Just a Geek (10 page)

6 OCTOBER, 2001

Life in the so-called space age

Tonight I watched "All Good Things . . ." on TNN, as I wrapped up a week of watching the best of
TNG
.

God dammit all to hell if it didn't reduce me to tears, at the end, seeing all my friends seated around that poker table. I thought, as I watched them, about how much I wished
I
was at that table . . . and I can admit something here, to myself and to fandom: I miss
Star Trek
. I miss working with that amazing cast. I miss being part of that amazing show. Watching
TNG
all this week has been the closest I will ever get to watching lots of home movies, or reading a high school yearbook over and over and over again.

So many memories came flooding back over the past few days. Here are some of them, in list form:

• In the first season, when LeVar was driving the ship (before a certain strapping young ensign took over), the chairs we had were really reclined. More suited for sleeping, than sitting . . . and that's what LeVar would do, all the time! When he was in a scene without any dialogue, he would sit in that recliner, VISOR securely in place and just doze off. More than once, he got busted for snoring.
  

• In one episode and I can't remember the title, so you'll have to excuse me, Patrick was strolling around the bridge, saying something about how we all needed to "consider the source" of something. Thing is, he was saying "consider the sauce." I didn't catch it the first few times, but Brent did and he turned to me, at the beginning of a take and just as they were about to roll, he said, "Patrick wants more sauce." I asked him what the hell that meant, because Brent was always fucking with me and he said, "Just listen." So they roll, and Patrick says that we should "consider the sauce." I cracked up. Out loud. I couldn't help it. They cut, everyone looked at me, all pissed off, because it was okay for the adults to crack, but if The Kid did it, it was another thing completely. I pointed to Brent, stammered that he made me laugh and Brent just looked angelic (in gold, mind you; I think that helped him pull it off). Nobody believed me, until later, when someone else heard Patrick saying something else, in his, er . . . unique . . . accent and Marina said, "I'm British and I know that's not how we talk." So I took the opportunity to point out "the sauce."
  

• I remember the first time Wesley got to play in one of those poker games that they had on the show. I remember how genuinely thrilled I was to be in that scene, because I felt like I was finally accepted as something other than The Kid.
  

• It's weird to watch
  TNG
  now, because when I watch
  Enterprise
  , my imagination fills in the ship around what the camera is currently showing . . . but when I watch
  TNG
  , my memory fills in the stage around the set . . . instead of picturing the rest of the corridors, or the Battle Bridge (my personal favorite set), I remember our chairs and the craft service table . . .
  

I remembered, as I was watching "All Good Things . . ." tonight, something that happened a very long time ago. Two things, actually, which, at the time, seemed to validate my reasons for leaving.

There was a big deal made about the screening of the final episode of
TNG
over at Paramount and I was asked to attend. I agreed, mostly because I wanted to see my friends, but also because I was curious to see how they had ended it.

They did the screening in a theater at Paramount and they sat all of us from the cast together in the theater. I sat between Marina and Brent, if memory serves. Some of our more high-profile guest stars had been invited and there were some empty seats on the other side of our row where they would have sat if they'd shown—somehow I'm not surprised that Mick Fleetwood didn't show—but John DeLancie was sitting behind me. That's important, as you'll see in a second.

Some stuffed shirt from Viacom got up, made some stupid speech that nobody wanted to hear about how great
Star Trek
was and he introduced Rick Berman, who came up to the podium and made another speech, about how great the last seven years had been and how it was through the work of some people, some people who are here tonight, that
TNG
was possible. Would those people please stand up? Patrick Stewart. Jonathan Frakes. Brent Spiner. Marina Sirtis. Gates McFadden. LeVar Burton. Michael Dorn. Denise Crosby. John DeLancie.

They all stood up. The entire theater was now on its feet, applauding their hard work and commitment to the show. Berman was beaming as he applauded them.

They were all standing up, except for me. Berman looked right at me and didn't call out my name. The son of a bitch knew that I was there and didn't call on me to stand. Later, I asked him why he'd left me out and he said he didn't know I was there. I told him that I was the one person who was sitting with the cast who wasn't standing up. Maybe he remembered making eye contact with me, after he called Denise and before he called on John DeLancie? It sucked, it was petty, and it hurt.

Another time, I was invited to a big party for the 25th anniversary of
Star Trek
, also at Paramount. Again, I can't remember if this was before, or after the aforementioned snubbing. Again, they sat us all together and again, there was a "stand up and be counted" thing. Only this time, it was with all three casts. Maybe you've seen the picture? All three casts are on stage, holding these miniature American flags, which were given to them by astronauts who flew them on various space shuttle missions. Again, I was left sitting, surrounded by empty chairs. I was so embarrassed, as I sat there, feeling genuinely happy for my friends, from all the casts, who were standing on stage and at the same time, I felt so tiny and so lame . . . afterward, I told Berman that I thought that was really shitty and he said he hadn't known that I was coming. Well, the thing is, when you're the executive producer of
Star Trek
, you approve
everything
that goes on. Even guest lists.

I recall all this publicly, to maybe give some context to my remarks over the years and to help you, my dear monkey, appreciate what I will say next: I am filled with regret that I left. Now, I know some asshole out there will say that I feel that way because I didn't work as much after I left, but the truth is, that was by my choice. As soon as I was off the show, I realized that I could do whatever I wanted with my life and I quit. Ran away to Topeka, joined a computer company and discovered that I hated myself. I was truly disgusted with the person I looked at in the mirror each day and getting away from the environment I had always lived in was the only way to ensure that I changed all that.

You know who I would be if I had never left? Say it with me, my people: WILLIAM FUCKING SHATNER.

So, regrets? I have a few . . . but then again, I wouldn't be the person I am now, if I'd stuck around and I like who I've become.

That's an interesting entry for a couple of reasons. I genuinely enjoyed sharing those "on the set" memories with WWdN readers as much as I enjoyed recalling them . . . but I'm also trying to clarify—for myself, as much as for anyone else—why I had spent so much time and effort distancing myself from the franchise. I still miss the cast and my time spent with them, but I can't deny how awful Rick Berman made me feel, and it's pretty clear to me now that Prove To Everyone That Quitting
Star Trek
Wasn't A Mistake was born largely because of those events.

Part IV. BREAKING NEWS

"Life is what happens while you're making other plans."

--John Lennon

The World Has Turned

WE WERE IN LAS VEGAS
from September 4th until September 10th. The day after we came home, the joy I'd felt just 24 hours before was replaced by shock, horror, and confusion.

13 SEPTEMBER, 2001

He didn't know what to do. But he'd think of something
.

I wasn't going to talk about this, because it's all anyone is talking about. I mean, I turn on TLC to get away from it and they're just running a feed of FOX News. Same for Discovery. Even ESPN has a ticker with updates scrolling across the bottom of the screen.

So since I can't get away from it, I give in. I will write about it. Because I am scared. I am distraught. I am upset. I am depressed. I am angry. Mostly, I don't know what to do and I'm not quite sure how to feel. It reminds me of when my friend hanged himself. How helpless I felt, how angry, sad, and scared.

My wife woke me up Tuesday, much earlier than we normally get up, because my mom had called and told her about the attack on the WTC. So I sat up, turned on the TV and watched in horror as that plane crashed into the tower, over and over and over and over.

I felt like I was watching a bad Steven Segal movie. I mean, this just doesn't happen in real life, right?

But here's the deal: I can't cry. I really want to. I feel it well up in my chest, but the tears won't come. And that is the hardest thing, so far. That and the fear.

I was walking Ferris last night and I kept getting this completely irrational fear that something awful was going to happen while I was away from the house. Didn't help that she kept stopping and looking behind us, like there was something there.

Here I find myself, at an uncommon loss for words. I don't think I really have much to add, so that's it for tonight.

Hrm. Worst. Entry. Ever.

Like much of the world, I spent the rest of September in a daze. I've never been a big fan of flying, and my thoughts often drifted to the passengers on those planes. I wondered what they did, how they felt, when they knew they were going to die. I had grown accustomed to feeling depressed about Hollywood, but 9/11 made my frustrations about work feel petty, and proving to everyone that quitting
Star Trek
wasn't a mistake seemed pretty goddamned unimportant.

Part V. ACT II

"You're out of control—and you want the world to love you
Or maybe you just want a chance to let them know
That you live and breathe and suffer
And your back is in the corner and you've got nowhere to go"

--Oingo Boingo Out of Control

"You've got to cry without weeping,
talk without speaking,
scream without raising your voice."

--U2 Running To Stand Still

Chapter 4. Stop Me If You Think That You'Ve Heard This One Before

IT WAS EARLY OCTOBER
, and a thick blanket of gold and orange maple leaves covered the grass outside my office window. I looked up when I heard the phone ring, and saw Anne playing catch with Ferris, who seemed to have as much fun bounding through the piles of leaves as she did chasing the ball.

From the kitchen, Nolan shouted, "I've got it!"

"Hello?" he said. "No, this is Nolan. Do you want to talk to my mom?"

I laughed, and remembered all the times when I was his age that I was mistaken for my mom on the phone.

"Okay. I'll get him." A moment later, he stood in my office doorway.

"Wil, it's your manager and he wants to talk to you . . . and he thought I was
mom!
" He laughed, and ran back out of my office.

"I love how he's still got two speeds: running and sleeping,"
I thought as I walked out to the kitchen and picked up the phone.

"Hey, Chris. What's up?"

"Well, please apologize to Nolan for me. I should know better, but he sounded just like Anne."

"I'll tell him," I said with a grin.

"Have you ever heard of a show called
Win Ben Stein's Money
?"

"Of course I have. It's hilarious! Do I get to be a contestant?"

"Better than that. Their cohost, Jimmy Kimmel, is leaving the show, and the executive producer wants to meet with you. If he thinks you're funny, you'll do a dry run of the show with him and some other executives, then a test for the network."

Prove To Everyone, who had been quietly slumbering for over a month since I came back from Las Vegas, woke with a start.

"Oh my god, Chris! If I get this, I'll be on TV every single day!"

"Yeah, and you'll get to show people how funny you are, and you'll get to write."

"Chris, I can totally do this! I've got all that experience from writing sketch comedy for ACME, and I know how to be a good cohost from working on
The J.Keith vanStraaten Show
!"
^[
6
^]

"This is a huge opportunity for us, Wil. Your meeting is at 2 tomorrow afternoon. I'm faxing the details right now."

I hung up the phone, and raced to the backyard to tell my wife about the meeting.

"Oh Puss!" she said. "I'm so happy for you!"

She turned to Ferris. "Your dad is going to be on TV again!"

Thump thump thump thump thump
. I picked up the ball and threw it across the yard.

"This could turn everything around," I said.

"When's the meeting?" Ferris came racing back, and dropped the ball at my feet.

"Tomorrow at 2!"

We may have done a stupid little dance because we were so excited, but I'd never admit to that in public. Or in a book, for that matter.

I knew that I was a perfect match for this show, and for the first time in years I felt supremely confident that I could book a job. While I waited for the fax to arrive, Prove To Everyone said,
"You're going to blog about this, right?"

Before I could answer, the Voice of Self Doubt convinced me to keep the specifics to myself:
"You're going to look like a big stupid asshole if you talk all about this and don't book the job, Wil. Talk about the opportunity, but don't give any specifics."

05 OCTOBER, 2001

Tree Huggin' Hippie Crap