Column: American ego check

Guess what I did last week? I auditioned for ABC's newest reality show, a televised search for the All-American Girl. I thought my mediocre talent in a number of areas would make me an eligible representative of America's women - I mean - girls, and that with airtime to myself I could bring an enlightened perspective on girlhood to pop culture, talk a bit about self-image and send the message that brainpower is real power. (Okay, so part of me just wanted to be the next Britney Spears.)

It was a disaster. By the time I had shuffled to the front of the line to get my number (1064), hopped into the warm elevator and began wiggling my toes (which I was sure were frostbitten) and reached the third floor of the studio where at least 300, um, girls (between 18 and 25) were already warming up, chatting and primping, I had become a slightly more attractive version of my seventh-grade self. Self-loathing, judgmental and insecure, I was sure that if I could just perfect "Genie in a Bottle" in the next five minutes, my life would have meaning.

It didn't help that I was already behind. "You mean you don't have head-shots?" "No." I was beating myself up for not making time the previous week to pay the $300 minimum for some black and white, 8x10, glamour Marys when a cameraman approached. "Excuse me?" "Yes?" "Not you. Her." He was addressing my friend Amy, also from Duke. We came together. We did not tell any of our friends where we going. We missed class for this.

"Do you mind answering a few questions?" "Sure." "Great, just look right into the camera. First, who do you think is the All-American Girl right now?" Someone who has head-shots, I thought. Dammit. "Chelsea Clinton, because she has matured into an intelligent, diligent and poised young woman." Go Amy. The next four responses to this question from "girls" around us were: Madonna, J. Lo, my mom and the Olsen Twins. Oh lord.

We were told we would have two minutes in front of a camera and a panel of producers to perform in one of three genres; we could sing a song from a list the studio provided, dance improv to music the studio provided or act in a role that the studio provided. Drowning in a sea of "girliness" (did I mention all of these people were over 18?), the part of my brain where safety and conformity and all of those other survival instincts are housed kicked in, and I ended up singing a shaky, a cappella rendition of "Let's Hear it for the Boys" with utter seriousness. I will never, ever repeat that performance.

Next came the interview portion of the audition.I was maybe a little cocky about my ability to answer the questions of the All-American Girl interviewers. I was hoping for some good ones, some predictable but open-ended invitations to philosophize like, "What do you think is the biggest issue facing the American girl today?" Even better, I was welcoming an opportunity to flaunt my political knowledge. Talk a little bit about Iraq, maybe touch on art, AIDS in Africa, Bush's rancid tax cut plan. But no.

"Next!" "What's up? I'm Todd and this is Joe." I took my seat before two young, attractive guys in khakis - one in a baseball cap - whom I assumed were interns. They had that look. I was sure they were on a power trip. Joe turned on the camera and a glaring, interrogation light. "How many states are in the United States of America?" "Excuse me?" "How many states - " "No, I heard you. 50." "Good. How does a fish breathe?" "Through its gills." "Who wrote To Kill a Mockingbird?" Shit.

The interview went downhill from there. I couldn't name the seven dwarfs. I didn't articulate the implicitly requested ethical dilemma when asked what I would do if I saw my brother on the evening news robbing a convenience store. ("Call his cell phone?" I said, just as my cell phone rang, which gave me an opportunity to compensate with a joke: "Speaking of cell phones!" [Chuckle]. Todd and Joe did not laugh.)