Reality is the New Skank

I've fallen prey to bad television this week with Rock of Love, Real Housewives of Orange County and New York, and previews of that new show The Cougar, where a forty-year-old tries to look like a twenty-five-year-old with leatherish miniskirt, overflowing top and dyed-to-excess blond hair. I'm wondering: where are the stylists, the libraries, the elegance? Reality shows are all about showing the train wreck. So, my perception is that real housewives wear overbright colors, fake tans, and pretend to work. You can't get in the door without a boob job, back-stabbing loyalty, and a thong. They can't speak, discuss, converse or argue. On Rock of Love, if you can do a striptease while ironing Brett's clothes, you're in. If you do it drunk with several wardrobe malfunctions, even better.

Of course, the contestants want notoriety. If I'd been publicly dumped by The Bachelor, the last thing I'd do is go on Dancing with the Stars--courageous but desperate to be noticed. Wouldn't it nice to see someone a little more serene, smaller boobs, can iron and starch without dancing, reads for pleasure instead of doing shots (or can do both). Such a tedious and obvious argument and would probably make for bad television...I haven't seen The Cougar. She may have memorized the table of elements, in which case, I'm in.