Early Saturday morning the line was long and raggedy, erratic and agitated, littered with empty coffee cups and the sleepless faces, which creased in the sunlight, of beautiful women on a casting call for the show’s ninth season. The line started outside the Park Central hotel at Seventh Avenue and West 55th Street, turned the corner at Broadway and then doubled back onto West 56th Street. All for a shot at America's Next Top Model. Or American Idol. Or America Just Wants to Be Famous (and not actually do anything to achieve fame.)
On the ride home from work this evening I discussed the following topics with my younger sister. Managerial positions, what a managerial position entails, where you start from to get there (managers are made, not born), understanding processes, engineering, chemical engineering, train engineers, mechanics, electrical engineering, mechanical engineering, plumbing engineering, plastics engineering, plastics, rubber, the difference between plastics and rubber, rubber trees, maple trees, petrochemicals, petroleum, gasoline, and lastly crude oil.
Mind you, she's a 7-year old. So a lot probably went over her head. But I let her know, so she'd know that these things exist, so that she'd be interested, so that she'd consider being involved in one of these fields. So she has options of what she wants to be, other than another pretty face. So I won't have to save her from her mother when she's 23 years old and make the proclamation below. Because her mother will not be upset, she'll just be imprisoned.
“[My mother's] upset with me,” Rasheeda Jones said, a 23-year-old from Newark. “She wants me to go to college and all of that. But I like the attention of walking down a runway.”
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