WWdN: In Exile

hello, i'm captain crankypants

I've been trying to turn my body's internal clock around to normal, after having it set on Vegas for most of the Summer, and it's much, much harder than I thought it would be.

No amount of Melatonin, Sleepytime tea, massive afternoon exercise, or "I'm getting up when the alarm goes off at 8, no matter what," is helping, and I am increasingly cranky as a result.

Yesterday, I made the mistake of having a black cherry soda around 6, and didn't realize until I'd already had the whole thing that it had caffeine in it. Awesome. I was staring at the ceiling until 2:30, and when I finally drifted off to a fitful sleep, Ryan and his friend woke me up from the living room, where they were watching TV.

Holy crap, did I unleash The Wrath.

I got back into bed, where I resumed staring at the ceiling until I fell asleep about 45 minutes later . . . only to wake up again because it was so fucking hot and stuffy in my bedroom. Yeah, genius that I am I'd set the thermostat at 82, planning to open my window and sleep with the fan on. It was a good plan, until I forgot to open the window and turn on the fan, because I rule so much.

I didn't violently throw the covers off like I normally would, because I didn't want to wake up my wife, but I did storm into the hallway and set the thermostat at 70, like a genius, so I could wake up again around 5 because it was too cold.

I honestly thought about cockpunching myself, just so I'd learn an important lesson, but I talked myself off the ledge and fell back asleep . . . just in time for Ferris and Riley to go completely berserk barking at a cat which wandered into our back yard just after 6.

At this point I was too tired for The Wrath, so I got out of bed, told them "thank you for keeping us safe from the evil cat in the back yard," and went back into bed. I put a T-shirt over my eyes so the sunlight wouldn't wake me up, and mercifully slept until 11:30.

I have a throbbing headache, my eye is twitching, I'm sick to my stomach, my jaw is sore from clenching my teeth when I did sleep, and holy shit am I in a mood. Seriously, I wouldn't want to come anywhere near me for at least the next twenty-four hours, as I am as likely to say "hello" as I am to say, "hey, why don't you go fuck yourself?"

Look out, world. You have been warned.

Mashup: The Simpsons Theme and the Star Trek Theme

Theremin + Keyboard + Wacky Guy In Yellow Knit Cap = Crazy  Delicious

the sky's whatever you say

I played Munchkin with the kids for almost four hours last night.

At one point, I was a level 8 Elven/Dwarven half-breed Supermunchkin Cleric/Warrior, and I had this fiendish plan to look for trouble, give a mate to the Level 2 Flying Frogs, obliterate them both with my effective combat level of 24, win the game, and launch into the obligatory obnoxious celebration.

"I squash them, unless someone wants to mess with me," I said, and began the five second count down.

"I believe that would be me," Nolan said. "Have a wandering monster." He tossed out a Plutonium Dragon (level 20.)

"Dude," I said.

"And he's undead," Ryan said tossing out a +5 card.

"Dude!" I said.

"And he's ancient, too," Nolan said, "and enraged." One more card joined the pile, as the Plutonium Dragon grew another 15 levels.

"DUDE!" I said.

"Oh, and you know what else?" Ryan said, pulling a card from his hand and playing it, "it comes with a brood." Now the dragon was level 50.

"Excellent," Nolan said, Mr. Burns-style.

"Well, guys," I said. "This really didn't go the way I'd planned."

They looked at each other and laughed. I was really glad that they were home.

I looked at my cards.

"Okay," I said, "it turns out that the Plutonium Dragon is actually an illusion!"

I played the Illusion card, which lets me turn one terrifying and threatening monster into an easier monster from my hand. I replaced it with a level four Harpies.

"DUDE!" They said, in unison. We looked at the messy pile of cards on the table in front of us and laughed.

"So I squash the Frogs and the Harpies, unless someone wants to mess with me." I began the countdown again.

"I've got nothin'," Ryan said.

"Yeah, me neither," Nolan said. "I think you win."

"In that case . . . " I said, "it's Peanut Butter Jelly Time."

I jumped out of my chair, and began the obligatory obnoxious celebration.

try at working out chaotic things

Today is WWdN's fifth birthday. To celebrate, I break my self-imposed week-long silence and offer the following scene from my living room, last night:

Anne and I played Scene It? which is an insanely fun game in the style of Pictionary, Trivial Pursuit Pop Culture Edition, Cranium, etc.

One of the features in Scene It? is the DVD challenge, where you watch a scene from a movie, then answer a question about the scene you just watched. If you answer correctly, you take another turn, otherwise, your turn is over.

We were only a few turns into our second game, and I was about ten spaces ahead of Anne, mostly due to my awesome supernatural ability to identify the title of a movie after just one or two letters appear on the screen. On Golden Pond? Waiting to Exhale? I own you bitches.

Anyway, I got the DVD challenge thing, hit play, and Stand By Me came up.

"Dude!" Anne said, "That's such fucking bullshit! You get your own movie?!"

"I'd better get this right," I said, "or I'm automatically forfeiting the game."

I looked up at the TV. Jerry O'Connell and I ran across the train trestle, and I recalled how insanely scared I was when we filmed that scene -- not because the train was close to us (it wasn't) but Jerry and I were having a hard time acting scared. After several unacceptable takes,  Rob screamed at us, "Goddammit, you're ruining my movie! You guys better stop joking around and get scared, because if that train doesn't kill you, I will!"

Jerry and I instantly burst into tears, because Rob never raised his voice at us. My mom tells me that right after Rob saw us start to cry, he turned to the first AD and quietly said, "Roll camera."

We raced down the tracks, tears streaming down our faces, and right past the camera into Rob's arms where he hugged us and thanked us for a great take.

"Print that," he said. "Good job, you guys. I'm sorry I yelled at you."

The scene ended, and the question popped up on the screen: "Who Narrates This Movie?"

"Ha. I totally know this," I said. "Richard Dreyfuss."

"That is so unfair," Anne said.

"Yeah," I said. "It's totally rigged. Now give me the dice."

My moment of glory was short-lived. Though I won that game, Anne eventually defeated me 3-2.

And now, back to vacation . . .

i think i'm taking a real vacation

Nolan's birthday party was awesome. I was worried about having a house filled with teenagers (and early in the day, they drove me a few inches short of crazy) but they were actually a whole lot of fun to be around. Rather than treat us like we were embarrassing old parents, Nolan asked Anne and me to hang out with him and his friends as they played whiffle ball, swam in the pool across the street, and played on the bounce house-style slip-n-slide (oh my god the most fun, ever.)

I'm still sore from all the running and jumping, but it was a really good time. I see so many of their friends and peers who don't want to have anything to do with their parents, especially when they are around their friends, and I'm very grateful that Nolan and Ryan aren't like that. Oh, they are still occasionally Pod People (we've recently enjoyed a return of "'No' actually means ask me again in three minutes, then ask your mom, then come back and ask me again. Repeat this process until I give in or put a plastic bag over your head" which is about as much fun as you'd think,) but they're really great kids, and I think we've done a very good job raising them, so far. It's really nice to see the result of our parenting, you know?

My sister's engagement party on Sunday was great. Her future in-laws are all just awesome people, and I'm really looking forward to getting to know them better and bringing them into our family.

The kids are spending a week with their dad, leaving me and Anne here in an empty house and not a whole lot of responsibilities, so after almost six weeks of being little more than a voice on the phone, I'm going to spend this week being a husband instead of a blogger. I owe a story to the PokerStars Blog about an event I played in last week at the Bicycle Casino's Legends of Poker, Games of our Lives will be back this week, and I'll still contribute to the Geek Wire at Suicide Girls, but I really don't feel like doing anything else right now.

So . . . I'll be back in a week or so. Until then, do whatever you have to so you can watch When the Levees Broke: A Requiem in Four Acts. I saw Acts I and II last night, and it's incredibly powerful.

i'd open my mouth if I had something smart to say

Wow. It turns out that when you write a few thousand words a day for over a month, the last thing you want to do when you get home is keep on writing.

No worries, (because I'm positive that you -- yes you, and not the other you -- were worried) I have notes. Lots and lots of notes, and the beginnings of some cool stuff, which will most likely have to wait until next week, because tomorrow is Nolan's birthday party (featuring bounce house) and Saturday is his actual birthday. Sunday is the first of what will certainly be many engagement parties for my sister, and I don't think I'll be doing a whole lot of writing for my blog until all these exciting events have passed.

However, I will point you to two things that I think you (the other you this time, not you you) will enjoy in the mean time.

Thing the first is Otis' version of our last night together in Vegas.

The girl had piercings where momma wouldn't have liked them. She sucked on vodka and Red Bulls and stacked ceramic poker chips in front of her. She had seven blue Palms chips and an absent button on the table's racetrack. And she looked like she wanted to ride the spikey-haired kid beside her until the sun rose over the Nevada desert.

"I don't know about you," Wil said to the kid, "but if she were looking at me the way she's looking at you, I wouldn't be playing poker right now."

Thing the second is about my friend BURNS! who, it turns out, is also friends with John Scalzi. Though I am only a bit player in the story, I did provide a picture and a quote:

When Mykal turned 26, he had a "Double Bar Mitzvah" party in which he celebrated his manhood -- again! -- by reading not from the Torah, but from the script of Pulp Fiction; specifically the scene where Christopher Walken discusses hiding the wristwatch for three years in a Vietnam POW camp. It was, indeed, one of the funniest things I ever had the pleasure of experiencing. This is a funny guy.

(And also a good guy, and for proof of that, here's Wil, who says of Mykal: "If I invite him to a barbecue or offer to take him to a Dodger game, he may tell me that he can't make it for one reason or another. But if I call him and ask him to help me move some junk in my garage, or pick up my kids from school because I'm stuck at a meeting or anything else like that, he'll immediately drop everything to help out, and will never expect or accept anything in return for his help. His loyalty and generosity is
truly staggering, and I'm lucky to have him as a friend." Indeed you are, Wil Wheaton. As I am I. As would you all be, were you his friend.)

Here's hoping you (all of you) have a great rest of the day, and weekend, too.

back to reality

I had an on-camera audition yesterday, the first one in several months.

It was for a sitcom, and the material was sort of tough: it was essentially the same beat over and over again, and I had to come up with ways to make each beat different and entertaining (well, at least to myself.) It was surprisingly fun to prepare, especially when I found a beat that I figured most actors would use as a "throw away" line for an easy joke, that I made into a moment where I try to show the other guy exactly what he's missing, because I'm single and he's not. (When I did my brilliant beat that I was so proud of in the room, it was rewarded with that special type of laughter that's actually utter silence, so maybe I should have just gone for the easy joke.)

Overall, it was a good experience. The people there were all friendly and warm, and they made me feel like they were happy to see me, which is quite a rarity in Hollywood.

I don't think I'll get to go any further in the process, though, because I was at least six or seven years older than everyone else there, and I bungled one line, but at least I enjoyed myself, and since I'm not desperate for a job, I was able to relax and just do my thing; my goal was to have fun and at least enjoy creating and performing two pages of this character, and that's exactly what I did.

Everything you need to know about where I am right now follows:

When I told the guard what show I was there for, he said to me, "Do you know that you're supposed to park on the street?"

"I did not know that," I said.

"Yeah, they have you guys parking on the street," he said, "but I think I'll let you park over in that garage. Just drive past the reserved spots and take the first open one you find."

"Really?" I said, "It's not a big deal for me to park on the street."

"Don't worry about it," he said, as he opened the gate.

"Thank you," I said, and realized that I was unconsciously going into my pocket to tip him.

Damn you, Vegas. Just when I thought I was out . . .

forget about the prime directive . . .

 . . . we gotta go beyond warp factor nine to warp factor love.

(Blame Ryan for this)

in praise of the palms

I didn't mention where I was staying in Vegas for obvious reasons, but I've wanted to sing the praises of The Palms since the day I checked in.

The food is great, the rooms are huge and comfortable, the bed is second only to a luxury suite at the Bellagio, and their staff is simply the best I've ever encountered.

Seriously. Oh my god, the staff at the Palms is just incredible.

Every single person I encountered there, from the front desk to housekeeping to room service to the bartenders to the dealers in the poker room treated me like they were there specifically to take care of me, and I was the only person they were working for. It was just amazing. The outstanding service and amenities at the Palms will make you forget where you are, until you walk down into their casino (which is always swarming with beautiful twenty-somethings, if you're interested in that sort of thing) and remember that you're in Las Vegas. Their pool is fantastic (try the lobster club and get a bucket of Newcastles. Trust me on this one.) and on the weekends, it's a sexy party that would impress even the likes of  Stewie Griffin.

I didn't do much gaming while I was there, but I spent my entire last night in Vegas in their poker room (story to come,) and it was great, too. The dealers were awesome, and the manager even opened a table specifically for us -- and offered to keep it private -- when we asked to spread a 3-6 HORSE game after midnight in an otherwise-full room.

I've always wanted to find "my hotel" to stay in when I go to Vegas, and over the last few years I've tried lots of different places in that quest. I'm happy to report that my quest has come to an end.

the hum of the clock is a far away place

During dinner tonight, my cell phone rang. Caller ID said "Restricted."

"Male or female?" I said to Otis.

"Female for a buck," he said.

I flipped open the phone. "Hello?"

"Hey Wil, it's Ryan."

"Hey Ryan! Hold on a sec." I turned the phone away from my face and looked at Otis. "Ship it!"

He grimaced and reached into his pocket as I won yet another prop bet from him. (I've played a tiny bit of poker while I've been here, and I'm probably stuck fifteen bucks total, plus the disaster of Martini-fueled blackjack on my birthday. If it wasn't for Otis spewing money to me on prop bets, I'd be really stuck. As it is, I'm even on the whole trip, and I may actually be a little bit ahead.)

"What's up?" I said.

"Mom wanted me to call you and find out if it was okay for me to play Vice City. I think it's okay, because I'm seventeen and everything, but mom said she wasn't sure and wanted me to talk to you about it since you've played it."

Ryan is an incredibly mature and responsible person. I know that he understands the difference between reality and video games, and I'm actually more concerned about the time he spends playing them, than the content of the game.

"Well," I said, "you're seventeen, so you're able to buy yourself tickets to rated 'R' movies, and Vice City isn't any worse than, say, Scarface or Goodfellas, but hold on a second and let me think about it, okay?"

"Okay," he said.

I put the phone to my chest, and explained the situation to the table. Oh, and now would be a good time to point out that we were in a *very* nice restaurant where I wouldn't take a call if we weren't way in the back, against the wall with no other diners around us.

"Does he know that it's not okay to hit beat a hooker with a baseball bat and get his money back in real life?" My friend Ryan said.

"Good question," I said. I put the phone back to my ear and said, "I have to ask you one question: if you pick up a hooker in real life, is it okay to hit her with a baseball bat to get your money back after she gets out of your car?"

"Well, since hookers are empty shells and not real people," he said, "then yes. Yes. It's okay to whack her with a baseball bat."

I relayed this to the table and added, "I think he's mature enough to handle Vice City."

"Tell him that he he also has a future career in Hollywood," Ryan said.