My brother just opened up his very first CafePress store! His current design is a parody of the 24Hr Fitness design, called 24Hr Fatness. I have one of his shirts, and let me tell you something, Curly, it gets quite a response from the ladies.
I asked Jeremy to tell WWdN readers why he made the shirts, and here’s what he had to say:

I did it because I was tired of seeing the 24Hr Fitness employees walking around who were more out of shape than me trying to be all like “hey, you should join 24Hr Fitness so you can get into shape”. Yeah, whatever tiny, you have cheese on your lip.
I just hope that Cafepress leaves it up there, they have a thingy about not selling things that resemble other products. So we’ll see. If they sell and it gets taken down then I’ll do it my damn self! Jenn [his wife] and I are going to be working on a bunch more stuff too. Jenn has the “Party Monkey” and “Drag Monkey” line she’s been doing for fun for years.

Am I buggin’ you? I don’t mean to bug ya…
Okay Edge, play the blues…

Question for the Brain Trust:
In 1989, I was on this thing called SeaTrek, that sailed out of Florida.
I really need to know what city we sailed from, and I can’t find a damn thing about it on Google, other than the SeaTrek hompage. (The only thing I found there was this photographic evidence of what a complete tool I was.)
I’m hoping that someone who reads this will know someone who knows someone who remembers where and when we set sail.
Can anybody give me a little help?
Update: In the comments, Joe pointed me to an old UseNet post, identifying the port as Miami. Thanks, Joe!

I few weeks ago, I was asked to write something about Kurt Cobain for Black Table.com, because today is the ten year anniversary of his suicide.
I am always flattered and grateful when someone asks me to contribute to something, because it makes me feel like a “real” writer, but I often have to decline, because writing takes time, and time is something I just don’t have right now.
This was different, though, because I thought I had an interesting take on Kurt Cobain’s death, so I accepted. I wrote it up, re-wrote it, and then got buried in the Star Trek convention and forgot to send it in until one day after the deadline.
So it didn’t make the article, which is a drag, because the other writers are all respected and they all wrote great things. It would have been cool to be alongside them. They tell me it was cut for space . . . but I just read the other contributions, and it’s pretty clear to me that I’m not yet in their league.
I’m thrilled that I’ve had this realization while I’m suffering a crisis of confidence at the tail end of a rewrite, and I’m terrified about the “sophomore slump.”
But since I already put the work into it, it seems stupid to just file it off in the “never got published” directory.
Here it is:
The first time I heard “Nevermind,” I wasn’t impressed. As far as I was concerned, it was just a poor rip off of The Pixies’ “Doolittle.” When “Smells Like Teen Spirit” took over eMpTyVee and every radio station in the country, I got burned out pretty damn fast.
Then I read an interview with Kurt Cobain in . . . I think it was
Rolling Stone. Maybe it was Spin. But he said that there wouldn’t be Nevermind without Doolittle. Kurt Cobain was influenced by The Pixies? Okay, I’ll give it another try.
I listened to the whole album three or four times and I was hooked. The only other album that has completely pulled me in like that was Radiohead’s OK Computer. I bought “Bleach” within a week, and stood in line to pick up “In Utero” when it was released. I still think that Kurt’s version of “The Man Who Sold The World” is one of the most beautiful and haunting things I’ve ever heard.
For as much as I loved the music, I completely hated Kurt Cobain’s antics. The destruction of vintage guitars enraged me, the dresses and outrageous behavior in interviews just annoyed me, and over time it became difficult for me to appreciate the music on its own. By the time Kurt ended his life, I’d lost interest in Nirvana, and I told my friend Dave, “Well, what do you expect? Poor Kurt had all his dreams come true, and he just couldn’t handle it. Maybe he ran out of vintage Strats to destroy.”
Dave did his best to convince me that rock had lost a pioneer. Without Kurt’s music, he said, there wouldn’t be Perl Jam, or Soundgarden, or Alice In Chains. Without Nirvana, he suggested, Guns N Roses may still be sitting atop Rock’s Mount Olympus.
“Meh. There’s one less Junkie in the world,” I said. The truth was, I’d recently lost a dear friend to suicide, and Kurt’s death brought back a lot of unresolved sorrow over my own loss.
Almost a year later, I was listening to Chet Baker, an influential Jazz musician who was also a heroin addict when he fell (some say jumped) out of an Amsterdam hotel window in 1988. Baker was a trumpet player, with a soulful voice. There was always a touch of sadness and longing in his lyrical style — be it musical or vocal. I’d been reading a lot of Burroughs at the time, and I called up my friend Dave to rave about Chet Baker’s “How Deep is the Ocean?”
I told him how I could feel Chet Baker’s sadness, and I wondered if his addiction played a part in his music, the way Burrough’s addiction clearly informed his writing.
“Oh, you mean like Kurt Cobain.” Dave said. A statement, not a question.
I thought for a second. “Yes. Exactly like Kurt Cobain. I never thought of it that way.”
“So you maybe have a different opinion of him now?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.” I surprised myself with my answer. “But I’ll never
forgive him for destroying all those vintage guitars.”
Dave laughed, “You’re such a dick.”
“Yes I am. But I’m a dick who can listen to Nirvana again.”
Here’s the part where I eulogize Kurt Cobain.
I didn’t know Kurt, and his death didn’t greatly impact my life. But I knew his music, and when I came to understand his addiction, and his frustrations with the music industry’s efforts to turn him into just another commodity, I felt sad for him, and mourned his loss.
I don’t think Kurt Cobain was that great a musician, and I can speak from experience, because even I was able to play along with most of Nevermind, without learning any new chords. But he was an amazing writer, and his real legacy can be seen in garage bands and on record store shelves all over the world. Dave was right: without Kurt Cobain and Nirvana, there would be no Perl Jam, no Soundgarden, no Alice in Chains, and Seattle would just be this mysterious city where it rains a lot.
I can’t believe it’s been ten years — a decade! — since Kurt Cobain died. Wherever he is, I hope he’s sipping Pennyroyal Tea.

As much as I wanted to turn this page into “The WWdN Dance” for April Fools, complete with annoying song and stupid animated gifs, I just didn’t have time. Fark, Homestarrunner, and Think Geek all had great things up, though.
Instead of making hilarious pranks, I was working like crazy to finish up the current draft of Just A Geek so I can get it turned in on time. I’m 99% done, but I have to leave now to go be Aqualad (\m/), so I won’t finish it until tonight. I could have been done this morning, if I hadn’t taken some time off from Just A Geek yesterday, so I could write the foreword to the Knights Of The Dinner Table Tales From The Vault Volume One.
Er, but it turns out that, due to a ripple in the very fabric of space-time itself, the Vault issue was already shipped to the printer . . . so a with a little reworking here and there, and I transformed my foreword into an article!
I’ve been given permission to share a sneak peak with you, dear monkeys. Enjoy it . . . if you dare!

I checked the clock when I heard my wife pull into the driveway: 2:OOPM.
What the hell? She’s not supposed to be back for another two hours! Crap!
A minute later, she called from the front door, “Wil? Are you home?”
“Uh, yeah,” I called back, as I scrambled to straighten up my desk. “I’m working in my office.”
I heard her footsteps on the stairs, and I knew that I was boned. There were about forty polyhedral dice on my desk, scattered around piles of graph paper, rule books, and partially-painted lead miniatures when she walked into the room.
“Honey, I know this looks bad . . . but it’s not what it seems.”
“Not what it seems?” She picked up a handful of dice, “What’s this?!”
“That’s . . . ” I looked in her fist. “That’s 3d6, 1d12, and 2d20.”
She made this strange growling noise, and rolled — okay, threw — the dice onto the table. The d6’s landed close to my hand, and showed the Number of the Beast.
“Hey! You rolled a critical success!”
She was not amused. “When I left this morning, all I asked you to do was wash the dishes, and they’re exactly where I left them! I only asked you to do one thing and . . .” She gestured wildly around my office, which, despite its name, is really not a place where much work gets done. Where most offices would have a bookshelf with reference material, I have a bookshelf covered with Simpsons figures, Star Wars toys, and an Enterprise D that lights up.
“. . . and you’re in here playing GAMES?!” She was going to blow. I saw a week, maybe two, of uncomfortable nights on the couch. I spoke quickly, before she could explode.
“I’m not playing games, I swear! I’m working on and article for a book.”
“Is it called 10 Quick Steps to Blowing Off All Your Responsibilities So You Can Spend the Day Goofing Off With HackMaster?”
“No, it’s called Knights of the Dinner Table.” I said.
“What is that, some sort of cookbook for nerds?”
“No! It’s a comic strip about guys who play Role Playing Games.” I said.
“Yeah, nerds.”

The exciting, turgid conclusion, is coming soon to a Knights of the Dinner Table near you!

TrekWeb has given Dancing Barefoot an amazing review that made me squeal like a little girl.
My little book earned 5 out of 5 stars (!), but my very favorite part of the whole review is this:

Accompanying Wheaton’s book are illustrations by Ben Claassen III. Like Wheaton’s tales, each illustration is a story unto itself that serve well in accompanying the stories. If I could visualize what Wheaton is thinking along the way, these illustrations would be among those thoughts.

Way to effing go, Ben!! I’m proud of my words, but they’re only part of the whole “experience” that I hope readers have, and I’m thrilled that the first review I’ve seen since O’Reilly published my book gives Ben the attention and credit that he so deeply deserves.