Simon Says and Other Foolishness

Survivor? Reality television? All new concepts just a few years ago. I remember reading the short review. The new television season included this bizarre format. The locale was a remote island. People, actually contestants, would live together with only the basic survival necessities. One by one they’d eliminate each other, leaving a sole survivor. That survivor would win $1 Million. Are you kidding? I could only think this show would expose the vilest aspects of humanity. Cruelty and greed would be laid bare in the savage environment, winner take all.

Above the fray, I held myself hostage from the hype. I refused to get swept into my perceived ugliness of this crass manipulation…until the final couple episodes. I dove in. I downloaded my standards and rebooted into the brand new world of reality television. Hooked, lined and sinkered….now I’m fully immersed in home/wardrobe makeovers, chef contests, fashion designer wars and, biggest of all, American Idol.

I’ve been through the AA program. I do remember the first time I really had to say, “My name is Mary and I am an alcoholic.” That was tough. But this? Admitting that Simon Cowell doesn’t really bother me, really bothers me. I have steadfast opinions such as Ryan is the annoying one. Paula is out of her league and is painful to watch. But truly, honestly, and for sure, I don’t like the audition phase when they edit in the plethora of quirky, crazy kids. But I’m hooked because I now consider myself a great judge of popular music. Really. I smile knowingly when my conclusions regarding a performance correspond to the judges (except Paula).

Step One of the AA twelve steps is admitting powerlessness to alcohol. I did this and in the doing I actually saw the door swing shut on my life with a wine bottle. But, I can’t see myself admitting the same “addiction” to American Idol. (Proof: I put the word addiction in quotes.) An alcoholic is expert in excuses and denial. “I didn’t know cooking sherry was alcohol.” I knit socks during American Idol. I am making something for goodness sakes! This is productive time.

Actually I am wondering if I’m addicted to American Idol exclusively, or the whole genre of reality television. Know who won Top Chef? I do. Hosea, the looser. He had a fling with Leah and that wasn’t right. Stephan should have won, but he was a jerk most of the time. The fun one was Carla and while she made the finals, she didn’t win and didn’t win fan fav…that was Fabio. So all in all, it was very unsatisfactory.

Then there is Clean House, every week the same deal. The “Clean House Team” arrives at the house of someone with a serious hoarding problem. They climb over and around piles of crap. The designer always argues with the homeowner over some arcane (and ugly) possession. Tearfully the homeowner pleads, “My darling doggy Marshmallow chewed off teddy’s eyes twenty years ago. I loved my little Marshy and this little bear is all I have left!” There is bargaining and the homeowner is given flooring/bedroom furniture/laptop in return for trashing teddy. The show’s crew clears out the place, sell all they can at a yard sale, truck the rest of the junk away, clean, paint, and redecorate. The occupants return ecstatic that their home has been renewed, blissfully wave goodbye to the Clean House cast. They are left to a new life, reborn and emotionally cleansed of their collecting habits. Reality? I don’t think so. These people’s homes are just the reflection of some deeper psychosis. I know it is.

So what do I get out of this? I do like to see the talent (by my definition) that emerges on American Idol. I like to believe that these twenty-somethings put themselves on the line, risking it all for their God given talent. Wow, I wish I had the nerve to do that. Top Chef contestants create masterful dishes out of thin air. In the “Quick Fire Challenge” they might have to make some tasty and artful dish out of a pile dead squid and a couple of eggs… in 30 minutes. I pride myself on my cooking skills. But taking my standard green salad from good to great means I’ve included something more colorful like radishes in the mix. Clean House? Well, that is about righteous indignation. While I may not vacuum as often as I should, I can find my way to the toilet in the middle of the night without breaking a leg on an overflowing metal file cabinet abandoned in the middle of my bedroom. These people clearly have problems I don’t have. It all makes my life look rather dull, but clean and organized.

Survivor has survived and thrived. Cruelty and greed are accepted as gamesmanship. The prize is substantial and no holds are barred. Cable TV is blanketed with copycats (Biggest Loser, The Amazing Race) and extensions on the concept of reality (Hells Kitchen, What Not to Wear, etc.). I refer to my love of American Idol as an addiction. But maybe I press this too hard. I know that life lived in a bottle is a life borrowed and not lived. When I settle down to knit, turning the heel on my latest set of socks, I need to remember that reality displayed on TV is reality borrowed, and edited, and staged. My true reality is found in the giggle of my grandchildren, the purr of my kitties, and the warmth of my dog pressing against my leg as I sit, knit, and know Simon is about to bash the next poor Idol wannabe.



March 12, 2009