This is NOT titled “workin’ for the weekend.”

Last weekend, I spent the bulk of Saturday at my friend Sean and Caryn’s gallery, where I volunteered at a show called “Cruel and Unusual“, benefitting the West Memphis Three . There were tons of volunteers, and we formed different “teams”. The teams started out with official-sounding names like Team Parking Lot and Team Set Up The Tables.
It only took a few hours for new, more humorous teams to form, like Team I’m Going To Take A Leak, and Team Move The Trash Can From Here To Over There. I was a member of the ad-hoc Team Caution Tape, who were responsible for, you guessed it, hanging up yellow caution tape to keep the guests away from a dangerous-but-inviting construction site.
For a brief time I was on Team Keep The Papparazzi Out Of The Gallery, but we decided pretty quickly that it was far too ironic, and I ended up on Team Drink, where I discovered the boundless love that is Vitamin Water. Holy mother of crap about the Vitamin Water, man. This stuff is awesome. I drank so much of it, I got the radioactive pee.
There were several Big Time Celebrities scheduled to speak, including Jello Biafra and Winona Ryder, but I had to leave before they took the stage, because Anne and I were meeting John Kovalic and his wife Judith at this tikki-esque restaurant in Glendale called Damons.
John Kovalic was in town with his wonderful wife Judith, and their friends Letitia her husband Markus. We met up with them for dinner at this Tikki-esque restaurant in Glendale called Damons, where we had Mai Tais and steaks. Anne and I had a great time with them, and they’ve all been given a permanent spot on our extremely short list of Good People.
This weekend, Anne was out of town with her best friend, so it was just me and the dogs. I called some of my friends and tried to organize a poker night.
“Hey, It’s Wil. Anne’s out of town, and I’m just hanging here with a couple of bitches. You wanna come play cards?”
Sadly, everyone already had other plans. So I spent the entire weekend reading comic books and watching DVDs.
Update: I can’t believe I didn’t mention anything about the Improv show! I promise you that it’s not related in any way to my threat to kill my mind with beer.
I had a very good time, the audience seemed to really enjoy it, and the other improvisers were all very kind and talented. It wasn’t the best show I’ve ever been in, but it wasn’t the worst, by far. I could have done some things differently, like leaving a scene where I clearly wasn’t needed, and maybe not “driving” another scene too hard, but that’s just Monday morning New Choicing.
Afterward, I went next door to the new Amalfi restaurant, and hung out with some of my pals from ACME. I made it home around 2 a.m., but the adrenaline from the show (And the Bawls I drank before the show) kept me awake until almost 5. Three hours is all it took for me to figure out that I am the WORST NCAA College Game Day player in history. I am so bad, in fact, that when the computer kicked my ass for the 10th time in a row, a graphic of a hillbilly with no thumbs popped up, and he said “Hey! Eh bit eh ken beet y’all!” Shortly after that, I realized that it was probably time to go to sleep.
Did you get all the way through this without hearing Loverboy in your head? If so, you’re one up on me.

come and knock on heaven’s door

Note: I wrote this earlier this morning, but decided not to post it. It was really written for my dad, anyway.
I sent it to my him, and he called me a few minutes ago and said, “You should really put that on your website.” My mom shouted her agreement (from the kitchen, if I recognized the echo correctly.)
Since I spent most of my teenage years telling my parents off, I try to listen to them now, so I’m behaving myself, and publishing this, at their request.
Jeebus.
I just heard that Johnny Cash and John Ritter have died.
When I was 13, my parents took me and my siblings in their RV up to Yellowstone, through Nevada and Utah. It took three weeks, and we stopped at just about every national park along the way. On this trip, my dad brought a Johnny Cash tape, and he played it like crazy. One of the songs on that tape was Ring of Fire. That Johnny Cash tape was the only thing he played that I’d remove my walkman (and Iron Maiden) to hear.
The thing was, just from the sound of his voice, I knew Johnny Cash was the kind of guy who didn’t take shit from anyone. If you saw him, and you knew what was good for you, you just didn’t fuck with Johnny Cash. My friend Mykal met him a few years ago, though, and said that he just overflowed with kindness and appreciation for his fans.
While I was reading about Johnny Cash, an e-mail arrived that told me John Ritter had died, too. He was only 54.
My dad is only 54. 54 just doesn’t seem that old to me. It’s certainly not an age when we start thinking about people dying, I can tell you that.
My dad used to play little league with John Ritter.
I haven’t seen John Ritter in person in over ten years, but I felt like I had a sort of connection to him, because he knew my dad, and we’d done some charity things together back when I was a celebrity and did those sort of things.
But I have to be honest here. When I heard about these two men passing, the first thing I thought was, “Oh shit. My dad’s gonna die someday,” and of course all the thoughts that go along with that.
It seems like we always take time to say hi to our moms, and we always take time to tell our moms we love them.
I’m taking this time right now to tell my dad that I love him. I don’t say it enough.
I love you, dad.

New Choice

I’m doing Improv tonight at ACME. If you’re in Hollywood (or within reasonable driving distance) and you wanna see the comedy stylings of one Wil Wheaton and his good friend J. Keith vanStraaten, you should come out and see us.
Or not. I don’t care. I’m not the boss of you.
I haven’t performed since we did the EarnestBorg9 show at the Grand Slam Convention in Pasadena a few months ago . . . so I’m a little bit nervous. I’ve been playing warm-up games with myself all morning.
(Did I just admit to playing with myself?)
NEW CHOICE!
(Did I leave the coffee pot on?)
NEW CHOICE!
(If I ran down the street in just my robe, how far would I get before somone called the cops?)
NEW CHOICE!
(That fucking gardener is out there trying to kill my lawn again. I’ll sic the gnome on him! That’ll fix him good!)
. . .
Yeah, so I have to go release the Gnomes, and keep practicing. I hope I get funny by 10PM.

way out in the water, see it swimmin’

I’m working on a couple of writing projects right now, including Just A Geek, so my mind tends to wander quite a bit, as it looks for inspiration and trys to fix the things I can’t seem to fix when I’m *actively* writing.
Wednesday night, as I drove home, my mind wandered. I’m stuck in a rewrite, and I think I need to cut about 45 pages out of the middle of JAG. My mind was working on this, and weighing some alternate solutions when it said, “Hey, Wil.”
“What?” I said.
“You haven’t written in your weblog in a few days.”
“So? I’ve been busy. And you should be working on fixing JAG now.”
“Well, you should write more often. You were happier when you wrote daily. More relaxed, too. There’s an SUV in your blind spot. Slow down.”
I looked over my shoulder and saw a white Lincoln Navigator. If I could just figure out how to use my mind’s mysterious powers . . . I could go to Vegas, and get rich! I’d live in the Rain Man suite! I’d have hoo–
“We can’t afford to go to Vegas right now,” it said. “Listen: Tomorrow is September 11th.”
“Holy shit. It is? Already?”
“Yeah. If you weren’t News Fasting, you’d know. You should see how everyone is exploiting it, too. It’s really disgusting.”
“What do you want me to do about it?”
“Do something on your site, fucker. Write something to remind everyone about how we all came together on this planet in the aftermath of September 11th. And leave out all that stuff about the Bush Administration exploiting those victims for political gain. Everyone knows about that. Just honor the victims and their families. You can get in your cute little political opinion another time.”
It was a good idea, and that didn’t surprise me at all. My mind is full of good ideas. It was this mind, after all, that told me, “Dude, that girl Anne is hot.” It was this mind that gave me such brilliant turns of phrase as “The happy shit dance is the dance that’s sweeping the nation.” It is this mind that has said to me, countless times, “No more Guinness, Wil. It’s time to go home. And drink a glass of water when you get there.”
I have learned to listen to my mind.
“You’re right,” I said, “Let’s do something that reminds people of the one thing we have in common, no matter where we are: we’re all humans on this planet. That should be the legacy of September 11th. Life is fragile, and fleeting, and precious, and wonderful. Maybe the best way to honor the memories of those who died, and to respect the loss of those who survived them, would be to remind everyone of our basic humanity.”
“Good idea,” my mind said, “that’s a great way to move toward peace an– HOLY SHIT! CHECK OUT THE MILF IN THE CARPOOL LANE!”
I did. She was.
“I’ll do a flash animation. It’ll be cool,” I said.
I described some concepts, asked my mind to file them away until we got home, and focused on the freeway. Which was moving along at a terrifying 5 miles per hour.
“This traffic sucks,” said my mind, “I’m going to Disneyland.”
And it was gone again.
When I got home, I realized that I don’t own any flash authoring tools . . . but I know someone who does. I shot off an e-mail to Roughy:

I know it’s really late, but I want to do something to honor the victims of September 11th. It’s a flash animation that will replace my index tomorrow.
I think it’s pretty easy, and shouldn’t take too long. Check it out:
Okay.
The whole screen is black.
In the center, the word “Liberal” fades in. After a second, the word “Not” fades in, right in front of it.
Then, they both fade out.
Then, the word “Conservative” . . . same thing.
Then, “American”
The next come faster:
Then “Canadian” “Italian” “Muslim” “Man” “Woman” “Child” “Rich” “Poor” “Gay” “Straight” “CEO” “Janitor” always with the word “Not” just ahead of them.
Finally, some other words come by so fast, they blur together, and make a white block. That block sits there for a seoncod, and the word “HUMAN” fills it. The word “not” doesn’t happen, this time.
It fades out, and then “in memory of the victims of 9.11.01”
And beneath THAT “May Peace Prevail On Earth.”
That’s it.
What do you think?

Roughy thought it was a good idea, but it was late, and we needed to make it shorter. I thought that shorter was better, because it would be simpler, and more elegant.
We IMed and e-mailed and called each other names, and about two hours after I sent the e-mail, Roughy sent me the final file.
I’ll be honest: I was very moved by it. It was even better than my mind and I had envisioned it. I tried to show it to my mind, but it was busy working out the difference between “Ketchup” and “Catsup.”
I put it on the site, and went to bed.
I had been asleep for about 15 minutes when my mind woke me up. “Ketchup is just better than Catsup,” it said, “that’s all there is to it. Maybe Catsup has more vinegar or something.”
“That’s great, I’m thrilled that you woke me up for that. Good night.”
“Uhh . . .yeah. See, I’m really not into sleeping tonight,” it said, “let’s go play Xbox.”
“Dude. I have to get up at 6 to get the kids to school. We’ll play Xbox after I drop them off.” I rolled over and hoped that Anne wouldn’t hear me.
“Uhm . . . no. We’re getting out of bed, now.” I felt a strange antsyness in my legs, just behind my knees. No amount of tossing and turning could get me confortable. When my mind sets my mind to things, there’s no point trying to argue.
“I hate you, mind. Remind me to kill you with some beer this weekend.”
“Yeah, I’ll be sure to do that,” he said.
I got out of bed, and walked into the living room.
“Before we play Xbox, I’m going to check e-mail,” I said, “so shut up for a minute.”
There were already some notes in my Inbox, which thanked me for my tribute, and I’d like to share some excerpts with you all today.

Subject: Never forgotten.
Bless you.
I am proud to be an American. It’s one of the few labels I gladly accept. I love my home, and I’d gladly die in service of my country and count it as the best death I could ever hope or ask for.
But the importance of being human overrides all things, even love of country. There’s a difference between being proud of one’s homeland and allowing that pride to dehumanize others.
I save human lives. It shouldn’t and doesn’t matter what country, race, religion, whatever that life is.
Though at the same time, I’m not going to lie. I believe in war, and that’s a whole other sticky moral subject.
I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for remembering the people that died. Too many people are trying to forget or even downplay what is a personal tragedy for so many. But thank you as well for putting things in the right perspective, with the importance of being human.
In memory of my 355 brothers and sisters:
343 Firefighters
12 Paramedics
That was what mattered to them as well, I think.

It was signed by an EMT.
Here are a couple other e-mails:

“I don’t know why such an obvious conclusion seems to escape so many people in this world.” . . . “I felt somehow out of place mourning again for the fellow human beings that we lost that day. When I went to your site this morning . . . I didn’t feel quite so alone anymore. Thank you.”

This one just came in as I was typing up this entry. It’s the last one:

Thanks, Wil, for the most tasteful tribute today. I almost cried when I went to your site (as I do daily) and saw the message.
When I moved back to Winnipeg (from Toronto) last year, one of my first temp. jobs was with a Federal government office, working for the head nurse in charge of nurses in northern Manitoba (mainly for Aboriginal communities) and they had lost Christine Egan, a nurse in their department, the only person from Winnipeg to die at the WTC (she was visiting her brother’s office on the 105th floor). They had a memorial fund at the front desk to raise money for a northern Manitoban student who wanted to study nursing. I found her business cards when I was filing, and even though of course I did not know her, it was still upsetting.
I guess we all have our stories, don’t we? But it proves we are all connected.
Peace.

I just realized, as I typed this, that sharing those e-mails may come off as patting myself on the back. That’s not my intention at all. This isn’t about me. I just wanted to share that there are other people out there in Internetland who feel the common thread of humanity that we all share. It made me feel less alone, less isolated, and less afraid.
We are all connected on this planet. Let’s try to remember that, okay?