I know I’ve gone off once or twice about how each time more people get weeded out of this WB production, it’s been a “final” round—on December 29th, I received another e-mail addressed to “Dear WB Finalist.” After today, though… this time I think they’re serious.
The e-mail included a few crumbs of information regarding the show’s format, though it sounded more like a promo than anything: “As you may, or may not know, this project is the first show of its kind. It is a new exciting take on the old, tired reality TV. It injects the intellectual prowess of a game show, into the spontaneous antics of what you’ve come to expect from all the best Reality TV programming.”
The rest was primarily dates of interviews, dates of the production, etc. Oh yeah, and one more thing. If you’re not chosen as a contestant or you’re voted off the island, so to speak, “[y]ou will return to your life and normal routine, however will still be held to the confidentiality contract (meaning you will be prohibited from discussing any details of production).”
Translation: Regardless of whether I get on the show or not, I can’t tell you anything. If I told you, I’d have to kill you. Seriously. The confidentiality contract states, “I also recognize that proof of damages suffered by Producer and the Network in the event that I breach this paragraph will be costly, difficult, or inconvenient. Accordingly, I agree to pay Producer and the Network the sum of Five Million Dollars ($5,000,000.00) per breach…” Thus, if you’re dead, no one could prove that I breached the contract. If they could prove it and I had to pay damages… your life insurance payments wouldn’t come even close.
Honestly, it had been a while since I’d heard anything from out west (aside from a call from their lab a few weeks ago because they couldn’t find my throat swab that got sent in with my blood and urine samples). I was starting to think that the project had fallen off the map and they didn’t bother to tell me about it or something. But I got that e-mail. And then I got a phone call this afternoon.
It was Megan from 3 Ball Productions. She asked if I was having a good day and said she had some news that would make it a better day—I’m in the final finals. If I pass this stage, I’m a contestant on the show (though I still don’t know what the title might be).
We chatted for a couple minutes: she told me that I’d get out of the snow, I told her that we’ve only had about 3 inches so far this winter, we both think it’s funny when people who aren’t used to snow have no idea how to drive in it… good times. But the main reason she called was to hope that it’ll be warm and sunny in a week, which is when they’ll be flying me out to California.
That’s when I’ll get a chance to talk with some of the producers, get poked and prodded (both physically and mentally—no sissies or psychos allowed). From there, it’s time for them to flip a coin—I’ll either be there for four days or, if I get tapped as a contestant, up to four weeks.
Consequently, I’m stuck wondering about how to work the system and weight the proverbial coin somehow. “Do I need whiter teeth? Do I need a haircut? Do I need new clothes?” (I’m guessing yes, yes, and yes.) Hopefully, deciding how to improve those won’t require too much intellectual prowess. If they do… at least I won’t need to worry about being a “finalist” anymore.
