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By now,
you've probably realized that the real Wil Wheaton is a far cry
from that interstellar boy scout Wesley Crusher he played on Star
Drek: The Next Iteration. His Gary Buseyesque misadventures—pistol-whipping
a cabin boy on the Star Trek/Mac users' cruise, kicking
the ass of a certain purple dinosaur in a charity boxing match,
and getting repeatedly tossed out of the Viper Room for drinking
all the Sambuca in the house and
beating Bill "Danger, Will Robinson!" Mumy around the
head and shoulders with a mic stand while screaming, "RANGER
TRAINING, MY LEFT NUT!!!"—have become legend. And,
like all hard-drinking manly men—Ernest Hemingway, Henry Miller,
Oscar Wilde, me—Wheaton has, somewhat inevitably, become a
writer.
Running
Barefoot is Wheaton's second book, composed of stories and anecdotes
culled from his immensely popular Web site, WilWheaton.net,
which has just passed Yahoo! on Alexa's Web rankings, and is expected
to debut at $123/share at its IPO next month. But you're not gonna
buy the book because Wheaton is some kinda geek celebrity: You're
gonna buy it because it contains the knee-slapping tale of Spongebob
Vega$pants, the complete saga of Wheaton's intense, decades-long
personal relationship with his mentor, William F. Shatner. That's
right: Shatner found the time to take the young Ensign Crusher under
his wing, imparting to him not only the actor's craft, but also
making him heir to his own particular brand of vocal stylings (everyone:
"Oh,
no. . . no. . . I'm. . . a. . . ROCKET man!"), and
his mastery of the written word (remember the Tek series,
anyone?).
Alas,
with Running Barefoot, Wheaton has, much like Darth Vader,
surpassed his master. I find it immensely difficult to type this
next sentence but, well, Wil Wheaton is an infinitely better writer
than Bill Shatner. He's also a better actor (contrast their early
work : "Lardass's
Revenge" versus "there's.
. . a. . . man. . . on. . . the. . . wing!"). And,
though Wheaton doesn't sing much since retiring after the Four Tenors
tour, he does a pretty good job playing
bass for his band, Dogstar.
 So,
pick
up a copy of Running Barefoot. No gangly, shirtless
Tiger Beat pinup now, Wheaton doesn't need to rely on exposing his
tiny, pink boy-nipples to an audience of preteen girls for fame.
Oh, no, no. He's got a word processor and he KNOWS HOW TO USE IT.
Got
back issues of Tiger Beat? Write to editor@corporatemofo.com
BTW, all the people commenting that I got the title wrong might
want to check the top of this page. . .
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