Reality Bites

I despise “reality shows.” There, I said it.

If that makes me “unAmerican” then so be it.

I harbor no personal grudge against Simon Cowell or Jeff Probst, though I must admit I hold them – if only slightly – responsible for the preponderance of crappyness that permeates those beautiful HD flat-screen TVs these days.

The idea of keeping up with the Kardashians is nauseating.

Kate Gosselin is about as entertaining – and relevant - as watching crabgrass grow.

I would be afraid to let the girls next door anywhere near my house.

I think America has talent but it’s not onstage hanging with Mariah Carey’s husband.

Dancing is lovely, but it’d have to be more fun to dance myself than it is to watch C-list celebrities hoof it.

There’s a reason those Bachelors and Bachelorettes are bachelors and bachelorettes.

The only even pseudo-interesting Situation on the Jersey Shore is the people in that group seem to be covered with some shiny/sticky substance most of the time.

And the “Real” Housewives all seem to have fake boobs and fake tans and fake attitudes and fake lives.

A confession: I used to watch Deadliest Catch. Those men are some of the bravest, craziest and unique individuals out there, but the show and those on it seem to have turned into a caricature of themselves – which means I’m out.

A qualifier: MythBusters is not a “reality show.” IT IS REAL.

And it’s in everyone’s best interest that I don’t get started on court shows - Judy, Joe, Alex, Hatchett, et al. 

I’d hate to get sued and wind up on a trashy TV show.