Wil Wheaton's Blog, page 132

two hundred words before six in the morning

When the alarm went off at 5am, I wasn't sure where I was. I mean, I knew I was in bed, but I was on the wrong side of the bed, and why was I awake when it's still dark outside?

After a few seconds, my brain finished booting up and I remembered that I am in Vancouver, I sleep on the wrong side of the bed so I don't feel Anne's absence more than I already do, and today I start work on season five of Eureka. I'm up when it's dark because I have one of those painfully-early call times that are, quite honestly, not such a bad problem to have.

I stumbled into the kitchen and turned on the coffee maker. I put a couple of frozen waffles into the toaster, and leaned against the counter while they did their thing. I felt a little dizzy.

The coffee finished brewing, and I filled my mug. As I took my first sip, the waffles popped up, and I put them onto a plate.

I walked into my dining room, and smiled to myself. It was early enough to hurt, and I was having a bachelor breakfast, but I was glad for it.

I'm back in Vancouver for Eureka, and in one of my scenes today, I have technobabble.

I don't feel safe. I feel violated, humiliated, and angry.

Yesterday, I was touched -- in my opinion, inappropriately -- by a TSA agent at LAX.

I'm not going to talk about it in detail until I can speak with an attorney, but I've spent much of the last 24 hours replaying it over and over in my mind, and though some of the initial outrage has faded, I still feel sick and angry when I think about it.

What I want to say today is this: I believe that the choice we are currently given by the American government when we need to fly is morally wrong, unconstitutional, and does nothing to enhance passenger safety.

I further believe that when I choose to fly, I should not be forced to choose between submitting myself to a virtually-nude scan (and exposing myself to uncertain health risks due to radiation exposure)1, or enduring an aggressive, invasive patdown where a stranger puts his hands in my pants, and makes any contact at all with my genitals.

When I left the security screening yesterday, I didn't feel safe. I felt violated, humiliated, assaulted, and angry. I felt like I never wanted to fly again. I was so furious and upset, my hands shook for quite some time after the ordeal was over. I felt sick to my stomach for hours.

This is wrong. Nobody should have to feel this way, just so we can get on an airplane. We have fundamental human and constitutional rights in America, and among those rights is a reasonable expectation of personal privacy, and freedom from unreasonable searches. I can not believe that the TSA and its supporters believe that what they are doing is reasonable and appropriate. Nobody should have to choose between a virtually-nude body scan or an aggressive, invasive patdown where a stranger puts his or her hands inside your pants and makes any contact at all with your genitals or breasts as a condition of flying.

I do not have the luxury of simply refusing to fly unless and until this policy changes. I have to travel dozens of times a year for work, and it simply isn't practical to travel any other way. Airlines know that I am not unique in this regard, so they have no incentive to take a stand on their customers' behalf. Our government also knows this, so our Congressmen and Congresswomen have no incentive to stand up for the rights and freedoms of their constituencies against powerful and politically-connected lobbyists like the former head of the TSA. This is also wrong.

I have to travel back into the USA next week, and I'll be back and forth between Los Angeles and Vancouver for much of the next several months. When I think about all this travel, I feel helpless, disempowered, and victimized by the airlines and the TSA ... and I'm one of the lucky passengers who has never been sexually assaulted. I can't imagine what it must feel like for someone who has been the victim of sexual violence to know that they are faced with the same two equally-unacceptable choices that I faced yesterday, and will likely face whenever I fly in the future.

It's fundamentally wrong that any government can force its citizens to submit to totally unreasonable searches so we have the "freedom" to travel. It is fundamentally wrong that the voices of these same citizens are routinely ignored, our feelings marginalized, and our concerns mocked.

I don't know what we can do to change this, but we must do something. I'm writing letters to all of my congressional representatives, contacting an attorney, and reaching out to the ACLU when I get home. I am not optimistic that anything will change, because I feel like the system is institutionally biased against individuals like me ... but maybe if tens of thousands of travelers express our outrage at this treatment, someone will be forced to listen.

Edit to add one more thing: I don't believe that all TSA officersare automatically bad people (though we've seen that at least some are.) For example, I recently flew out of Seattle, opted-out, and got a non-invasive, professional, polite patdown. It was still annoying, but at least my genitals weren't touched in any way, which was decidedly not the case yesterday. I realize that most TSA officers are doing the best they can in a job that requires them to interact with people who automatically dislike them and what they represent. It isn't the individual officer who is the problem; it's the policies he or she is instructed to carry out that need to change.

1. The TSA recently admitted that the amount of radiation passengers are exposed to in backscatter scanners was 10 times more than they originally claimed. The TSA claims that the scanners are still safe, but what else would we expect them to claim?

Tomorrow, I go back to Eureka

"What's the forecast for Vancouver?" Anne asked.

"It's in the 40s and raining," I said.

"Oh, that sounds awesome," she said, in a tone of voice that indicated the opposite was actually true.

"It's okay," I said, "I have my scarf and my jacket and my warm hat." As I listed each of these items, I put them into my suitcase. "It's a little weird to be packing all these warm clothes when it's 76 and sunny outside, though."

I counted my jeans and socks and things, to make sure I had enough clothes for the week. I was short a few pairs of jeans, so I emptied the laundry hamper and loaded up the washing machine. While it did its thing, I went into my office and started to assemble my Gabe Bag.

I'm only gone for a week, I thought, and most of the time I'm up there I'll be working, so I don't need to bring too much stuff…

I put my Kindle, iPod, and iPad into my bag. I added a copy of Scientific American, and made sure that my headphones were charged.

My cat came into my office, followed closely by my dog. My cat meowed at me.

"Hey Watson," I said, "What are you d--"

He had a giant lizard in his mouth. I'm no expert on lizard expressions, but I'm fairly certain that it didn't look happy.

"Is that for me?" I said.

He meowed again, and the lizard broke free, scampering across the floor toward the wall. The dog and cat jumped at it simultaneously, the cat winning the race. He gave the dog the don't even fucking think about it, dog, look (you cat owners know the one) and laid down across it, protectively.

"Okay, you guys," I said, "normally, I'd let you have your fun, but this lizard doesn't look very happy, and I think I'm going to save its life."

The cat gave me the don't even fucking think about it, monkey, look. The dog whined.

I picked up the lizard, deftly preventing it from biting the hand that saved it, and put it outside. The dog and the cat sat at the patio door and looked out. I'm fairly sure I heard them cursing me.

I went back into my office and looked around for the other things I'd usually take with me on a trip: games, books, maybe a couple of DVDs … and I realized that everything I needed or wanted (there's a difference, kids, and it's important to know it) was already there, on my Kindle and my iPad.

Holy crap, I thought, I really do live in the future.

In one of my books, I wrote about traveling across the country late at night to go to Star Trek conventions every weekend. I remember taking my original Gameboy with me on those trips, and having to pack six or eight or ten extra AA batteries, because I played it so much. I had a light up thing that clipped onto the front of it, and I had a carrying case full of games that was about the size of a 3-ring binder. Today, my DSi could fit inside my old Gameboy, and its battery charger weighs about as much as three old Gameboy games. In that story, I said that it may be hard to imagine a world where the original Gameboy was cutting edge and state of the art, but it's the world where I came of age, and though the world is as fucked up as its ever been, it's still objectively cool to be alive right now.

I closed up my bag, and walked into the back of the house to relate all of this to my wife. She didn't say anything about how I tell her this every time I pack for a trip, and reminded me to make sure I didn't have any deadly 4 ounces of toothpaste in my bag, just the entirely safe 3 ounces.

I started to go back to my office. On the way, I opened the patio door for the dog and cat, who gave me the this isn't over, monkey, look. They walked outside, and I followed them. I may as well enjoy the warm sun while I can, I thought.

I stood out there for a few minutes, listening to the far away drone of the freeway and the occasional song of a bird. Flowers are starting to bloom, and I could smell jasmine and cut grass in the air. I'll miss my pets and my house and this perfect weather while I'm gone, but it is a small price to pay to be in one of my favorite cities in the world, working with people I love on a show that I'm intensely proud to be part of.

I felt a surge of excitement, knowing that in just two days, I get to play Doctor Parrish again. I really wish that I could talk in detail about what we did in season 4.5, and what's coming up in season 5. I really hate it that we all have to wait until summer to see what we shot last year, but I'm confident that it will be worth the wait.

My cat jumped over the wall, and my dog stretched out on the patio, basking in the sun. "You guys behave yourselves," I said, as I walked back inside.

I grabbed a glass of water in the kitchen and went back into my office to write about all of this for my blog.

After I'd been writing and rewriting for about 15 minutes, I heard my cat meow at me again from the office door.

"You better not have that lizard again," I said.

He meowed again, and I heard something hit the floor, then the wall.

I turned around, and saw that my cat had caught a small bird.

"Seriously?" I said.

The bird jumped out of Watson's reach in a small puff of feathers, and flew toward the living room. I went to the kitchen to figure out how I was going to get this terrified little bird safely out of my house.

Anne came out of the back of the house and asked me what I'd just thrown out the patio door. "Nothing," I said, "but I have to figure out how to get the bird that Watson caught out of the house."

"That must have been what I saw," she said. Watson came walking into the room, a couple of small grey feathers hanging off his mouth.

"From a lizard to a bird in about 40 minutes," I said. "Suck on that, evolution."

She looked at me.

"It was funny in my head," I said.

She continued to look at me.

"I'm just going to go back into my office now and write for a little bit."

I looked at the cat. "Try not to suck any dicks in the parking lot on your way out."

"That doesn't even apply here!" Anne said.

"Doesn't it, Anne? Doesn't it?"

I took 37 steps to get back to my office. 37. In a row.

Run Vern! RUN! GODDAMMIT RUN!

(created by Storm, for the Stand By Meme portion of Wil Wheaton vs. Paul and Storm)

in which i am grateful

Los Angeles totally turned out for our show at Largo last night. I think the house was about 80% full, which is incredible for a show on a Tuesday, anywhere, but expecially in Hollywood.

We all had a great time, and the new material I did with Paul and Storm seemed to play as well as we hoped it would. Some of it will definitely make it into w00tstock 3.0.

A little earlier today, I was reflecting on the show, and I kept thinking about two things. One, how relieved I was when my set was finished. I didn't run too long, the audience seemed to enjoy all of it, and I had a lot of fun while I performed. The other thing, which is why I wanted to write this post in the first place, was how awesome the people are who come to see us perform. If you've ever come to a w00tstock, a Coulton show, or to a Paul and Storm show, I think you'll recognize what I'm talking about: the audience is always full of fun, relaxed, friendly, generally happy people, and the this atmosphere before, during, and after the show is incredibly positive and inclusive. I don't want to ever take for granted how lucky I am to have this kind of relationship with an audience, to work with friends I admire and adore, and I hope this never changes.

I'm so grateful to perform for audiences like these, and I'd like to believe that one of the reasons we get the same kind of people wherever we go is somehow related to the atmosphere we work hard to create and maintain. We work hard to give you a good show that respects the investment of time and money you've made, we want everyone to have a good time, and after tons of shows, I don't think we've ever attracted a statistically significant number of people who would qualify as not-awesome, let alone people who qualify as dicks. I'm really happy to be part of something that is so consistently positive. I also love seeing so many parents bring their teens and tweens to the show (and sorry about my foul mouth, guys; I am a little too in touch with my inner dirty pirate hooker.)

Though I am completely exhausted after every show, when we've signed the last poster and photobombed the last picture, I can't wait to do the next one. If our audiences weren't so awesome, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't feel that way, so thank you. 

tl;dr: Thank you for coming to our shows, and thank you for consistently being awesome audience members. Maybe it's silly to say it out loud, but I'm grateful for it, and it's important to me that you know that.

Soup. Black Bean. Hot.

"What are you making?" Anne asked.

I looked up from the cutting board, and put the knife down so I wouldn't somehow cut my hand off when I wasn't looking (yes, I am that clumsy). "Black bean soup," I said.

"Is it from a recipe, or are you winging it?"

"I've made so many different recipes from so many different places, I just looked through the pantry and refrigerator and wung it."

We looked at each other. "Wung it?" I said. "I think I mean I am winging it What's the past-tense of winging it? Wang it? Winged it?"

"I don't know, but it's not 'wung it,'" she said. I couldn't argue with her.

"Anyway, it's fun to feel confident enough in my limited cooking skills to pull together some ingredients and combine them in a way that seems to make sense, based on my previous experiences."

She nodded, and left me to my work.

That was about an hour ago. I'm currently sitting here, eating an absolutely delightful bowl of soup, that's a little sweet and spicy. I'm so proud of myself, I could fart a rainbow (and I probably will in a little while.)

Because I did this on my own, I think I can share the recipe without breaking any rules or stepping on any actual chef's toes, so here you go:

SOUP. BLACK BEAN. HOT.

You need:

1 can black beans

3 tomatoes (I used Romas)

2-3 cloves garlic

1 small yellow onion

1 chipotle chili (you can get these in the Hispanic foods section at the store for next to nothing and they make all sorts of recipes kick ass.)

1 Teaspoon dried oregano or 2 teaspoons fresh, chopped

1/2 Teaspoon cumin

2 Tablespoons olive oil.

Juice of one lime.

Salt and pepper.

OKAY GO!

Chop the onion and mince the garlic.

Heat the olive oil in a 3qt soup pot or similar-sized saucepan over medium high heat for a minute or so.

Sautee the onion until translucent, about 4 or 5 minutes. While it cooks, chop up the tomatoes into small chunks and chop the oregano if you're using fresh. When the onions are translucent, Add the garlic and cumin, stir it all around, and continue to sautee for about another 2 minutes. Be careful not to let the garlic burn.

Shake up the can of black beans, open it, and pour it all into the soup pot. Stir, and then add the tomatoes.

Chop up the chipotle chili (you can use more if you want, but be careful not to use too many or all you'll taste is the spiciness, and that's not fun.) Stir again, and then add the chopped chipotle.

Add the lime juice (if you're hardcore, just juice that little green bastard right over the simmering pot, and say some Bond Villain stuff about how you expect it to die.)

Add about 1/3 cup of water (more or less, just don't let it get too watery or too thick) and bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer for 10 or 15 minutes, until the beans are tender. 

Add salt and pepper to taste. You can serve it with plan yogurt or sour cream to cut the spiciness if you want.

This recipe made enough to feed me and Anne, though I'm sure it could easily be doubled for more people.

It's Wednesday, so here's a post about comic books

When I was a kid, I was a DC Universe guy all the way, with rare forays into the Marvel Universe to read a few X-Men books, and the occasional Silver Surfer 100 page spectacular (remember those? I loved those oversized one shots in the 70s and 80s.)

I realized last week, though, that the bulk of the DCU does absolutely nothing for me these days, and I've stopped reading DC books, even Batman, which I don't even recognize at the moment.

The Marvel Universe, however, has been blowing my mind and pleasing me greatly for at least the last year, mostly because Brubaker, Fraction and Gillen all write Marvel titles, that kick all kinds of ass. I've been reading Captain America, Uncanny X-Men, Invincible Iron Man, Secret Avengers, Thor, and Osborn, and I eagerly anticipate every Wednesday with an excitement I haven't felt since I was a teenager.

Yesterday, via Reddit, I came across this article at Platypus Robot: A Marvel Universe Primer. It gives some basic history of the Marvel Universe, and suggests some starting points for new readers. If you or someone you know is interested in reading some amazing stories but don't know where to start, check this article out; I think you'll find it quite useful.

What are you reading these days? Who's that artist or writer you will follow to the ends of the multiverse? And where are those pictures I ordered? Is Don on the phone?

wil wheaton vs. paul and storm at Largo this Tuesday

REMINDER: Wil Wheaton vs. Paul and Storm is this coming Tuesday, March 29, at Largo.

As you might possibly guess (if you are incredibly perceptive), we are doing a show with our old w00tstock fellow-traveler Wil Wheaton. This time, we'll meet on the battlefields of Los Angeles at one of our favorite venues everwhereplace: Largo at the Coronet. There will be music from us, stories from Wil, more special surprise guests, and pirates everywhere. This will be one for the ages, folks. (All ages, that is) (Get it?)

Tuesday, March 29 – Wil Wheaton vs. Paul and Storm
Largo at the Coronet, Los Angeles, CA – 7:30 pm
Tickets: http://bit.ly/h2vuPk

At w00tstock, I only have time to do one story with musical accompaniment from Paul and Storm. At this show, I will have time to perform a couple of stories that were not part of w00tstock 1.x and 2.x. You could say it's ALL NEW ZIPPY WHOOO YEAH if you wanted to do that sort of thing, even. Paul and Storm will join me for some things, and I'll do some things on my own. Also, we're putting together something kind of rad for this show that you absolutely want to see.

Paul and Storm will play a set, we will all sing a song about pirates, and we have some secret (and awesome) special guests dropping by. Tell your friends, and come on down, because it's going to be a really fun show.

The Day After and Other Stories - Kindle edition

My very short collection of very short stories, The Day After And Other Stories, is now in the Kindle store for $2.99 (prices slightly higher outside of the US. This is beyond my control.) It's DRM-free, because DRM makes me stabby.

Here's the description thing I wrote for it:

In The Day After and Other Stories, Author Wil Wheaton explores the tenuous bonds that hold us all together. Also, there's zombies.

The Day After - Tim is an angry and scared 18 year-old, trying to decide if surviving the zombie apocalypse is worth it.

Room 302 - Something is very wrong with this picture.

The Language Barrier - Sometimes it takes someone who doesn't speak your language to fully understand you.

Poor Places - Eddie used to be somebody, but now he's a guy who plays poker and takes a lot of pills.

You can grab your own copy in the Kindle store, and you can still get the pdf version at Lulu. Eventually, I'll make ePub versions for nook and other readers, but I'm going to take a break from the digital-edition-making business to get back into the writing-original-stuff business first.

For those of you keeping score at home (and not using AdBlock,) here are some spiffy links to my original works in the Kindle store:

  

Yay!

Though I hadn't seen him in over twenty years, I knew I'd miss him forever

I stood in the lobby of the Falcon Theater in Toluca Lake, and looked at Twitter while I waited for the rest of the guys to arrive. The walls were covered with posters from productions like CHiPs: The Musical and It's A Stevie Wonderful Life. Being in a theater during the day, when it's just a building with a stage, instead of the performance space it becomes when an audience fills the seats makes me feel like I'm getting to see The Haunted Mansion with all the lights on, like I'm in a secret place that few people get to see, and I felt an almost imperceptible longing to perform in a play tug gently but insistently at that thing in my being that makes me an actor.

Someone came over and started talking to me. I made polite conversation, but I don't remember what or who we talked about. This was an emotional day for me (though I didn't know precisely how emotional it would be until later), and while I didn't want to be rude, I wasn't in a particularly chatty mood. It was the first time Corey Feldman, Jerry O'Connell and I would be in the same place since 1986 or 1987. We were technically there to give some interviews to promote Stand By Me's blu-ray release, but  -- for me at least -- it was much more than that. It was a reunion.

We made Stand By Me twenty-five years ago. To commemorate the anniversary, a special blu-ray disc has been produced. Among the obligatory special features is a feature-length commentary that Rob Reiner, Corey, and I did together while watching the movie a couple months ago. On that day, I was apprehensive: what would they think of me? Would our memories match up? Would the commentary be entertaining and informative? …who would be the first to talk about River, and how would we all react to it?

It turns out that I had nothing to worry about then. It was a joy to watch the movie with them, and I was especially happy to discover that, after a very troubled life, Corey seems to be doing really well. Rob made me feel like he was a proud father and we were his kids, and when we talked about River, it was … well, private. I'll leave it at that.

So as I stood there in the lobby, waiting for a familiar face to come through the door, I was happy and looking forward to our reunion without nervousness or apprehension. This stood in marked contrast to all the times I reunited with my friends from TNG when I was younger (my problem, not theirs), and I was grateful for that.

A few minutes later, the door opened, and an incredibly tall, handsome, well-dressed man walked through it.

"Holy crap," I thought, "Jerry grew up."

It was such a stupid thought, but there it was. I see Jerry on television all the time, and I knew that he was tall and handsome and only two years younger than me, but I had that strange disconnect in my mind that can only come from not seeing someone for about twenty years and I simultaneously did and did not recognize him.

I was standing near some food on a table, and Jerry walked up to grab a sandwich. As he reached toward the table, we made eye contact.

"Hi," I said.

"Hi, I'm Jerry," he said, with a friendly smile.

"I'm Wil," I said, "We worked on this movie together twenty-five years ago."

In a few seconds that seemed to go on for minutes, I saw him look at me in disbelief, surprise, recognition, and joy. He flashed a smile that lit up the room and wrapped me in a hug.

"Oh my God, dude," he said, "I can't believe it's … wow! You're -- I -- Jesus, look at you!"

I smiled back, and strangely noted that my son is taller than him. "Look at you!" I said.

We talked as much as we could, trying to compress two decades into ten minutes, before he had to go to the make-up chair. As he walked away, my brain tapped me on the shoulder and said, "You know, he's married to Rebecca Romijn. When he's talking about his wife, that's who he means." "I know, brain. I know," I thought back, "don't be weird. Be cool, man." A moment later, Richard Dreyfuss walked into the lobby, followed fairly quickly by Rob and then Corey.

Before I had time to do more than Twitter about how surreal it felt to see them all, we were all gathered together and directed from the lobby into the theater for our first interview. On the way in, I said to Corey, "I feel like there are all these famous, successful people here … and me."

He laughed and said, "I was thinking exactly the same thing!"

Before I could make a witty zinger, he clarified, "about myself, I mean. Famous people and me, not, like, famous people and you."

I laughed. "I knew what you meant, man," I said.

It was the kind of friendly, enjoyable, effortless conversation we couldn't have when we were younger, and I was glad for it.

There were five chairs set up for us in a semi circle. Our names were on pieces of paper so we knew where to sit. I was between Rob and Corey, and Jerry and Richard sat to Corey's left. When we all sat down, Rob looked down the row of seats and softly said to me, "it feels like there should be an empty seat here for River."

People ask me about River all the time. He and I were close during filming, and for about a year or so after filming, but the sad truth is that he got sucked into a lifestyle that I just don't have room in my life for, and we drifted apart. When he died, I was shocked and horrified, but I wasn't completely surprised. I didn't feel a real sense of loss at the time -- the River I knew and loved had been gone for a long time at that point -- but I felt sad for his family, and angry at the people around him who didn't do more to help him help himself. Since he died, when I've talked about him, I've felt like I'm talking about the idea of him, instead of the person I knew, if that makes sense.

But when Rob said that to me, with such sadness in his eyes, it was like I'd been punched in the stomach by eighteen years of suppressed grief. I knew that if I tried to say anything, all I would do was cry, and I didn't know if I'd be able to stop. I took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and nodded. "Yeah," I whispered.

Later that day, when I'd had time to think about it and was recounting the whole thing to my wife, Anne, I said, "I think that having all of us together -- the surviving members of the cast -- made me feel like he really wasn't there for the first time since he died. I don't mean to be callous or anything like that, but that's what it took to make his death and his absence a real thing that I could feel, instead of an event that I wasn't part of but am forced to talk about more often than I'd like."

I spent much of the next few days remembering all the things we did together during production, thinking about how much I looked up to him and how much I loved his entire family. I don't know what would have happened to us if he hadn't overdosed, if he ever would have come back from the edge, or if we would even have had anything in common … but when he was fifteen and I was thirteen, he was my friend. That's the person I knew, and that's the person I miss.

We talked about River in the interview, of course, and I think Richard put it best when he said that there is this monster in Hollywood that everyone knows about. It lurks just out of view, and occasionally it reaches up and snatches someone … and it got River.

Richard also talked about why we are actors, and what it means to him to be creative. It was so poetic and inspiring, that almost imperceptible longing to perform in a play I felt in the lobby turned into an overwhelming compulsion. Distracted by the responsibilities of every day life, it's easy for me to forget why I love and need to perform. It's easy to forget how satisfying it is to create a character, to discover something magnificent in a script or a scene, and then bring those things to life with other actors in front of an audience.

The entire interview lasted for close to an hour, I guess, and will be edited down to something between three and six minutes. I hope that the producers will cut together something longer, or even run the entire thing online somewhere, because it was one of the rare conversations that I think a lot of people, especially artists, would enjoy listening to.

When all of our interviews were done, I asked Jerry if he'd like to get together when he was on hiatus to have a proper conversation and really catch up on stuff. He said he'd like that, so we traded e-mail addresses. I didn't expect him to actually want to see me once the glow of seeing each other for the first time in two decades faded, but we're actually planning it, which delights me. Rob hugged me and made me feel like he was proud of me, and Richard blew me away with the work he's doing for The Dreyfuss Initiative. 

As I drove home from the theater I was overwhelmed by conflicting emotions. It was wonderful to see those guys again, and especially to reconnect with Jerry, but it was also tremendously sad to truly feel River's loss for the first time. That turbulent mix of joy and sorrow stayed with me for several days, which is why I haven't been able to write about it for almost a week.

Most actors will go their entire careers without doing a movie like Stand By Me, or working with a director like Rob Reiner. I got to do both when I was 12. For a long, long time, I felt like I needed to top or equal that, and it wasn't until I was in my early 30s that I accepted that it's unlikely to happen -- movies like Stand By Me come along once in a generation. 

But getting to spend a few hours remembering the experience with Rob, Jerry, Corey and Richard, free of the burden to prove to them that I was worthy of Stand By Me's legacy, was something I will cherish for years. I just wish that River was here to enjoy it with us.