In defense of reality television

I love television. Even though I grew up in the days when the number of channels barely… I love television. Even though I grew up in the days when the number of channels barely tipped into the double digits, I have received the majority of my wisdom through a cable jack. Although books have been intruding into my viewing time lately, there’s still nothing quite as comforting as sitting under the television’s cool glow and reversing the maturation process for a few hours. It has kept me conspicuously childish into my 20s – it’s the same mechanism as when a child falls into a frozen lake. The brain just shuts down. Don’t say you can’t sympathize with me. Been to a hospital lately? What’s in the upper corner of every room? The abridged works of Jane Austen? Don’t think so.

I used to despise reality television, but started choking on my own hypocrisy. I just can’t in good conscience make the argument that watching “Joe Millionaire” is cheapening us. After all, I’m probably not going to recall any Socrates on my deathbed. It’s more likely that in my final moments I’ll whistle the theme song from Doogie Howser and give up the ghost with a “Doh!!”

This isn’t to say that I’m a faithful viewer of any reality shows, but rather that I’ve realized I can’t forget my roots. Learning to drive wouldn’t have been as fun if it wasn’t for Michael Knight. Even today, I secretly think I can turbo boost over oncoming traffic. My imagination is populated by countless unsung heroes of low-budget programming and animation: “Grape Ape,” “Turbo Teen,” “The A Team,” “The Dukes of Hazzard.” Maybe you say this is because I was brainwashed so early by an industry that specifically markets to impressionable simpletons. What do I say? Bravo Ted Turner! Reality television is just societal masturbation – you get out what you need to, you get your kicks, and the only one you hurt is yourself (if you do it right). Maybe it’s immature and a tad pathetic, but at least it’s a partial vent from the sewage the “real” media fills us with.

But reality television isn’t entertainment! It’s just a forum for a highly disturbing social pathology! Please. If you want to see something disturbing, check out the news. I, for one, would rather see a man eat four sticks of butter in three minutes than watch somebody lead this country the way a dyslexic chimp would have run the human genome project. Need more? The return of Elizabeth Smart makes an excellent case in point.

Let me back off a bit of this touchy subject, and say for the record that I’m incredibly happy to see Elizabeth Smart back home. In that picture of her returning to her hometown, she has a smile that could heal wounds. But the coverage of her homecoming has been anything but comforting. Maybe you fell for all the media “long road home” crap, but here’s what I got from the story: there is a city where a man can walk around dressed as Jesus with two robed companions and not be looked at suspiciously.

I guess I’m supposed to respect the media for approaching the issue delicately, but I won’t. Twenty-four-hour coverage during three days has already singed Smart into public memory enough that it’s going to take a small miracle for her to even approximate a normal existence. There is a seedy underhandedness in the way Smart’s abduction and probable molestation is being analyzed in real time for public consumption.

That’s the “real world” I guess. It has entertainment value, but the stakes are too high to play with. I’ll take the reality world any day.

Jason Castro can be reached at jcastro@pittnews.com.