Give me Celebrity Rehab any day

 
There is one thing about the whole "let's watch Charlie Sheen fall apart on TV" thing that is reassuring and pleasing me. (One thing.  The rest is sad and troubling and just icky.)

It's that I can't bear to watch it. 

And why is that a good thing, you ask?  It's because I have an embarrassing fondness for reality tv.  It's like my own little late night, junk food substitute.  So I tune in to see what appalling things the Real Housewives are up to, I watch Bethenny cope with a new marriage and motherhood and a growing business, and (thank you, Karen) I watch Joan and Melissa figure out how to live together in LA without killing each other.  I regularly tell Roger that, as a psychologist, he needs to watch Celebrity Rehab, because it explains addiction in a way I've never understood before.  That show is horrifying and painful and sad to watch sometimes, but  there's compassion and education and genuine hope grounding that show. (He's not buying that, by the way, and declines my offers to watch it with him.)  I actually don't feel guilty about my love for Project Runway and Top Chef and Work of Art -- those involve watching the creative process in action, and they're just plain fun.  But the other stuff?  It's not exactly life-enriching.

I know.  I don't admit this to many people.  (So you'll keep my little secret, right?)  I just find it entertaining in a mindless sort of way.

I actually do have some standards.  I can't take the mean, conspiratorial competitiveness of Survivor.  I can't take the glorified a-holeness of Dr. House.  (A lot of folks love this show, I know, but it just twists my stomach up in knots to hear how House talks to others.  I used to work with a guy like that, and I think I'm still traumatized.)  And just so you know, my favorite tv tends to be of the PBS and BBC variety.  I'm nothing if not wide-ranging in my viewing tastes.

But I can't stand to watch Charlie Sheen coming unglued on screen.  And turning away from that is a good thing.