Posted by Wil

https://wilwheaton.net/2025/04/in-which-a-memory-is-created-with-my-son/

https://wilwheaton.net/?p=9533

I went to my first Los Angeles Kings game around 1986, when they still played at the Forum, wore the original uniforms, and weren’t a playoff team.

By the end of the first period, my fandom was cemented. I loved how fast the game moved. I loved how weird it was to play ice hockey in Southern California. I loved that nobody I knew was into hockey, so this was something that belonged to me. In the 80s, being a hockey fan in LA was to be part of a subculture that took a little bit of work. Like, it was easy to be a Lakers fan during Showtime. The Dodgers weren’t that great in the mid-80s, but by 1988 they were in the World Series again, while the Kings were pretty mid, if my memory is correct.

Years and years ago, I wrote something about how much I loved getting off of work at Paramount, driving down La Cienega through the oil fields, and sneaking into Inglewood around the traffic on the 405 and 110. I would have been 16 or so, maybe just barely 17, when Gretzky came to the Kings, and my subculture exploded into very mainstream Los Angeles sports culture. I took an extended break from the NHL — and all sports, really — when my kids were little. We couldn’t justify the expense for tickets, and when I had a choice between going out for something or staying home and enjoying my family’s company, I always stayed home.

But in … I think it was 2010? 2011? … the Kings were in the playoffs against St. Louis, a couple seasons before they won their first Stanley Cup. I knew from experience that there is nothing in the world like playoff hockey, and that I had my best chance to introduce Anne to the sport, the team, and that part of me. So we went to game 3 of the series (I’m going from memory. I could look all this up and be sure about the dates, but I’m going to write this parenthetical, instead.) We sat behind the goal, about 7 rows up, not the best place to get a full view of the game and watch plays develop, but really great for dropping you right into the middle of the whole thing.

Anne was completely on board by like the third or fourth whistle. She was hollering with me, stomping her feet, the whole thing. It was great. We got season tickets the following season, and we have had them ever since.

Last night, she had an art class she’s been looking forward to for weeks, that she joind before the playoff schedule was set, so I took our son, Nolan, with me. He’s been so busy with so many things, we haven’t had many opportunities lately to just go out and hang, so I was looking forward to that even more than the game, itself.

Holy shit the game, itself. I’ve been feeling like this team is the first team the Kings have put out in years that has a real chance to get past Edmonton. Fucking FINALLY. As I wrote only semi-jokingly in yesterday’s post, Edmonton has one line and a bunch of guys. Their goalie is very beatable, and if the Kings can shut down McDavid (who, we all have to admit is the greatest player in the world right now), they should advance.

The vibe inside Staples Center was immaculate. Fans chanting in the streets, in the concourse ahead of the game, in our seats before they introduced the players. For the first time since opening night, the place looked to be nearly sold out. It was the playoffs, man, and it nourished my soul to be there.

The game was exciting and nerve wracking. The Kings took their foot off the gas at the beginning of the third, as is traditional, and let the Oilers back in. McDavid did his thing (I hope Edmonton nerds know how lucky they are to watch him year after year) and I felt roughly 17000 people go “oh fuck my life not this again”.

And then.

And then, Phillip Danault and Warren Foegele did this, with 7 seconds left.

Nolan and I jumped up out of our seats so fast and so hard, we practically hit our heads on the roof.

The Kings held on for seven intense seconds, and after blowing a huge lead, managed to win it 6-5 in regulation. It’s the first time they’ve won a playoff game in regulation in three years. I screamed so much, my throat hurts today and my voice is hoarse. Not the best thing before I start an audiobook tomorrow. Good thing I heal like Wolverine.

On the drive home, I looked over at Nolan and said, “Look, it’s the playoffs, and I would never admit to this in public or on my blog, but it’s after 10 already and I did not want to be leaving here after 11, so I feel like not only did the Kings win, we also won.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t going to say anything, but … yeah.”

We laughed about that a little bit.

I said, “I guess I know that I’m old and tired because I’m not completely sure I wouldn’t have suggested we race home during the intermission so I could watch OT on TV and then roll right into bed. I don’t even know who I am.”

He started to reply, then said, “Look out!” because a stupid fucking dipshit idiot driver whipped across three lanes without signaling to gain a car length while I was — with my turn indicator on because oh my fucking god why is that so hard for you people to do — safely changing lanes like an adult.

I yanked my wheel back to my left, was grateful I drive a Mini with a low center of gravity, and dad mode automatically engaged. “You fucking idiot fuck,” I spat at that guy. “My fucking kid is right here! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You okay? Sorry about that.”

“Yeah, that was intense.”

My parental anger faded as quickly as it flared. “I’m really glad you saw that. I would have missed it entirely.” In my dad brain, a vivid series of violent car crashes played in high speed.

“I barely did.”

“Yikes. That’s scary. We were so close to being in a serious crash because of that guy, and he probably has no idea.” I wondered how many more near collisions this dude would cause on his way to wherever he was going.

“Yep.”

We drove in silence for a little bit. And then, after we’d merged onto the 134, I said the thing that had been on my mind since we’d left the house hours earlier.

“I’m so grateful you chose to come to the game tonight. Thank you for making a special memory with me. I cherish this time together, and I want you to know that.”

“I do know that, but I’m still glad you said it. I didn’t expect to have as much fun as I did. It reminded me of the times we went before.”

“That was so much fun. I’m so happy that you remember it the way I do.”

When Nolan was in high school, the Kings had ticket packs for super cheap (they were NOT a good team, then) so I got him like 6 games for Christmas, mostly so we had an excuse to go do something together. At one of the games, we were screaming and cheering for the boys and they put us on the Jumbotron. Someone in the organization grabbed it, and made that video snip part of the opening montage for the rest of that year. Every game I went to, with Nolan and without, I got to see it and remember how fun it was when it happened. It was so long ago, the memories have faded to a point where they are unreliable. Last night was an echo of those memories, and it refreshed them enough to restore their clarity.

Anne’s got tickets to a show tomorrow, and Nolan is my first choice, if he’s feeling it, to be my +1. So maybe we’ll get to make another memory together tomorrow night that involves the Kings going to Edmonton up 2 games to none.

If you’d like to get these updates in your inbox, here’s the thingy:

Also, before I go, I am on Michael Rosenbaum’s podcast, Inside of You, this week. I’m working on a post about it, just struggling to get WordPress to play nice with a bit of embedded video. Until then, here are some quick links:

• YouTube
• Spotify
• Apple Podcasts
• Website

https://wilwheaton.net/2025/04/in-which-a-memory-is-created-with-my-son/

https://wilwheaton.net/?p=9533

Posted by Wil

https://wilwheaton.net/2025/04/the-art-of-storytelling-the-obligatory-bird-nerd-nonsense-and-a-whole-lot-of-muppets-odds-n-ends-for-april-17/

https://wilwheaton.net/?p=9507

So many odds-n-ends today. Let’s get into it.

Anne and I are doing a Momentus Event together on April 27 at 10am Pacific. What is this, exactly? I’m so glad you asked.

It’s The Art of Storytelling!

Join us for an inspiring virtual event featuring creative juggernauts Anne and Wil Wheaton as they dive into the craft of storytelling, their writing processes, and the art of developing creative ideas. Whether you’re an aspiring writer, a seasoned storyteller, or simply a fan of great stories, this fun discussion will provide valuable insights into the creative journey.

Anne, a lifelong rescue pet advocate, will discuss her popular children’s book “Piggy and Pug” — a heartwarming tale about the journey of Pug, who’s searching for a new family, and Piggy, who’s looking for a new friend.

Wil, a celebrated writer, actor, and geek culture icon, will talk about the process behind his best-selling annotated memoir, “Still Just A Geek,” which continues to sell out at bookstores around the world.

Upgrade your ticket to include a copy of “Piggy & Pug” by Anne Wheaton and an exclusive character enamel pin set! Meet-and-greets will include a copy of Wil’s “Still Just A Geek” while supplies last!

They’ll share their personal experiences, challenges, and successes in the writing world. They’ll discuss how to cultivate original ideas, overcome writer’s block, and craft compelling, resonant artistic ventures.

The conversation will be followed by a Q&A session, allowing attendees to ask questions and gain deeper insights from their perspectives.

Don’t miss this opportunity to be part of an inspiring discussion about the power of stories and the creative process behind them!

Reserve your spot now and get ready to be inspired.

Some of our friends have done these events, and they tell us that they love them. We are both looking forward to hanging out. We can’t make any promises, because cats, but we’ll do our best to get Marlowe and Watson to come say hello.

I have a Patreon for my podcast, if you’d like to support the show directly and help us make more episodes. I put a whole bunch of stuff there which I didn’t feel belong in the main show feed, like my reflections on each piece and why I chose it, copies of our marked up scripts so you can see how we do it, and live chat events (like an AMA) with me to talk about the show.

And speaking of Patreon … everyone there has been super supportive of me and the podcast. They even put me on a billboard in Times Square, as part of their creators campaign!

That’s me! On a billboard! In Times Square! LOOK! My podcast and I are right there! For everyone to see! WOW!

Nothing I’ve ever done has gotten me on a billboard in Times Square. Not even Star Trek. I don’t know that it will convert a single person into a subscriber, but I feel like this is one hell of a moment to enjoy. You made it to the big city, kid!

~

I’m reposting my recent episode of Mayim Bialik’s Breakdown, because I talked about really important things that seem to be resonating with a lot of people. If you missed it, here it is again.

Watch on YouTube

~

Someone on Bluesky showed me this picture:

And it sparked this memory:

In 1987, I was invited to do a photo shoot with Pigs In Space for Muppet Magazine, to promote The Next Generation. I put a copy of the magazine in a box of my stuff that my mom refuses to give me (I’m NC with my abusive parents). Now and then, I see this picture online and it always makes me smile.

That memory inspired me to go looking for the magazine, which is how I found out that the Muppet Wiki is a thing, and I have an entry! In that entry is a scan of the entire piece, which I was able to read for the first time in over thirty years.

Aw, Lil’ Wil! You’re awesome, kiddo. I know you don’t feel that way, and you won’t for … 40ish years, but I know you’re great, and worthy of unconditional love.

I remember when we did this, and how much I loved it. There is this moment in 1987 when I feel like everything is finally working out. I’m finally on a series, so I don’t have to go on auditions after school any more. I’m working regularly, so my mom is more calm and doesn’t heap pressure on me to support the family. I absolutely love that I am on Star Trek, a show that means so much to me. I really believe that everything is finally going to be okay. My dad will finally notice me, because I finally earned it. My mom will finally be satisfied because I’m getting all this attention.

It lasted for a little less than I year, I think, before I had to admit that my dad was still an asshole who hated me, my mother was still a bottomless pit of attention-craving neediness, and neither of them gave a shit about the work I was doing, as long as they could spend my money. It was around this time that I heard the first alt.wesley.die.die.die stuff, and the beginning of one of the darkest times in my personal life.

I try not to think about that time, and I talked about it all in Still Just A Geek, but it does occasionally surface, and writing about things is how I process and reprocess them, so.

I know most of you are appalled by these memories. Some of you reading this may be finding out for the first time that I’m an abuse survivor and have no relationship with my family (except my sister). I wrote all about this in Still Just A Geek, if you’re interested. In any case, I got better. I am better! I can revisit these moments with a distance and sense of safety that I’ve earned through years of EMDR therapy, and I want anyone else who knows the secret handshake that I am so sorry, and I see you. I hate that we are in this club, but I’m glad neither of us is alone inside it.

Okay, let’s get out of Sadtown and back to Joyville:

The wiki entry also contains this picture of Anne and me with Grover, from the time we got to go visit Sesame Street a few years ago.

I may have told this story before, but I’m going to tell it again. When we went to Sesame Street, both of us wept with joy as we were consumed by nostalgic memories. Everyone who worked there told us that happens whenever folks who grew up with Sesame Street visit.

PS fuck Trump and his thugs for going after Sesame Street. Also fuck the billionaires who could fund it for the rest of eternity without missing a penny of it, but don’t, because they didn’t learn how to share by watching Sesame Street.

Anyway.

We met Abbie, and we got to see Big Bird and Oscar the Grouch. I got to meet Mister Snuffleupagus, and he gave me a hug with his trunk (more weeping). I told him that I always believed he was real, and he told me that he always believed in me, too. More weeping. Then I showed him that Big Bird gave me one of his feathers that fell off when I met him. So Snuffy picked up a couple of his little feathers and gave them to me to keep with Big Bird’s feather. He said, “best friends should always be together,” and that’s when I looked at Anne, who was weeping, and told him, “We always are.”

We walked over to Mister Hooper’s store, next, and while we were looking around, the man who is Grover came over and introduced himself. He asked me if I wanted to meet Grover.

Y’all, Grover is my favorite Muppet, just barely sneaking past Gonzo. Lovable, furry old Grover, who always tries to do the right thing, who is easily frightened, who is so excited about everything all the time, is pretty much who I was when I was a little kid. Hell, it’s pretty much who I am now. I heavily identified with him. I can’t remember if I squeaked or what, but I said yes and before I knew it, I WAS TALKING TO GROVER. (And weeping with joy).

I … just totally forgot that there was a person there, and after a minutes, I asked Grover if I could have a hug. He said yes, put his arms around me, and then I hugged the hell out of Grover (or a guy’s arm, if you want to spoil the magic of the moment). I felt all the feelings. This was during the first Trump regime, when we had no idea how bad it would become, or that this idiot country would elect him on purpose again. I remember how scared we were, how the world felt as uncertain as it does now, only it was kind of new to feel that uncertainty, and I think all the things that Trump triggers in survivors just came up to the surface while I was hugged by a character I have loved my whole life.

I hugged him so tightly, and I could feel my tears on his fur. Grover said, “You give very good, very strong hugs, Mister Wil Wheaton,” and I said “it’s because I love you so much, Grover, and I had no idea how much I needed this.”

I have a picture of me giving him a hug that Anne took. It’s in a frame with Snuffy’s and Big Bird’s feathers.

Wow, I haven’t thought about that in a long time, and I feel all of it in my body. That’s wild.

~

Okay, one last thing before I get to the last thing.

My evolution from mostly-normal person to very weird Bird Nerd continues. The vast majority of birds in my yard are finches. There are the occasional Cowbirds and White Crowned Sparrows, a pair of Doves who really love the patio next to Anne’s art studio, but it’s mostly Finchburg, USA.

Yesterday, a Black-Headed Grosbeak showed up and posed for the most amazing picture.

Aren’t they beautiful? I hope they come back and bring their friends.

The last thing, as always, is a collection of links to get It’s Storytime with Wil Wheaton.

Subscribe now at

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Thanks for spending some time with me today, and thank you to everyone who is spreading the word about the podcast. We’re growing slowly, adding new listeners every day, and I know that’s largely because y’all are talking about it with your friends and family. I do not take that for granted, and I am grateful. Come on over and leave a comment; I enjoy interacting with y’all.

https://wilwheaton.net/2025/04/the-art-of-storytelling-the-obligatory-bird-nerd-nonsense-and-a-whole-lot-of-muppets-odds-n-ends-for-april-17/

https://wilwheaton.net/?p=9507

Posted by Wil

https://wilwheaton.net/2025/04/blogging-to-an-ocean-hear-the-comments-roar/

https://wilwheaton.net/?p=9502

Inside of me, there is an ocean of creativity in which I swim, dive, or sail whenever I want to tell a story or make A Thing Where There Was Not A Thing Before. When the tide is up, getting into that ocean is as easy as taking a couple of steps. When the tide is out, I have to walk across the biggest, stinkiest, muck-covered mud flat you can imagine. I can do it, because I am awesome, but by the time I get to the water’s edge, I’m so tired and drained, I don’t have much energy left to do whatever I went there for in the first place. And whatever I do make usually stinks a little bit.

I used to believe that I could force the tide to come in, could pull it in all on my own, by reading or listening to music or consuming inspirational entertainment. This was a profound misunderstanding of “if you don’t have time to read, you don’t have time to write” that took me years and way too many demoralizing and unproductive walks across that mud flat to correct.

You all know this already: the tide moves on its own. It’s too busy enjoying its dance with the Moon to care about humans. It does not even notice that we exist. Nothing I did affected it, and even though I think I knew that, I didn’t want to admit that I was overwhelming myself as a consumer, so I’d feel productive until it came in, right on its own schedule, and I could go back to being a creator and feeling productive.

All too often, I found myself standing on the shore, toes touching the water, entirely too exhausted to get in. And before I knew it, the tide was headed back out to sea. If I caught any of it at all, I still had to slog through a lot of stinky mud on my way back.

I became aware of this artistic tide about a year ago. And ever since, I have done my best to allow (encourage) myself to rest when the tide is out. The resting is what matters. For me, Rest looks like a lot of different things. I watch a lot of movies, or none at all. I catch up on entire seasons of tv shows, revisit old favorites. I play video games. I start a lot of books, and finish some of them. I go on long walks alone and with Anne. I spend entire days doing as close to nothing as possible. I encourage myself to get bored, to let my mind wander and sketch out something I may want to go looking for when the tide comes back in. And I do it all without looking at the calendar, at the clock, or any tide charts (which don’t exist in this metaphor, because if they did it would collapse and I just need you to let me have this.)

The last time the tide was in, I made the most of it. I had a lot of fun. I don’t think I even got out of the water for more than a few hours at a time for weeks. I wrote a cyberpunk short story about my friend’s Crocs turning him into a zombie, a Wesley Crusher story for the Star Trek comic, a whole bunch of stuff that’s not ready for publication, some pretty good blog posts. It was awesome, and though I was sad to watch it go, I was ready to get out and dry off when it left. I was ready to rest, looking forward to it, to be honest.

But the tide has been out for a lot longer than I can remember it being recently, and I’ve been pining for it. I’ve taken a few steps into the mud a little bit, found a few puddles, and what I’ve written and created there has been fine. I bet you didn’t even notice it was a little stinky. But the ocean is still far away. It’s not my favourite thing (hi Canada. I love you and I’m sorry about all this bullshit) but I guess I must have matured as an artist, or I feel more comfortable with myself as an artist, (and maybe that’s the exact same thing, resulting in a version of myself who is kinder and more patient with me than I used to be) because I fully accept that the tide is not mine to influence, let alone control. It’s okay to rest, so I’m ready when it gets here.

Oh hey. I just looked up, noticed that I’ve wandered way out into the mud, and I’m suddenly tired and stinky. But I’ve come this far from the beach so I could share how happy I am that last week, I thought that maybe I felt the wind shift, or the pressure change, the way it does when the tide comes in. And just before I wrote this paragraph, I think I glimpsed a thin, fiery shimmer on the horizon.

I appreciate you coming with me on this walk. Sorry about the mud. It washes out.

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https://wilwheaton.net/2025/04/blogging-to-an-ocean-hear-the-comments-roar/

https://wilwheaton.net/?p=9502