Reality
I've been sitting here thinking about who I write this blog for. It's not really for me, since the stories I tell on here are ones I know by heart. It's not really for my friends, because I've told them all of these stories before. It's not for strangers, because I don't get a huge rush thinking some random person in (insert country here) is reading about my life. And yet, considering I'm not writing this for any one group of people, I continue to write. Today, I've decided to write about an experience I've had that not many people I know have. I was once on a reality show.
Now, before you get excited (or disgusted) it wasn't anything huge like Survivor or The Real World (although I do still plan on trying to get on The Amazing Race someday) - no, I was on a little TLC show called Date Patrol. TLC, for those of you who don't watch, is The Learning Channel. It's usually towards the end of your cable dial and has popular shows such as Trading Spaces and While You Were Out. Date Patrol was their version of a self-help dating show and was based on a British TV show, as most of their shows seem to be. Apparently the Brits do TV better than we do. Anyway, the basic premise of Date Patrol was to take a problem dater and fix them, using three different life coaches. But before I get into the show, let me give you some background (and I warn you, this entire blog post may be very, very long.) Some of the dates are a bit fuzzy, but you'll get the major points.
A girl I knew, the younger sister of a good friend of mine from college, was working on Date Patrol as a producer. Somehow she brought it up and asked if I would be interested in applying. At the time I was living back in Connecticut and said that if I made it back to NYC, I'd consider it. Then my sister decided to move to California for grad school, leaving her apartment in the city open. My parents own the apartment, so we could have sold it, rented it out, or... let me take it. I decided the time was right to leave Connecticut so I went to India for a month and when I got back, I moved into NYC. At the moment I'm at a loss for a reason as to why I would do that to myself, but there you go. So when I got back into the city, I met up with the producer who once again asked me if I'd be interested. I said sure, send me the application. The application sat on my computer for about a month. Then she got a hold of me again and said they were having a really hard time casting and was I still interested? So I sat down, filled out the application and sent it to her.
Now realize, I never in a million years thought I'd get on the show. I figured they'd look at my application and toss it out. I mean, The Real World had done that a few years earlier when I applied (for the Boston cast), why would this be any different? Literally a few minutes later, she called back to say that another producer was going to call me to set up a meeting with me. And a few minutes later, I did get another call. And the next day, I was giving a Cribs-like tour of my apartment, on camera, and being interviewed. And a few days after that, I got the call I was on the show.
I had NO idea what I was getting myself into. The whole thing still didn't feel real. I was initially scheduled to be the first person shot, but I believe I had family in India in town or something, so my production got pushed back a few months. So again, I still didn't believe it would happen, but a few months roll by and suddenly... So here's how the show worked. I get set up on a date. The date is videotaped and being watched by the host of the show and three coaches. Their job is to critique my dating style. Then they spend a month working with you, doing various tasks and such. You don't know what the tasks are in advance and they could literally be anything.
I thought I did pretty well on the date, but apparently they didn't. They didn't like the way I dressed, the way I walked, the way I reacted when the girl touched my shirt. And there really isn't much more embarrassing than sitting in your own living room watching yourself on a date. So I meet the host, she talks to me for a bit, I meet my segment producer, who follows me around all month with a camera in my face, and it's slowly starting to dawn on me that this is really happening. I can't remember in what order things happened, but here's what I had to go through. With one coach, I went to an Improv class so I could learn how to speak in something other than a monotone. On my date I guess I didn't speak very loudly or with much emotion, so the coach thought the Improv class would help. Now, I've worked in movies and been on camera a few times, so doing the class wasn't horrible, as I enjoy acting out. The one thing I couldn't bring myself to do was sing. For some reason, I can not sing in public. But overall, the Improv class was decent.
I have a fear of heights. That isn't very helpful when you live on the 19th floor of a NYC apartment, but what can you do. My couch equated my fear of heights with a fear of dating, and thought that if I could get over my fear of heights, I'd get over my fear of dating. I don't dispute I had a fear of dating, but I had no clue how heights worked into it. Unless I was dating someone taller than me. Anyway, I ended up going to trapeze school on the West Side Highway. Yes, it is right on the highway, so that people at stop lights could look up and see me, swinging like an idiot from one of those bars. That was terrifying. First of all, you have to climb up this rickety ladder to this plank of wood. The plank isn't all that big, and we had me, an instructor and TWO camera men standing on it. Then, you're supposed to grab the bar that you swing on. But the bar is out in front of you so the only way you can grab it is to lean. I had on a safety harness, and the instructor held on to my back, but for all intents and purposes, I was leaning off a small piece of wood, looking down about 20-25 feet into a net. Although I didn't see the net, all I could see was the ground below. I don't know the last time I was so scared. And then, after you grab the bar, the instructor lets go, and you go flying. I couldn't do much else other than fly through the air and drop into the net, but I have to stay, that was the good part. Getting up to, and standing/sitting on the platform, sucked horribly, but the rest was OK.
With another coach I took a kickboxing class. Now that was cool. I had a good time with that. Kickboxing is not to be mistaken for the kickboxing cardio class I took later, however. Kickboxing involves you and another person beating on each other. Kickboxing cardio involves someone trying to kill you by exercising. You know those cartoons where the dog gets kicked in the head and sees birds flying around? I saw stars. We didn't actually kick anyone, we just worked out, and by the end I literally fell to the ground and saw stars. I thought I would die right there. I've never been in such agony before. And the instructor, who had been so nice when we kickboxed a week earlier, just stood over me and smiled. Needless to say, I never went back. I found out later that he got kicked in the face by another student and broke his jaw. Oh yeah, and the guy who worked at the gym and showed me how to work out was named Rage. Rage Ng. Yes, his name was actually Rage Ng. It wasn't his given name, but he changed it. He was one of those people who was really nice, but looked like if you pissed him off, he'd rip your head clean off your body. And he was married to a dominatrix. I miss Rage.
Then there was the day I had to go to Central Park and hit on women. The camera was hidden in the shadows and I had to go up to random women and try and get a phone number/email address. That was the day I got into an argument, on camera, with my coach, over the point of the whole thing. Because the area of the park she picked wasn't well traveled, there weren't a lot of women wandering around. So for a while I was hitting on 50-60 year old women. I have nothing against women that age, but seriously? So we went at it. She ended up getting fired that day. I'd like to think I had something to do with that. By the end of the Central Park day I had managed to get the email address of a Russian model/actress. To this day I'm not sure if I did that on my own, or the producer, fearful the day would turn into a bust, went out and got her, but she was hot.
So at the end of the month, you've done all sorts of things and are supposed to find your own date for the final part of the show. Beyond what I described, I also hosted a party at my apartment, went to a club with a friend, and did a few other things. I had managed to meet a decent number of women, and even liked a few of them. Here's the problem. I asked 4 of them to go out with me on the show and they all said no. I was told by other friends of mine that a lot of Indian girls don't want their parents to know what kind of life they really lead. So appearing on a dating show might not be in their best interest. Which means the producers had to scramble to find me a date, and ended up asking a girl out for me. I might have been the only person in the (short) history of Date Patrol to not be able to get their own second date. That was a kick in the pants. So they found this girl for me that I had met at a club, but hadn't remembered too well, and we went out. Oh yeah, I was also given a small makeover, where I got a haircut, my eyebrows threaded and some new clothes. I basically looked like someone else. But it all went rather well. Granted, I haven't spoken to the girl since, but she said on camera that I was nice.
So there you go. For a month during the summer of 2003, I was followed around NYC with a camera, documenting my life. The show's production office was a block away, so anytime I left the apartment they asked that I call them so they could send a camera to follow me. That was a little strange, since sometimes all I did was go get food, but hey, they wanted footage. The show ended up airing in January of 2004 to critical acclaim. OK, maybe not critical, but people seemed to like it. The weirdest thing was, I was actually recognized on the street a few times. A couple of weeks after the show aired, this girl stopped me outside of a subway station to ask for the time, then said, 'You're the guy from that show, right?' She could have mistaken me for someone else, but I'd like to think she knew who I was. Then, very randomly, I was in Florida for a wedding, and a girl at a tuxedo rental place recognized me. I got emails from people I hadn't seen in years who said they were flipping channels and saw me.
So the bottom line... did the show help? Actually, it kind of did. Much to the chagrin of my style coach, who bought me all the clothes and some stuff for my apartment, my clothing style hasn't changed too much, although I did add some color to my life. But as far as dating goes, I've gone out a lot since then and don't feel so afraid. If someone doesn't like me, so be it. I'm not as afraid of rejection as I was before. I still haven't found that certain someone, where there is a mutual attraction anyway, but at least I can go out and look.
There you have it. My life as a reality TV star. I'd highly recommend everyone get on a reality show if they can. It's one of the strangest, most surreal experiences you can have. And you get free stuff.
Now, before you get excited (or disgusted) it wasn't anything huge like Survivor or The Real World (although I do still plan on trying to get on The Amazing Race someday) - no, I was on a little TLC show called Date Patrol. TLC, for those of you who don't watch, is The Learning Channel. It's usually towards the end of your cable dial and has popular shows such as Trading Spaces and While You Were Out. Date Patrol was their version of a self-help dating show and was based on a British TV show, as most of their shows seem to be. Apparently the Brits do TV better than we do. Anyway, the basic premise of Date Patrol was to take a problem dater and fix them, using three different life coaches. But before I get into the show, let me give you some background (and I warn you, this entire blog post may be very, very long.) Some of the dates are a bit fuzzy, but you'll get the major points.
A girl I knew, the younger sister of a good friend of mine from college, was working on Date Patrol as a producer. Somehow she brought it up and asked if I would be interested in applying. At the time I was living back in Connecticut and said that if I made it back to NYC, I'd consider it. Then my sister decided to move to California for grad school, leaving her apartment in the city open. My parents own the apartment, so we could have sold it, rented it out, or... let me take it. I decided the time was right to leave Connecticut so I went to India for a month and when I got back, I moved into NYC. At the moment I'm at a loss for a reason as to why I would do that to myself, but there you go. So when I got back into the city, I met up with the producer who once again asked me if I'd be interested. I said sure, send me the application. The application sat on my computer for about a month. Then she got a hold of me again and said they were having a really hard time casting and was I still interested? So I sat down, filled out the application and sent it to her.
Now realize, I never in a million years thought I'd get on the show. I figured they'd look at my application and toss it out. I mean, The Real World had done that a few years earlier when I applied (for the Boston cast), why would this be any different? Literally a few minutes later, she called back to say that another producer was going to call me to set up a meeting with me. And a few minutes later, I did get another call. And the next day, I was giving a Cribs-like tour of my apartment, on camera, and being interviewed. And a few days after that, I got the call I was on the show.
I had NO idea what I was getting myself into. The whole thing still didn't feel real. I was initially scheduled to be the first person shot, but I believe I had family in India in town or something, so my production got pushed back a few months. So again, I still didn't believe it would happen, but a few months roll by and suddenly... So here's how the show worked. I get set up on a date. The date is videotaped and being watched by the host of the show and three coaches. Their job is to critique my dating style. Then they spend a month working with you, doing various tasks and such. You don't know what the tasks are in advance and they could literally be anything.
I thought I did pretty well on the date, but apparently they didn't. They didn't like the way I dressed, the way I walked, the way I reacted when the girl touched my shirt. And there really isn't much more embarrassing than sitting in your own living room watching yourself on a date. So I meet the host, she talks to me for a bit, I meet my segment producer, who follows me around all month with a camera in my face, and it's slowly starting to dawn on me that this is really happening. I can't remember in what order things happened, but here's what I had to go through. With one coach, I went to an Improv class so I could learn how to speak in something other than a monotone. On my date I guess I didn't speak very loudly or with much emotion, so the coach thought the Improv class would help. Now, I've worked in movies and been on camera a few times, so doing the class wasn't horrible, as I enjoy acting out. The one thing I couldn't bring myself to do was sing. For some reason, I can not sing in public. But overall, the Improv class was decent.
I have a fear of heights. That isn't very helpful when you live on the 19th floor of a NYC apartment, but what can you do. My couch equated my fear of heights with a fear of dating, and thought that if I could get over my fear of heights, I'd get over my fear of dating. I don't dispute I had a fear of dating, but I had no clue how heights worked into it. Unless I was dating someone taller than me. Anyway, I ended up going to trapeze school on the West Side Highway. Yes, it is right on the highway, so that people at stop lights could look up and see me, swinging like an idiot from one of those bars. That was terrifying. First of all, you have to climb up this rickety ladder to this plank of wood. The plank isn't all that big, and we had me, an instructor and TWO camera men standing on it. Then, you're supposed to grab the bar that you swing on. But the bar is out in front of you so the only way you can grab it is to lean. I had on a safety harness, and the instructor held on to my back, but for all intents and purposes, I was leaning off a small piece of wood, looking down about 20-25 feet into a net. Although I didn't see the net, all I could see was the ground below. I don't know the last time I was so scared. And then, after you grab the bar, the instructor lets go, and you go flying. I couldn't do much else other than fly through the air and drop into the net, but I have to stay, that was the good part. Getting up to, and standing/sitting on the platform, sucked horribly, but the rest was OK.
With another coach I took a kickboxing class. Now that was cool. I had a good time with that. Kickboxing is not to be mistaken for the kickboxing cardio class I took later, however. Kickboxing involves you and another person beating on each other. Kickboxing cardio involves someone trying to kill you by exercising. You know those cartoons where the dog gets kicked in the head and sees birds flying around? I saw stars. We didn't actually kick anyone, we just worked out, and by the end I literally fell to the ground and saw stars. I thought I would die right there. I've never been in such agony before. And the instructor, who had been so nice when we kickboxed a week earlier, just stood over me and smiled. Needless to say, I never went back. I found out later that he got kicked in the face by another student and broke his jaw. Oh yeah, and the guy who worked at the gym and showed me how to work out was named Rage. Rage Ng. Yes, his name was actually Rage Ng. It wasn't his given name, but he changed it. He was one of those people who was really nice, but looked like if you pissed him off, he'd rip your head clean off your body. And he was married to a dominatrix. I miss Rage.
Then there was the day I had to go to Central Park and hit on women. The camera was hidden in the shadows and I had to go up to random women and try and get a phone number/email address. That was the day I got into an argument, on camera, with my coach, over the point of the whole thing. Because the area of the park she picked wasn't well traveled, there weren't a lot of women wandering around. So for a while I was hitting on 50-60 year old women. I have nothing against women that age, but seriously? So we went at it. She ended up getting fired that day. I'd like to think I had something to do with that. By the end of the Central Park day I had managed to get the email address of a Russian model/actress. To this day I'm not sure if I did that on my own, or the producer, fearful the day would turn into a bust, went out and got her, but she was hot.
So at the end of the month, you've done all sorts of things and are supposed to find your own date for the final part of the show. Beyond what I described, I also hosted a party at my apartment, went to a club with a friend, and did a few other things. I had managed to meet a decent number of women, and even liked a few of them. Here's the problem. I asked 4 of them to go out with me on the show and they all said no. I was told by other friends of mine that a lot of Indian girls don't want their parents to know what kind of life they really lead. So appearing on a dating show might not be in their best interest. Which means the producers had to scramble to find me a date, and ended up asking a girl out for me. I might have been the only person in the (short) history of Date Patrol to not be able to get their own second date. That was a kick in the pants. So they found this girl for me that I had met at a club, but hadn't remembered too well, and we went out. Oh yeah, I was also given a small makeover, where I got a haircut, my eyebrows threaded and some new clothes. I basically looked like someone else. But it all went rather well. Granted, I haven't spoken to the girl since, but she said on camera that I was nice.
So there you go. For a month during the summer of 2003, I was followed around NYC with a camera, documenting my life. The show's production office was a block away, so anytime I left the apartment they asked that I call them so they could send a camera to follow me. That was a little strange, since sometimes all I did was go get food, but hey, they wanted footage. The show ended up airing in January of 2004 to critical acclaim. OK, maybe not critical, but people seemed to like it. The weirdest thing was, I was actually recognized on the street a few times. A couple of weeks after the show aired, this girl stopped me outside of a subway station to ask for the time, then said, 'You're the guy from that show, right?' She could have mistaken me for someone else, but I'd like to think she knew who I was. Then, very randomly, I was in Florida for a wedding, and a girl at a tuxedo rental place recognized me. I got emails from people I hadn't seen in years who said they were flipping channels and saw me.
So the bottom line... did the show help? Actually, it kind of did. Much to the chagrin of my style coach, who bought me all the clothes and some stuff for my apartment, my clothing style hasn't changed too much, although I did add some color to my life. But as far as dating goes, I've gone out a lot since then and don't feel so afraid. If someone doesn't like me, so be it. I'm not as afraid of rejection as I was before. I still haven't found that certain someone, where there is a mutual attraction anyway, but at least I can go out and look.
There you have it. My life as a reality TV star. I'd highly recommend everyone get on a reality show if they can. It's one of the strangest, most surreal experiences you can have. And you get free stuff.
posted by SC | 3:57 PM
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