Slender

Remember this guy?

No! No! Not him!

THIS guy!

Yeah...you totally remember him. It's no use pretending you don't.

I keep using general terms like "he" and "him" and "this guy" and "the face of terror" so it will be harder to find this post when the people from "his" corporation go a-googling.

Well, you'll be happy to know that "this guy" is still around. And this time...he wants ME.

This is the last time I go to an audition because "I probably won't get cast anyway."

Days ago, the day after Christmas, in fact, I got an email saying:

"FORK! You HAVE to audition for this! It's a one-man show that tours schools in the northeast which isn't great...you'll be by yourself the entire time...but--are you ready? Sit down for this! According to the posting online, it pays $6,500 a week!"


I couldn't sleep the night before the audition. If only I got this gig, my life would be changed forever.

That morning, I got a phone call.


"Oops. Uhh...Fork...there was a typo on the website that posted the audition notice. It's not $6,500 a week. It's...$650."


Driving around in the dead of winter, dancing around in a spandex body suit, singing about nutrition to school children in gymnasiums and cafeterias from here to Ohio...

For $6,500 a week, I could do just about anything.

The helium behind my solar plexus drained out with a farting sound. I contemplated not going to the audition so I could focus on the different shows and classes going on in New York City. Yes. That's what I wanted to do. That's what I WOULD do. No question.

The audition...I'll just do it as a courtesy. I mean, I probably won't get cast anyway.

I showed up before my appointment time with a whopping three minutes to spare. There were dozens upon dozens of leotard-clad tap-dancers at the audition center that day. Lots of them were practicing their 16 bars in corners here and there. It was one of those scenes I see played over and over again in my nightmares. It's the stereotype that comes to everyone's mind when they think of auditioning in New York City.

Imagine a hundred of these:

It wasn't a pretty sight. I came down with an instant case of musical theatreitis.

It hit me right about then that I was auditioning for a musical. A MUSICAL! I began to hyperventilate. I looked frantically around at the skinny guys (and one chubby. "Hey," he said, "Yuh never know!") sitting in front of the audition room.

Someone went in before me. I heard an American Idol sound emanate from the room. He came out moments later.

The audition monitor looked at me.

"M. Fourchette?"

"Howdy! That's me!" I said, rapidly syphoning the contents of my Abject Terror tank into my Happy-Go-Lucky Texan/Look How Laid Back I Can Pretend to Be tank and hoping no one would know the difference (I do that a lot at auditions).

Someone asked the monitor a question.

"Good question," he said. "The directors want to see 16 bars of an up-tempo song and then you'll do a cold reading once you're in there."

16 bars of an up-tempo. Oh holy night. All I had was 16 bars of a ballad I hadn't sung in two years.

In retrospect...

I should have gone in and just sang the bloomin' ballad.

I should have thrown the audition.

But you don't think about those things when you're at an audition.

All you can think about is survival.

I walked right back to where I dropped off my stuff...

...and picked up my ukulele.


To be continued...but I bet you can see where this is going. Suffice it to say, after seeing dozens of musical theatre bois, all polished, all technically perfect, they had never seen someone like me who, when asked, "Which 16 bars of an up-tempo will you be performing, replied with total abandon, "I don't have one! But I have a ukulele!"

Fork... Fooooork! I want your Good Body!