I’m going to level with all of you. I didn’t work like a banshee to get into Yale just so I could throw away opportunities. I know what kind of people I go to school with — wealthy, well-connected friends in high places, yadda yadda.
So I know there’s someone out there, reading this article, whose parent is a CBS executive. And if that person is you, then listen very carefully: You have to get me on the next season of “Survivor.”
Now you’re going to tell me to fill out an application just like the other hundred thousand people who want to be on the show. But here’s the catch: According to the Web site, you have to be 21 years old at the time of application. I’m not 21.
Somehow I think CBS executives are not going to buy that I’m “Kelly Plypshyn” from Freehold, N.J., as easily as the bouncer at TJ Tucker’s did. That’s why you have to pull some strings for me. And so, in order to strengthen your case, I’ve compiled a list of reasons why I should be one of the next Survivors:
I’ve been rallying for the pro-reality television cause since its inception. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from Gandhi and Cesar Chavez, it’s that change only comes with persistence. That’s why I’ve stood up to every Reality-TV naysayer I’ve come across — those who believe that people who watch “Temptation Island”, “Big Brother” and even “Boot Camp” are somehow second-class citizens.
I preach Survivorism to family, friends and even Annette the Flower Lady. I feel that only by reaching out to people, one by one, will the seeds of the faith be spread. And thus will the ratings grow.
Were I on the island, I would totally spice things up, adding to the enjoyment of contestants and viewers alike. I already have some ideas: We could have a tribal karaoke night, where we can only sing songs with the proper theme, such as Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” or “Survivor” by Destiny’s Child. We could have theme dinners such as “Let’s Eat Jeff the Host Night.”
Also, I have this uncanny — and until now, useless — talent for memorizing TV and movie lines verbatim. So I was thinking, if things got slow at night around the campfire, I could just sit in front of the tribe and recite shows by request, sort of like a homemade TV. I’m also pretty good at showtunes. After a few renditions of “I Feel Pretty,” I’d be a lock for the million dollars.
My desire to obey the national beauty standard
Last summer I got my tonsils out. I almost went without food for the two weeks that followed and could do nothing but watch Bob Ross specials listlessly. Despite the intense unbearable pain following the operation, I looked smokin’. My Old Navy bikini never looked better. Since then, I’ve been unable to replicate that look, but I think a month on the island would do it for me.
I’ve been spending all my time at the Kaplan test center on Chapel Street, which is located between Gap and Ann Taylor. I have to pass by their windows every day. I try to resist their siren song, but they win every time. Who couldn’t use another pastel tank top or a pair of “Not Sox?”
I’ve already thought about the one luxury item I’d be allowed to bring on the show. Although my first choice was waterproof mascara, I think I’d do better to bring a Sherpa. He could show us the ins and outs of living in the wild. And it would stop others from voting me off — lose me, lose my Sherpa.
So that’s it. Have I sold you yet? Okay — one last thing then. If I won the million dollars (which we’ve already decided is a lock, given my showtunes and Sherpa), I’d blow it on an underground tunnel connecting Pierson to Toad’s. I’m sick of wearing those pastel tank tops on cold, rainy nights.
Nancy Levy is a junior in Pierson College.