Trent: Yeah, man just kinda… you know, you got these claws and you’re staring at these claws and your thinking to yourself, and with these claws you’re thinking, "How am I supposed to kill this bunny, how am I supposed to kill this bunny?"
Sue: And you’re poking at it, you’re poking at it…
Trent: Yeah, you’re not hurting it. You’re just kinda gently batting the bunny around, you know what I mean? And the bunny’s scared Mike, the bunny’s scared of you, shivering.
        -Swingers

I should really be freaking out now that three days have passed (eight, if you count exactly on the calendar and include the weekend — which I don’t, but I didn’t want any of you weekend-counters to feel left out) and I still haven’t heard anything about the super teriffic Sci-Fi hosting gig that isn’t on the Sci-Fi Channel.

But I’m a level 27 Bard, with a billion ranks in Sense Motive (plus Epic Skill Focus) and Regie’s Ruby Ring of Really Reliable Scrying. In other words, I usually know when I’ve gotten or lost a gig with laser-like precision. I can feel it in my soul when a decision has been made, even if that decision is made on the other side of the world. I know that’s totally ooga-booga, but it’s true. I’ve been making sense motive checks all day long, and they’re either hiding behind a wall of lead and Kryptonite, or they haven’t made a decision, yet.

Oh! They just made a decision and — oh, wait. That’s just gas. My bad.

I will admit to leaping up and racing to the phone whenever it rings,
and saying, "aw, nuts," when the caller ID doesn’t tell me that it’s my
manager giving me a ring up on the dictaphone, but other than that, and
the constant rolling of the d20, I haven’t really been obsessing about
it that much.

Anyway, I talked with Shane about it at length today, because he’s been involved in programming like this from both sides of the table. I didn’t tell him about the R³R²S, but we still came to the conclusion that it’s still too early to panic. The most likely option right now is that a decision simply hasn’t been made. Does that mean they’re looking at other guys? Probably. Does that mean I should freak out? I don’t think so. All I can do is give my best audition, which I did, and hope that the other things I bring to the table outweigh however good looking the other guys are. I’m also pretty sure I’ll have to dodge a Kimmel on the Turn and River.

I think I’ll make a call tomorrow, so I at least know if I’m buying a case of Guinness to celebrate or drown my sorrows. Hey, either way, I get to drink a ton of Guinness.

To make the continued waiting as cute as possible, please enjoy this kitten:

(Thanks, W!)

"May the road rise with you."
    -PiL

All this week, Shane Nickerson is publishing older blog entries that never made the cut for one reason or another. He introduces each entry with a brief comment about it, then shares some wonderful writing that clearly deserved to make it past the internal censor who often paralyzes writers actors actors/writers guys like us.

This one, in particular, hit me where I live:

If you want the secret, I have it.

It’s about the work. Regardless of your chosen profession or station
in life, the work is what matters. Skip it and you will be caught.
Slack off, and others will catch up to you. Cut corners and you will
have to answer to yourself at some point.

Of course, that said, the hardest question to answer once it is
assumed that hard work is part of the equation is, "Now, what do I work
on?" Whatever you love. Work on whatever you love and don’t think about
the payoff, but instead the road. If part of your road is a continual
hunt for a payoff, so be it, but pick a life and career that makes you
happy even in the very pursuit of the thing you’ve chosen.

A couple of days ago, I had an epiphany: Around the time I came to Exile, I drove right off my Road. I started to take an interesting little side trip, (mostly to Prove To Everyone that I could do it) but I lost my map and couldn’t find my way back. I was so thoroughly off my road, I didn’t even realize I was driving around in circles and down dead end paths until it was way too late, and I was running out of gas.

Set phasers to Ramble, Mr. Worf:

When I went to the Grand Slam convention last weekend, I kept expecting to feel bad about it. I kept expecting to feel like I was a loser for going without anything new to show off and I really worked myself up about it. I really felt like I was in exactly the same place I was five years ago, and that seriously bummed me out.

But when I got there, that anticipated feeling never arrived. Despite my best initial efforts to really feel like a jerk, I really had a good time. I didn’t feel bad; I felt like I was at home. I felt like I was surrounded by like-minded people who all wanted to celebrate this stuff that we all love, and I felt like I had something unique and interesting to share with them. I loved how good and how right that felt, and at some point over the weekend, I realized that even though I was hanging out at a con, I’m not in the same place I was five years ago. I’ve grown as a writer, I’ve grown as a husband, and I’ve grown as a father. I’m smarter and wiser than I was five years ago, even if I haven’t accomplished as much as I’d hoped. There is no denying that I haven’t done what I’d hoped to do with acting or writing, but in all the other areas that truly matter, I’ve rolled several critical successes.

You know how everything happens for a reason? If I hadn’t gone to that convention and simply enjoyed the celebration of Sci-Fi and Sci-Fi fandom, if I hadn’t realized, accepted, and acknowledged that I really have grown and succeeded in the last five years, I wouldn’t have found the map back to my Road. Without it, I never would have been in the right place to have so much fun with the hosting audition, and I wouldn’t be waiting right now to hopefully hear good news about that job.

I thought about the last line of Just A Geek the other day, which I thought went something like, "I’m finally cool with all the Star Trek and Sci-Fi stuff, and I’m happy about that."

I just looked it up, and that’s not what it says. It actually says that I’m doing something that really makes me happy, which at the time was writing. It says a lot about my current state of mind, (and the unvarnished truth about myself at this moment) that I thought it said I was happy about my work on Star Trek and I was cool with all that stuff, though, doesn’t it?

When I watch TNG on G4, (and I do, almost every night,) no matter how hard I try to feel sad, or maudlin, or regretful, I just can’t do it. I see my friends, and I have fond memories of working with them. I see my work, and I feel proud (when I’m not laughing at the Ugly Grey Spacesuit) of a lot of the things I did with what I was given to work with. As a bonus, watching lots of TNG has brought back happy, lucid memories of of all sosrts of things I did when I was a teenager: I get flashes of painting 40K armies in my dressing room, going to Depeche
Mode concerts with my friends, watching movies like The Hidden and Alien Nation and Prince of Darkness at the AMC in Burbank with Darin when it was just 10 theatres (and 10 was HUGE back then), and going to different conventions all over the country to celebrate Star Trek. Of course, as I described in Just A Geek, there came a time where I didn’t have fun at the cons, and I started to resent them, but even those memories are hard to pull up as I watch these shows from the second and third seasons. Is it selective memory? Of course it is, and I’m totally fine with that.

I know I went over this in Just A Geek and Dancing Barefoot, but it’s worth it for me to go over it one more time: I don’t have to avoid or run away from science fiction because
I was a big part of a huge science fiction franchise, and I didn’t have the acting success I’d hoped for when I quit. I was a science fiction geek long before I was Wesley Crusher, and I’ll be a science fiction geek for the rest of my life. I can’t run away from fandom, because I can’t run away
from myself. I can’t run away from who I am. Resistance is futile.

When I read Shane’s post earlier this week, I initially responded to
what he said about the work. But as I reflected on it, I kept
thinking about the Road. When I knew what my Road was, I knew where my Road was, and I knew how to get back on it. I wasn’t as far off it as I thought, in fact. I just had to turn the wheel and step on the gas. It also helped to drive with my eyes open for a change.

My Road is paved with d20s and TRON DVDs and Atari 2600 games. It’s lit
by the glow of TNG and BSG episodes and the soundtrack is by Vangelis. It’s
patrolled by Rover and they sell Soylent Green in the rest stop vending
machines. The speed limit is 42, but if you flash your Bavarian Illuminati card, you can use the FTL drive to make it to Milliways in time for dinner.

I’m back on my Road, and nobody can take the sky from me.

As day two of the Big Wait draws to a close, I still haven’t heard anything. After a lifetime in this industry, I have learned that the chances of booking a job drop logarithmically with each day that passes, and I’m less optimistic than I was yesterday. The glass still appears half-full, but there is now a chance that it could be filled with deadly poison.

To put the waiting into perspective, please enjoy this picture of Mustard Man:

Well, Monday is pretty much over, and I haven’t heard anything yet about the possible hosting gig.

This waiting to hear thing? Yeah, it’s never any different than this. I could either obsess that the lack of new information means they’ve gone with another Kimmel cousin, or the lack of new information means that nothing has changed since last week. It’s a very Schrödinger’s Cat situation, and I’m happy to leave the job in a superposition until I get a chance to observe the results.

To help pass the time until I hear something, here’s a picture of a squirrel with huge nuts: