Full Moon Madness

OMG! I've found the reality TV show to end all reality TV shows. It's almost like looking at yourself looking at yourself in a mirror. I'll admit that one night I tuned in to watch Rock of Love with Bret Michaels, to see what kind of women would go on a show to get a rock star. If I didn't think the first season was a collection of bimbos and sluts, then the second season managed to find all the whores.

I find reality shows a strange study of human nature. It's much more instructive than reading Freud's case histories, or theories by Rogers and Maslow. And it's certainly a lot more entertaining than interpreting dreams in Jungian terms. I've been criticized for watching what many consider low-brow television, but there is a sense of voyeuristic appeal these shows offer, and maybe to do a little self-analization, the vicarious bad-girlness I never participated in when I was growing up. Who wants to be a goody-two-shoes all their life?

From Survivor I have learned how one copes with extreme circumstances. From Amazing Race I fulfill my desire to see parts of the world I will likely never see. Big Brother gives me insight to human nature and how one person uses strategy to successfully reach the final goal. Top Chef and Project Runway appeal to my sense of creativity, be it with color, design, or cooking.

So, what do I get from Rock of Love Charm School, headed up my Sharon Osbourne, wife of rocker Ozzy? A chance to fantasize that I am a glamorous rock 'n' roll chick, too, and being the one to slap them down, at the same time.

Best line of the show tonight: "She needs an exorcist, not charm school." I haven't laughed aloud so much in a week or so.