All right. Despite the fact that I’m not sure you people earned this, I shan’t go back on the promise I made after humiliating my friend Lindsay Robertson last week. Here, in all its glory, is my tragic and depressing audition tape for Survivor: The Australian Outback. I was 100 percent serious about this.
Allow me to set the scene: The year is 2000. In the dead heat of a Queens summer, a 25-year-old girl sits alone in her basement apartment, located within spitting distance of the Triborough Bridge. Despite the blazing sunlight off the Grand Central Parkway’s access roads, it is dark in there, and sad. When not at home, the girl usually spends her days teaching theater at NYU or driving vans full of sets and props around the Lower East Side, but on this sweltering afternoon, she has borrowed her boss’s video camera and spent at least an hour talking into it at random, looking for a way out. Her video editing skills are spotty at best. But she has a dream. And on this day, she didn’t yet know that her dream was already dead.
The comments are open. Be kind.