them waiting any longer. Weâve prepared like crazy
for this show, and anything we do now isnât going to make it any better. Weâre just going to
get ourselves backstage and open up the house.
I give my CD of âWarm Up The Houseâ music, (Ataris, MXPX, Save Ferris, and other indie
rock bands,) to Jim.
Kris Roe intones, âLast night, I had a dream / that we went to Disneyland / went on all
the rides / didnât have to wait in line . . .â and the doors open.
I hear the house begin to fill. The voices mingle to create a familiar white noise.
Occasionally, Iâll hear a word above the din, or my fatherâs distinctive and very loud guffaw.
Anxious moments pass while we all go through our pre-show rituals:
Tracy stretches in some yoga poses. Maz recites his lines to himself and walks in a
circle. Travis and Kristen talk about odds bets on craps. Chris and Kevin run through a scene
called âDude.â I stand alone to one side, reciting lines in my head, trying to calm my
nerves.
Dave Scott comes backstage, smiling broadly.
âYouâve got a full house. We even sold some standing room only seats. They are really
excited! Are you guys ready to go?â
We all look at each other. âJust give us a second, okay?â
Dave walks over to talk with Jim, and we all step close together, forming a circle. I
extend my hand, and it is immediately covered by Kristenâs, which is covered by Chrisâs. Maz
and Travis come next, then Kevin, and finally Tracy. We lock eyes, all of us, and I say, âYou
guys, this is going to be the best show, ever! Thank you so much for coming out to be part of
this. Donât forget to play to the back row, and improvise if you get stuck. If youâre not on
stage, listen . . . we may need to call you out if we get into trouble.â
We chant a secret actorâs chant, ending with our hands stretched skyward. I am overcome
with excitement. I canât wait to go out and show these people that Iâve grown up, become
funny, and (most of all) that Iâm not Wesley Crusher.
Dave comes back over to us, and asks if we need anything else.
âScotch,â I say.
âHookers,â says Kevin.
âA pool boy,â says Tracy.
âCan we replace Wil?â says Travis.
We all laugh. Weâre ready to go. This is what we live for. Dave laughs with us, and takes
the stage.
I hear the crowd applaud, and there is some wolf whistling. They are in a good mood. I am
thrilled.
âThis show has been in preparation for several months, and I am just as excited to see it
as you are,â he begins. âHowever, if you video or audio tape the performance, we will hunt you
down and kill you.â
The audience chuckles. They have all heard the warnings before.
âLadies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage the director of Mind
Meld , Wil Wheaton.â
I walk onto the stage, trying to hold my head up, and keep my shoulders back . . . but
walking across any stage has never been easy for me. I feel awkward, and studied, like theyâre
sizing me up. If I ever get on Letterman, that walk across the Ed Sullivan stage will
absolutely kill me.
I take about five steps before I realize that Dave has decided to play a little practical
joke on me: the entire audience is wearing âGrouchoâ glasses. It is insanely funny to me,
seeing all these people, in various levels of space-suitery, enjoying a mass giggle, like a
bunch of school kids putting one over on the substitute.
I take a long look around the room, lift the microphone to my mouth, and say, âYouâre all
related, arenât you?â
Huge laugh. The laugh Iâd hoped for earlier in the afternoon. Much happier that I have it
now.
I am hugely relieved â theyâve traded their torches and pitchforks for Groucho glasses.
Theyâre on my side.
âI canât begin
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