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Confessions of a Reality TV Junkie

It all started with MTV's Real World, which I joined midway

through the first season over thirteen years ago.

There was something embarrassingly intriguing about watching the

story of seven strangers, picked to live in a house, and finding

out what happens when people stop being polite and start getting

real...The Real World.

I likened my fascination with it to people slowing down on the

freeway to "rubberneck" an accident - you know you shouldn't

watch, but you can't help yourself. So after a segment on a NYC

street where a young African American male yelled at a naïve

southern girl about racism, I was hooked.

Which led to further voyeurism with casts from LA to Chicago,

San Francisco to Austin, Honolulu to New Orleans, Paris to

Boston, another trip to New York, and cast reunion shows in

between.

I worked hard to hide my habit. When people found out I actually

KNEW who Puck, Montana, Genesis, Mike "the Miz," and Cameron

were, I told them that I was watching the Real World merely as

"research" because I worked with young people, and therefore

should be "hip" to what they were watching. I don't think they

bought it, particularly since I had no idea who or what a Shaggy

or Fifty Cent were. But it was my story, and I stuck to it!

I did pride myself in that the fact that I only watched the

first two seasons of MTV's Road Rules and then quit, cold

turkey, and never watched another one. And over the years, while

still hiding my Real World addiction from most people, I managed

to feel a sense of moral superiority because I didn't succumb to

the Millionaire Wedding show on FOX, like "other" people did. Or

Temptation Island, for goshsakes! I did have SOME standards. Not

many, but some!

But then a little show named Survivor came along, and that was

my downfall.

I mean, deep down I didn't really WANT to see Richard prancing

around naked on that island, and I really didn't need to see

Michael go after that pig like he was acting out "Lord of the

Flies." I didn't want to see an eleven mile trek through a

rainforest that brought strong men to their knees and caused

their eyes to roll back in their heads. And I didn't want to see

Johnny Fairplay lie about his grandmother's death. But I

couldn't tear my eyes away.

So I justified the monkey on my back by feeling redeemed when

Lex went to the AIDS hospital in Africa, or when I learned about

the culture of the native people of Palau. And I rationalized

that I wasn't really wasting my time with mindless drivel - I

was learning important survival skills should I ever be lost in

the middle of Australia or shipwrecked on a deserted island! I

was learning how to make a fire with a stick and rock, how

survive on corn mush and coconuts, which all might come in handy

some day. Survivor was a public service, by god!

But the problem was that Survivor led to Big Brother. Hanging

head in shame. Yes, it's true, my Reality TV proclivity was

so bad that not only did I live through Lip-Gloss Jamie and

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Chicken George in the first household, much to my shame I even

watched the "worst than the first" second household.

And every season since.

Of course, after watching Nicole, Will, and Monica pee on a

waterbed while trying to become Head of House one week, I knew I

had hit the Reality TV gutter and vowed never to watch again.

But I fell off the wagon the next week when I was back watching

them vote off Hardy, and I deluded myself into thinking I didn't

have a problem because at least I hadn't signed up to pay to

watch it 24 hours a day via the Internet - at least not until I

got a faster internet connection...

They say the first step in rehabilitation is to admit you have a

problem, and that you are powerless over it. But I don't know.

Just because on Mondays I watch the "Real World/Road World

Gauntlet," followed by "The Amazing Race" (yes, even the stupid

Family version that thankfully just ended) on Tuesdays, "The

Apprentice Martha Stewart" on Wednesdays, plus "Survivor" and

"The Apprentice: Donald Trump" on Thursdays doesn't mean I have

a problem. Does it? I mean, it's not like I watch Reality TV

EVERY night, you know?

Oops, gotta go, the new season of American Idol is about to come

on!

About the author:

When Susan Ryder isn't watching Reality TV, she is an author on

a site for Creative

Writing (http://www.Writing.Com/) - you can see more of her

work at http://www.sophie.writing.com.