I grew up in St. Louis. When you grow up in a place like St. Louis, saying you want to be a professional actor is the equivalent of saying you want to be a professional surfer. Not very realistic. But, apparently, no one ever told me, because as early as I can remember, I had big dreams of becoming an actor.

While I knew I wanted to be an actor from the time I was a child, I was not a “child actor.” I went to dance class, joined the theater club and put on little shows in my garage, but I never acted professionally. The bulk of my experience came from auditioning for school plays. These auditions mostly ended in failure; I never got the lead roles. In fact, I barely got the supporting roles. I usually found myself being offered the obligatory consolation prize: a role in the dancing chorus.

Nonetheless, after college I collected my theater degree, packed up my Mazda 323 hatchback, and, along with my cat, Andy, started on the long journey from St. Louis to Los Angeles. I didn’t know anyone. No fancy connections. No idea how the business worked. Still, I completely expected to be a successful working actor within six months.

Upon arriving there, I did what every serious actor did in 1996: I went out and got a pager. A pager seemed absolutely necessary to manage the relentless schedule I anticipated for myself. So, with a pager in my hand, everything seemed to be falling into place. Now all I needed was my first acting job.