Wil Wheaton's Blog, page 104

In which a trading card is autographed, ruined, saved, and charity auction’d

If you follow me on Twitter (thank you and I’m sorry) you know that I spent the last four days cleaning out my garage to make room for a homebrewery. I came across a lot of awesome things from a lifetime in showbiz, as well as a bunch of 80s and 90s artifacts that I was able to afford due to the aforementioned lifetime and the showbiz in which it was spent.

I documented the more memorable things on Twitter, and a non-zero number of people on the Internet seemed to enjoy taking the nostalgic journey with me.

One of the things I got out of the garage was this Star Trek trading card:

The more observant among you are probably thinking something like, “Hey, Wil Wheaton, what gives, man? Wesley never wore the Sunglasses of Justice on Star Trek! In fact, I own or have seen that trading card, and I know for a fact that he isn’t wearing sunglasses at all! YOU’RE A PHONY WIL WHEATON! A BIG FAT PHONY!”

Okay, first of all, calm down. It’s all going to make sense in a moment. Please read on for the description I wrote to go with this trading card on eBay:

So imagine this: your friends Paul and Storm are in town to shoot some pick up shots for their soon-to-be hit webseries Learning Town. They ask you if they can come hang out, because they’re bored.

And then you’re like, “Oh, sure, because you’re bored. Not because you enjoy my delightful company and insightful commentary on current events as well as various aspects of popular culture and encyclopedic knowledge of internet memes. Good day, sir!”

But before you can say “I said GOOD DAY,” they promise to bring you a burrito.

“Curses,” you think to yourself, “my one weakness. How could they have known?!”

So they come over, with burritos and everything, and you hang out and eat a pretty rockin’ mojado-style burrito, and it’s great. Then, around the time they’re getting ready to leave, one of them, who we’ll call PAUL for this story, says, “Oh, hey, can you autograph a Star Trek thing for a person I know because you were on Star Trek and this person is, like, really all about Star Trek?”

You have been cleaning out your garage for four days, and you happen to have excavated a bunch of things from a lifetime in showbiz, including some trading cards from a science fiction television series you worked on as a teenager, so you say, “Yeah, I’d be happy to do that. In fact, I have a pretty cool one right here on the kitchen counter for some reason so let me whip out the Sharpie pen all famous actors carry with them at all time for use in occasions such as these and get to work.”

You uncap your pen and scrawl your magnificent autograph, which you’ve developed for years and years after tens of thousands of efforts, across one side of the card. But then, for reasons that may or may not be related to the two homebrewed beers you’ve enjoyed — and earned, because remember you have spent four surprisingly emotional days reliving pretty much your entire life through artifacts — you finish your signature with a flourish that drags an angry black line right across your face.

“Well, crap,” you might say. “I’ve ruined this, just like some angry people say I ruined that show they loved twenty-five years ago.

But then you get an idea! You know how to save it and turn it into a priceless work of collectible art that will surely sell on an online auction site for ones or even fives of dollars. I mean, we’re not talking dented ping pong ball money, but it’s still something nice to give to your local humane society. So you start to turn the line into sunglasses, and when you’re drawing the second lens, you realize that maybe you should have just turned it into an eye patch, because that would make Wesley Crusher cool like Snake Plissken.

“Man, I should have made this an eyepatch,” you say, “because sunglasses are so pedestrian.”

And that’s when it hits you: dude, you’ve got this. You know how to save this, because you’re a professional and you know exactly what the hell you’re doing. You turn the sunglasses into THE SUNGLASSES OF JUSTICE and write, “YEEEAAAHHHH!” right across the top. You slam the card down on the table and say, “Nailed it,” because you did.

That’s when your friend tells you that he forgot the name of the person he wanted the goddamn thing for in the first place, so if you could just go ahead and sign something different in the future that would be great and you are all OMG DUDE I MADE THIS JUST FOR YOU AND NOW YOU DON’T EVEN WANT IT WHAT THE HELL MAN.

And that is when you realize you could probably take this card and put it in the trash … or put it on eBay as a charity auction with a stupid description that isn’t as funny as it should be, considering how long you took writing it.

Okay, Person On The Internet, here’s what you’re bidding on: a Star Trek trading card of everyone’s favorite ensign (SHUT UP HE WAS THE MOST POPULAR CHARACTER EVER I REJECT YOUR REALITY AND SUBSTITUTE MY OWN), signed by Wil Wheaton, who is a pretty neat guy. It is ruined and restored exactly as described above and in the accompanying picture. If you want, he’ll even write the name of your choice on it (probably on the back or maybe in small print on the bottom) or draw a bird on it. It won’t be a good bird, because he can’t draw at all, but it will be in a nest and have a beak that really says, “I am such a bird! Look at this beak! It’s two triangles!” The bird may have wings, depending on things, but wings are NOT GUARANTEED.

This card will be put into an envelope, stamped with a REAL WESLEY CRUSHER STAMP THAT IS TOTALLY AMAZING BECAUSE I FOUND IT IN MY GARAGE THIS WEEKEND, and mailed to the address of your choosing. You won’t even have to pay for shipping, because Wil Wheaton is a pretty neat guy.

See? It all makes sense now, doesn’t it. Also, 100% of the final bid on this trading card will be given to the Pasadena Humane Society, because they help pets like Seamus and Marlowe find their forever families.

watched over by top men. Top. Men.

If you follow me on Twitter (thank you and I’m sorry), you know that I’ve been aggressively cleaning out my garage for the last three days. I’m building a pretty awesome homebrewery out there, and I have to get rid of all this stuff I’ve collected over the years to make space.

Most of the things I’m getting rid of are old clothes, books and CDs. I’ve also come across a bunch of obsolete bits of technology that are going to be amusing to take to the recycling place.

Mostly, I’ve had a lot of joyous memories as I go through these things. I’ve found things that date all the way back to the late 70s, things from all the stages of my acting career, and things from my writing career. Probably the best feeling I’ve had is getting rid of things that I don’t need any more, and reducing boxes of stuff I’ve hauled around since I was 23 and bought my first house from a dozen to half of one.

(Lots of people on Twitter thought it was hilarious to call me a hoarder, but I actually find that a little offensive. I had so much stuff from so long ago, I wasn’t sure I was prepared to emotionally deal with what I’d find, and it was pretty overwhelming to think about going through it all. Turns out making a brewery is good motivation.)

The best feeling isn’t actually finding these old things I forgot I had, though that’s been pretty great. The best feeling is realizing that there’s a lot of stuff in here I thought was really important to me, but just isn’t. Stuff that I held onto when I was struggling in my mid-20s because it reminded me of when I wasn’t struggling in my early 20s, and stuff I held onto when I was turning 30 because I wasn’t ready to completely let go of my 20s. I feel stupid to realize that I hauled around boxes of useless shit for 15 years for no good reason, except that it was a good reason at the time. I guess what I’m saying is, I’m so happy with my life and the people in it, I don’t need to hold onto something that was, because what is kicks ass. I’m grateful for that, and wanted to write it down before I got distracted by shiny things.

Anyway, I’m going to auction a lot of the things I’ve decided to keep for charity in the near future, so stay tuned if you’re into that sort of thing. And if you want to see whatever stupid thing I unearth next, complete with hilarious trenchant commentary, it’s happening on Twitter, where I’m @wilw.

 

Fun With Flu Maps

From the ongoing “I am Easily Amused” series: something I did with this morning’s Flu Map from Weather Underground:

Alaska is fucked, you guys.

my son is pretty funny

I realized this morning that I didn’t have any oranges or orange juice to make my world famous (inside my house) port wine cranberry sauce to go with dinner tonight, so I grabbed a bag and prepared to walk up to the grocery store.

“I need you to get blah blah blah blah blah,” Ryan said.

“I have no idea what you just said, so write me a list,” I said. Ryan tore a page out of his notebook and started writing things down on it.

Anne came out of our bedroom, and asked me where I was going.

“I need some things from the store,” I said, “so I’m walking up there to get them.”

“How about we walk Seamus and Marlowe up there? They can use the exercise, and then they’ll be calm for the rest of the day.”

I thought that was a fine idea, a fine, fine idea, Stuart, and I said as much. I went to the closet to get their leashes and harnesses. I imagine that the following went through their minds:

Seamus: THE DOOR TO THE CLOSET IS OPEN! A WALK IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW AND WE ARE ON IT!

 

Marlowe: DOOR! DOOR! DOOR! WALK! WALK! WALK! WALK! WALK!

 

Riley: I’M A DOG!

Seamus and Marlowe ran to the closet, and showed their excitement to get at what’s inside the closet by making it impossible for me to open the closet. You know, like dogs do. This is when Riley realized what was going on.

Riley: OH SWEET DOGGIE JESUS A WALK IS HAPPENING AND WHEN I GO ON A WALK I GET TO SMELL THINGS AND SOMETIMES POOP ON A YARD AND THEN THERE’S A BIRD AND I BARK AT IT AND IT FLIES AWAY BUT I KNOW THAT I COULD CATCH IT IF I REALLY WANTED TO BUT I DON’T WANT TO BECAUSE ANOTHER DOG PEED ON THIS BUSH AND I HAVE TO ALSO PEE HERE BECAUSE OH MY GOD IS THAT A DOG IN THAT WINDOW? BARK BARK BARKBARKBARK!

 

Seamus: Welcome to, like, an hour ago in dog time, Riley.

So I found myself surrounded by three very excited dogs who were determined to show exactly how much they can jump and bark and generally turn my nice, quiet living room into a maelstrom of fur and jumping.

It took a minute or so (an eternity in “I-am-ready-to-go-on-a-walk” dog time) to get them all leashed up and ready to go.

“Okay, so you guys need to walk Riley,” I said to Ryan and Nolan, “because she can’t make it all the way to the store and back. Also there is no way the two of us can handle three dogs plus a bag of groceries on the way back.”

You’ll note that it never occurred to me to drive to the store, because it’s a gorgeous day here and walking places is usually better than not walking places, for distances under 5 miles.

Anne and I headed up to the store, and the kids took Riley around the block. About ten minutes into the walk, I realized that I’d forgotten my phone and Ryan’s list.

“Ryan wanted me to get things and I forgot the list,” I said.

“Call him,” Anne suggested.

“I also forgot my phone,” I said. We looked at each other. Seamus growled at something that only he could see. Marlowe wagged her tail so fast I briefly wondered how wagging dog tails could be employed to power small villages in the developing world.

“You’re on fire this morning,” Anne said.

“Yeah, I know. I’m awesome.”

We got to the store. Anne told me she needed mayonaise to make the wasabi deviled eggs, and waited with the dogs while I got the things I needed. That’s when I discovered that there is pretty much a wall of mayonaise options in our grocery store, in amounts ranging from “I need a little mayonaise” to “GORGE MYSELF ON GALLONS AND GALLONS OF DISGUSTING STUFF MADE FROM EGGS AND OIL AND SHAME.”

I completed my purchases, in the process reaffirming my superpower of wrecking whatever line I’m in simply by the act of choosing it: I got behind two guys who had two things: Pedialyte and Tums (clearly recovering from a hangover). Instead of it taking them less time to pay for them than it’s taken me to write this paragraph like it should have, they paid with a combination of dollar bills, grimy handfulls of change, a little bit on a debit card … and then remembered that they really needed cigarettes so the whole thing started over. Then we got to wait for the cigarettes to show up from wherever they keep them locked up in the store.

I met Anne and our dogs outside the store, and we began the walk home. Seamus and Marlowe were very excited to see children out with their parents, squirrels everywhere, and something on a yard that couldn’t be seen, but required enthusiastic rolling around and grunting to fully appreciate.

We got home, and Ryan met us at the door.

“You didn’t take my list!” He said.

“I know, I was distracted by dogmageddon when we were trying to leave.”

“I tried to call you and your phone just rang and rang!”

“That’s because it was left on the kitchen counter. Didn’t it raise any suspicions when you called my phone and then something playing my Doctor Who ringtone made noise in the house while I wasn’t picking up?”

“Shut up.”

That’s when I saw his list, which made me laugh so much, I wrote almost a thousand words just to introduce it on my blog:

Yep. He’s my son alright.

I am always thankful for my life and the people who are in it, especially my family. This morning’s walk to the market is just one small reason why.

From the Vault: Matt LeBlanc, Vampires, and Me

I saw on Twitter that an episode I did of the old series Monsters was on Chiller channel today (You can also see it on the YouTubes: Part One; Part Two). Here’s a story I wrote about it my column in the LA Weekly in 2008:

Super Fun Happy Slide: Reflections on an Acting Career

I spent the first two thirds of my life working as a full-time actor, but about five years ago, my primary focus shifted from acting to writing. A funny thing happened on my way to being a full-time writer, though: I started working a lot as an actor, both on camera (CSI, Criminal Minds) and with my voice (Teen Titans, Legion of Superheroes). This has lead to a pretty standard question when I do interviews: “What do you like more, acting or writing?”

“It’s a lot like asking a parent which child they love more,” goes my standard response, “the truth for me is that I love both of my children for different reasons, and I don’t think it’s possible for me to love one more than the other. However, it is impossible for me to imagine my life without them in it.”

My acting career has spanned just a few months shy of thirty years. During it, I’ve worked with awesome people, complete douchebags, famous people who were intimidating, famous people who were gracious, famous people who were on their way down, and soon-to-be famous people who were on their way up. This week, I thought it would be fun to combine my actor side with my writer side, and tell a story about one of those people.

In 1990, I did an episode of the syndicated television series Monsters. The show was a lot of fun to work on, and though it’s not one of the the more memorable entries on my resume, the experience I had while shooting it was. The episode was called “A Shave and a Haircut, Two Bites” and I played a teenager who is convinced that the neighborhood barbers are vampires. Nobody believes him, so he convinces his friend to join him in some casual late night breaking and entering to get a closer look inside the barbershop, where he hopes to find irrefutable evidence that will ensure he gets the girl, who is never seen or implied, but was an important part of my motivation.

Shortly after they get inside, the barbers show up, reveal in the usual manner that the damn kids were right all along, and strap our heroes into barber chairs, where vampirelarity ensues … with one of the trademark Monsters twists: instead of drinking their victims’ blood, they collect and feed it to a horrible monster who lives in the basement. The show ends with the the two kids, now adults, working in the same barbershop and serving the same hideous master, in the same manner.

As far as the standard “boy meets vampire, boy’s blood is fed by vampire to hideous monster, boy becomes adult minion of hideous monster” story goes, it was pretty good. It also managed to sneak in a subversive message about the importance of breaking the cycle of vampirism, which qualified the episode as “educational” in some Eastern Bloc countries.

Here’s where the story gets weird. The other kid was played by a young actor who was pretty new to Hollywood. Though he would eventually become one of the highest paid actors in prime time, he hadn’t done very much before we worked together, and I was the well-known veteran on the set. His name was Matt LeBlanc; you may have heard of him.

Neither one of is knew that our career trajectories were on decidedly different paths when they intersected, but we liked each other right away, and rather than retreat to our individual dressing rooms when we weren’t filming, we hung out like old friends, and in the course of getting to know each other, we discovered that we both liked Monty Python, MST3K, and Zucker Brothers movies.

One Friday morning, he asked me, “Did you see The Simpsons last night?”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t watch The Simpsons.”

He looked surprised. “Dude, it’s exactly the kind of show you’d like.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve watched it a couple of times, and I thought it was funny when it was part of the Tracy Ullman show, but I just don’t think it works for a full half hour.” I was 18 at the time, and due to my vast experience in life, the universe and everything, I was certain that The Simpsons wouldn’t last more than two seasons. (Someday, I’ll tell you how I also predicted that nobody would remember Nirvana after Smells Like Teen Spirit, or thatArrested Development would be on the air forever. Ahem.)

Matt turned to face me, put down his script, and for the next twenty minutes, reenacted the entirety of the previous night’s episode, a rerun from the first season titled “The Crepes of Wrath.”

“They send Bart to France, where he gets stuck working at a vineyard. They make him sleep with a donkey, they put antifreeze in the wine … it’s really terrible. But there’s this part where he picks a grape,” he stood up, and held an imaginary grape between his fingers. “And then he looks around …”

Matt looked to his right, then to his left, the grin that he’d trademark four years later beginning to stretch across his face. “They cut away from him, and show that there’s nobody around,” he held his hands in front of his face, pantomiming a camera panning from side to side. “But when he tries to put it in his mouth, a hand shows up from nowhere and smacks him in the back of the head!” He started to giggle, “and then the French guy goes, don’t eet zee grapes, Baaharrt!”

His fake French accent was hilarious, and we both giggled like idiots for several minutes. For the rest of the episode, whenever we were supposed to be serious or focused, Matt would catch my eye and quietly say “don’t eet zee grapes, Baaharrt!” and I would crack up. I never ratted him out, even though the director grew tired of my seeming inability to keep it together when I was supposed to be skulking around the barbershop, or watching my precious bodily fluids flow down tubes into the gaping maw of some nameless horror.

On the final day of production, we traded phone numbers and planned to stay in touch, but when we didn’t have working on Monsters in common, we returned to our regular lives and never got together to hang out and watch The Simpsons together.

A few years passed, and one night my friend and I watched an episode of this new show,Friends. I wanted to watch our Ren & Stimpy compilation on VHS, but there was a girl involved and … well, you know how those things go.

I recognized Matt as soon as I saw him. “Hey,” I said, “See the guy who plays Joey? That’s the guy who convinced me to watch The Simpsons! We worked together on Monsters. Cool!”

I was genuinely excited for him. We’d only worked together for a week, but I liked him a lot. He was such a kind person, so guileless and so excited to be working as an actor, it was like one of the good guys – somebody who actually deserved success – had made it.

Life is rarely comfortable for anyone who hopes to be a full-time actor. It’s intensely competitive, unreliable, and totally unpredictable. While some will get to grab the brass ring and never let go, most of us spend our entire careers watching fate dance right up to us, seductively unzip its top just enough to get us excited, and then laugh as it dances away with a different partner. It’s like Lucy with the football, and it sucks. But there are moments on the set, when a guy you just met puts on a hilarious fake French accent and says, “don’t eet zee grapes, Baaharrt!” and you collapse into giggles that you can viscerally recall fifteen years later. Those moments are priceless, and even though they don’t put food on the table or open up any casting office doors, they’re a big part of why I keep coming back to the dance.

in which a rage comic is created

I came across Dan’s Awesome Rage Maker, so I got excited and made something.

And, scene.

Dogshaming Marlowe

Click to embiggen Marlowe’s report card for today.

I love my adorable puppy, but boy was she an asshole today.

in which tropical drinks are ordered

On our anniversary last week, Anne and I decided to take a field trip to Disneyland and goof off for the day. It was damn close to perfect: it was warm in the sun and cool in the shade, not very crowded, and the longest we waited for anything was fifteen minutes. We ended the day at Trader Sam’s tiki bar in the Disneyland hotel.

“Do you know what you’d like to order?” The bartender asked us.

“What are you getting?” Anne asked me.

“I was thinking about that shipwreck drink,” I said.

“Me too,” she said.

“Well, then, you get that and I’ll get something different.” I said.

The bartender said, “You guys could both get the same drink, you know…”

“Oh no,” I said, “because that’s the first step to –”

Anne and I said, in unison, “–matching tracksuits.”

Then we laughed like people who had had lots of fruity tropical drinks, even though we hadn’t had a single one.

We ended up getting different drinks, and then shared a drink that was on fire, which is why I can’t remember the name of the drink I got. (Honestly, they’re all variations on the same theme: too much rum, a bunch of sugary stuff and a dash of primary colour served in  a vessel shaped like a skull or a tiki or something that could have once been a monkey, if that monkey was carved from a coconut in 1955.) It was a great day, and the perfectly silly way to celebrate the best day of my life, thirteen years ago.

About that Star Trek Proposal Picture…

You’ve probably seen this picture, or at least heard the story about the man who proposed to his now-fiancée at the Austin Comic Convention a couple of weeks ago.

I was asked on Reddit to fill in some details, and though I was not OP, I delivered:

It was Sunday at Austin Wizard World Con. I had the flu, and almost missed this photo session. Though I had a fever and no cowbell, I sat there and smiled for everyone as best as I could, grateful that I’d spent the entire night throwing up so there was nothing left in me to vomit all over the fans like I was cosplaying from the Exorcist.

 

The way this sort of photo session works is pretty standard: people come in, stand next to Patrick, say a few words, and then we all pose for the picture. Each person is there for less than half a minute (which I think really sucks because of how much they pay for the opportunity, but is pretty much the only way we can manage the hundreds of people who usually sign up for these things.)

 

About 30 minutes or so into this particular session, these two people came in. The girl went to stand between Patrick and Frakes, and the guy directed her to stand in the front, instead. All of us tried to figure out what was going on (usually it’s small kids who come to the front, usually sitting on Brent’s lap or Gates’ lap), and the guy said, “I really love Star Trek, but I love [her name] even more.” He got down on one knee, and proposed to her.

 

Marina started to cry, I felt like I was going to cry, and we all applauded and celebrated when she said “yes.” Apparently, they’d met Marina earlier in the day, and Marina had given him shit for not marrying her, so Marina was embarrassed about that.

 

I’m not sure why this picture is being circulated online, like Patrick is giving the literal Picard Facepalm, because that’s just not what happened. We were all delighted for this young couple, and I know that I was honoured to be part of this moment in their lives. I think it’s likely that Patrick was just wiping sweat off his brow or something like that.

It wasn’t awkward, other than that moment when everyone except the guy had no idea what was going on. Once we knew what was happening, it was awesome. I’m incredibly happy for these people, and I love that I got to be part of what is hopefully a moment they’ll celebrate and remember for the rest of their lives.

Yesterday, Anne and I celebrated our thirteenth wedding anniversary (More like ANNE-N-WIL-IVERSARY AMIRITE?!), so I stayed off the internet for most of the day. However, I got a very sweet e-mail from the young woman who was the proposed, and she said something that I think is pretty awesome:

I just read your comments on Reddit and I wanted to thank you. It was nice to hear your thoughts on it. My fiance proposed to me in front of the TNG cast because of a school girl crush I had on you.

Thanks for battling through your flu to be there.  It was very special having you and the rest of the cast there.  I will cherish the moment forever.

So will I, and I’m sorry I look like a hobo. Also, I like this picture much, much better than the first one. I’ve never seen myself look so happy.

From The Vault: the nights are darker and longer than they were a week ago

My soundtrack to yesterday was a collection of essential 1990s ambient music from Woob, FAX Label, and Global Communication, and Deep Space Network.

I mentioned this on Twitter, and was delighted to discover that there is a new (to me) Woob album, which should be embedded here:

And this is as good a time as any to cut and paste part of an old post I wrote about ambient music in 2008:

I’m always happy to share this type of music with people, and if I have an opportunity to turn people on to music that really opened my mind (without the assistance from any chemical or mind-altering substances, I always feel compelled to add) I always seize it.

 

I’ll point those of you who are interested to a portion of a post I made in 2005 (my god, how is it that it simultaneously feels so long ago and so recent to me?) about ambient music. The “it” I refer to is an ambient song I made in GarageBand called Lakeside Shadow:

 

If you like it, you’ll probably like some of the artists who influenced me over the years: Woob (especially 1194, and especially the track strange air) Dedicated (especially Global Communication, also called 76 14), and Solitaire (especially Ritual Ground). Also, Instinct Records (still alive) andSilent Records (sadly, tragically, defunct since 1996) released an amazing number of genre-defining ambient discs in the 90s. And now, just to prove how hardcore I am, I’m going to throw out Pete Namlook, and the FAX Label, but their stuff is far more experimental than the rest of my list, and isn’t what I’d use to introduce a new listener to Ambient music.

 

Finally, if you can find it, Silent Records put out an incredible record called Earth to Infinity (I think in 1994) which was pulled shortly after it was released, due to some sampling issues. I think it’s one of the greatest ambient recordings of all time, and don’t ask me for it because I’m not going to jail for you, Chachi.

 

I think I could have said “incredible” a few more times. Allow me to emphatically pulverize this dead horse deep into the ground: if you only get two ambient records in your whole life, they should be 1194 from Woob and Earth to Infinity (holy shit there are two available from Amazon). If you can only get three, add 76:14, and thank me before you touch the monolith and journey beyond the infinite.

 

Okay, as I said in 2005, most of my ambient CDs are from Silent, Instinct, and Caroline, and I have a metric assload of FAX recordings that I don’t listen to very much any more. If I were to expand on the artists and albums I mentioned three years ago into a list of essentials, I would add Pelican Daughters‘ breathtaking record Bliss, Consciousness III (orLunar Phase) by Heavenly Music Corporation, and the 2295 compilation from em:t.

 

If you’re intrigued, and want to know what some of this stuff sounds like without waiting, please go directly to Magnatune, and fire up their ambient mix. They’ve got artists over there, like Robert Rich and Falling You, who make truly incredible music. (I really think I need to say incredible and really more. Really.) Soma FM has magnificent downtempo and ambient streams, as well. Groove Salad and Dronezone rarely disappoint.

 

The thing to understand about ambient, though, if you’ve never heard it before, is that it’s slow and deliberate. It takes its time. It doesn’t work in the car, and it doesn’t work if your brain is cranked up to eleven. It’s best enjoyed when you can relax, and let it fill the room around you as you slowly sink into it and out of yourself, like you’ve stepped into a giant gelatinous cube.

 

Hrm. Maybe that’s not the best way to describe it. Go ahead and fill in your own: “______________.”

Yes, that’s it. That’s it exactly.

So there you go. As the weather changes, the leaves begin to fall, maybe something here will help you through the nights that are darker and longer than they were a week ago.