Jed Wolf

I have an audition this Tuesday at 7:00 PM for the lead in a local musical, and I’m freaking out. Any of you with magical powers—assuming I haven’t alienated you all—please aim them toward Fairfield, CT, around 7:45 to 8:30 PM. I’ll be the one arriving un-anxiously late, possibly wearing black jeans and cowboy boots… or maybe not.

The role calls for a black t-shirt, unless my aging biceps make me look too tragic. It’s a comedy after all, and I’d be playing a middle-aged Zeus who dons an olive wreath and a “mid-thy tunic.” So here’s the real question: would wearing a February tee be cleverly disguising my body-shame issues, or just highlighting them?

The part requires a high baritone, and I’m an aging baritone who’s tired of waiting for roles in my range. As of this morning, I can only hit the high notes through some rather creative vocal gymnastics, but those aren’t until the finale, and I’m counting on the director stopping me early to offer me the role. Still, I’m scheduling a voice lesson for tomorrow. You never know—I might miraculously emerge sounding like Gordon MacRae.

My teacher helpfully suggests the lead has probably already been cast and they’re just holding auditions for appearance’s sake. It doesn’t matter. I’ve been here before. That curt “Thank you very much” may not compare to a standing ovation, but the adrenaline rush is equally good for my stents. I’ve weathered the deadpan expressions, the quick pen strokes, the lonely drive home—even the siren song of deep, icy rivers. Proudly, I’ve never once called a week later to ask if they forgot to tell me I got the part.

Though there was that one time I came home to find a round-trip plane ticket to LA in my mailbox from ABC. Me and my invention were headed for national TV! No joke. I’d auditioned in Manhattan for the first season of “American Inventor” (cue deadpan stare), and the judges either forgot to tell me I’d been selected or—more likely—thought my bizarre inventions would make good television. Either way, they sent the ticket, ready to put my heart-wrought creation and dignity on display for millions. Insert “all your problems will be over” here.

The LA judges mocked me, and I ended up deriding their entire show on national television. I looked like a complete freak. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.

Maybe I should wear long sleeves… Nah.