Aliya Sternstein: 'The Osbournes' vs. the real world

In Beverly Hills, Ozzy Osbourne's daughter is mortified by her father's brush with a bat and subsequent rabies injections. I've tried, but I can't pick a point of comparison in my life. The Osbournes are beyond comparison, and that is precisely why this latest, greatest invention in television is so refreshing.

With the real world hard to watch, it's no wonder the new breed of reality television is a fast-growing phenomenon both in the youth demographic and Ozzy's faithful fan base. Earlier this month, Variety.com said MTV's weekly surveillance -- on the rocker, his wife and two of his teenagers -- is "shaping up as potentially the biggest comedy hit on basic cable since South Park."

The Osbournes are a welcome addition to the reality-based television genre -- actually, an improvement. With almost ubiquitous bloodshed abroad and research papers and finals everywhere else, reality is no fun. And good luck on those MCATS this weekend, guys.

More than ever, we want to set aside self-discipline and stress. Relaxing will induce concentration, right? Some of us are a bit more focused now that we have sipped smoothies last weekend at Spring Fling.

Television is another mode of escape. Or, it used to be. Reality fare like The Real World, Survivor and now, unfortunately, The Bachelor are programs about people just like us. We don't want to see ourselves right now. We want to watch other people with other problems we'll never have to face.

Thus, the Osbourne mutation, a sort of unreal Real World, is the perfect antidote to reality. It is so far-fetched, so bizarre that you have to love it. You may question its motives, but you cannot deny its power to bewilder -- harmlessly. In fact, Hollywood thanked Mr. Osbourne for his public service last week, honoring him with a star on the Walk of Fame. The Osbournes, tinged by fame for over 20 years, are immune to the camera's glare.

In the real world, we're not accustomed to suicide bombers or news of rampant sexual misconduct in the clergy. We're sick of seeing this side of ourselves on television. We are numb.

The Osbourne show, though only 30 minutes, is a break from global tensions and a chance to laugh at someone else's expense. One doesn't even have to watch it in full. Just knowing the program's there, if you care to indulge, is pleasant (and, thanks to the MTV machine and marketing maven Sharon Osbourne, it's impossible not to know that).

The sitcom looks like it has staying power, gluing close to 5 million viewers and "steadily growing," according to Entertainment Weekly. It's one of the highest rated shows in MTV's 20-year history. But the Osbournes are not under contract, so Jack, Kelly, Sharon and Ozzy could technically jump past Letterman to ABC, or any other network, for more money. MTV's only paying a reported $20,000 per episode.

As we're torn between a carefree existence and the demands of reality, as the birds chirp and the College Green calls, forsake it all for the Good Humor man -- Ozzy Osbourne. It's spring. It's OK to slack off every once and a while. Yeah, there are taxes this time of year. Yeah there's a war going on in every country. Yeah, you've got to pick up your thesis from the professor. But there's an episode of The Osbournes on tonight.

Escape option #2: Join the pack of professionals telecommuting in Los Angeles right now. They've left their offices, lined up with the tourists on Hollywood Boulevard and are not going anywhere until tickets for Star Wars: Episode II are in their wallets. In case you're like me and think "stem cells" when you hear Attack of the Clones, you should know that the movie doesn't open for another month.

Maybe, just possibly, you can compare the Prince of Darkness to Darth Vader's impression of darkness.

Aliya Sternstein is a senior Psychology major from Potomac, Md.

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