after-living the dream

So here we are.

Come here, honey. Mama wants to talk to you.

You know that actor you used to like, sweetie? It’s time you knew the truth. They didn’t send him to a farm like we told you they did. He’s not out in the country with your Uncle Fred. He’s in actor heaven.

But don’t you worry, baby. Actor heaven is a great place. Really it is. 

In actor heaven, the actors get to romp and play - doing or not doing trust exercises - all day long only with the actors they like. They don’t have to nod and smile at other people’s personal drama, because there is no personal drama, and there is no personal drama because there is no insecurity, and there is no insecurity because it’s actor heaven.

In actor heaven, tech is a breeze, and there are no critics. The shows run as long as you like, with full houses every night. The best part about actor heaven is that there is no texting. No photography or recording devices, either. And absolutely no chat boards or columnists or bloggers to tear anyone’s performance apart. Believe me, your actor is much happier there.

In actor heaven, you are clothed and fed and housed, and there is no need to schmooze. People actually sleep with people because they genuinely want to. 

In actor heaven, there is a show to see and a show to do every night if you want. It’s all favored nations, and no one gets a vocal nodule. Ever. You don’t have to worry about making enough to qualify for health insurance, either, because there is no bronchitis and no laryngitis and no stomach flu. You’re dead, honey. That’s why. But it’s really very nice. If you’re already dead, no one can stab you in the back.

In actor heaven, there are cookies and no acid reflux and you never have to use a Ricola. You never have to pee in the middle of Act II. You never have to treat your job like an audition for the next job, and all of the plays and musicals and films and TV shows are perfectly structured and flawlessly written because there aren’t any studio or network or first-time-producer notes, the writers are grownups, and there are no egos or axes to grind. No one is miscast. No one. Doesn’t that sound like a wonderful place? 

In actor heaven, there are no auditions, and no network callback after your fifth regular callback, because everything in actor heaven is offer-only. Your series runs just as long as it needs to in order to tell its story, but when it ends you can easily get another job, without being typecast as the role you just spent seven seasons playing. And in actor heaven, 18-hour days are no problem, because all days are 40 hours long. Turnaround time is always respected and calls are never forced. All the gigs are union, and you get fully vested after only two years. Isn’t that great, honey?

In actor heaven, you’re never forced to create your own jobs unless you really want to. There’s none of this do-a-web-series-so-you-can-get-a-real-job crap. You never have to get buried amid all the puppies and autotuned nonsense on YouTube, and fame doesn’t matter at all. Did you hear that, sweetie? Fame doesn’t matter. Not a damn bit. No one is famous in actor heaven. There are no celebrities, and no reality shows, and no Q scores in sight. Just wide open stages. 

In actor heaven, there’s no press, no PR, no red carpets, no stylists, no plastic surgery, no hustling, no plugging. You just get to be an actor. You don’t need retouched headshots or worry about your resumé. You don’t even have to tweet if you don’t want to. 

In actor heaven, everyone is the front end of the horse and no one cares what order they’re in at curtain call. 

In actor heaven, costume designers never, ever judge your figure. There are juicy roles for every age, every height, every weight, every race, every gender, every type. There are no test screenings or audience surveys, and no one ever gets replaced at the pilot stage. Even the child actors are reasonable and only upstage you when the laugh is absolutely necessary to the storyline, because there are no stage mothers in actor heaven. There are also no agents, no lawyers, no managers, no executives and no slimy producers, only the honest, old-school Sheldon Leonard-types. What about the term “actor heaven” don’t you understand?

In actor heaven, actors can warm up as loudly as they like without their neighbors complaining. They don’t have to show off at karaoke night to prove their self-worth to no one in particular.

In actor heaven, people don’t ask you what you’re working on next just to make themselves feel superior. Everyone is too busy having fun after-living the dream of being a working actor to need to feel superior to anyone.

In actor heaven, there are no awards to compete for, no bitterness, no snubs, and every show has equally wonderful craft service with ice cream sundaes every Friday, and everyone actually eats real food. There aren’t any who-wore-it-betters or gossip columnists or baby bumps. The one and only downside is that there aren’t any goody bags. But you don’t need goody bags in actor heaven. Don’t cry. Trust me. It’s so much better than goody bags, hon’.

In actor heaven, no one has to put up with divas. Divas go to Hell. But that’s another story for another time, sweetie. You don’t need to worry about that.

Believe me, child. Your actor is in a better place now.

Yes indeed. Welcome to me.