Michelle Dubert: Taking a break from stress with mindless entertainment

My parents love to slap me with the accusation that I don't call home enough. So when I gave in a couple months ago and finally dialed up, I was somewhat surprised when my mother informed me that although my dad was home, he was unavailable to speak to me; he was too busy watching The Simple Life. No joke.

Calls home usually engender a rather momentous occasion at the Dubert household. When my father was too caught up by something other than Special Report with Brit Hume or Nightly News with Tom Brokaw, I figured this show must be quite captivating.

And oh, how it was.

The Simple Life, coupled with its lead-out, The O.C., quickly became the focal point of my weekly television viewing.

I only noticed The Simple Life several episodes into the season, but The O.C. has signified the hub of my Wednesday evenings since its debut in August. On vacation that month, I manipulated my schedule to watch it. When I had plans, I adjusted my schedule around the 9-10 hour. Last semester I held ritualistic O.C. "parties" in my room where my hallmates and I sat fixated on my television. With the occasional exception of a girl murmuring, "Ryan is so hot," nobody spoke until a commercial break. In December, I even had two finals on a Thursday, and I didn't begin studying for either until I had seen The O.C. It was a monumental procrastination device, but a convenient excuse nonetheless.

To me, The O.C. and The Simple Life represent a rich piece of Americana. Of course, we all don't live in mansions along the Pacific coast, we can't prance about in bikinis 12 months a year and we can't all engage in Rodeo Drive shopping sprees on a mere whim. But it's just so fun to watch. Who are we really trying to impress by changing the channel? There's a time for intellectual programming, and there's a time for tasteless programming as well.

I tried some introspection to establish why The O.C in particular constituted such an obsession. Maybe it's the flat yet unrealistically attractive characters, or the clich‚d plotlines, or its resemblance to another cult favorite, Beverly Hills 90210. Or that every time I see the ocean and hear Phantom Planet's California in the theme song, I want to ditch New York City and make my home in Newport Beach, where it's always sunny and warm.

Whatever the draw, I consider watching Simple Life and The O.C. my respite at night -- where I can sit down with those I don't need to impress and forget that I'm in snowy West Philadelphia (or that I have a book to read and a paper to write for tomorrow) and have a topic for conversation the next day beyond our lack of sleep from the night before.

Some guys gripe about The O.C. They watch it, but can't admit to it -- a girl might question their masculinity, after all. When I raise the topic, I usually get something like, "Oh, come on!" or "That show sucks," or, as my humble editor has told me, "The O.C.? You should be watching Top Gun." Whatever.

The Simple Life is different, however. Though I've encountered no statistics on the demographic breakdown of male versus female viewers, intuition tells me that guys enjoy watching Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie parade around in outlandish, revealing outfits. But normally, that's not enough for a show to win its time slot, which it consistently did. However, parading around in outlandish, revealing outfits on a farm in Arkansas -- with country bumpkins as far as the eye can see -- is.

Take my father, for example. He's a middle-aged man with a keen eye for politics, economics and the New York and San Francisco Giants. Whatever room he is in will also have a TV blaring news. But when The Simple Life comes on, it takes clear priority. I figured I'd ask him about the intrigue of the show, what lured him to watch something so seemingly ... well, mindless.

His response, though not particularly scholarly, was effectual. Said Dad, "It's just so funny ... and they're so stupid. They're stupid and funny together, and they're so out of touch with reality." That sounds pretty accurate, considering Paris Hilton's financial background, and the fact that she had never heard of Wal-Mart (she then deduced it sold "walls").

Reality TV helps us escape our own realities. And at the risk of sounding like an Ivy League elitist, watching the exploitation of stupid people -- particularly when they volunteer for it -- is entertaining.

At the end of the day, I don't need a pseudo-intellectual or a TV critic to espouse what's good or bad television. Besides, there's only so much politics one can watch each day before every plotline, be it fictional or factual, becomes indistinguishable. I might as well opt for one that'll hold my attention for an hour.

Michelle Dubert is a College freshman from Closter, N.J. Department of Strategery appears on Mondays.

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