WWdN: In Exile

Happy Halloween!

More spooky pictures from past Halloweens in my Flickr stream.

Last year's Halloween edition of Radio Free Burrito.

in which a tale is told about the preparation of soup

Anne is helping a friend move today, so she went down to The OC last night, in order to avoid the hellish traffic that exists on the Southern California freeways between 6am and 10pm just about every day of the week. 

This meant that Nolan and I were alone last night, free to watch the original Rollerball while dining on Bachelor Chow (Last night's particular version of Bachelor Chow took the form of a quesadilla, dressed up with diced Ortega chiles, fresh pico de gallo, and of course jalapeños ... now that I think of it, this is more like advanced Bachelor Chow.)

But the tale I wish to spin for you today is not about how much we loved the art direction in Rollerball, or how I burned the everlivingfuck out of my hand on the pan while cooking what ended up being a fantastic dinner. No, the tale I wish to spin for you today is about something that happened earlier this week, when Anne was home and we made an absolutely sensational butternut squash soup using a recipe in the Whole Foods Cookbook.

"It's going to be cold and windy tonight," Anne said that afternoon as we stood in the kitchen and contemplated dinner.

"It's cold and windy right now," I said.

"Yes. That's how I know it's going to be cold and windy tonight. It feels like fall, so I want to make something hearty for dinner."

"Something Autumnal?" I said.

"Um..."

"Something that screams HARVEST!" I said, punctuating the word with jazz hands.

"Sure. Whatever. Let's make some soup with that squash you bought yesterday."

I picked the squash up off the counter and cradled it in my arms like it was a baby. "Do you want to be soup? Do you want to be soup?! I bet you'd be a delicious soup! Yes you would! Yes you would! Yummy, yummy soup!"

Anne and I have been together for 14 years, married for just a few weeks shy of 10 of those years, and it wasn't until that moment that I learned just how much she doesn't like it when people use baby talk with squash. (So just keep in mind, kids: even when you're old like we are, and you've been together for something in the neighborhood of 5000 days, there are still exciting new things to discover about each other.)

A withering glance was delivered, an apology was issued, and a squash was gingerly placed back on the counter without any cooing. Then, a list of needed ingredients was made, taken to the store and filled, and 40 minutes later we were peeling and chopping vegetables for our soup.

Our dog, Riley, came into the kitchen while we worked. "HEY GUISE I WANT TO GO OUTSIDE!" 

"No you don't," I said, scooping seeds out of the squash, "it's cold and windy out there."

"WANT TO GO OUTSIDE! OPEN DOOR NOW PLEASE OKAY!"

"You'd better let her out," Anne said.

"She's just going to turn around and come right back in," I said, but I let her out anyway.

A gust of cold wind blew some leaves into our kitchen, and I closed the door quickly behind her. "Holy crap, it's cold out there," I said.

I took four steps back toward the counter when I heard Riley scratching at the door. I gave Anne the "told you so" look (I learned it by watching her, I swear!) and let Riley back into the house.

"OH MY GOD YOU GUISE IT'S SO COLD AND WINDY OUT THERE!" She said. "DO NOT WANT!"

"I know," I said, and went back to preparing dinner. i didn't bother with the "told you so" look, because dogs just aren't that perceptive.

Now, before I continue my little tale, I should point out that my dog didn't actually speak. Truly, a talking dog would be a wondrous thing, worthy of a special report on the news and millions of dollars in television contracts and merchandising for her owner. No, my dog doesn't exactly speak, but over the years, I have developed an ability to pick up on and translate certain canine behaviors. Okay, back to business:

The vegetables were chopped, the spices were ground, the broth was poured and they were all combined in a large stockpot. Within minutes, our entire house was filled with the delicious and comforting aroma of our impending HARVEST-style meal.

Did I mention that I made Guinness bread? I don't think I did. I guess I should mention that, because it's important: I made Guinness bread, and that was also in the oven while the soup cooked. Seriously, the only thing our house was missing was Hobbits.

While the soup cooked and the bread baked, we cleaned up after ourselves. You know, like grown-ups do. "I think we should puree the soup when it's done," Anne said, as I washed a cutting board.

"That's going to be a problem," I said, "because we only have the blender and it's not nearly big enough for all this soup."

She looked at me, incredulous. "I'm pretty sure we don't have to do it all at once."

I set the cutting board into the drying rack.

"Okay," I said, "we'll puree the soup in the blender."

I thought, but did not say, "WILL IT BLEND?!"

"What are you giggling about?" She asked.

"Nerd stuff."

We had enough time to play a quick gin rummy before the timer went off. We've played a lot of this game, recently, which Nolan, apparently unfamiliar with bridge, has declared is "the official game of old people."

"You take the bread out of the oven," I said after Anne extended her undefeated gin rummy streak well into the double digits, "and I'll start ladling the soup into the blender."

It was a foolproof plan, and the first two cups of soup to be pureed came out beautifully. It smelled so good, my stomach said, "HEY WIL PUT FOOD IN ME RIGHT NOW."

"I'm working on it," I thought (please note that I can talk to my stomach with my thoughts) as I began putting the second batch of soup into the blender.

"You're putting way too much soup in there," Anne said.

"I'm fine," I said, eager to get the pureeing over with so we could get down to the eating part of our dinner. "I'll just hold the lid down when I turn it on."

I pressed the lid down tightly and held it down with my left hand. With my right, I pressed the button marked "puree."

I probably would have taken a moment to stare at the resulting butternut squash soup geyser, if the explosion of hot liquid hadn't burned the hell out of my hand, face, chest, and arm. I probably would have admired the CSI-like splatters of orange puree on the wall, the coffee maker, the microwave, and the refrigerator, if I hadn't been frantically stabbing at the buttons in an effort to silence the whirring blades which created it. But it wasn't until the moment had passed - really just a few seconds of chaos - that I was able to pause and appreciate what had just happened. I mean, it's not every day that a geyser erupts in my kitchen. Thank Steve the Fruitbat.

I turned around and looked at my wife, who appeared to have chosen a seat outside of the splash zone. "Um. I didn't think that would happen."

"Really."

I grabbed a hand towel and wiped myself off. "Yeah. I, um. I thought it would blend."

"Oh it blended. It blended everywhere."

I wiped soup off the wall, the coffee maker, the microwave, and the refrigerator. Our dog came in and helped me clean up some spots I hadn't noticed on the floor.

"I'm sorry about the mess," I said, trying not to sound too much like Han Solo, knowing that I was dangerously close to (deservedly) getting The Wrath.

"Just clean it up so we can finish this and eat, please."

I did, and then I made sure that the remaining soup was pureed no more than 16 ounces at a time. I also held a towel down over the lid, just in case. When we finally ate our bowls of soup - with thick slices of Guinness bread, I might add - it was truly wonderful, and exactly the kind of HARVEST (with jazz hands) meal we wanted ... even if I was still cleaning up bits of dried soup off the freezer and dishwasher this morning.

senses working overtime

Anne and I stayed with my friends Steve and Julie when we went up to San Francisco for w00tstock. I've known Steve since high school, and Julie's sister was friends with my brother when they were younger, in case anyone was wondering how small the world actually is.

Steve and I were in the same gaming group (with Darin, Cal, and some of my other friends you may recall me mentioning from time to time) so when we got to their house, I went straight to his gaming shelf to see what overlap we have now (Dominion, Settlers, Pandemic, etc.) I saw, on top of a bookcase, a complete set of first edition AD&D core books. Sitting on top of them was a thick stack of TSR-era AD&D modules, including classics like Tomb of Horrors and Village of Hommlet.

"I can't believe you still have these!" I said.

"Do you want them?" He asked. "I don't have room for them here, so they were going to get thrown out or —"

"THROWN OUT?! THEY BELONG IN A MUSEUM!"

From the living room behind us, I heard Anne apologize to Julie.

"It's okay," I may have heard her say. "I'm married to one, too."

Steve and I spent some time (not nearly enough) looking at all those old modules, as well as his AD&D core books. I even made most of my saves vs. Nostalgic Overload (Rogers will be happy to learn that I didn't once say that I felt like I was visiting with old friends).

"You can have all of these," he said, "because I know I'm not going to have time or space to use them any time soon."

"I would love to keep these, if for no other reason than to preserve the history," I told him. In my mind, I was already sitting on the floor of my office, the smell of a freshly-sharpened pencil rising in the air to meet the sound of Rush on the Sonos while I surrounded myself with open books, graph paper, and piles of dice.

Alas, when it was time to return to Los Angeles, we didn't have room or spare weight in our suitcase to bring them with us, so it's going to be a little while before my dream becomes reality.

Still, I can't stop thinking about those books and the memories they're going to shake loose when I finally do get to read them. I still have the books from my Red Box Set, though, so as soon as I got home from my trip, I took them (including B2 - The Keep on the Borderlands) off the shelf and hopped into the time machine. The last few nights, I've read Keep on the Borderlands cover to cover, all the character creation rules in the Player's Book, and all of the procedures in the Dungeon Master's Book.

As I pored over these three books, pausing frequently to feel the comforting warmth of a nostalgic childhood memory wrap around me, I remembered why I fell in love with D&D and then AD&D when I was growing up: when you get down to their fundamentals, D&D and AD&D provide a framework for imaginative, collaborative storytelling.

As I read the Keep on the Borderlands, and I crawled through the Caves of Chaos for the first time in 25 years, I let my imagination take over. I could see the same places I visited when I was a kid. I could see the wide and winding dirt road, coiled around towering mountains and steep cliffs, that I traveled from the Keep to the caves. (Well, I could see it the way 10 or 11 year-old me created it in his youthful imagination, which is to say it looked an awful lot like that 1978 animated Lord of the Rings movie.)

I could see the Lizardmen (who were more than a little reminiscent of the Sleestaks), I could hear the clang of my fighter Thorin's sword against the cave wall, after he cleaved a kobold in two (just like that animation from Dragon's Lair) and the jingling bag of electrum pieces he took off the corpse (which sounded a lot like the pocket of quarters I kept around for sudden outbreaks of Pac-Man fever). I could smell the crackling fire of braziers (summer campfires), and feel the terror of facing down a minotaur who never seemed to miss when he attacked (pop quizes in math class).

If you played Keep on the Borderlands, some of the encounters that sparked my own memories may be familiar, but I bet that any images of the caves they may have stirred up for you different than mine, because when we played this game in the 80s, every single place we went was made real by our imaginations. In fact, that's one of the things I love and miss the most about the earliest days of tabletop RPGs: I miss gaming that was entirely independent of minis and combat maps. I miss being able to close my eyes and picture the zombies and skeletons lining that hallway, knowing that the way I saw them was different from the way my friend Simon saw them, even though he was sitting right next to me. 

I stopped playing AD&D during 2nd edition, when I felt like it was more about complicated math, charts, and THAC0 than it was about using your imagination to explore a wondrous fantasy world. I switched to GURPS, and even though I know that's a system that can easily lead to min/maxing and metagaming, I played with a group of guys who were into storytelling, with a GM who made you think very carefully about what disadvantages you took. When that group grew broke up, I didn't play seriously again until 4E, which as everyone knows I really enjoy.

Still, when I opened The Keep on the Borderlands and read "Welcome to the land of imagination. You are about to begin a journey into the worlds where magic and monsters are the order of the day, where law and chaos are forever at odds, where adventure and heroism are the meat and drink of all who would seek their fortunes in uncommon pursuits..." I realized something: I never played RPGs later on in life like the ones I played when I was 12.

... Jesus, did anyone?

making plans for nigel

My brain keeps giving me 404s when I try to get focused long enough to write this short scary story (well, I think it's scary. It has a monster in it) in time for Halloween.

So I'm doing other things to try and trick it into rebooting the server, like cleaning up my house, playing with my dog, and wishing that I had this book again:

 

and this:

 

and this:

 

Well, I'm not a lot closer to getting this story out, but I'm certainly a lot happier in general than I was a couple hours ago. Funny how just looking at old AD&D stuff can do that for me.

(Images borrowed from The Acaeum, which is a fantastic D&D historical reference site.)

Memories of the Futurecast: Episode Eight

Holy crap! It's time for Memories of the Futurecast.

Memories of the Future, Volume One, covers the first 13 episodes of TNG, so each week, I'm choosing something from one episode, and performing an excerpt for you. It will mostly be from the synopses, which is where I think the real humor of the book lives, but from time to time, I may work in some things from the other parts.

Three important things:

1. This does not mean the book comes out in 13 weeks. It comes out much sooner than that. In fact, it is available right now! Woo!
2. These are not excerpted from an audiobook. These are recorded specifically for this podcast. I'm not sure if I'll do a full-length audiobook, yet, but I'm open to the idea.
3. Did I mention that you can get your very own copy of Memories of the Future, Volume One, right now, for $19.87, or as a $10 DRM-free PDF? Okay, just checking.

Episode Notes:

• The Memories of the Futurecast works hard to earn its [EXPLICIT] tag. You have been warned.
• This week's theme music is Down on the River By The Sugarplant, from Mike Doughty.
• Mike Doughty is on Twitter, you know, and if you want to get his new record Sad Man Happy Man(OMG GET IT FERREALZ) you can find it at Amazon, among other places.
• This week, I dish out some JUSTICE, y'all. Don't listen to this one around the kids, unless you're ready to have The Talk with them, ifyaknowhatimean.
• Why, yes, I did toss up some new artwork this week. Thanks for noticing.
• As promised, here's a link that will direct you to a full, live performance.
• I don't think I said thank you enough in the podcast, so, just to be sure I was clear: Seriously, guys, thank you for your support with Memories of the Future.
• Memories of the Futurecast wants the Three Worf Moon Shirt.
• Memories of the Futurecast snores when it sleeps in the sun by the couch.
• Memories of the Futurecast wants you to add your own pictures to Wheaton's Books In The Wild at Flickr.
• Memories of the Futurecast puts the lotion on its skin.
• Memories of the Futurecast is 28.8 MB.
• Memories of the Futurecast starts on page 74. But, seriously, good luck following along.
• Memories of the Futurecast is 30 minutes long.

Ready?! Okay, then! Set your phasers to: Download Memories of the Futurecast episode eight

Buy your own copy of Memories of the Future, Volume One. It's just $19.87 for a print version, or $10 for the DRM-free PDF.

you may ask yourself, "how do i work this?"

I stayed up way too late last night, waiting for Nolan to get home from the Horror thing at Universal. When I was younger, staying up until 3 was no big deal, but making it past midnight is a serious challenge, especially since my stupid brain insists on waking up between 7 and 8 no matter when I went to sleep. I never understood, until I had my own kids, why my parents couldn't - not wouldn't, but couldn't - go to sleep until we came home from wherever we were at night. 

I'm telling you this because I just made breakfast (it's been a lazy day here in Chez Wheaton) and it's so awesome I just had to share:

• 1/3 a block of tofu. Silken is preferred, but any firmness will work.
• Trader Joe's 21 Seasoning Salute
• Tapatio or Cholula
• 1/2 a small can of ortega chiles
• 1/4 cup Trader Joe's Salsa Authentica
• Trader Joe's Shredded Mexican Cheese Blend

Chop up the tofu into little cubes and shake some 21 Seasoning Salute over it. 

Toss it into a warm skillet and stir it up for about 2 minutes.

Splash as much Tapatioor Cholula as you want over it. Careful not to overdo it, or the only thing you'll taste when you eat it is fire.

Add the chiles, and stir them around. 

Add the salsa, and stir it again.

Walk away for one minute.

Add at least one handful of cheese, more if you really want it and are all, "man, I love cheese." Stir the cheese around so its evenly distributed. Say, "Damn, Wil Wheaton, this smells good! I can't wait to eat it!"

Turn the heat off, and serve immediately. You can put it into flour tortillas if you want (I bet it'd be delicious with some pan-roasted red potatoes as a breakfast burrito.)

Yeah, so I got that in my belly right now, which is nice.

...

A few nights ago, Anne and I went up to Bed, Bath, and Beyond to get a new Brita pitcher. While we were there, we noticed that they already have the fucking Christmas bullshit out.

"Are you fucking kidding me with that bullshit?" I said to her.

"It's ho ho horrible," she said.

We grabbed our pitcher and hoped it was more effective than the Dodger's pitchers were against the Phillies. Well, I did. I doubt Anne thought about the Dodgers at all.

We walked up to the register, where we both noticed one of those CD kiosks was playing fairly loud Christmas music.

Anne looked at the girl who was ringing us up and said, "Does that Christmas music drive you crazy?"

The girl looked up slowly and deadpanned, "I just tune it out ... until someone calls attention to it."

"Oh god. I'm so sorry," Anne said.

I turned to face her, and started the slow clap.

"Don't you dare give me the slow clap!" She said.

"I am totally giving you the slow clap," I said, as I turned to the cashier and apologized for Anne. I gotta tell you, it was weird to be involved in an apology to an innocent bystander and not be the one apologized for.

...

Yesterday, I met my friend David for lunch, and somehow our conversation turned to coffee.

"I really like the Kona coffee," I said, "especially in a press."

"You can get it at the ABC store in Hawaii," David said.

"Yeah, but that's only like 10% actual Kona beans and 90% bullshit beans from Nigeria or someplace."

"Oh, yeah," David said, "you really have to look out for that conflict coffee."

I laughed so hard, I drew withering looks from people nearby who didn't want the Wheaton Guffaw with their salads, I guess. 

...

Yesterday's FML moment came from my friend Lynn, who said on Twitter: OH: "I never had a Nintendo but my grandma did." Then, because she hadn't made me feel old enough, felt compelled to point out that her first home game system was Sega Master System. (For the record, my first system - which actually belonged to my parents - was an Odyssey RCA Studio II.) Sigh. I'm 37; I'm not old.

...

If you're a fan of the Memories of the Futurecast, I think you'll be pleased to know that I've given the podcast its own category. From now until they turn the lights out on planet Earth, you can see all the Futurecasts in one place without any of that annoying "other blog shit" getting in the way. 

I figured out why episode seven only gave Frontalot's song in iTunes and other aggregators: it was the first MP3 link in the post. As we all know, aggregators aren't quite self-aware enough to figure out that they should get the podcast link instead, so they got confused. I've since changed the links in the post, so iTunes and iTunes-like subscribers should be able to get episode seven in the usual manner, now.

And now, I have a question: I wasn't - wait. I have a statement, followed by a question. Let's start over.

Ahem. Deep breath. Shake the hands. Start again.

And now, I have a statement, followed by some thoughts, which eventually lead to a question: I wasn't seriously planning to do an audio version of Memories because it would be very long (at least 13 hours) and I'm not sure I could sell enough of them to make it worth the time and effort involved. I sort of thought the Futurecast would be a nice substitute for a full audio version, but some people have been asking for a full audio version, similar to what I've done for my other books. I'm still not convinced there are enough potential customers to do it, but I had this thought yesterday during lunch: why didn't I just order my own goddamn sweet potato fries? I also had this thought: What if I did an audio version, but I recorded and released it episodically?

I haven't moved that idea from the "Crazy" file into the "Awesome" file yet, but I'm considering it. If you're one of the people who wants an audio version of Memories, I'd be very interested to hear any thoughts you have about that idea.

...

I may be inheriting a bunch of AD&D modules and a full set of First Edition AD&D (not first printing, first edition) core books. If it happens, I think I'm going to be compelled to get some of my friends together to play, using the rules we all grew up playing. I've been re-reading (for the third time this year) my D&D Basic Rules books, just in case. You know, so I can be ready.

...

I have an idea for a scary story. It involves a monster and a swamp. I hope I can scrape it out of my brain in time to release it for Halloween.

Boy do I love Halloween. We're finally getting to decorate today, which means it's time for Mad Monster Party and Nightmare Before Christmas, too.

...

Finally, this will get its own post, but I'm so thrilled to find this that I had to include it here: someone recorded all of w00tstock 1.1 from Los Angeles earlier this week, and uploaded it. It's an audience recording, so you can pretend you are actually sitting at Largo next to the guy who recorded it! If it's the guy I think it was, he had a magnificent pimp hat on. If it's not ... well, now you know that there was a guy at w00tstock in LA with a magnificent pimp hat, and you have yet another reason to wish you were there, sukka.

ugly bags of mostly water

I know, I know, posting Twitter conversations is the new posting pictures of your cat, but if you'll indulge me one more time, I think some of you will be glad you did:

@levarburton: The Angels have demonstrated genuine character tonite... Unlike the Dodgers who simply punked out!!!

@wilw: @levarburton The Dodgers were as lame and disappointing in the playoffs as the Ferengi were in season one of TNG. THIS IS A TRUE FACT.

@levarburton: @wilw LMAO!!! Genuine spit take.! Seriously...there's Pepsi all over the couch!!!!

One of my biggest, most lasting regrets from the TNG years is that I wasn't closer to the rest of the cast. I mean, we all liked each other, and we had a great time working together, but I couldn't hang out with them after work, because they were adults and I was a kid (and I doubt any of them would have been interested in playing 40K or Car Wars with me while we listened to Boingo, anyway). One of the many things I love about Twitter is that it gave me a chance to reconnect with LeVar and Brent, at a time in our lives when we can relate to each other the way I always wanted to. Technology is awesome. 

every great hero needs a nemesis . . .

w00tstock 1.x was a HUGE SUCCESS. We loved creating it, the audiences seemed to enjoy being part of it, and there may or may not be secret discussions happening behind tightly-closed doors to determine the very best way to, as they say, "take it on the road" in The Year We Make Contact.

I spent today getting caught up on all the e-mail and things I missed while I was /away, and before I can track down and link to the various w00tstock posts on the Internets, I must share my favorite exchange in the history of Twitter, which happened this afternoon:

@sheldoncooper: As @wilw is the Edison to my Tesla, so @Pennyin4B is the Mrs. Hudson to my Sherlock Holmes.

@wilw: @sheldoncooper I'm pretty sure that I'm the small rock to your enchanted bunny, Moon Pie.

@sheldoncooper: @wilw In the now-more-relevant-than-ever words of Rondon, "You despicable Mellanoid Slime Worm. Liar!"

When I saw @sheldoncooper's reply to my reply, I laughed so hard I fell out of my chair and through a wormhole, eventually landing in a universe where I communicated with the population by launching green tea through my nose. 

Until The Big Bang Theory, I hadn't worked on a TV show where I got a chance to keep playing with the characters after I'd been wrapped, or blur the lines between fiction and reality. I know that the character accounts on Twitter aren't officially associated with the show, but it's still incredibly fun for and amusing to me; it's yet another example of why I love living in the future.

The Creepy Candy Coating Corollary

I'm at w00tstock right now, and I haven't even seen the show, but I thought it would be fun to write a post in advance so anyone who watched The Big Bang Theory tonight would have a place to talk about it. If everything goes according to plan, this should post right as the episode is finishing on in the Eastern time zone.

When I get home, and I have the time near the end of the week, I have a bunch of notes from the production to transcribe, to give a fuller behind-the-scenes picture for anyone who is interested. Until then, though, two things:

First of all, for anyone who is wondering, the show's art department made actual cards with actual graphics and rules on them, and we all spent a fair amount of time making up some logical rules to go with the Mystic Warlords of Ka'a. As far as I know, there aren't official rules or an official card set, but I'm sure someone will create one within a couple of weeks if the show doesn't. (Oh please, oh please.)

When he first talked to me about working on the show, Bill Prady told me that I'd be playing a "delightfully evil version" of myself. This sounded like a lot of fun to me, but it was more difficult to find that character than you'd think. When I'm playing Fawkes on The Guild it's easy to slip into his kilt and be a jerk, but wearing my own clothes and essentially playing a stylized version of myself made it a real challenge to hit "delightfully evil" without veering into "not committed to being delightfully evil" or "just plain evil." Keeping that twinkle in my eye, and knowing that Wil Wheaton (The Big Bang Version) is planning to scam Sheldon from the moment he sits down, was essential to this particular characterization working out, and I didn't completely find it until we'd run the episode a couple of times.

During one of the run throughs, when Jim did his Klingon bit, I turned to Kevin and asked him, "Did he just say 'revenge is a dish best served cold' in Klingon?" like I was trying to figure out if that's actually what happened, like maybe I misunderstood him. Chuck Lorre told me that it would be funnier if I was more exasperated. "You're just here to play this game, and now some guy is quoting Klingon at you. This happens everywhere you go," he said. 

I sighed dramatically, and said, "Oh, it does." Everyone laughed, hard, and Chuck pointed his finger at me. "Yes. That is exactly the way to play that beat."

When Chuck gave me that note, I grokked how to play Evil Wil Wheaton (The Big Bang Theory version), and I could see the comedy in every beat I played for the rest of the show. I totally grew a level in comedy acting, and learned something about letting go of who I really am, so I could embrace the Delightfully Evil version of myself (who I seriously hope will return in the future, because OMG was it fun to play him.)

Memories of the Futurecast: Episode Seven

Holy crap! It's time for Memories of the Futurecast.

Memories of the Future, Volume One, covers the first 13 episodes of TNG, so each week, I'm choosing something from one episode, and performing an excerpt for you. It will mostly be from the synopses, which is where I think the real humor of the book lives, but from time to time, I may work in some things from the other parts.

Three important things:

1. This does not mean the book comes out in 13 weeks. It comes out much sooner than that. In fact, it is available right now! Woo!
2. These are not excerpted from an audiobook. These are recorded specifically for this podcast. I'm not sure if I'll do a full-length audiobook, yet, but I'm open to the idea.
3. Did I mention that you can get your very own copy of Memories of the Future, Volume One, right now, for $19.87, or as a $10 DRM-free PDF? Okay, just checking.

Episode Notes:

• The Memories of the Futurecast works hard to earn its [EXPLICIT] tag. You have been warned.
• This week's theme music is Shame of the Otaku (MP3 link, y'all changed the link to point at the song's lyrics page. Now iTunes subscribers should get the podcast), from MC Frontalot's sensational album Final Boss. It's used with permission, because Front is my BFF.
• I have a seriously smooth, chocolately voice at the beginning. Man, I wish I sounded like that all the time ... ladies.
• This week, I feature an excerpt from episode 7 of TNG, Lonely Among Us, which gives me an opportunity to make a whole lot of references to Parliament Funkadelic. Ohhhh yeah.
• Anne pointed out to me that I seem to have this horribly annoying verbal tic where I go, "and . . . um . . ." a whole lot. I was not aware of that, but now that I am, I am horrified, and vow to ensure that I don't do that in the future.
• Memories of the Futurecast is almost 24 minutes this week. Get comfortable.
• Memories of the Futurecast is 22.9 MB this week. Make room! Make room!
• Memories of the Futurecast has wicked topspin.
• Memories of the Futurecast wants you to go to w00tstock.
• Memories of the Futurecast has a vest made from real gorilla chest.

Download Memories of the Futurecast, episode seven

Buy your own copy of Memories of the Future, Volume One.