My name is Fausto and I'm a...

Is there a 12-step program for reality show addiction? Because I just can’t stop. Thank you networks for the particularly cheese-tastic array of choices available for summer viewing. These are my drugs of choice:
Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List
Mall Cops: Mall of America
The Fabulous Beekman Boys
Losing it With Jillian
So You Think You Can Dance?

I literally had to delete shows from my DVR list because it can only record two shows at one time (sorry Intervention and Hoarders, you will be missed but not forgotten). And there are still shows that I want to see but am physically unable to squeeze into my 18 waking hours a day (Cupcake Wars anyone?). Here’s why I can’t live without them (OK, maybe that’s a bit dramatic, but I am a thespian and a homo - the perfect storm of theatricality):

Kathy Griffin - A gay man with a vagina, Kathy lacks any trace of subtlety and tact, but she is fuckin’ hilarious. I like that she calls celebrities (and herself) out on their bullsh*t and would be honored to have her as my hag.

Mall Cops - This show is brilliant. If I hadn’t known any better, I’d think it was a parody a la "Waiting for Guffman." I mean, a show about the dangers of being a mall security guard? Last night’s episode had the guards stopping an ice cube fight, chastising a fast food manager for blocking a fire exit and helping a special needs customer find his slushie. You can’t write that shit.

The Fabulous Beekman Boys - A gay NYC couple, one an OCD former doctor and VP with Martha Stewart and the other a former drag queen turned advertising exec, buy a farm upstate and attempt to run it using information gleaned from Google and advice from Farmer John, a gay animal lover whose love for his llamas literally brings him to tears in the first episode. ‘ Nuff said?

Losing it - I love watching people cry.

SYTYCD - The only talent show on TV that actually rewards people for having legitimate training. Imagine that?

And speaking of TV, I caught the first two acts of Live from Lincoln Center’s HD broadcast of Simon Boccanegra last night starring Placido Domingo. The man is 69 and still sounds incredible (although that wig - yikes!). I’m 40 and feel used up. It’s just not fair.

My newest obsession

I’m obsessed with Obsessed, a new TV reality show on A&E about people suffering from OCD (Ironic, huh?). I don’t want to seem unsympathetic or cruel, but just like a fiery crash on the highway, you just have to slow down and watch. And before the PC police get their panties in a bind, I don’t mean to compare these people’s very serious compulsions to a car accident. It’s just that the repetitive physical movement coupled with the emotional intensity motivating them is hypnotizing. Even I can admit I’m anal about certain things - dirty dishes in the sink, clean bathroom, turning lights off - but I certainly don’t have an anxiety attack if I see a dirty whisk or stray hair on the toilet seat.

The best part of the show is when the patient starts treatment. The phrase “face your fears” has becoming a cultural cliché. Yet this is the guiding principle behind exposure therapy, which in itself is a rather unfortunate name (I picture a nasty old guy in a long trench coat flashing people on the subway). One woman was obsessed with the idea of murdering people. She believed that if she got too close to a gun or a knife (or any weapon), she’d just pick it up and start slashing. I actually don’t see the problem. I used to get that “slasher feeling” at Broadway chorus calls all the time. Being forced to sit in a tiny room full of obnoxious chorus boys, narcissistic wannabes and screaming queens definitely could motivate anyone to mass murder. Anyway, this particular patient became so terrified of snapping and setting off on a bloody rampage that she became a social recluse - "Law and Order" take note, good idea for an episode. For her “first exposure,” the therapist laid out an array of huge knives. The patient was then forced to hold the blade against the therapist’s throat while listening to a tape recording of herself reading a passage about murdering people. The horror and fear on the patient’s face was riveting. And that therapist must have a huge pair of ‘nads to let that knife blade touch her neck. That’s what I call must-see TV!

Obsessed!

I’m so obsessed with The Biggest Loser. I don’t know if it’s because I was a former fatty or if I just love the drama of it all (or perhaps both?). I mean, each week at least one contestant has a mental breakdown. How can you not love that? What’s really sick is that I always watch while I’m sitting on my fat ass and stuffing my face. As the contestants are throwing up on the treadmill or having heart palpitations from over-exertion, I’m chowing down on - gasp - carbs! Yum. Unfortunately, this week’s finale was sort of lame. I’m a sucker for cheesiness. I love when the contestants karate chop through the life-sized posters of their former fat selves to show of their new, svelte figures. That’s drama, people! But this year, only the finalists got the poster treatment. Lame-oh! I mean, there’s nothing exciting or dramatic about having the contestants just walk out on stage waving. Where’s the theatricality, the bombast, the drama!?!? Obviously a straight person directed the finale. Oh well, I guess I should just be happy for them.

And while we’re on the subject, let me just say that reality shows are one of my all-time favorite, secret (well, maybe not so secret) vices. I’m obsessed with them. There, I’ve said it. Yes, I’ve lived in shame and denial for too long, so I’m officially outing myself. Let me be clear, I don’t go slumming around with those trashy dating shows like Rock of Love or The Bachelor. I go for the more rugged type myself. My latest obsession is The Alaska Experiment on Discovery. The show follows a group of people varying in age and background, dropped off in the wilds of Alaska with limited equipment and no food. They’re given a map and a compass and are asked to trek out of the tundra and back to civilization. Along they way the group needs to learn how to start fire, hunt and scavenge for food, build shelter and generally survive in the wilderness. What makes this show different from most others is that there is no “winner” and no prize for finishing. These freaks (and I use the term with love and emulation) actually volunteered to be stranded in the wilderness for…wait for it, wait for it…the experience! They just want to see if they can do it. What the hell? I’m so jealous. I mean, it’s not like their homeless or jobless and have nothing better to do. Within the group there’s a lawyer, a bus driver, a cop, a gay horse trainer (the trainer’s gay, not the horse), a housing director, a personal trainer a wilderness outfitter and a landlord. Are these people independently wealthy? Do their bosses not care? I wish I could just take a month off and volunteer to be stranded in the Alaskan wilderness.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not belittling these people’s achievements. Alaska ain’t exactly Club Med (well, unless you see it by cruise ship like I did). In most episodes, the group goes days with little more than a mouse drumstick for nourishment. Literally. I’m not kidding. It’s certainly eye-opening to watch seemingly level-headed professionals digress into verbal sparring over sharing a couple ounces of mouse meat or comment on the delicious merits of porcupine paw stew.

Anyway, the group is now down to five from the original nine. Last week, the big, burly Jersey cop went home because the group couldn’t catch enough food (i.e. calories) to keep his muscular frame functioning. You see, each person carries a GPS device. At any time, a team member may push a button that instantly sends a rescue helicopter to their location. I can’t wait to see who drops next! I’m already excited about the premier of what is sure to become another globe-trotting favorite, Expedition Africa on the History Channel. Well, at least until the next season of The Amazing Race starts up.

DVR and the Biggest Loser

DVR is both a blessing and a curse. Yes, I’m grateful to get rid of my dusty old shoe box filled with scratchy unlabeled VHS tapes, but now I’m faced with a new dilemma - too many choices. I mean, the option to record two shows at the same time? That’s just crazy talk. And seriously, unless you’re a pathetic loser, there isn’t enough time in the day to watch all those shows. Trish and I have resorted to “marathon nights” where we stay up until 2AM watching four or five episodes of one show (which, I guess, makes us pathetic losers?). Of course, that puts us further behind since we have to record the shows we’re missing while we’re trying to catch up. Life was so much easier when there were only thirteen channels and no cable. Do teenagers today even know what rabbit ears are?

Now I never watch anything on the night it actually airs. So on the rare occasion that I’m watching something live, it takes me two or three frustrating attempts trying to fast forward through the commercials before I realize, “Oh, I’m actually watching the show live.” Why is my life so difficult? (Please note tone of sarcasm) Anyway, a couple of days ago I was trying to catch up on some random shows that have been on the DVR queue forever. I don’t know if it was that particular combination of shows or if it was just that time of the month for me, but I could not stop crying. Yes, I audibly wept through The Biggest Loser, Grey’s Anatomy and Michael J. Fox’s TV special about optimism. Now that I think about it, I pretty much asked for it. I mean, first, an injured, overweight dad forces himself to complete a marathon even though he looks like he’s going to die because he wants to prove something to his overweight teenage son. Then a commitment-phobe holds an impromptu wedding for his dying girlfriend. And lastly, everyone’s favorite Back to the Future star discusses how he still manages to stay optimistic and positive though slowly losing his motor functions to a debilitating disease. Yikes! There’s nothing like a light evening of entertainment at home, right? And as Trish often says, I do have quite a large vagina. Come to think of it, who needs a therapist? I got to work through my weight issues (I’m in mourning for the loss of my 32” waist), commitment/dating issues (single for almost five years now) and mortality issues (preparing for the big four-oh next year) all in one four-hour mega-session on the couch. Granted, it was my living room couch and not the therapist’s couch. The only thing that would have made the evening more perfect? A pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey and a Papa John’s pizza. A girl can dream.