Keepin’ it Real
Me and my blog homie Big Fashionista like to have a good heated debate. One thing we tend to go toe-to-toe, head-to-head, bitchslap-to-bitchslap on is reality TV. She loves it, I hate it. It really shouldn’t make a difference – it’s not like we live together, but I do virtually wrestle the remote from her when she tweets about whichever bit of reality show she’s taking a regular dose of this week. I mean, I love her, but come on! Here I’ll make my argument for why I hate reality TV, head on over to Fashionista’s blog to see her plead her case for all things reality.
Why don’t I appreciate the joys of reality TV, I hear you cry? Because I live reality every damn day! I get to see the excruciating minutiae of me brushing my teeth, tweeting my whereabouts, staring into space, clock watching at my job, you name it, I get to see myself doing it up close and personal every day. And lemme tell ya, I’m pretty fascinating, but even I wouldn’t think that constitutes good viewing for anyone else.
Big Brother? Thank God they finally wrapped that prolonged piece of crap up for good. I’ll admit, I watched the first series when it aired about 10 years ago. Then, it seemed like an interesting social experiment. But that’s all it really required – the one series. Why the hell should I care about someone picking their toe nails? Or that they sat on a sofa for a total of 43 minutes? What the heck does any of this add to my life?!
Then of course there’s the shows that make the mind boggle as to who actually green lit them in the first place. I remember when I lived in Canada, there was a show from the US called The Swan – I’m not sure if this little gem ever made it to England. Basically, it took people who’d (allegedly) been beaten with the ugly stick, sent them off to some flashy spa somewhere, gave them complete facial plastic surgery, dental implants, liposuction or whatever else they felt was required, then presented the finished product to the person’s very baffled looking family members. And the whole time the narrative was about how beauty comes from within. I shit you not. The plastic surgeon would be talking about inner beauty while shaving some poor bastard’s nose bone down during a rhinoplasty. They brand that as reality TV, but I’m not sure what planet that’s reality on. Wait, scrap that – Planet America, of course.
I don’t watch a lot of TV, but when I do, it’s to escape reality. And no, I don’t go to the other end of the spectrum and go nuts with all that vampire shit – I am not riding that wave. I watch my DVD sets of The Wire (cause it never gets old to me and if you want a good story, you’ll be hard pushed to find a better one), Law & Order SVU (cause Ice T’s ponytail tells a story all of its own) and generally just zone out. Reality has its place – mainly in you living your own life. I long for the day we stop giving every two-bit-no-talent-having-nobody a shot at their fifteen minutes. I don’t care about these fame-hungry whore-mongers. And you shouldn’t either! So there!