Don’t be surprised if you feel the sun shining on you more brightly – or some such other malady – as a result of reading this post (and the ones yet to come). If it does, I want to hear your story. But first... mine. I was born in 1968 to some really great parents, Larry & Kathy. Naturally, their hand in encouraging and facilitating my creative pursuits – to this day and for as long as I can remember – will inspire conflicting responses among you – Nay! – within you. Such is art. Such is... life. Nonetheless, I feel inclined to mention them – and what can only be described as their crowning pre-marital achievement (hint: Greg Lastrapes) – partly because none of what you are about to experience would have been possible without them, but mostly because it satisfies a nagging legal obligation.
Let’s get a few things straight, TMZ:
My Uncle Mando did indeed nickname me Bird after I complained to him about the lack of birds in our family. I was 6. And really drunk.
I did not play Atreyu in The Neverending Story. While it’s true that I was originally cast as Atreyu, and took exactly one horseback riding lesson in preparation (thanks, Ginger!), the film lost its financing and I’d outgrown the part by the time they regained it. Had this not happened, I might be forever remembered as long-haired and shirtless.
My parents once shared a Vegas elevator with Redd Foxx on their way to see his show. He is rumored to have given my mother five across her lip.
I am not John Ritter’s love child. This is a persistent one and my apologies to his family for my part in fabricating and perpetuating it. We did work together on Three’s Company once – I in a literally pivotal background role, he in a more prominent (some might say principal) role – and he was exactly as nice as you’d hope he would be.
When I was a 14-year-old boy, Ben Vereen touched my adam’s apple and the next day my voice started changing. Why?!
Wrong again, chump! I was not born in Rancho Cucamonga, CA, my family merely moved there in the summer of 1978. I was really born in East Hollywood, CA, across the street from what would become the Scientology Headquarters. Conspiracy theorists, speak amongst yourselves.
Don’t just sit there. Go! Explore!!
May you dive deeply into the sea of Greg Lastrapes, never to return.