The tea kettle’s whistle pierced the air. The dogs, who were slumbering beneath my feet, jumped up to seek the source of the sharp, shrill sound.
I pushed my chair back, and walked out of my office into my kitchen. A tiny house finch, who is building a nest in our breezeway, warbled at me through the open window.
Ryan was standing at the refrigerator, wearing his WWdN T-shirt. I love it when he wears that shirt, because he asked for it himself a couple of weeks ago.
“Wil, do you have any extra shirts?” he asked when I brought them home from todiefor.
“No, I don’t,” I told him, “I’m selling them as fast as I can print invoices.”
“Oh,” he said, and looked away. “That sucks.”
He started out of the room, and stopped when he reached the doorway.
“When you get some more, can I have one?”
“You want one for yourself?” I said. Though my heart swelled, I kept my best poker face — the one I wear when I look at pocket rockets on the button.
“Yeah. I think they’re really cool. I want to wear it to school.”
My 13 year-old step son, who has struggled through father-inspired loyalty conflicts as long as I’ve known him, wanted to wear one of my shirts. A shirt with my face on it.
“I had no idea you wanted one for yourself.” I walked to the box of shirts, and pulled out a small. “Here, I’d love for you to have it.”
“Really?!” His face lit up.
“Yeah. Take it.” I tossed it to him.
“Thanks, Wil!”
This memory flashed through my mind, and I felt the same surge of pride and joy that I felt when he first asked; the same happiness I felt when I walked out to the breakfast table to take him to school two weeks ago and saw him wearing it.
“Can I have a cup of tea with you?” he said.
“You bet! I’d like that.” I said. I turned the fire down, and went to the pantry for a tea bag.
“Cool! What are you having?”
“Tea. Earl Grey. Hot.” I said, and put a tea bag into my Tux mug from thinkgeek.
I am such a nerd.
“I’ll have the same,” he said, wonderfully oblivious to the reference.
We sat at the table, sipped tea, and talked about girls, school, and poker.

I’m planning on buying some non-obtrusive ads (like the text ads on K5) to promote my new book, Dancing Barefoot.*
I was reading the “Tip Jar As Revenue Model” story at K5 when I got the idea. I was specifically inspired by this post.
I am terrible at marketing and promotion. I hate advertising, but I know that it’s the best way to let non-WWdN readers know about my book.
Has anyone used advertising online? Does it work? What are some of the pitfalls you’ve encountered that I can avoid?
I’ll leave comments open on this thread for responses directed specifically to these questions, only. I really appreciate any help or direction you guys can give me.
*(thanks to Yoav Rogovin for pointing out my obvious gaffe in leaving out the details of the book!)

Man, my life is real boring right now.
There hasn’t been anything to blog about: no auditions (nothing for months, really. Maybe I really am finished.), nothing majorly exciting on the homefront besides the new dog (who is currently known as “Riley.” It’s stuck around for three days, longer than any other name, though I am still holding out for “Mr. Plow.”)
Oh, and though I took two very bad beats when we played poker (effing Cal rivered quad Kings TWICE against my straight, and again against my set of aces), I walked with about 104 bucks on a 40 dollar buy.
So.
Real boring . . . until today.

I’m playing poker tonight.
I can’t wait. Man, I love to play poker. Gimmie a game of pot-limit hold em, a hundred bucks, and I couldn’t be happier. I’m about two-thirds finished with Jim McManus’ Positively Fifth Street right now, and I’m loving it.
Anne and I watched the DVD of Jackass last night . . . holy shit. Some of it was really stupid, like watching a bunch of stupid stoners do stupid stoner things . . . but parts of it — Knoxville in old man makeup shoplifting, Wee Man getting chased by Preston all over Tokyo, making Bam’s mom say “fuck” — was insanely funny. And Rip Taylor! Damn.

From Reuters:

Even Bush is fan of Iraqi information minister

WASHINGTON, April 24 (Reuters) – Now that the campaign to topple Saddam Hussein appears to be over, even U.S. President George W. Bush admits he is a fan of the public relations style of former Iraqi information minister Mohammed Saeed al-Sahaf.
“He’s my man, he was great,” Bush enthused in an interview with NBC’s Tom Brokaw on Thursday. “Somebody accused us of hiring him and putting him there. He was a classic.”

What?
He’s my man?
HE’S MY MAN?!
HE IS THE ENEMY, MR. BUSH!
You know who Bush’s MAN should have been? Every American soldier who was in Iraq fighting his immoral, illegal, and totally unnecessary war. Every child who is without a father or mother, every husband or wife, son or daughter who isn’t ever coming home . . . they are “your man,” Mr. Bush.