Reality bites. Kind of.

By Jamie Weinstein

© 2006 Cornell Daily Sun

For over three years, an internal battle was waged in my mind as I struggled to determine what direction in life I wanted to pursue. What path should I follow? What career should I seek? Who should I become? Many a sleepless night was spent dwelling on these questions. But my nights will be sleepless no more.

For I now know what I want to do once I graduate from this frozen tundra of a university. It took time and emotional toil, but I think I have finally figured out what my liberal arts degree could be used for (besides a napkin): the idea guy for reality TV.

My credentials may not be as stellar as some — after all, I think the primary requirement is to do copious amounts of drugs, which I, to my detriment, do not do. Nonetheless, I am one persistent fella.

I must sadly admit I have spent too much of my time at Cornell becoming an expert in reality TV. More than most, I think reality TV is sensationalistic and trivial. And more than most, I can't get enough of it.

Plato once said that "reality TV is more real than real life." Well, on second thought, maybe it wasn't Plato. Scratch that. But the person who said that must be his intellectual equivalent. It's certainly a hard statement to refute.

In fact, if you are looking for the new Athens, then look no further than Hollywood. So sayeth one Hollywood Aristotle: "What would happen if porn star Ron Jeremy, former televangelist wife Tammy Faye Baker and rap-star-turned-hard-core artist Vanilla Ice were forced to live together for a week with other not-so-celebrated celebrities?" With these immortal words was born The Surreal Life. A masterpiece of creative genius.

Hmm? Wouldn't it be funny if we got lonely outcasts who thought they could sing to belt their heart out on national TV? Better yet, what if afterwards we got some judges to ridicule them and their dreams? That would be H-I-L-L-L-L-A-A-A-R-R-R-I-I-I-O-U-S. It would make great ratings, most especially if the spurned star seekers harmed themselves after being verbally accosted. We could call it American Idol.

Or, how about convincing a bunch of fat people to try to lose weight on the air. We'll call it The Biggest Loser — catch the double entendre. And if it is a success, we can always make a celebrity version.

Have you ever wondered what happened to former childhood TV star Danny Bonaduce? Silly question. Who hasn't? What would be better than watching him destroy his life through drugs and alcohol? I can't think of anything, except maybe gouging my eye out with a knife. (But I jest. I must sadly admit I watched several episodes of this show.)

Unfortunately, I can't claim credit for the previous reality ideas — they are all current reality shows and brilliant ones at that. But I do have a couple ideas of my own in the hopes that reality TV mogul Mark Burnett will read this and offer me a job.

Here's a sure winner, Mark: 12 men and women go to a hunting lodge to participate in an undisclosed hunting contest. They learn that they won't be hunting, they will be the hunted. The last one standing wins the dead corpses of his fallen competitors. I call it Machine-gun Mayhem. Or Man Hunt. Or even, if we can get the rights to it, Dick Cheney Presents: Man Hunt. I haven't quite smoothed out the rough edges yet.

Don't like that one? Try this one on for size. A group of fraternity guys get sent to the inner city to try out for a gang. Each week, someone gets "off'ed," if you know what I mean. The winner, of course, gains entry into the gang, and we get to witness his gang initiation. The brutality will surely draw an audience. I call the show: Long Island in the Hood.

And here is one just for Ithaca. I have written extensively on freeganism. What if we have a reality TV show based around it? Freegans and meegans refuse to buy their food. They, instead, scavenge through garbage cans to obtain their sustenance. So what we would do is take 12 D-list celebrities and have them become freegans. Each week, one of the celebrities would die by contracting some disease from their trashcan food. The last man standing (or lying in their hospital bed) wins some sort of prize for the charity of their choice. The show could be called From Hollywood to the Trashcan. (This should not be confused with MC Hammer's E! True Hollywood Story of the same name.)

Or, if none of those does anything for your, there's The Apprentice — Minimum wage. 10 hobos compete to work at a Tom Johnson's local Burger King. If Donald Trump's Apprentice can be a hit, why couldn't Tom Johnson's?

I don't have the space to write all my ideas down, Mr. Burnett, but here are some more titles: Sorority Whore, Celebrity Sweat Shop, Jew in Saudi Arabia, At What Temperature Do Humans Burn, Fatal Car Crash, Sexual Harassment and What Happened to Pauly Shore? If you're interested in finding out more, you know how to reach me. Shoot me an e-mail. We'll do lunch.

© Jamie Weinstein