Art is not the reflection of society, it is the very essence of it.
That said, the essence of American society could be described as a soiled diaper full of fish sauce that has been set ablaze and sprinkled with hair. Despite glimmers of hope such as Wes Anderson, Radiohead and David Sedaris, we still live in a country where millions of people sacrifice portions of their day watching a partially brain-dead hotel heiress, or the no-talent teenage sister of a pop star do stupid things on national television. What’s more, the University is offering a graduate level English class devoted to reality television. That is more frightening than being chased through an abandoned carnival by a chainsaw-wielding Rip Taylor.
This may sound like elitist snobbery from a self-appointed authority on culture, and that’s because it is, but that doesn’t mean the opinion isn’t valid. The fact is, there are gray areas in culture and entertainment, but gray isn’t even visible from the place on the art versus garbage spectrum where “Love is in the Heir” and “Trading Spouses” reside. It’s not beautiful; it’s not clever; it’s just bad taste, which is probably the reason why the reality television trend has spread faster than a grease fire in an oily rag factory. After all, nobody appreciates bad taste more than the United States.
Like some kind of creeping, predatory ivy, the “reality” format has spread from trashy networks such as Fox to cable networks such as Animal Planet and the Discovery Channel, choking out remaining strongholds for diverse and semi-intellectual television. TLC, otherwise known as The Learning Channel, now airs what seems like 24 hours of home improvement reality shows. What are viewers learning? That a part of an interior designer’s job is to be so perky and hyperactive that it makes “Weird Al” Yankovic tired?
There was a time when Music Television, or MTV, actually had more to do with music than a bunch of stupid people doing stupid things with stupid celebrities. Youngsters in need of a culture that would provoke their parents could turn to Downtown Julie Brown or JJ Jackson for music that was actually relevant. Since then, groups such as Public Enemy, Nirvana and Joan Jett were first traded in for the likes of P.Diddy, Puddle of Mudd and Avril Lavigne, and then even these flaccid and easily forgotten “artists” were traded in for “Room Raiders” and “Pimp My Ride.”
Along with the return of old favorites, this season brings us new and more morally apprehensible concepts such as celebrity fat camp and a girl trying to pick the father that she’s never met in her life out of a group of men, “The Bachelor”-style.
These shows basically take the worst of American society and flaunt it like it’s something to be proud of. The worst part is that we watch it. It seems like the cancer of reality television is not going to stop until the democratic voting system is replaced by “Presidential Survivor.”

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