Like every single person in Los Angeles ever, I was once an actor. And like most actors in Los Angeles, I was poor, hungry, and desperate to pay the bills. Since stripping was not an option (thank you, Irish skin ... oh, and unimpressive physique ... oh, and general weird-lookingness), I turned to the next best thing: rock and roll (for kids!). A friend of a friend of a friend had put together a show that consisted of four performers, each playing an instrument, singing, dancing, and teaching kids about basic everyday interactions, like how to be a good friend ... or some s**t. Whatever, kids will like anything. Even though it was a rock band in the loosest sense of the term, it still suffered from the age-old problem of every rock band: They needed a drummer. In a freak accident that would rival Spinal Tap, the drummer had sprained his back doing a flip off of a trampoline during the show.
When I auditioned for the role, the director assured me that I would not be expected to flip off of a trampoline, which was good, because that was at the top of the list of things I was completely unable to do. The very next item on the list was "play the drums." Not a problem. Also, this character was a surfer. I am paler than a freshly laid egg on a bed of new-fallen snow. Again, not an issue. What I did have was a passable impression of Spicoli from Fast Times at Ridgemont High and a keen knack for ... wait, no, that was basically it.