Another shot at reality fame has slipped through my fingers. A couple of weeks ago I mentioned the CBC Canada Writes contest which combined to of my favorite things, writing and reality TV (in this case it would have been radio). But still.
Well I actually put some work into my submission and was really proud of my two separate entries. Thanks to my friends Nick, Erin and Megan I was able to write to entry that I thought were fresh, funny and unique. Unfortunately, CBC disagreed.
Last Friday the three finalists were annouced for the Alberta region and my name was not listed, none of the names even looked like mine (adding insult to injury)!
You can read the finalists for Alberta here.
I was actually pretty bummed out because I had really gotten my hopes up for this one. None of the winning submissions, to me, seem to be anything special but I am biased because they were responsible for crushing my dreams of “insta-fame” without having to work too hard for it. I also think I would have done really well and at the same time learn some really cool things about something I’ve never gotten training on. Oh well there is always next time.
Here are my two submissions, maybe you can tell me where I might have gone wrong. One rule to remember is that they had to stay under 200 words each. (The formatting of spaces is a bit wonky because I transfered it from my email, it wasn’t like that when I sent them in.)
Being bald is awesome. Being 18 and bald? Not so much. Seven years ago my hairline became as skinny as Peter Mansbridge and since then each day has been as interesting as the last. In highschool, while my friends were off partying, I was strolling the aisles of pharmacies and Walmart with my mom checking out the side effects of Rogaine.
I know now that being bald can be cool. I’ve never had that embarrassing tan line down the part of my hair. I have a better chance of finding a properly fitting hat, plus I get to sleep in an extra 5 minutes every morning. Also, have you seen the price of Shampoo? No thank you. Every month I treat myself to a “haircut”, this usually means buying aguilty pleasure DVD or a pricey pair of jeans, depending on if I go to a “Salon” or not.
Heck, I’ve also been known to walk slowly bya fundraiser for Cancer research; hey we could all use an encouraging smile every now and then.
I’ve never trusted my parents. How could I? They are known liars. All parents are, even yours. Whether they lie about Santa Claus, The ToothFairy or the fact that “all mommies need a glass a wine in the afternoon”, our parents lie like they are born politicians.
Our parents always told us about the dangers of the world. Ironically, it isn’t until we were older and we realized that we’ve already survived the scariest part of life, our father’s driving.I’ve learned that parents lie because kids are just kids. No harm, nofoul. Right? Wrong.
I sometimes catch myself still nervous of the little man that opens the garage door and plays music in my car. And I have yet to see a Chocolate cow.
Whenever I talk to my parents about what liars they are they always start off by saying the same thing. “Which one are you?” After a quick recap, I ask them the mental damage they may have caused my siblings and I. That is usually when they hang up.
I guess I’m just happy that my dog is on a farm far away and doesn’thave to worry about being lied to either.