reality bites I: the apprentice menace
there are many things one takes for granted living in manhattan, [insert list of why new york is the best city in the world], not the least of which is living among a small army of washed up reality tv stars.
advice: do NOT participate in a reality television program. i repeat, do NOT participate in a reality television program. if it is a contest, you may be lucky enough to retain some level of self-respect when the cameras stop rolling, (as a bonus to your 15 minutes of fame), if and only if you win. if you do not win, pack your bags, you're better off moving to canada.
case in point, stacey r, from the apprentice season 2. to refresh your memory, she was the short, dwarf-like lawyer, with the glasses, long blonde stringy hair, high pitched voice, and generally mousey features. she wasn't well-liked, thrived on confrontation, and made it about halfway through the show. good for her.
now, we often ride the train together in the morning. she lives somewhere near me, as we both pick up the R at 23rd street. and i glance, sometimes stare quite blatantly, everytime i see her. (not a lot to do while you're waiting for the train). she sees me. she knows that i know who she is, and i know that she knows that i know. that makes it easier for her. for everyone else, who might have watched the show but can't quite remember, who look at her crooked, like someone they know but can't place, make her all the more uncomfortable. her shields must be up at all times. and i can't help but feel sorry.
she wears her sunglasses--always--in the tunnels, in the train. eyes always darting as she holds her head high. her attempt to deflect all the wandering eyes and half-stares with indifference and snobbery is painfully transparent. on the train, she buries her head in her crackberry. i watched the screen today. she tries to look busy, important. she's neither.
les miserables.
advice: do NOT participate in a reality television program. i repeat, do NOT participate in a reality television program. if it is a contest, you may be lucky enough to retain some level of self-respect when the cameras stop rolling, (as a bonus to your 15 minutes of fame), if and only if you win. if you do not win, pack your bags, you're better off moving to canada.
case in point, stacey r, from the apprentice season 2. to refresh your memory, she was the short, dwarf-like lawyer, with the glasses, long blonde stringy hair, high pitched voice, and generally mousey features. she wasn't well-liked, thrived on confrontation, and made it about halfway through the show. good for her.
now, we often ride the train together in the morning. she lives somewhere near me, as we both pick up the R at 23rd street. and i glance, sometimes stare quite blatantly, everytime i see her. (not a lot to do while you're waiting for the train). she sees me. she knows that i know who she is, and i know that she knows that i know. that makes it easier for her. for everyone else, who might have watched the show but can't quite remember, who look at her crooked, like someone they know but can't place, make her all the more uncomfortable. her shields must be up at all times. and i can't help but feel sorry.
she wears her sunglasses--always--in the tunnels, in the train. eyes always darting as she holds her head high. her attempt to deflect all the wandering eyes and half-stares with indifference and snobbery is painfully transparent. on the train, she buries her head in her crackberry. i watched the screen today. she tries to look busy, important. she's neither.
les miserables.
posted by mark at 2:23 PM
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