Shatner Rules (12 page)

SECOND RULE FOR TURNING
80:
Don't Be Afraid to Ask for Help

WANTED: ONE SPOTTER NEEDED FOR WELL-KNOWN MEDIA PERSONALITY

ARE YOU A MOTIVATED SELF-STARTER, WITH A GOOD EYE FOR DETAIL? AND CRUMBS?
Then you have what it takes to work for an actor-writer-director-philanthropist-horseman-singer-songwriter who has just entered his eightieth year.

Duties:
Spotting. Not in the lifting weights way, but in the “Sir, I spotted a stain on the front of your shirt; here's a napkin” way. Your employer has noticed certain maladies associated with octogenarianism, most notably drippings.

This job demands that the applicant keep an eye out for the telltale drippings, crumbs, and spots that sometimes appear on the shirts of those of an advanced age. You will be asked to be on the lookout for such things 24/7, as your employer has reached an age where he is no longer able to notice, yet wants to give the illusion that he does.

Position responsibilities also include monitoring the corners of employer's mouth for crumbs, the interior of employer's nostrils for mucous (wet
and
dry), and employer's ear canals for buildup of wax and hair, and mitigating other telltale signs of age. Strong interpersonal skills are needed to discreetly inform employer about such things without drawing attention to them. Especially before he goes on camera to tape his hit talk show on the Biography Channel,
Raw Nerve
.

Other duties include monitoring length of time employer's car signal is on after vehicle turn has been completed, observing eyes for crust, and shushing.

Shushing skills will most likely be called upon for theatrical events, where employer has been suffering age-induced loss of indoor voice. Employer was recently at an equestrian show with grandkids that featured a film of a horse being born. Pair of eighty-year-old ears meant employer was unable to carefully monitor his volume while using such explanatory phrases as “afterbirth” and “horse vagina” to his young guests. You will be asked to shush him before strangers do—strangers who will then blog/tweet about it in an embarrassing manner.

Do you have what it takes to help a man show the world that he still has what it takes? Then apply today. In person, with a cover letter. (Employer not too good with the whole computer thing.)

Must be good with children, horses, science fiction fans, and William Shatner.

M
y mouth hung open in shock, my shocked pupils scanning the computer screen for any sign . . . of me.

But there was nothing. My identity was gone. Or at least my modern identity was gone. Erased. Forgotten. My Face had been removed from the Book!

I am, of course, talking about the Facebook.

FUN FACTNER:
Young people often lose the “the” in front of “the Facebook.” They don't usually properly add it until they hit sixty or so. With age comes wisdom! And perfect grammar!

I had had my Facebook profile for a few years. I'd been taking quizzes, tending to my Farmville animals, poking and getting poked, and in March of 2011, the overlords inside the fortress at Facebook mountain decided that I was a fake William Shatner and deleted me.

Deleted!

Do you know what that feels like, in this modern age? To be deemed a fake? And then entirely erased?

I've been called a fake a few times, but no one
ever
had the powers of deletion over my entire personality. I was an unwitting hero in a Philip K. Dick novel. (ATTENTION HOLLYWOOD PRODUCERS HOLDING THE RIGHTS TO VARIOUS PHILIP K. DICK PROPERTIES: I am available if the price is right. We can talk script later.)

California had recently passed a law making it illegal to impersonate someone on Facebook, and it seemed as though the social networking site had decided to play it safe and delete the most popular William Shatner of all from Facebook. Keep in mind I would happily see the arrest of anyone faking me, and one day hope to glory in the sight of a mug shot labeled
POLLAK, KEVIN
.

I didn't realize it at the time, but there is more than one William Shatner on Facebook. How can you tell us apart? Well, the real William Shatner does not want you to click on that hilarious cat video, nor do I want to meet you in a mall parking lot to “just hang and see what happens.” Although I will meet you in a mall parking lot to watch a hilarious cat video. But it had better be hilarious—my time is precious. How precious? I'm the real William Shatner! The real William Shatner is busy!

I didn't know what to do. I couldn't log on to Facebook, because I no longer existed in their eyes.

Then it hit me—
Paul!
Paul would solve everything!

I needed to contact my web guru, Paul Camuso. He runs my website, set up my Facebook account, helps me when the computing machine on my desk is doing that beeping thing. Perhaps he could help reinstate the virtual William Shatner and get me back to the important business of poking my friend, the virtual Adrian Zmed.

Paul, as usual, had some sage advice: Take the issue public. Virtually.

“But how?” I demanded. “I no longer have an account. I'm no longer me!”

He reminded me of the other virtual Shatner he had created for me. I harkened back to a conversation with a lovely actress not so long ago . . .

WILLIAMFLASHBACKNER

“The Twittah?” I asked. “What's that?”

“You know, ‘Twittah.' Everyone's awn it. A-ha-ha-ha-ha-hawh!”

I should perhaps explain that the person I was talking to was the lovely Fran Drescher, and in her Queens accent she was trying to “hip” me to the latest technological craze. I have only one of my original hips left, so I look for any help I can in that area.

She was a big fan of this “Twittah,” said it was a good way to reach out to fans, and asked if I was on it.

I looked around the set of
Raw Nerve
to the handful of people on Team Shatner and asked, “Am I on the Twittah?”

I was not, but soon I was, and before long, @WilliamShatner on Twitter had more than six hundred thousand followers. And I owe it all to . . . well, Paul Camuso.

To many, I will always be the quintessential twenty-third-century man, but when it comes to technology—in many respects—I am hopelessly mired in the twentieth century. The first part of the twentieth century. The part without all the buttons and Delete keys.

Don't get me wrong, I
understand
technology, but often I can't
do
technology. I get the mechanics, but I'm not that mechanical. I mean, I understand how to change a tire, but I usually call AAA when a tire needs to be changed.

Of course, I'm not a
total
Luddite. After all I'm writing this book on a computer and

[SEGMENT OF MEMOIR MISSING]

Fine—I'm a Luddite. I know how to turn on a computer, but the turning off part leaves me flummoxed. And I cannot leave something on when I leave a room. My father was always running around, turning off lights, and so do I. But turning off a computer is more than a money-saving act; it is a rebellion against society. You are turning your back on a conduit to modern communication; you are ignoring the drumbeat of today's society! You don't just unplug; you disconnect. Turning
off
a computer is turning
on
rebellion!

FUN FACTNER:
When William Shatner gets going about technology, he sometimes has trouble sticking to Twitter's 140-character limit.

I've been keeping it a secret for years, especially from the good people in advertising who employ me on occasion. In fact, if you visit YouTube (hopefully someone will show me how to do that soon), you can see me singing the praises of the Commodore VIC-20, “the wonder computer of the eighties,” promising “great games” and opportunities for “the whole family to learn computing.” All for the bargain price of “under three hundred dollars.” (You can get one of these VIC-20s on eBay for about ninety bucks now. Apparently, the wonders of this wonder computer ceased pretty quickly.)

In 1976, Bell Labs hired me to host a short industrial film called
Microworld
, in which I explained the wonders of the microprocessor—“the brain of the modern electronic system”—the silicon chip, solid-state technology! Again, this film—and my giant, broad jacket lapels—can be viewed on YouTube, a by-product of such technology.

Fortunately, I have the help that I need. One of my assistants was good enough to set up my Twitter account for me, and on June 24, 2008, I tweeted, “Learning about this fascinating site.” Okay, it's no “Watson, come quick, I need you,” but it was a very important first foray for me in this very important communication medium. This is a great way for me to interact with fans, and much more enjoyable than dropping the f-bomb when someone gives me a “Beam me up, Scotty.”

Since that humble tweetinning, I have used Twitter to keep fans abreast of my talk show appearances and charity work, and link them up to my other social networking forays at William Shatner.com and on Facebook (which eventually got undeleted; more on that later). And all my tweets end with “My best, Bill.”

Or at least that's how I wanted all of them to end. I sometimes shout my tweets to my assistant, Kathleen, who occasionally shouts back, “Too long!” The courtesy of “my best, Bill” was rudely taking up too much space, so it was shortened to my current sign-off of MBB.

FUN FACTNER:
William Shatner sometimes uses a voice-activated recorder to transcribe his tweets. Unfortunately, most voice-activation systems shut off during dramatic pauses.

MBB has become a guessing game for people late to my Twitter game. Folks in the Twitterverse sometimes wonder what it means. I have often considered mixing up my sign-offs, just to keep people guessing.

WILLIAM SHATNER'S ALTERNATE TWITTER SIGN-OFFS

 

TO!B = Tweet out! Bill

BTUS = Beam
this
up, Scotty!

IYNMIBOMH = If you need me, I'll be on my horse

LTEBGT = Love to everyone but George Takei

W$#*!MDSOICU = Watch
$#*! My Dad Says
or I'll cut you

Oh yes, did I mention
$#*! My Dad Says
? Thirty years ago, I was on the cutting edge of the “wonder computer of the eighties,” and then I was on the first television show spun off from a Twitter feed.

Justin Halpern, along with masterful comedy duo and
Will & Grace
creators David Kohan and Max Mutchnick, managed to turn 140 characters about Halpern's cranky old father into a television show, and they asked me to star in it.

FUN FACTNER:
Many call the casting of William Shatner as an outspoken, opinionated old man “inspired.” Shatner's children call it “typecasting.”

I had never heard of the $#*! My Dad Says Twitter feed, and was barely able to figure out my own Twitter feed, and suddenly 10 million people a week were watching the show to see me as Dr. Edison “Ed” Milford Goodson III, a sharp-tongued, politically incorrect man who has his grown son move back home with him. It even won Favorite New TV Comedy at the People's Choice Awards. That didn't stop CBS from canceling it, unfortunately.

Executives don't know $#*!

Bill says some shit on the set of
$h*!
My Dad Says
in 2011. (
Courtesy of Paul Camuso
)

No matter how much at sea I am with technology, technology always throws its virtual arms around me. My relationship with technology is similar to Michael Corleone's relationship with the Mob: Just when I think I'm out—they pull me back in! And Twitter keeps pulling me in to late night comedy!

Some of you may remember my now famous late night television appearances on
The Tonight Show with Conan O'Brien
, reading the tweets of former vice presidential candidate Sarah Palin. When the fractured nature of the 140-character feed met the somewhat fractured musings of the Grizzly Momma, it occurred to Conan that they felt like poetry. Spoken-word Beat poetry.

Take one Twitter feed, add one stand-up bass, one set of bongos (or is that two bongo?), and one William Shatner, and you have yourself some late night gold.

Conan introduced me to the screaming crowd. I took my spot on a stool and read Sarah's tweets—stone-faced, dry as a bone—while the cool jazz combo played behind me and Conan snapped his fingers.

 

From sea life, near lush wet rain forests

To energy, housed under frozen tundra, atop permafrost

God most creatively displays his diversity in Alaska.

 

Tourists from across America, here, loving their forty-ninth state

I'm reminded one heart, one hope, one destiny, one flag

From sea to . . . sea.

 

Awesome Alaska night

Sensing summer already winding down.

With fireweed near full bloom

Finally sitting down to pen

Listening to Big & Rich.

Somewhere, the ghost of Johnny Carson was mouthing, “What . . . the . . . fuck?”

We were a hit. Here I was, a technophobe, making poetry and music from technology I could barely comprehend. I was so successful, in fact, that I found myself in Sarah Palin's crosshairs. Her comedic crosshairs, mind you. Thankfully, not the “kill wolves from a helicopter” crosshairs.

While I was making a return appearance on Conan, this time to read from her autobiography,
Going Rogue
, Palin walked onto the stage, grasping a copy of my autobiography
Up Till Now
under her arm. The jazz combo backed her as she read some portions of my book. She got her laughs, all right, and I had to stand there and take it!

Needless to say, Sarah Palin is no William Shatner when it comes to droll Beat poetry. I say to her: Keep your day job! Whatever that is!

Which brings me back to my Facebook crisis. There was no longer a me to protest me getting shut down. And I was getting nowhere online.

Facebook gave me a telephone number, but all I got was a recording telling me to log on to Facebook, which I could no longer do. Eventually, when we did contact a human—via phone, not poking—I was told that they would need a scanned “government-issued ID” from me.

Would you send a scanned driver's license or birth certificate to a stranger at Facebook? Would you do it if there were a chance that some clown could take it and put it on a T-shirt and then toss it up on eBay? No way. I mean, you can buy my kidney stones, but no one may steal my identity.

It seemed as though I was never going to get back on the Facebook. But then, sage Paul, from his den of tubes, wires, and little motors that go
whhhrrrrrr
, reminded me that there was still Twitter. We decided to use social media to fix social media! I grabbed my voice-activated whatchamacallit, and tweeted: “Facebook disabled my acct. this weekend as an imposter acct. Now they want me to prove that it's me. Don't they know who I am? MBB.”

That is all it took.

Within thirty minutes, my good, virtual name had been restored. I once more had an account on the Facebook! Again, I could take part in the community that has revolutionized the way we communicate with one another. William Shatner would not be denied.

Although frankly, I wish Adrian Zmed would knock it off with all the poking. I mean, I know I started it, but it has to end somewhere, Adrian!