I hate it. No matter how many times I see commercials for the new Joe Millionaire, I realize how much I hate cheesy reality television shows like that. I think about how all the networks have jumped on this bandwagon, each one vying to give us the smuttiest of smut television. And it makes me sick.But I can't stop watching it. Really, I can't. It's horrible.
And don't read this article and tell me you're not in the same boat.
If you own a television set, you've been subject to a reality television show. After examining FOX's primetime lineup, I realized that fully half (10 out of 20) of the shows are reality television. And if you are one of the rare people out there who have been living under a rock during "The Age of Reality Television," then you probably have been tempted.

Think about it from a non-reality-television-watcher's perspective: Last semester, on a Monday night, you could walk around this campus and probably not see a single soul around. The next day, you would be sitting in class and hear whisperings of the names "MoJo" and "Zora" -personalities everyone else would be able to talk about. You would, of course, not know what was going on. You would think there was an event that you missed or that something enormous had happened.

I was never in this boat. I was one of 40 million (including 26.2 million of the college-age-inclusive 18-to-49-year-olds), according to the Nielsen Ratings, glued to the television last spring for the last episode of "Joe Millionaire." Joe Millionaire - actually named Evan Marriot -revealed to Zora he had chosen her and he was not rich, yet she still wanted to be with him and they both got surprised with a $1 million check from the lovable butler, Paul Hogan. I laughed and cringed and laughed again as the events of the night unfolded before me. I lamented that MoJo had given Evan a jigsaw puzzle of their marriage and laughed at Heidi's attempt at French (what was that about her bread luggage anyways?) and enjoyed Zora and Evan's Disney adventure in the woods.
And I promised myself I would never watch again.

I lied.

According to www.realitytvworld.com, there are 39 reality television shows out there. "Joe Millionaire" and "The Real World" are the only two that I really care to watch. I refuse to let myself watch any more for fear of getting hooked.
Actually, I do watch "American Idol." But just at the beginning, long enough to watch "the worst singer in the world" (as touted by Simon Cowell) sing Madonna's "Like a Virgin," and my reality fix is done for the night.

And as bad as "Joe Millionaire" and "American Idol" are, "Real World" is notorious for starting it all. For those who have truly lived under a rock, "seven strangers are picked to live in a house, have their lives taped, and find out what happens when they stop being polite and start being real."

Although "stop being polite" went out the window with such lovable creatures as Puck, who never was polite in the first place, the real problem with this show is the word "real."

Daniel Boorstin, a famous historian, and author of "The Image," wrote on the first sentence of the introduction: "In this book I describe the world of our making, how we have used our wealth, our literacy, our technology and our progress, to create the thicket of unreality which stands between us and the facts of life."

If Boorstin still watches television today, he's probably eating up shows like "Dog Eat Dog." Or maybe he's scared of shows like "Fear Factor." I'm not really sure.

But what I do know now - after about 12 seasons of doubt - is that the world in the "Real World" is not real. I am almost positive of this. Although these people may be "strangers" to each other as the show claims, they are not to me; every one of them fits a certain "niche" that the producers have created.

Who could forget Puck, "The Miz," the threesome in Las Vegas, mud wrestling with the sexually repressed Mormon at the New Orleans Mansion, or the slap to end the Seattle season? These situations are all staged to the best of the producers' ability as they put people they think will clash and/or hook up with each other together in a beautiful, fully-loaded house in cramped quarters (I don't think that it's coincidental none of them have singles).

And so while the producers can try to pass it off as "real," they hand them all jobs they need to be able to maintain. These "real" jobs include working at a major recording industry or throwing parties at a Vegas hotel. And of course all of us in the "real" world have cameras in our bedroom.

But I won't watch "Road Rules." I can't explain it. It's sort of an alliance thing.

I can't actually explain any of this reality craziness. Maybe it's because the world has too many serious issues and suffering to deal with so we enjoy what is not real and watching other people suffering?
From "Joe Millionaire" to "Joe Schmo" to "Average Joe," we are surrounded wondering who the real Joe in our society is.

This search for reality leads me back to "Joe Millionaire." At some point I will stop being addicted and stop watching it.
Well, then again, maybe not.

Either way, reality television keeps me glued to my seat as I wonder whether CT, Ace, Leah and the whole "Real World: Paris" crew can make it out of France as friends. If not, no burden on my conscious.
I will end this article with my favorite sound bite from the first "Joe Millionaire" and his tryst in the woods with Sarah: "Slurp...mmmm...gulp..." Oh, reality television, how do I love thee?