Nolan (10) were talking about how excited they were to get a grind rail, which they kept calling a “pole”. Nolan says to Ryan, “We TOTALLY have to get some grinding wax, Ryan!” Ryan replies, “Yeah, so we can wax our pole!”
Okay, so they’re leaving the Home Depot, and instead of going to the Left, to get back to the freeway like they always do, Anne goes right, and passes this bus stop, where this tiny little dog is chewing on a t-shirt. Anne says that she felt compelled to stop and save her. So she did. As soon as she got out of the car, the dog ran into some Oleander bushes, and Anne spent close to 30 minutes getting her out, and took her to an Emergency vet, for some shots and to get the ticks out of her ears.
So Anne brings home this skinny, 27 pound, depressed little dog, and, I must be totally honest, I was pissed. I was so mad that she had made this huge decision to take on the responsibility of a dog without consulting me. I mean, we have enough responsibilities already, you know? We really had it out. There was much gnashing of teeth, and Sir Robin soiled his armor. We finally agreed to keep her for a few days, and see how she was, and if she wasn’t any better, we’d take her to a shelte where they don’t euthanize the animals.
Well, she was terrified of me. She had CLEARLY been abused by a man, and she was terrified of men. “Great,” I thought, “I’m going to be responsible for a dog who never lets me pet her. Terriffic.”
And for the first 12 hours–wait, I know I’m not supposed to start a sentence with a conjunction. But I can’t spell for shit, so why are you complaining now? Jeeze. Get off my back, Mrs. Lee [9th grade english teacher who flunked me because she said I couldn’t write. I win.]–for the first 12 hours, she sat by the side door, never moving, never eating, just looking depressed. But somehow, my amazing wife loved this dog enough, and totally turned her around. Within 12 hours she was wagging her entire body, eating, chasing a tennis ball, and generally acting like a dog. And she let me pet her, and started following me everywhere around our house.
So we decided to keep her. But she needed a name…and that was very important. I wanted to give her a name from Mythology…”Athena” or “Psyche” or something. I know, lame. Deal. The kids wanted to name her “Haley”, which didn’t work for me at ALL, because in high school I had the most painful crush on a girl named Haley…so we decided that we’d try on different names for a few days, and the right one would reveal itself to us.
Anne comes home from work the next day, comes in the door, looks at me and says, “Ferris.”
“Bueller?”
“Sort of. Save Ferris!”
Okay, there is this band from OC that we LOVE called Save Ferris. They play with our friends fairview a lot. They rule.
Anne says, “Get it? Save Ferris. I totally saved Ferris!”
I looked at the dog, looked at her sweet, marble eyes and soft little puppy-fuzzy-head, and it was perfect. Not surprising, considering that it came from my wife.
So her name is “Ferris”.
Isn’t that a cool story?
Anyone?
Anyone?
Bueller?
Bueller?

Mostly Harmless

I can never think of clever, funny, or thoughtful titles for my entries. That bothers me. But then I think of New Order, one of my favorite bands from my youth…not a single one of their song titles had anything to do with the actual songs…”Blue Monday”…”Everything’s Gone Green”…? So I think it takes some of the pressure off of me…which makes me think of something I realized about myself recently: I’m always in competition with myself…You know how you tell kids, “don’t be so competitive with each other”? Well, I tell my step-kids that all the time…sometimes it is just not that important who wins at Yahtzee…sometimes…
Anyway, I was thinking, (bad idea), and it hit me: I am in a state of constant competition, with myself. It is impossible for me to be happy with anything I’ve done, and I always work hard to best my last effort…so being in a movie like Stand By Me when I’m 12 isn’t exactly the best place to start…I’ve been trying to best that one for years. Somehow I think “The Curse” just didn’t quite do it, do you?
I bring this competition thing up because tonight I rehearsed with my sketch comedy group for this big show we’re doing at the huge Vegas 30th anniversary of Star Trek convention. I pulled together some of the best sketch comedians I know, who are also great improvisers, to do this show. I’m really excited about it, because the Star Trek fans are going to see something that they really don’t expect.
So we’re working on it tonight, at the ACME theatre, where I just finished a wonderful sketch show, that was really fun, and VERY well reviewed, if I say so myself, and I got to thinking about how hard I worked to get my funny in order for the show I did there, and the funny that I couldn’t get together for the newest show (I’m not in it). And I realized something, I have to stop competing with myself, because either way, I’m not going to win…I mean, how do you beat yourself? (Well, other than the obvious, impure-thoughts way that seems to be so popular on the internet) Isn’t there a movie where the hero can’t fight the villian, because they’re really the same person, and each knows what the other will do at any given time? Not Face/Off. I mean a good movie. If it wasn’t, then someone should write one, dammit. And I want a free T-shirt from it. And I want to be invited to the premiere, but I won’t show up. I’ll be drunk at some skeevy bar around the corner…that’d be cool.
Sorry, I digress. I do that a lot.
Today, Anne and I cleaned out our entire kitchen. Top to bottom. Holy shit, the junk we’ve accumulated over the past year is staggering. Even more staggering were the hundreds of those icky meal-bugs that like to get into your flour and hang out. Gross. After we cleaned it out, I was standing in the kitchen, and the whole place just felt better…now stay with me here, because I know this sounds lame, but swear I could feel the energy just flowing better in there, you know? Like I’d cleaned out the place, so the Chi could flow more smoothly…or maybe I’d just left the gas on in the oven. I’m not sure.
Tonight, I rehearsed the show, and it went really well, all things considered. Like all great shows, we have not enough time, and not enough props and all that, but I think we’re going to put on a great show, a show that we can be proud of. Hey, if it works, maybe we’ll take it on the road, or something.
Oh, and if anyone cares, you can hear me on KXLU 88.9 FM here in LA, tomorrow night at 9PM PDT. Keith and I are promoting the charity J.Keith vanStraaten show that we’re doing Thursday.
Some good news, mixed in amongst the bullshit: The guy who runs Surly Heckler emailed me about my first Killoggs post, and wanted to reprint it at his site, which is really cool, because his site is REALLY funny…I hope I don’t become the butt of some cruel joke, though. And the guy who linked to me as hell offered some sort of I think apology, but I’m not sure.
I also found this really, really funny page…
and this really, really cool interview with the creator of quite possibly the greatest comic strip ever, Bloom County. I put Bloom right up there with Fox Trot and Doonesbury, next to The Far Side. I also just noticed that this dumb little site I made is currently number 1 at blogdex. I have no idea why, or what that means, but being number one on anything is really, really cool… and kinda weird. =/
And FINALLY,
I’ve gotten lots of cool emails from people since I left this afternoon. You know who you are, and you have touched me, again.
Not that way, sicko. In the good way.
Jeeze! That’s not what I meant, either. God! Damn! Get your mind out of the gutter!
Sheesh. I’m going to sleep now.
Play nice.
Wil
Oh, stories I wanna tell: The origin of “Uncle Willie” the story of Ferris, and how Anne saved me from getting eaten by a bear.

My Velouria

First, I have been overwhelmed with the support, the kindness, and the sheer volume of comments, and emails regarding my last entry.
I have to say “Thank you” to everyone. It’s simply amazing, how many different people, separated by distance, culture, carreer, and whatever, are feeling the same things I’m feeling. The amazing thing is, people said things to me that I’ve thought at one time or another, and forgotten…things about “risk” and things about “giving up”. I thank you, all of you, from the bottom of my heart, for opening yourselves to me, and sharing with me your advice and experiences. I’d like to post them all, in the future, and share your wisdom with the masses.
Mixed in amongst the emails was one from my mom. My mom told me that she’d read my Weblog, and that she was “proud to have given birth to a person like me”. She told me that she could feel my hurt, and that I should “be sure to cry all the tears, because the joy is waiting in the last tear.”
So that’s what I did. I went into my bedroom, sat on my bed, and this 29 year old man sobbed like an 8 year old child. Big sobs. The kind that hurt your throat. The kind that shake your body, and soak your face with tears. I cried so long, and so hard, I don’t even know what I cried about. I cried for the hurt of losing the job, and for the hurt of being attacked by idiots who don’t even know me. I cried for all the times I picked on my little brother when we were kids, and all the times I’ve sat here at my computer and let my wife go to bed alone while I worked on this site. I cried for every bad choice I’ve ever made, but mostly, I cried for myself. I cried, and when I thought I was done, I cried some more. Then, just as quickly as it started, it stopped. And I felt better.
Then I made the enormous mistake of checking my logs, so I could see where people are coming from, and thank them for linking to me and I found that some guy uses my site as “hell”. Thanks, fucker.Some dude at metafilter says “I’m too good” to join them. Yeah, I can’t wait to get into that shit. Please, can I join your little club, so you can hold me up to further villification, without ever getting to know me? Can I PLEASE spend even LESS time with my family, sitting here at this computer, so I can try to change the minds of people who are going to judge me no matter what, without EVER walking an inch in my shoes? So you didn’t like my fucking character on a fucking tv show I haven’t even worked on in ten. fucking. years. Thank you for blaming ME for the writing of a fictional character, on a fictional tv show. That makes complete sense, considering all the input the writers would take from a 15 year old kid. Have you ever bothered to ask? Did it ever occur to you that I just said the lines I was given? I’m sorry Wesley messed up your precious television show. Fortunately, there were whole seasons after I quit, without me. So you can watch them, and feel better. But don’t take it out on me. I’m just an actor, doing the best job he could with what he was given. So I worked on a TV show. So I have made a living as an actor. Big deal. I’m no better than anyone else, and I have neversaid I was, or thought I was. I am just a geek, looking for validation from his fellow geeks.
Congratulations, sir. I’m glad that your empty, pathetic existence is made whole by shitting on a person who you’ve never even met.
You know, I promised myself that I wouldn’t get into this. I promised myself that I wouldn’t get sucked in to the mire with the lowest common denominators. Well, guess what, guys? I don’t care if you’re “The Guy From TV” or if you’re “The kid from math class”. Being personally attacked hurts. It sucks. I wonder, do you spend a fifth of the time you spend dumping on me doing something constructive with your life? I certainly hope so. You people are just like the people in High School who never took the time to get to know me, and judged me before I even showed up.
Aren’t we mostly geeks here, online? Didn’t we all, at one time or another, get bullied by “the cool kids”? Don’t any of you remember what that felt like?
My mom said to me that she was amazed at how honestly I revealed my feelings. She said that I’ve always reacted in anger when I am hurt, and she didn’t think I was angry. Well, I wasn’t, but I am now.
So here’s the deal, people: You can read this, or not, and you can see the stuff at my site, or not. But if you are going to judge me, me, the person, Wil, who gets up in the middle of the night when his kids are sick, and worries about making the bills this month, and tries to find time in the day to spend with his wife, and works his ass off for auditions that are going to go to the flavor of the month, anyway, well, you can fuck all the way off. Zip up your spacesuit, and hurry to the comic shop. Your weekly supply of “Magic” cards has just come in.