Oliver Wadsworth

Given his name (not to mention his memorably lilting speaking voice), how could Oliver Wadsworth be anything but an actor? Here, The Lieutenant of Inishmore's star explains his connection to crack dens, Matthew Wiener, and certain root vegetables.

I knew I wanted to be in show business when I was 10 and had Ken, G.I. Joe, and Barbie acting out episodes of Love American Style.

The worst thing about being an actor is having to share the stage with other people. (Just kidding!)

My worst audition ever required therapy to block it from my memory, so you'll owe me at least a thousand bucks if I have to recall it.

The happiest day in my life was when I successfully blocked out the aforementioned audition.

If I could be anyone other than myself it would be Ricky Martin. I can't get my WASP-y hips to do that!

It’s not entirely true, but I sometimes tell people that I'm here in Phoenix because the authorities are after me for running a crack den in Manhattan. This always gets a much better response than if I say I'm here to do a show at the Herberger.

The fictional character I am most like is the Lieutenant of Inishmore, at least until the end of the month. Then, after that, an elf in Macy's Santaland. (I love indulging my multiple personality disorder.)

I am utterly terrified of Robrt Pela's review of The Lieutenant of Inishmore.

I laugh uncontrollably at Matthew Wiener trying to do an Irish accent.

The one thing I absolutely refuse to do on stage is stick a yam up my ass. Unlike Karen Finley, one of the NEA Four, who supposedly did this, I have my standards. I might consider a small potato, but never a yam!

Something I have never admitted to anyone before is I want to win an Oscar so I can be like Sally Field and give a totally indulgent and demented acceptance speech.

Currently I am reading all of David Sedaris' writing, especially Santaland Diaries, which I'm about to appear in at Actors Theatre of Louisville.

The first time I got drunk I broke into an abandoned "haunted" house. I made my friends sit in the creepy living room and I told them a story about a maid who had been murdered there and buried in the basement. Suddenly, a red light started moving around the room. I was sure I had summoned the dead maid's spirit and she would speak to us. Then someone looked out the window and saw that the cops had arrived. The light was from the squad car and we were so busted!

Like my mother used to say, "You kids, put that homework away! These cocktails aren't gonna refill themselves."