VeeshanVault

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.

Momopi wrote:Isn't that the guy who wrote fireflies or something?

Swedish Dorf wrote:He needs an editor though - he confuses Ryan and Otis

Sylvus wrote:As some of you appear to not know, Wil Wheaton was Wesley Crusher on Star Trek: The Next Generation.

I'm kind of embarassed that I knew that and some of you didn't. The only way to cleanse myself will be to go down to the local high school and beat up some nerds at lunch.

Dregor Thule wrote:I'm sure I'm not the only one on VV who reads WWDN, but I figured I'd share this story from it that I got a good chuckle from and pretty much sums up why I read his blog. He's got a great writing style that can capture moments really well.

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.

And yeah, his kid seems like a bit of a dweeb!

*~*stragi*~* wrote:

Dregor Thule wrote:I'm sure I'm not the only one on VV who reads WWDN, but I figured I'd share this story from it that I got a good chuckle from and pretty much sums up why I read his blog. He's got a great writing style that can capture moments really well.

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.

And yeah, his kid seems like a bit of a dweeb!

Why I don't read Wil Wheaton's blog :/

Coatlicue [KoE] wrote:Isn't Wil Wheaton one of the main characters in "Stand By Me"? If it's the same kid, he also did voices for GTA: SA & EQII

EverQuest II (2004) (VG) (voice) .... Festus Septimus, Overseer Zerrin, Merchant William, Innkeeper Valean

*Kid on left

Sylvus wrote:

*~*stragi*~* wrote:

Dregor Thule wrote:I'm sure I'm not the only one on VV who reads WWDN, but I figured I'd share this story from it that I got a good chuckle from and pretty much sums up why I read his blog. He's got a great writing style that can capture moments really well.

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.

And yeah, his kid seems like a bit of a dweeb!

Why I don't read Wil Wheaton's blog :/

OH CRACKLE AND POP!

pwned

[Show]

it’s about looking back at those adventures, and remembering the people who had them with you

Posted on November 2, 2012

“I love Stand By Me,” the girl said. “I watch it all the time.” She put a picture of me and River, taken just after Gordie fires the gun behind the diner, on the table in front of me. I smiled at her as I slid it toward myself and spun it around.

“That’s awesome,” I said. “I’m very proud of it.”

I uncapped my pen and asked, “Who is this for?”

“It’s for me,” she said. She couldn’t have been more than 20. Younger than Stand By Me. Younger than Star Trek. Younger than both of my sons. I don’t often feel old, but at that moment, I did.

“…and what’s your name?”

“Jessica.”

“Okay, Jessica,” I said. I dedicated the picture to her, signed my name across Gordie’s t-shirt, and gave it back to her. “Have a great weekend, and thanks for your support of my work.”

She smiled and walked away. While I waited for the next person to come up I took a drink of my water. I was feeling a little sick to my stomach. It was Saturday afternoon, and I would succumb to the flu in about 5 hours.

The next person wanted me to sign something from Big Bang Theory. “Can you write ‘Game over, Moonpie’ on it?”

“I’d love to,” I said.

“I love it when you’re on that show!”

“So do I. I’m really lucky that I get to keep going back.”

He asked me about Jim. Everyone wants to know what he’s really like. “He’s amazing. He’s kind and brilliant and generous and one of the most talented comedic performers I’ve ever known. I’ve learned a lot from working with him. No, he’s nothing like Sheldon.”

I coughed and sanitized my hands for the nth time that day.

A family came up, and asked me to sign their Stand By Me DVD. They’d just showed the movie to their young son for the first time.

“What did you think of it?” I asked him.

“It was good until the end,” he said. I felt his parents tense up, like maybe he was insulting me or something, but I asked him to elaborate. “Because it was a great adventure but then it was all about Chris dying and I just didn’t like that.”

I nodded. “You know, one of the reasons Stand By Me has been so important to so many people for almost thirty years is that it’s different when you watch it at different ages.”

I looked to make sure he was following me. He was, so I continued. “When you’re young, like I was when I made it, it’s about going on an adventure with your friends and finding out who you really are, like what’s important to you when your parents aren’t around. But when you’re a little older, it’s about looking back at those adventures, and remembering the people who you had them with. I bet you’ll like it for different reasons if you watch it again when you’re older.”

“Okay,” he said, in that way kids say “okay” when they don’t want to listen to grown-ups talk about stuff anymore. I smiled and opened up the DVD to take the paper insert out of it.

I can’t remember their names, but I wrote it to them, above Gordie’s head on the left side of the cover. Then I signed my name, and had to choke back an unexpected burst of tears.

I’ve signed tens of thousands of pictures and things over the last 30ish years. Most of those pictures are from projects where I’ve been part of an ensemble cast, like Stand By Me, Star Trek, or Toy Soldiers. When we sign these things, we usually sign near ourselves and leave space for everyone else to sign over themselves. (I can always tell who was first to sign some pieces, because their signature tends to be huge and across the middle, and the rest of us sort of crowd into smaller and smaller spaces.)

I’ve signed thousands of Stand By Me DVDs over the years, and I’ve signed even more pictures of me and River behind the diner after Gordie shoots the gun. It wasn’t until I had this DVD in my hand, and the thought of remembering people you had adventures with in my head, that I realized I will never have to leave room for River to sign his name on any of them.

He left us twenty years ago. We’re quantum entangled for the rest of my life because of work we did together portraying a friendship that has managed to matter in multiple ways to multiple generations. I don’t think of him as often as some would expect, but when I do, I remember the sixteen or seventeen year-old kid who had his whole life ahead of him, instead of the 23 year-old I hadn’t talked to in five years because our lives were so different.

I blinked hard a couple of times and hoped the nice family in front of me didn’t notice the cloud that had passed over me. I gave them back their DVD, and thanked them for waiting in my line.

They thanked me and walked away. I watched them go, and turned back to see a picture of Wesley Crusher being put in front of me.

On Saturday, a young woman walked up to my table with her husband and her two children. She handed me a typed letter and told me that she knew she wouldn’t be able to get through what she wanted to say to me, and would I please read it.

I unfolded it, and read her story. When she was a young girl, she had a serious complication due to her Lupus, and her doctors told her that she would never walk again. She had a photo of me, though, that she took with her to physical therapy every day, and the therapists would hold it up for her and encourage her to walk toward it — toward me — while she recovered. She made a promise to herself, she said, that she would walk again some day, and if I was ever in her town, she would walk up to meet me. At the end of her letter, she thanked me for being there, so she could *walk* to meet me.

I looked up at her through tears, and she looked back at me through her own. I stood up, walked around my table, and put about fifteen feet between us. I held my arms open, and asked her to walk over to me. She began to cry, and slowly, confidently closed the distance between us. I embraced her, and we stood there for a minute, surrounded by thousands of people who had no idea what was going on, and cried together.

“I’m so proud of you,” I said, quietly, “and I am so honored.”

We wiped the tears away, and I sat back down to sign a photo for her. I looked at her young children. “Your mom is remarkable,” I said, “and I know you don’t get it, because she’s, like your mom? But you have to trust me: she is.”

The kids nodded, and I could tell that they were a little freaked out by the emotion of the thing, even if they didn’t understand it. They looked at their father, who said, “Mommy’s okay. Mommy’s okay.” That made me tear up again. Mommy was okay, and she is a remarkable woman who defied the odds and her doctors, and *walked* up to meet me. I’m still overwhelmed when I think about what that means, and how I was part of it.