Escape from reality
Confession is good for the soul, they say. I don't know if this qualifies, but I have a confession to make: I'm hooked on some of these reality-based television shows.
It's almost embarrassing to admit a reasonably intelligent person can become engrossed in these ridiculous shows. It's somewhat like watching a train wreck — you just can't help it. On the other hand, in an attempt to logically explain my rationale — it's a form of escape.
It all started innocently enough. I got hooked on the first "Survivor" series.
Then came "Fear Factor." I was constantly amazed at what people would eat to win money. From live bugs to animal guts, I watched people retch and gag and consume vast quantities of unspeakable or unrecognizable substances. And let's not forget to mention being covered with roaches, rats, or rattlesnakes.
After the novelty of watching ordinary people do stupid things wore off, I got hooked on "The Bachelor."
For those of you who missed this educational series, it involves a bachelor and 25 women. He culls the list each week after a series of dates with the women. Some are presented roses and asked to stay another week. The rest are sent home heartbroken because they didn't get chosen.
During the final show of the series the bachelor is supposed to choose the "woman of his dreams" and present her with a diamond engagement ring and a promise of "happily ever after."
Think about it. This is on TV in front of millions of viewers each week. The people aren't ugly. They don't have weight problems or health issues. The dates always include being jetted off to exotic locations for fabulous dinners with perfect weather under moonlit skies.
Puh-lease. Who's reality is this? Maybe it's time the TV powers-that-be came up with a real reality show. Maybe it could be the "Happily Ever After" sequel to the "Bachelor."
They could show the happy couple a few years down the road, when he slurps milk from the jug and a gourmet meal includes pizza out of the box. Instead of designer clothes, show how well they wear faded sweats and house slippers. And instead of bringing her roses, he tracks in grass clippings after mowing the yard.
Who knows? If this works, they could go on to another sequel of "Happily Ever After — With Kids."
Instead of a chauffeured limousine, the couple spends their time in an oil-sputtering mini van, ferrying the kids from one activity to the next. The elegant home has become cluttered with bikes and soccer equipment, dogs, turtles, and hamsters. Even pizza in boxes has given way to hot dogs and macaroni and cheese.
Instead of being whisked away on a private jet, they barely get five minutes alone in the bathroom. There is no time to gaze lovingly into each others' eyes. There are science projects and laundry, bills to pay and birthdays to plan.
Now, that's more like reality. But then again, watching it on TV wouldn't be such a treat, would it?
— DONNA BERNHARDT
