Now with an ascot!
Saturday night, I grabbed my iPod and set about chopping up onions and jalapenos while listening to a friend tell me stories. He told me one take about an evil Eastern European woman who eviscerated him in front of everybody he knew. He went on to explain how a person dressed up in an animal suit tried to hump him. He might as well have been sitting at the table eating a chimichanga instead of somewhere across the country.
“Did you imagine that I was wearing an ascot and smoking a pipe while we talked?,” he asked.
As if there was any other way.
In truth, I was listening to Wiil Wheaton’s new audio version of his book The Happiest Days of Our Lives. I’ve posted a link to Wil’s post about the audio book in the right sidebar.
I owe Wil a great deal, but that’s not the reason I’m pimping his new audio book. I’m doing it for two reasons. First, it’s good. Second, I admire the life Wil has created for himself. A lot of people who you might think of as child actors go all loopy when they reach adulthood. The Hollywood high life turns to the type of thing you see on TMZ–drug-addled silliness, Celebrity Rehab, and a one-night stand with Paris Hilton (most of which I’m sure Wil has avoided, although I did lose track of him one night in Las Vegas and when he reappeared he kept saying “That’s hot.”).
No, Wil did it differently. He continued to act but branched out and found he was just as good (or better) a writer as he was an actor. He’s managed to make a living for his family as a writer. It’s a tough industry to break into. Wil did it his own way. He’s self-published several successful books and he writes for more outlets than I’ve been able to count.
As his friend and fellow author said:
“Wil Wheaton’s made a new career out of doing well that which is in fact the hardest thing to do at all:
he writes, brilliantly and simply and gloriously, about joy.” — Warren Ellis, author of Crooked Little
Vein, Transmetropolitan, and Planetary
Wil is a geek in the best possible way. He’s a fantastic writer and unlike a lot of people who make a living doing the same thing, he’s nobody’s bitch. Even if that doesn’t end up on his tombstone, it’s an epitaph I’d take any day.
Good work, Wil. Next time I expect to hear what happened that night in Vegas.
Otis, you’re way too kind to me.
And I’m never telling about what happened in Vegas, except that there was a wormhole, a regretful evening, and you were there, playing $500 a hand pai gow.
You made me curious. I may have to hurt you for this.
“He’s nobody’s bitch.” We should all be able to say that.