When I Grow Up

(ed. I think this is the longest entry I've ever entered…so if you've got somewhere to be, you may as well stop now, before you get too far into it. And if you're tired, perhaps a nap would be a good idea, so you don't nod off at some point. I'm just sayin'…)

When I was very little, I decided very early on that there was only one vocation for me: I wanted to be a fire truck. I wasn't sure exactly how to go about doing that…I assume that it took several years of schooling, and a thorough transmogrification of some kind…but dammit…I was going to make it happen.

Luckily, I outgrew that stupidity, and decided that I had one goal in life: to become a full-time, professional bus driver. This was for two reasons: 1) you got that intercom system you could use to talk to the kids on the bus, and 2) you got that radio you could use to talk to other bus drivers. I mean…how cool is that? Two methods of communication in one vehicle? Holy crap! Awesome!

Finally, when I realized that every bus driver was an unhappy drug addict who would chain you to a seat in the back of the bus after all the kids had exited and read you the lyrics of Led Zeppelin songs (or maybe it was just that one guy…I can't remember too well), I needed to change my future profession. That new career: firefighter. I chose a firefighter because, in the fourth grade, a firefighter came to our class for career day, and at the beginning of his presentation he asked with excitement, "Okay…so who wants to be a firefighter when they grow up?" And no one in the class raised their hand. It was a good two count, before I saved him from his embarrassment and raised my hand. I didn't want to leave a brotha' hanging…but, because I just knew that he was going to hold me to my word, it became my new occupation of choice.

That is, until at least until a couple of months later, when our very career-centered fourth grade teacher Mrs. Quackenbush (this is the same one who left the teaching profession the year after I was in her class…which I suppose means that she was punishing us for the poor career choice she had made) gave us the assignment to "job-shadow" someone whose job we wanted when we were older. I decided that I wanted to be one of those "signal stick guys" on an aircraft carrier…because I liked the movie Top Gun, and those guys just seemed really cool…with their little flashlight things all waving around. But, really, I think I just wanted to find a job that would be impossible for me to job shadow, thus getting me out of the assignment (I ended up just copping out and job-shadowing my Dad, who had a computer programmer job at an insurance agency at the time).

Actually, now that I think of it, I can't remember ever really wanting to be a professional actor growing up…or, more precisely, never thinking it was possible. I used to visualize me sitting on my ass for 8 hours a day, then going home to a wife, kids, and crippling gambling addiction. Being an office drone sounded like great fun – I'd have my own computer…and cubicle walls…and a phone. I mean…what else could a man ask for (besides two ways to communicate to people in a vehicle)?

I don't think I actually really considered a job as an actor to be feasible until my senior year of high school. And even then, the prospect of sitting on my kiester all day in a cubicle sounded much more plausible…and respectable.

Honestly…even now, it doesn't really seem like a possibility that I might be working as an actor in Los Angeles. I have vague ideas that maybe I'll make a little bit of money (for example; apparently you can get ~$64 a day just working as an extra), and maybe attend a couple of auditions. But…a real, actor-type person, making a decent living wage? It doesn't seem likely to me.

Now, don't get me wrong, in the deep recesses of my brain, I can visualize a "Day Player" turned "TV Guest Spot" turned "Recurring Character" turned "Supporting Cast Member" turned "Feature Film Working Actor…" a career arc something along the lines of a Phillip Seymour Hoffman…or a John C. Reilly…or a William H. Macy…or some other character actor with a middle name/initial. Heck, I think a good goal would be one of those guys whose face you kinda' recognize, who works a lot, but whose name you probably don't know…like this guy. Or this guy. Truth be told…I'd be totally jacked to have a two-line waiter gig on Passions. But…shoot for the stars, right?

I thought you should all have a little background on me now that I've made this bold move to Los Angeles; I've never really pictured my name in lights. I don't expect to get hounded by fat foreign guys with cameras. I'm not convinced that I'm destined for greatness and fame. Heck, I'd be surprised if I actually manage to even appear in a movie or television show. But the more I learn about how things work here, and the more I learn about the business, the more I think it just might be possible.

Now, I don't mean this to sound like I'm copping some kooky defeatist attitude here. I'm sure there are some blowhard motivational life-coaches out there who would read this, comb the cookie crumbs out of their moustaches, then berate me for not believing that I can achieve my goals…not visualizing myself as rich and famous. But to tell you the truth, I'm not trying to get rich and famous. I mean…I wouldn't turn rich (or Rich) down…but that's not what I'm aiming for…or expecting.

Holy Burritos this blog entry is getting epic in size. I'd wager 90% of the people who started reading this didn't made it this far…probably dropping out right around the time when I said that I never wanted to be a professional actor. Blah blah bloggity-blog, right? I guess the point I'm trying to make here is…I don't have any expectations going into this. I'd love for this whole thing to work out…to become a successful actor. But if it doesn't, then it's not like I'll move away with my tail tucked safely betwixt my legs. It'd be: "I gave it a shot…it didn't work…I'll never stop acting, but making money in Los Angeles just wasn't in the cards."