2005 - Vol. 2, Issue 1

If you've read my last two humor columns, you know that I've been on a 2004 wrap–up satirical bender. I've made fun of advertisers and journalists and people in power who wouldn't recognize an ungrammatical sentence if it was a tomato–sized pimple on the tip of their nose.

In this final essay, I'll be examining (with one of those lighted, magnifying mirrors) one of the biggest zits on the nose of American culture: "reality" TV. And let me tell you, it's begging to be popped.

First I must admit that, yes, I did entertain a brief lust for American Idol. But I've moved on. I hardly even think about Kelly, Clay, and Ruben anymore. Their photographs under my pillow are just ornamental now.

But in other respects I've been a fool. When shows like Survivor, Big Brother, and Who Wants to Marry a Millionaire? started popping up, I naively thought that eventually the rest of our TV nation would grow as bored and disgusted as I was with this genre and it would peter out. I mean, how many times can you see someone put their head in a cage of tarantulas or eat handfuls of giant maggots before the thrill wears off? And yet, probably the Food Network is right now planning a new show called Barbecuing Bugs: From Maggot to Housefly, 101 Ways to Grill Vermin.

Indeed, by performing a quick online search, I turned up more than 80 current or recent "reality" shows, each one more base than the next. Here are the most popular types in this genre:

• The "watch (hot) people (usually scantily clad women) battle each other for the attention of a potential mate" program. Some examples: The Bachelor, The Bachelorette, Who Wants to Marry My Dad?, Meet My Folks, Married by America, Date My Mom.

• The hoax show — a variation on the theme above. Hoaxes all involve some twist in the program that falsifies the premise presented to the contestant(s). Unwitting contestants may be led to believe they're fighting for big money or gorgeous partners, when in fact the dream hunk is poor or homely. For instance, a gaggle of women try to worm their way into the heart of a man they've been told is wealthy in Joe Millionaire, when, in fact, he's a rodeo cowboy who makes less than $12,000 a year. Other examples: $25 Million Dollar Hoax, My Big Fat Obnoxious Boss, Average Joe, Fake Out, He's a Lady.

• The makeover show, which falls into two subcategories: (1) transform the person or (2) refurbish the house. (Sometimes these themes overlap, as in Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.) A new wardrobe, seven kinds of plastic surgery, thirteen layers of toxic paint, a smattering of formaldehyde–infused particleboard furnishings (tastefully draped), and voila! — we all learn the valuable lesson that self–esteem is built on outward appearances. Sometimes a hoax/makeover combo is employed. For instance, a woman may think her grown daughters are taking her out to lunch but end up facing a crowd of family, friends(?), and a pair of experts who tell her what's wrong with the way she looks. (Answer: everything.) Some examples: Extreme Makeover, Ambush Makeover, While You Were Out, Head 2 Toe, The Biggest Loser, Renovate My Family, I Want a Famous Face, What Not to Wear, How Clean Is Your House?, Trading Spaces, Designing for the Sexes, Designer's Challenge, Merge, In a Fix.

• The competition/talent/danger show, often involving (big surprise) bikini–clad women clinging to things, falling off things, eating disgusting things, and/or a group of rivals being stranded in isolation (on an island or in a house). Usually there is some major cash award and/or other prize (a modeling or singing contract, for instance) for the winner. Some examples: Temptation Island, Paradise HOTel, The Real Gilligan's Island, The Amazing Race, Fear Factor, Dog Eat Dog, Russian Roulette, Manhunt, Last Comic Standing.

• Celebrities doing "real" things. These are competitions among celebrities that range from the genial — Celebrity Poker Showdown and Celebrity Blackjack — to the ostensibly dangerous and/or rugged — Celebrity Mole and I'm a Celebrity: Get Me Out of Here!

And that's only a fraction (nine–tenths) of what's oozing out of the boob–tube these days. To be fair, the networks are trying to branch out. For instance, showing the bravado for which the network must have been named, Bravo took the usual "gorgeous women trapped together in a house vying for the attention and cash payoff of being chosen by a hunky guy" gag and transformed it into "gorgeous men (some of whom, unbeknownst to the contestant, are straight) trapped together in a house vying for the attention and cash payoff of being chosen by a hunky guy" gag. This enabled the show to cash in on several reality TV standbys: humiliating the contestant, showing off lots of buff bods, and providing scenes of nasty conflict among the "house boys."

Clearly, with all their Queer Eye programming and the Boy Meets Boy show mentioned above, Bravo is trying to reach out to a demographic that, until recently, has been largely ignored: gay men. However, that still leaves out a lot of folks. The more I think about it, the more I wonder: What about my skanky, voyeuristic needs? Maybe if reality shows were more tuned in to people like me, I'd get hooked, too. And then I could be a real American, in the truest sense: a consumer. I've compiled a list of reality shows that a sedentary, disabled gal such as myself would like to see:

• Extreme Quilting! Sixteen disabled and elderly women race each other to finish a baby–blanket–sized quilt in the fastest time. The sewing circle becomes a vicious circle when thimbles disappear, patterns are torn, and iron–hot tempers ignite over the hot iron.

• Crip Eye for the AB Guy. Do you know an able–bodied person who can't tell brain fog from rain fog, or a power chair from a power lunch? When you mention a "scooter," "lift," or "transfer," does he think you're talking about a child's toy, cosmetic surgery, or his savings account? Well, he might be AB now, but one day he'll probably be elderly and disabled. Our makeover team will help this AB Joe to prepare: What color wheelchair or walker will compliment his wardrobe? What curses are appropriate for dealing with the social welfare system? Plus five easy steps to gracefully resigning yourself to being deemed expendable.

• Outhouse Beautiful. Living in your tent, a car, or other substandard housing, but still desire the snappy style and luxury of a tastefully decorated "commode under the stars"? Then let our brilliant design team with absolutely no knowledge of the Americans with Disabilities Act transform your pathetic privy into a beautiful — and completely inaccessible — bathroom of their dreams! You'll be flush with pleasure as you "Ooh" and "Ah" from the doorway.

• Psychiatric Survivor. Twelve contestants agree (or are forced) to enter a mental hospital. Unbeknownst to them, each contestant has at least one diagnosis that's inaccurate. All are given a variety of psychotropic drugs. Whenever a contestant loses a reward challenge (such as not getting out of bed and into the meds line by 5 AM), another medication is added. Each wily survivor has to figure out which hallucinations, life–threatening "side effects," and episodes of mania or depression are caused by the drugs and which are relieved by them. In a fun twist that sets Psychiatric Survivor apart from its peers, on PS, winning an immunity challenge allows a player to leave! Who will be the ultimate PSurvivor? Tune in to the pharmaceutical ads to find out!

• GOPs Behaving Badly. Get ready to laugh your civil rights away as Bush, Rumsfeld, Ashcroft, Rove, and Cheney use wire taps, intimidation, and hilariously horrible new laws to deport refugees who've spent their lives here and to fool unsuspecting citizens into imprisonment without legal counsel. Whether it's hiring their corporate buddies to help privatize Social Security or colluding with mainstream media to hush up the bombing of foreign civilians, you'll be amazed at their daring and whimsical tricks. Woops! I mixed up the reality shows with tonight's newscast. Never mind!

• Dine on a Dime. Make room, Design on a Dime — reality TV's cutting edge is here, literally! As more people become poor at the same time as social services are eliminated, our team of commando dining designers will show you how to slice one hamburger into quarters and garnish it to make a four–person meal. We'll slash luxuries like vegetables, fruit, and uncontaminated drinking water from your food budget. (Coming soon: our complimentary fashion makeover program, Tighten Your Belt.)

• Celebrity Duck, Duck, Goose. Shove over poker — there's a new game in town! See your favorite stars raise money for charity by scampering on the playground in DKNY gowns and Armani suits. Will your favorite actress plunk her ass on the grass as fast as you can say "Hollywood divorce"? "Run, Jennifer Anniston, run!" Hosted by former running–back for the Miami Dolphins, Ricky Williams, this head–tapping, high–heel–breaking legstravaganza will have you — and our stars! — rolling in the weeds.

So, that's the sum of my proposed new reality shows. I hope our cultural cowboys will use my suggestions to bring more creativity and less bug–intensive programming to this Great Land of Ours. Of course, if any TV execs want to contact me directly, I'll be more than happy to assist them in bringing my ideas to fruition, especially if — as a random theoretical example — they're looking for a funny Jewish lesbian to live in a glamorous, accessible house and be pampered by sixteen gorgeous, fragrance–free women all vying for her attention. But that's just one idea. I've got a file full of others just like it. Call me, Bravo. My bikini and high heels are packed.