Just a Geek Read online

  Just a Geek

  Wil Wheaton

  Beijing • Cambridge • Farnham • Köln • Sebastopol • Tokyo

  Dedication

  for Anne

  Foreword

  JUST AN INTRODUCTION

  Q: Who is Wil Wheaton?

  A: Wil Wheaton is an actor. He is also, as you’ll realize once you’ve read this book, a writer. He was famously in Star Trek: The Next Generation and the Rob Reiner film Stand By Me, and much less famously in Roger Avary’s wonderfully peculiar Frankenstein film Mr. Stitch.

  Q: Who are you and why are you writing this introduction? Do you know Wil? Were you in Star Trek too?

  A: I’m Neil Gaiman. I write stuff, comics—most famously a comic called Sandman—and screenplays and books.

  And no, I’ve never met Wil. We were meant to be guests together at a Linux and sci-fi convention called Penguicon in April 2004, but he wound up missing it entirely because he was on call for a part in a movie. He stayed home and waited, and they didn’t need him after all. This phenomenon will seem less surprising to you after you’ve read this book.

  As to why I’m writing this foreword, well, Wil asked me (although that doesn’t always work, and that isn’t why I said yes). The nearest I came to being in Star Trek was once writing an episode of Babylon 5, which isn’t really very near. And even though I pointed out that having an introduction by Patrick Stewart would sell more copies, Wil held firm in his belief that he wanted me to introduce his book. This is because Wil is a geek. If you’re a true geek, I’m pretty much as cool as Patrick Stewart.

  And I said yes, because...

  I completely missed Star Trek: The Next Generation. Maybe I wasn’t watching much TV when it was on, or maybe I was just looking in the wrong direction, and the names of the actors in Stand By Me never made it into my head. So I found out about Wil when I came to live in the U.S., a dozen years ago, and was told that I needed to sign up for GEnie (an online bulletin board) because that was where all the writers I knew hung out and conversed.

  So I went to GEnie, and I noticed, in passing, that the Sandman discussion there had been started by one WIL WHEATON under, I believe, the alias of “Roq Lobster,” but I could be wrong. It was long, long ago after all, back in the days when we knew how much faster a 14,400 modem was than the 300 down, 75 up ones we’d been using a few years earlier, back in the days when Spam was only a noxious pinkish-grey lunch meat, back when you could lose an entire afternoon tinkering with your config.sys file in a desperate attempt to make your computer do something the manual was convinced it already did.

  Time passed, as it has a habit of doing. In early 2001, I started an online journal, ostensibly because I had a book releasing and I liked the idea of taking people backstage and showing them what happens between an author finishing a book and the book coming out. I’d keep the journal for a few months. That was the plan. Three years later, I’m still keeping it, pretty much daily, and I’m damned if I can tell you why.

  I learned about Wil’s journal back then, when I started: he began his around the same time, and he made the mistake of mentioning online that he’d always wanted to play Morpheus in a Sandman movie. Several dozen people helpfully sent me the link.

  I started reading Wil’s journal, checking up and checking in every month or so to see what he was doing and how he was doing. Not because he was famous, or semi-famous, or whatever, but because he was interesting, and what he was writing was interesting. The Internet is cruel and harshly Darwinian in that regard. People read what you write if they want to. If you don’t interest them, they go away. Wil’s life is interesting, and he communicates that well. Also, he’s really likeable. He’s having too much fun.

  Which is, I suppose, why I said yes to writing this introduction. How could I refuse? I’ve never met him, and I like him. I worry about him—or at least, his career—too, a bit. You can’t help it.

  This is a book, as you’ll discover, about honesty, about the erasure of image. In an era of people blogging as pseudo-celebrities, this is the story of a celebrity blogging as a person. In Just a Geek, Wil uses his online journal as a place to begin to tell his story—diaries as performance art. This is his account of himself and of growing up (at least partly) in public.

  It’s a lot of work, keeping a journal, inviting the world into your head. Sometimes you stay up much too late writing it, and you always reveal more than you planned. That’s the way of it. (Although Just a Geek is a lot more than a fix-up or a “best-of " wilwheaton.net. The journal entries punctuate it, but the story he tells is bigger than that.)

  As you read this you’ll learn about life in the shadow of Star Trek; you’ll learn about being an actor, and the jobs that come and the jobs that don’t; you’ll cheer and you’ll care.

  Somebody—probably F. Scott Fitzgerald, and a quick Google would confirm that, but I’m typing this late at night, on a plane home, in a thunderstorm, having spent the day in Hollywood, pitching a movie to a terribly literal studio boss and the first actual Hollywood Yes Man I’ve ever run into, so you’re on your own on this one—said there are no second acts in American Lives. The joy of Just a Geek comes as we watch Wil begin by desperately trying to refute this, in transparent denial of the facts; but then, simply by writing and talking, he creates his own second act. And it’s not the one he was expecting, or the one he was looking for. Much more interestingly and satisfyingly, it’s the one he needed. And the one we need too.

  You’ll see.

  Anyway, as we all discover, sooner or later, you’re never just a geek.

  —Neil Gaiman

  Somewhere over America in a Thunderstorm, May 2004

  A Note to the Reader

  “Not that it matters, but most of this is true.”

  —William Goldman Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid

  MOST OF THE MATERIAL in this book was originally written for my weblog, (the cool kids call it a “blog”) an almost daily diary that I publish at my website, wilwheaton.net.

  As I went through my archives and pulled out entries to include here, I was strongly tempted to make massive changes to the material. I think I’m a much more competent writer now than I was when I started keeping the blog, and some of the earlier entries make me cringe.

  However, I resisted. My evolution as a writer is a big part of this story, and cleaning up the older entries too much would rob you (and me) of some fun.

  I have made small changes: hyperlinks have been removed, and I’ve filled in some details that would not be obvious “offline,” but the fundamental meaning of each entry is unchanged.

  It may help the reader to see the conventions I use in this book when I quote weblog entries:

  THE DATE OF THE WEBLOG

  The title of the entry

  The body of the weblog.

  All of the entries are still online at wilwheaton.net, organized by date, if you’re the type of person who has to run a mental /usr/bin/diff on everything you see. Just make sure you pipe the output into a text file. There’s a lot of information in there. This book chronicles a long journey. It has its peaks and valleys, but I promise it has a happy ending.

  I hope you enjoy the ride.

  —Namaste.

  Wil Wheaton

  Los Angeles, CA

  April 14, 2004

  Part I. Introduction

  “If man is five, then the devil is six. If the devil is six, then god is seven. This monkey’s gone to heaven.”

  —The Pixies

  This Monkey’s Gone To Heaven

  IN JULY OF 2003, I was invited to Portland, Oregon, by my friend and fellow O’Reilly Author, Randal Schwartz, to attend the release party for his newest book, Learning Perl Objects, References & Modules.[1] While I was there, I also attended
O’Reilly’s Open Source Convention and did a signing of my own, at Powell’s Technical Books in downtown Portland.

  That’s right. The artist formerly known as Wesley Crusher had written a book and published it himself. The book is called Dancing Barefoot, and it’s five short-but-true essays about my life as a husband, stepfather, and former Star Trek actor.

  I was about six steps through the door at Powell’s when the store manager, Amber, approached me.

  “We have completely sold out of your book!” She looked concerned.

  I took a moment to digest this exceedingly good news. I’d just walked into my very first in-store book signing. I didn’t know what would happen . . . but a sellout never entered my mind.

  “That’s the greatest thing I’ve ever heard,” I said, as I took my iBook bag off my shoulder.

  Pasadena, 30 hours earlier

  I’m packing my bags for the trip to OSCon. My dog, Ferris, lays on the bed, looking at me with her “I see the suitcase, so I know you’re going to be gone” look.

  I fold some pants and a few shirts. My wife, Anne, walks into our room.

  “Are you taking any extra books?” she asks.

  “No, I don’t think so. Powell’s already ordered a ton of them. I think I’ll be okay.” I put my folded shirts into my bag.

  “You should really take some extras, Wil,” she says.

  Ferris sighs and rolls onto her side. The tip of her tail wags against my cat, Sketch.

  “I really don’t think there are going to be that many people there. I don’t want to schlep a bunch of books up there and back,” I tell her. “Besides, my bag is full.”

  She looks into my suitcase. Sketch meows at Ferris and jumps off the bed.

  “You’re taking two pair of shoes for a 36 hour trip?”

  “Well . . . yeah.”

  “Why?”

  I resist the urge to shout, “I learned it from you, okay?! I learned it by watching you!!” Instead, I say, “Dress shoes for my reading, and Converse for the rest of the time.”

  “If you take your dress shoes out, you can lose your dress pants, too. Just take your jeans and wear your Converse. You can put books in the extra space.”

  “But I think I should look nice for—”

  “You’re going to a computer convention, dork. You’d be better off wearing your Trogdor shirt.”

  I’ve already packed it, but I don’t tell her. Ferris exhales loudly and stretches out on her back. Our other dog, Riley, walks into our room and sits at Anne’s feet. She looks up, expectantly.

  Anne pets her and says to me, “You’re going to regret it if you get there and you don’t have books for everyone. You’ll feel bad, and you’ll lose sales. Just take a few.”

  I’ve learned something in the seven-and-a-half years I’ve known and loved her: she’s always right about this stuff.

  “Okay,” I say. Riley thinks I’m talking to her and jumps on the bed. Ferris flips over and snarls at her.

  I end up packing an additional 47 books.

  I put my bag on the counter. “It’s a good thing I listened to my wife!” Amber was visibly relieved when I began pulling small stacks of books out of it.

  “This is the biggest crowd we have ever had at this store,” she said. “For anything.”

  “Really?!” I said.

  “Yes! And we’ve never sold out of a book before. Usually, we’ll sell about 10 or so.”

  “Oh my god. This is so cool!” I said.

  “I’ll take all the books you have in there, and we may even have to issue rain checks.”

  Rain checks?! Holy crap! This is so cool!!

  I gave them to her, and she began putting stickers on them. There were two other authors there, too, so I snuck away to a back room to prepare while they talked about their books.

  Even though I’ve read these stories countless times, and even though I lived them all, I feel a need to familiarize myself with them before I perform them. Even though my book was doing unbelievably well in terms of sales and audience response, I was nervous each time I took it before a crowd.

  On this particular night, I had some giddy excitement to go along with the nerves. I felt good. I was marking a significant waypoint on my journey from actor to author. I was taking my work to an audience that was NOT at a Star Trek convention. There were lots of non-Trekkies in this crowd. This was a big test for me.

  The other authors talked for about 30 minutes, and then it was my turn.

  I read two pieces from Dancing Barefoot: “Inferno,” and a selection from “The Saga of SpongeBob Vegas Pants.” When I was finished reading, I looked up to thank the crowd for coming and saw that it had grown substantially since I began. I was elated.

  All these people came and shared in this experience with me for almost an hour! I earned their time and attention. I earned it with my writing! I passed the test! I passed the test!

  I sat down at a little table they’d set up for me, which had a laminated “Meet Wil Wheaton, author of Dancing Barefoot" sign on it. The crowd transformed itself from a mass to a line (like Optimus Prime, but without the cool sound effects), and I began to sign books.

  I signed for people from just about every demographic you can imagine. Many of them had their own copies of my book, which they’d bought online or earlier in the day from Powell’s. They complimented me on my website, on my performance, even on my cool shirt.

  I signed a girl’s celebrity bible, right there next to Dr. Demento, and I met the project lead for Quanta Plus, a web development application that I love and use regularly. Eric S. Raymond, author of Cathedral and the Bazaar (O’Reilly) and major force in the open source movement, also came and listened to me read. He even sat right in the front, and had several kind words for me when I was done. It was awesome.

  When I was down to my last three books, a guy walked over to me, and extended his hand.

  “Hi, Wil,” he said, “I’m Tim O’Reilly.”

  HOLY MO—WIL! IT’S TIM O’REILLY!! HE CAME OUT TO SEE YOU!

  Before I could scream out, “I KNOW! I KNOW! I KNOW! GREAT GOOGLY MOOGLY!” my brain said, “Stay cool, Wil. Don’t geek out.”

  I heeded my brain’s advice and was grateful for all those times I didn’t stab it with a key.

  “It’s really nice to meet you,” I said. I was very proud of myself . . . and kept my geeking out to a minimum. “Your books have made my life much easier and much more interesting.”

  Check me out. I totally behaved myself.

  “Nicely done,” said my brain. “Have some serotonin.”

  Oh . . . that feels good.

  He said something about how he’d heard good things about my book and thanked me for coming to OSCon.

  He thanked me for coming!

  “Would you like a copy of my book?” I asked him, “I have an extra one that you can have if you want it.”

  “Sure,” he said, “but I’d rather buy it.”

  So that’s what he did. Tim O’Reilly bought my little book, and shortly after that, I sold my final copy.

  That’s right. I sold out all my books, including the additional books I brought with me.

  It’s a good thing I listened to my wife, eh?

  I packed up my bag, and said good bye to Randal. He pointed at the little laminated “Meet Wil Wheaton, author of Dancing Barefoot" sign.

  “You should take that, Wil. It’s from your first signing. You’re going to want that someday,” he said.

  I picked it up off the table, and when I held it in my hands, I knew that he was right. I didn’t ever want to forget this very significant moment in my life. Signing my first book, in a book store, and selling it out . . . it’s better than the first time I got to sit at the helm of the Enterprise . . .

  . . . because it was real.

  * * *

  [1] This book is also called “The Alpaca,” which is the animal on its cover. Randal also co-wrote “The Llama” (Learning Perl ). I guess this book will be called “The
Geek.”

  Part II. ACT I

  “No one knows what it’s like

  To be hated, to be fated

  To telling only lies

  No one bites back as hard on their anger

  None of my pain and woe

  Can show through”

  —The Who Behind Blue Eyes

  “Tell me is something eluding you, sunshine?

  Is this not what you expected to see?

  If you wanna find out what’s behind these cold eyes

  You’ll just have to claw your way through this disguise.”

  —Pink Floyd In The Flesh?

  Chapter 1. Where’s My Burrito?

  ON A HOT JUNE AFTERNOON IN 2000, I joined my best friend Darin for lunch at one of our teenage haunts, Old Town Pasadena. An afternoon in Old Town is a trip to a time when we were free of responsibility, and the world was filled with possibility and opportunity.

  The changes in Old Town reflect the changes within ourselves. Thanks to the efforts of the Pasadena preservationists, the historical building façades haven’t changed, but they are the only thing that remain the same. The empty doorway where a punk rocker once sneered at passing businessmen is now a Pottery Barn, occupied by a San Marino yuppie who screams into her cell phone. The eclectic record store where we’d buy imported Smiths singles is now a Sam Goody, its windows plastered with posters announcing the latest release from Justin Timberlake. Tourists stand uncomfortably at crosswalks, trying to ignore the homeless who have come to enjoy the trickle down economics of a prospering shopping thoroughfare.

  All of this progress is not without its benefits, though. Old Town is safe, if sanitized, and several good restaurants have moved into the area.