If a cow ever got the chance...

So, I tried out today. I didn't want to say anything before, because it was all Outgrabe's idea (and then he bailed on me, the little fucker), and I don't want my diary to be a mere commentary on Outgrabe's diary. Or my life to be an extension of his. (Hey! Maybe he made me up! You ever think of that? I'm such an alter ego. We do share the same opinions on everything, with the notable exceptions of steak, Indian food, and my boyfriend. Maybe some other stuff too.)

Well, I digress. You want to know about Jeopardy. Here's the story: Outgrabe signed us both up for the tryouts in Chicago. ("Hey, Buttercup, give me your address." "OK, why?" "I just signed you up for Jeopardy." "Oh. How odd.")Although I am officially in the contestant pool for Season #19 (yay), I doubt that I will be chatting happily with Alex on national television anytime soon (boo).

First the coordinators had us take a 50-question written test, which consisted entirely of random Jeopardy-level trivia factoids, such as who did Juliet dump for Romeo. (I can't believe I missed that, but I did. It's Paris.) The test was really hard, and I was guessing at least half the time. Unbelievably, I seem to have made the cutoff, along with about 10 other people. They announced my name first; I was so proud, although I don't think it means anything.

Then they had us fill out another application form certifying that we are not personal friends of Merv Griffin or running for public office, took Polaroids for the file, and proceeded to play a mock game with real buzzers, which went fine, and do a mock Alex-interview ("Tell me about yourself"). Which I bombed. Oh god did I bomb. You know, I never knew I had a stammer until today. I think I said I was a "production book project editor at Chicago."

It was awful. Standing there facing the coordinators (who were brusquely jovial and terrifying at the same time) I just lost all composure, and I could see them making little notations in their files: IXNAY ON THE FAT CHICK, SHE'S VERY VERY NERVOUS. The other contestants all had well-rehearsed and vaguely witty things to say about themselves, like "I've been to England four and a half times." Oh well. I don't have the money to fly to Culver City anyway (airfare and hotel are at your own expense, until you win). My Polaroid looked great though, and I feel pretty smart now. I just have to come up with two sentences that make me sound witty, urbane, and lovable, and rehearse them every day for the next year or so until the Jeopardy people come back.

And you never know, maybe they will call me this season. I'll be waiting by the phone...

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