So I can't help myself: I want to be a millionaire

DAVID Y. LEE/YH

Okay, so I'm really smart. I'm so smart that I have a hard time finding people to play me in Trivial Pursuit—they just run away in fear. It's not that I'm vain; I just want you to know that I am qualified to write this article. Unless you've been living in a hole, you've probably noticed the "Quiz Show" comeback, giving away mad cash on stylish sets, with obnoxious hosts asking, "Is that your final answer?"

I hate these quiz shows. But it wasn't always like this. Back in the day, nothing thrilled me more than sitting down with my family after dinner and watching Jeopardy! Those people were so smart. I wanted to be just like them when I grew up. Then, in about 10th grade, I came to the conclusion that those people were morons, and they were picked because they were morons. Maybe I'm a little bitter. After all, I was selected by Jeopardy! After passing the "intelligence" test of the tryout, I appear to have failed miserably on the personality portion. I never watched Jeopardy! again. And so began my love/hate affair with the "Quiz Show." I can't stand it, but I just can't stay away.

This summer, 260 million Americans and I were sucked into the alternate universe known as Who Wants to be a Millionaire? The questions were thought-provoking, the players weren't dorks, and it was entertaining to watch. Then came the second and third runs, with their dumbed-down questions, and I began to wonder where they dug up these people (although there was a former Whiff on one of them—he, I suppose, was okay). The stupidity pushed me away, and I stopped watching Millionaire. Or so I thought.

I went home to Ohio over break, and Regis Philbin again became a palpable presence in my life. My otherwise dysfunctional family, which doesn't even eat dinner together anymore, gathered promptly at 8 p.m. to watch more Americans attempt to become the next millionaire. There we were, a group consisting of two almost-senior citizens, a ditzy teenager, and me, an intelligent woman of the world, all gathered around the television together. It was a Kodak moment.

We watched the middle school science teacher swear that the most abundant gas in the atmosphere was absolutely, positively not hydrogen or nitrogen, only to have the choices taken away until he was left with a choice between those same elements. This man is teaching the next generation of potential Yalies to avoid group IVs like the plague. And you science nerds wonder where we get it from.

Then there was the guy who asked the audience whether the capital of Australia was Sydney, Melbourne, Canberra, or Perth. I mean come on, Australia is a big country—it's not like Mauritania or anything (no offense to any Mauritanians). The audience voted 3 to 1 in favor of Sydney over the actual capital, Canberra, and the guy, blindly following the advice of his fellow man, lost. I was appalled.

So I was confirmed in my opinion that these shows were exploiting the stupidity of the American populace. Yet I couldn't tear myself away from watching last week's airing of the show. My roommate Sarah and I became acquainted with a personality we like to call "Swamp Gas Boy." I am sure you remember him if you watched the show. He does something with web pages, and he has had a girlfriend for the past eight years. He had something clever to say before every answer, a little witticism on the background of the question to show us all how incredibly intelligent he was.

Well, Sarah figured out that he hadn't left his computer in about three years, leaving him vulnerable to any question dealing with the outdoors. When the question "What kind of tree loses its leaves in the winter" came up, he must have had a science teacher like the other guy, since he needed to phone a friend before coming up with "deciduous."

I hate that show; it bothers me to no end. Is that why they won't let me through on the contestant hotline? They're always busy. It's because I'm a woman, isn't it? But I suppose that's an article for another time and place. Radhika Natarajan is a sophomore in Trumbull.

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