By my own
”
intense
”
Internet research, more than 125 reality TV shows have aired in
recent years.
By my own “intense” Internet research, more than 125 reality TV shows have aired in recent years. The list of absurdity is seemingly endless: “The Real World,” “Survivor,” “The Osbournes,” “Meet My Folks,” “ElimiDate,” “Joe Millionaire.”
The latest example on Fox last week, “Man vs. Beast,” featured a world-class sprinter in a 100-yard race against a giraffe. The show also had a world-champion hot-dog eater trying to out-devour a 1,000-pound Kodiak bear.
Really, if that bear was somehow competitive and truly wanted to win the contest, it would’ve gorged about 50 times more hot dogs than that goofball. Then it probably would’ve stomped over and eaten the hot dog man, too, just to rub it in.
All this madness sparked a great idea. With the recent kickoff of new local cable stations at Gavilan College – CMAP – and the nation’s fixation on reality TV, Hollister should have its own version of a reality show. So I decided to brainstorm ideas over my daily bowl of generic Cheerios.
The opening credits for my first idea would sound something like this:
“This is the story of five strangers – picked to live in a Hollister house – to find out what happens when people stop being polite and start getting real! THE REAL WORLD: HOLLISTER.”
The credits would then introduce the central characters, who live together for six months and would include a group of locals sure to stir up some thrilling controversy.
I was thinking of maybe recruiting two City Councilmen – perhaps Brian Conroy and Tony LoBue. Then maybe a county executive, perhaps Richard Scagliotti. Maybe we could throw in the two editors of the city’s competing newspapers.
“Oh baby! This is gonna be fun!” I thought.
All right, I’m being an idiot. What’s new, right?
But seriously, almost every person in Hollister would watch that show because people are obsessed with the drama in others’ lives. However, I gave up on it because I realized those particular people probably wouldn’t agree to the show. (Or would they?)
Then for a second idea I thought… what if I hired someone with a video camera – perhaps Pablo Balancio – to just follow me around all day? I didn’t consider it for long, though, because I realized how remarkably boring that show would be.
The most exciting episode would probably revolve around me struggling to unwrinkle my clothes without an iron. Or perhaps, if the viewers were lucky, they’d catch me on a cold morning trying to scrape frost off my car windows with a spatula. (It’s not fun.)
So I moved on to Plan 3, the perfect – and final – idea. This one would create a ratings frenzy.
Famed movie critic Jed Logan – who expressed enthusiasm about it – could be cloned by scientists into six other Jeds. Then CMAP could tape the daily interaction between the seven Jeds in a downtown Hollister apartment.
“This would be great!” I thought. And so did Jed. We even looked up the phone number of Dr. Boisselier at Clonaid.
But then I thought about it more. The show’s format would definitely need some female roommates to stir up sexual tension with the seven Jeds. (A format to which Jed agreed.)
Or at least we would need an anti-cloning advocate – but Jed didn’t like that idea.
Unfortunately, the local women I had Jed contact about being on the show were immediately scared off by his requests. If any women are interested in this opportunity, please e-mail Jed Logan at…
OK, so I finally gave up. A Hollister reality show is probably unrealistic.
I spoke to my friend Jenny in Omaha the night of the “Man vs. Beast” show. In conversation, she unintentionally summed up America’s obsession.
“Reality shows are a sick, sick thing!” Jenny said. “But they’re interesting.”
She then laughed as she realized how ridiculous her comment was, and also because it accurately represented the general mindset of TV viewers. Indeed, we are sick, sick people.
