DawnPapuga.com — Reality 101

It’s no secret that I hate (and I do mean hate ) “Reality” TV.  There’s nothing real  about it, to begin with.  It’s an obvious placating of antiquated cravings to use entertainment to make individuals feel better about their own lives.  As the seasons pile up, any attempt at opacity disappears.  These shows are pandering to the Star and Enquirer crowds with shameless abandon.  If you’ve been paying attention to any of these shows for the last few years, you could fill out a “cast” list as easily as the producer.  You need one or two members of the cast who are older than the rest, the young, dumb girl, the young girl with the attitude, the athlete, the republican, the homosexual, the homophobe, the bible banger, and the girls who think that sleeping their way to the winner’s circle is the smartest route.  Oh, and don’t forget the men who take that very same approach.  You have a Benetton ad of race, religious, and political diversity.  I’ve said it before, and I stand by it… people watch these shows not to see who wins, but to watch people lose.  Why else are many of the the most memorable “characters” from these “reality” shows the ones who lost, got fired, kicked off the island, made to turn in their chef coat, didn’t get the rose, or who was evicted from the house?  We root for our favorites, but it’s so much more fun to root against the ones we hate, isn’t it?

There are only a handful of these shows that I can stomach to watch, and most of them are only because I enjoy the rantings of my friends about these shows.  Hell’s Kitchen, Amazing Race, and Big Brother  are really the only ones I can tolerate.  I stranded Survivor after the first season when the “tribes” didn’t realize that they had to put up their food so that the animals wouldn’t eat it.  And they did.  And I knew immediately that modern television was in for a dumbing down like this media driven generation has never seen.  Anyone who has been a boy or girl scout–or even been camping, for that matter–knows the basics of survival!  I can’t watch any of those Bachelor or Bachelorette shows without feeling the need to become a nun, and don’t even get me started on Flava-Flav and his atrocity of a show.  Fear Factor  jumped the shark when it became a game of “who can eat the grossest thing without puking on camera” (though I suppose that counts as a game show, not a “Reality Show,” but where do you draw the line anymore?).  And The Apprentice just got worse every season.  I don’t know why people even bother trying to feign friendship or humanity on these shows.  It’s about a dollar amount and winning.  That’s it.  I don’t even understand why people would watch most “Reality Shows.”  America’s Next Top Model?  Celebrity Rehab?  Baby Borrowers?  Celebrity Circus?  Being Bobby Brown?  The Simple Life?  I Want to be a Hilton?  Are you KIDDING ME?!  If finding 99% of the “Reality Shows” on TV  disgusting, low brow, utterly mindless, and more suitable for means of torture for anyone with a shred of intelligence than entertainment makes me a pretentious snob, then so be it.

Of the “competition” shows, So You Think You Can Dance  and Last Comic Standing still manage to maintain the skill level I can appreciate in a show.  The others have turned into jokes (and these are close to the edge too).  I cannot, under any circumstances, stand to be within earshot of American Idol.  And the current season of America’s Got Talent  confirmed my fears that all “competition” shows have tried to copy the success of American Idol  right down to the the need for canned cruelty and catch phrases.  I had high hopes for Nashville Star, but it succumbed to the same fate.

All of that is to say that tonight was the premiere of Big Brother 10, and it lives up to everything you would expect out of a “Reality Show.”  Go check out the cast of characters and you’ll see what I mean.  If you want, you’re welcome to watch the surveillance cams in the house 24/7.  If you do, send me a detailed report.  Three times a week (if I ever manage to watch more than one) is far more than a healthy dose for me, thanks. 

((I actually have a post planned on the positive reasons that “Reality” TV is so popular… okay, so maybe they aren’t “positive” in the sunshine and rainbows sense, but they’re perfectly good reasons.  It has much to do with the reasons people read any series an author writes–or why spaghetti westerns, detective novels, and bodice ripping romance novels have been and continue to be popular.))

 Growing up, I was forced to watch episode after episode of M*A*S*H in the evenings, and I can’t remember hating anything more (Well, I hated Willie Nelson too, but as with most things I grew up loathing, I’ve grown particularly fond of Willie too).  I don’t know when the switch occurred, but somewhere I became enamoured with M*A*S*H and the hi-jinks of the cast of characters of the 4077.  Maybe it was the writing, the predictable format of the show, the comedic timing, or the topical nature of many of the episodes.  All I know is that at some point, I grew to adore M*A*S*H, and I have a sneaking suspicion that my opinion changed once Henry Morgan, A.K.A. Colonel Sherman Potter joined the cast.

I didn’t have the pleasure of knowing either of my grandfathers while growing up–both had died before I could bat my eyelashes at them and drag them to story time.  My uncle’s parents lived across the street from me once we moved back to Pittsburgh, and somewhere along the way my brothers and I took to calling my uncle’s father “PapPap.”  He makes the most mouth watering meatballs (the size of tennis balls if we pleaded long enough), and sauce that tomatoes fight each other to be a part of.  Pap is old school in more ways than one, and even when he joined forces with my father to scare the life out of my dates, I knew it was because he cared.  He’s always had kind words and a kind laugh or joke for us, and I’ll always be grateful for having that as a part of my life. 

And while I have one surrogate Grandfather, I think it only right to fill the missing position on the other side of my family line.  I’ve been watching the entire run of M*A*S*H, and once Col. Potter uttered his first “HORSE HOCKEY!” I knew just the man for the job.  If we had the ability to choose, Col. Potter would be at the top of my list.  In fact, he might well be the only name on my list.  Yeah, yeah, he’s a fictional character, but so what?  If I can’t have the real thing, I might as well aim high, right?  He had a sense of humor, order, and understood when to let things work themselves before he stepped in.  He fought for the little guy and loved the family around him, all while overseeing the organized chaos of life in a battle zone (and sometimes that is exactly  what life feels like, doesn’t it?).  He could take a joke with as much panache as he could play one, and while he wasn’t always a stickler for discipline and the rules, he respected them and what they stood for.  At the same time, he did respect breaking the rules for the right reasons.  When it comes right down to it, you trusted that when Col. Potter was around everything would turn out well no matter what the difficulty.  Having him yell at you showed as much care as when he listened to your troubles and offered down home advice.  He was intelligent, experienced, and there was nothing that could get by him. 

So I’m officially adopting Col. Sherman Potter as my surrogate, fictional grandfather.  And now, under the wise advice of Grandpa Potter, I’m going to “get a belt.”