Drew from Fark and I are doing this thing for Tech TV on December 9 (more details when the date gets closer) and TTV called today for a pre-interview.
All talk shows have a pre-interview. It’s where a producer asks a future guest lots of questions, to detemine what the host will ask the guest when the guest is actually on the show. That’s what’s on those blue cards that Letterman is always smacking around, and it lets the host “control” the interview better.
(Big industry secret: on most of the late night talk shows, if a guest strays too far from the questions on that card, that guest will never be invited back to the show. I know people who have been shown the cards and told, “[Host] will ask you this, and you’ll say this. Then [Host] will ask this, and you will say this, then [band leader] will say this, then [wacky character] will run in and say this . . .” it’s almost as scripted as Average Joe.)
Well, here’s how lame I am: the pre-interview used up all my creative energy for the day, and I just wasn’t able to make any progress on my rewrite. Which is a bummer for me, because it’s sort of like waiting for the next chapter in a serialized book to come out.
Well, I guess that’s exactly what it is, isn’t it?
I was determined to make some progress, but it was like standing at an old TV with one hand on the rabbit ears, and another on the fine tuning, trying to get enough of the static out of the way to see the show . . . but there was just no way to get a clear picture today.
Eventually, I gave up, and spent the afternoon playing with the server on my desk, breaking and fixing code and junk. I also wasted tons of time at TotalFark. Dudes, if you don’t have a TotalFark membership, you missed out on one of the funniest threads in history today.
When I was done not making any progress installing qmail or understanding DNS, I thought I’d make myself a mix CD on my iBook, with some music to listen to while I did cooking and cleaning later on.
I started out with stuff like Flogging Molly, Radiohead, Get Up Kids, Tenacious D, Chixdiggit, The Cure, Underworld, Pixies, I was even going to put some Iron Maiden on it . . . oh yeah, it was gonna be an alternative rockathon.
But when I sat down to make the playlist, Anne called.
With Anne on my mind, here’s the playlist that I ended up burning:

Pictures Of You — The Cure
Fragile — Sting
A Summer Song — Chad and Jeremy
Jump — Aztec Camera
See A Little Light — Bob Mould
Under The Milky Way — The Church
Going To California — Led Zeppelin
Nothing In This World Can Stop Me Worryin’ Bout That Girl — The Kinks
Whenever You’re On My Mind — Marshall Crenshaw
I’m A Loner Dottie, A Rebel… — The Get Up Kids
Texarkana — R.E.M.
More Than This — Roxy Music
Gold — Spandau Ballet
I’d Rather Go Blind — Etta James
Bad — U2

Yeah. I am such a sissy. But don’t let it get around, okay?

I just got the official announcement from Powell’s . . .
Turns out that WWdN readers have sent Dancing Barefoot to the top of the Literature and Sci-Fi charts!!!
And, as if that wasn’t exciting enough . . . because of you guys, Powell’s is completely sold out!!
Now, the great thing is, Powell’s is a member of the Booksense network of Independent bookstores, and they will report this great sales information to other Booksense members. This significantly increases the odds of other Booksense members carrying my book, or having me come to their stores for signings.
Dancing Barefoot would not exist without my lame website. My lame website would not exist without the people who read it . . . and the sales of Dancing Barefoot would be nothing without your support.
So please accept this enormous thank you, from the bottom of my geeky heart. 🙂

Couple of announcements:

• I’m stunned, but thrilled that my autographed 1st edition of Dancing Barefoot went for over 400 bucks on eBay. Even better was how excited the buyer was to have the book!
• I saw that another guy has put up a signed first edition auction, of his own. So if you want one that’s signed, and you don’t need it personalized, it’s a good opportunity for ya. It’s authentic. He was one of the first buyers to order a bulk order from me a few months ago.
• I’m equally stunned and thrilled that my Borg9 shirt did so well, too. I have a few more of those, and that auction got quite a few bids, so I’ll probably put up another one.
• My friend and former roommate, Chris Hardwick, is performing a 12 minute Rock Opera based on Tron tonight. I saw it on Sunday night, and it’s one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen in my life.
• My schedule for LosCon this Friday and Saturday has been finalized, and I added all the details on the Conventions page. I am particularly excited about my reading on Friday afternoon.
• I found some copies of my book this morning. I’ll bring them to LosCon to sign and sell. Lots of people have e-mailed asking if there is any chance they can get one, so if there are any left after the con, I’ll put up a dutch auction.
• My favorite hockey team, the Los Angeles Kings, are currently sitting atop the Pacific (Smythe) Division!!
• On Monday Tuesday, I will have an epic announcement.

I don’t know how much rewrite I’m going to get done today . . . we have a lot of preparation to do for Thursday, and I feel guilty writing while Anne does stuff around the house. I’ll post whatever I get done.

I made some more progress on the rewrite today. It’s not as much as I’d hoped for, but I’ve got a lot of plates spinning, and this juggling bear keeps dropping his balls.
Stupid bear.
I did some searching of that knot, and explored the strange ambivalence I had when Jonathan asked me about my sketch comedy. Here’s the 1.7a version of that stuff:

“How did it go?”
“I took my sketch group out there and we did a show. It was really fun.”
“Oh! I heard about that. I hear you’re really funny.”
“Yeah, I try to entertain the kids.” I said. The knot nearly tightened so violently in my chest, it felt like a heart attack. I felt intensely uncomfortable and embarrassed. The feeling surprised me; here was the one thing that I’d been doing, and doing well, I was very proud of my sketch work, yet I didn’t want to talk about it.
“I may be funny in some sketch comedy shows that hardly anyone ever sees,” I thought, “but I’m struggling to pay my bills, I can’t get hired for anything in Hollywood, and all of you guys have gone on to be rich and famous. I may be funny, but I sure fucked up the biggest opportunity of my career when I quit ‘Star Trek.'”
I shoved several carrots in my mouth and I changed the subject.
“Have you been watching TNG on TNN?”
“Yeah,” he said, “It’s amazing how those old shows hold up.”
“Except Angel One,” I said.
“And Code of Honor,” he said.
“No vaccine!” we said in unison, quoting one of the actors in that show and laughed. The knot loosened.
“It’s so weird for me to watch them,” I said, “because I was so young. It’s like my high school yearbook has come to life.”
“That’s because you”ve actually grown up since then,” he said, “the rest of us have just gotten fatter.”
“Don’t let Marina hear you say that,” I said.
He thought for a moment, and added, “Okay, all of us except Marina.”
He winked. I smiled. The knot untied itself.

It’s not quite there, but it’s better. Writing about it also forced me to open some doors that I’d rather leave closed: I quit Star Trek to do other things in my career, but ended up doing other things in my life. I can’t say I regret that, because my life is really quite good. My career is in the shitter, but I’m not my career.
Yeah, right.
I keep telling myself that, but I still don’t fully believe it. I often feel like I had so much promise in my career (life) but I squandered it. I suppose the good side of that is I managed to blow most of my chances because I was young and immature, unlike most of my peers who blew their chances (lives) with drug abuse. That’s all well and good, but it’s cold comfort when I miss out on yet another fantastic acting opportunity, or when my agents dropped me earlier this year. Of course, with the notable exception of Patrick, the rest of the cast hasn’t exactly used Star Trek as a massive launching point for their acting careers, either. I suppose they don’t need to, and I’m sure they’re all content wherever they are in their lives (careers) . . . but I wonder if they ever feel like they missed any opportunities . . .
Woah. Got a little off-topic there. Sorry about that.
I spent some time today working on more of the story. I didn’t get very far, but I’m fairly happy with what I accomplished:

“Did you get the latest draft of the script?” Jonathan said to Brent.
“Oh my god, they’re talking about Nemesis!” My inner fanboy said.
‘shut up!” I said, “You’re not a fanboy here. You’re a peer. Be cool.”
I took my own advice and stood there, silent, and listened to them talk about the movie. Production hadn’t started yet, but I could tell that they were excited about putting on their uniforms and getting back into character.
While they talked, I felt like a grounded kid, sitting at the living room window, watching his friends play kickball in the street.
“They want to make some substantial changes to the wedding,” Brent said.
“I like it the way it is,” Jonathan said.
“Well, I’m talking with Stuart and Logan about it,” Brent said, “We’ll see what happens.”
“Is this really the last one?” I asked, in spite of myself.
“Yeah,” Brent said.
“I think so,” Jonathan said.
Illusions of returning to the bridge of the Enterprise, awoken just a month earlier on Star Trek: The Experience, quickly faded. In the hallway, the elevator bell rang again.
“That’s really sad,” I said, “It’s like the end of an era.”
“For all of us,” I thought.
“We’ve done it for so long,” Brent said, “I think it’s time for me to do something new. I’m getting too old to play Data.”
“I’m the only one who’s changed. They’ve just gotten older.” Jonathan’s words echoed in my mind.
A deep, commanding voice bounced off the marble floor of the hallway, and filled the room before its creator crossed the threshold.
“Are there Star Trek people in this room?” it boomed, “I just love those Star Trek people!”
We all turned to the door, as Patrick Stewart walked in.
Patrick is one of the most disarming people I’ve ever met. If you only know him as Captain Picard, or Professor Xavier, his mirthful exuberance is shocking. Patrick is one of the most professional and talented actors I’ve ever known, but he’s also one of the most fun.
“Bob Goulet” I haven’t seen you in ages, man! You look great!” he said to Brent, and hugged him.
“Jonathan Frakes! I am a big fan,” he smiled at Jonny and hugged him to.
He turned to me. “Who are you? You look familiar, but . . . I can’t place you.”
“Wil Wheaton, Mr. Stewart,” I said.
He looked thoughtful for a moment and shook his head. “I’m sorry, but it doesn’t ring a bell.”
“I was Wesley on Next Generation,” I said.
“Get out! You were never that young!” he said. “Do you know how old that makes me?”
“I do, sir,” I replied, solemnly, “I believe we spent some time in a shuttlecraft together.”
He nodded slowly, but remained unconvinced. “Go on . . .”
“That’s all I’ve got, man,” I laughed.
Patrick smiled broadly and said, “Wil, darling, you look wonderful.” He held his arms wide, and pulled me into a warm embrace. “I am so happy to see you!”
“You too,” I said.
He held me at arm’s length, and looked at me. Even though Patrick and I are the same height, I felt, like always, that he towered above me.
“I like that shirt, Wil. It’s very cool.”
He looked at Jonathan, then at Brent. We all wore black shirts. Brent and Jonathan wore black pants. Patrick wore a blue shirt and khaki pants.
“I guess I didn’t get the memo about wardrobe,” he said.
“It’s okay,” I said, “I don’t think anyone will notice.”
“Gentlemen, we’re ready for you downstairs,” one of the convention volunteers said from the doorway.
I felt a surge of adrenaline as we walked to the elevator.

I’ve noticed that almost everything I write lately comes out with great ease. I don’t have to search a lot of for words and feelings, and I spend considerably less time staring out the window at the Big Tree looking for them, like I did with Dancing Barefoot.
Something strikes me, as I recall these moments: the joy. I felt so much pure, unspoiled joy when I was around those guys, it was like being wired to a droud. I used to miss the chances at fame and fortune that were a consequence of my departure from Star Trek. Now, however, I just miss the joy that I should have embraced when I was there.

I’m making some little changes to Dancing Barefoot for the next printing. I’ve done lots of readings from the book in the past few months, and I’ve noticed certain passages that benefit from the addition of a word or phrase, or the removal of stuff that I thought was good when I wrote it, or for whatever reason has never connected with an audience.
Here’s where you, dear reader (wow. I can’t believe I said that) come in: if you’ve read Dancing Barefoot, and you’ve spotted a typo, you can help me catch anything that I’ve missed. I think it’s pretty solid, but I know that the current printing has at least one.
Thnka yuo fro your’re help!1