There are problems in wanting to say anything at all about Reality TV, not the least of which is the difficulty in not merely joining a universal chorus of groans. Then there is the matter of the beast itself. Somehow, and in a relatively short space of time, it has grown to such an extent that its shadow swallows all of us looking up, poking fingers, and groaning. Hydra-like, too, this beast has many heads. There is the competition head, the at-home-with-the-wealthy head, the spunky, struggling business head, the rejoice-in-watching-poor-white-trash head, and others equally chilling. How, then, may one reasonably assess so diverse and imposing a monster? Can there even be a commonality in this sea of subgenres, housewives, hoarders, chefs, vocalists, and beach trash?