Reality television makes my skin crawl. Which isn’t to say that I don’t watch it, but it still makes my skin crawl.

The acknowledged 800-pound gorilla of the ordinary-people-in-the-spotlight genre is, of course, American Idol.

This is the show that brought snarky British commentary to the mainstream and introduced a whole new set of pop star’s sexualities to be debated over the water cooler. And it’s back tonight. Which has got me thinking.

The endless fascination we have with the mediocre talents that populate primetime entertainment is, well, a little disturbing.

To begin with, the whole premise is a bit odd. For years I’ve labored under the (apparently misconceived) impression that the purpose of entertainment was to be entertained. To be taken away from “reality” into the far more pleasant world of fantasy.

I was wrong.

It’s as if the like of Big Brother or Survivor tap into a brain region heretofore completely unused. Perfectly sensible individuals are rendered witless by the illusion of celebrity and complete absence of talent.

Actually, I may be being a little restrictive in my disdain. After all, we don’t restrict our idolatry to “reality.” We also closely follow the ups, downs, ins and outs of genuine famous people.

I’m not sure what sort of commentary this obsession offers on our generation, but it can’t be good. Collectively we are more aware of Britney’s romance problems than we are of such trivialities as poverty, war and disease in the 3rd millennium.

Still, at least worrying about Bennifer and Brangelina is a pleasant distraction from the vagaries of graduate school. What’s more, this fondness for reality television has given me an idea.

I’m sure you’re au fait with the delightful “Beauty and the Geek.” It’s one of those boy-meets-girl shows, with the twist being that the men are all geeks and women are beautiful.

Of course, because all smart men are socially awkward and all beautiful women are stupid, the show is absolutely hilarious; the single joke never fails to have me in hysterics.

However, whilst this delightful piece of television is innovative, the depth of interaction available between stereotypes on tropical islands pales in comparison to what graduate school could offer — when it comes to social misfits, we are untouchable.

Which brings me to my brilliant plan: imagine a reality program based on life in graduate school. We have all the ingredients you need.

We have awkward dating and romantic desperation. We have weekly challenges and the constant risk of elimination.

Only a small handful of us will succeed, and even then, it will be fleeting — our brief moment at the top will be followed by a long decline into obscurity, punctuated by appearances on QVC, advertising household gadgets. (I may have made that last one up).

Of course to make this work, we may have to indulge in a little editing. While the social lives of electrical engineers are endlessly entertaining, one imagines the tedious lectures on circuit design are somewhat less gripping.

In fact, now that I think about it, the lunches at Subway and dinners at the Treehouse probably wouldn’t have that much hold on the viewers.

And, I suppose, while Moonbeams is the pick-up connoisseur’s location of choice, that’s probably more reflective of the Campus scene, rather than of the entertainment value.

Also, it may well be that the thrills of publication in Phys. Rev. D don’t hold that much appeal with the general public. Mayhap not everyone finds particle physics engaging...

You know, after some reflection, perhaps grad school is not so suited for the reality TV treatment. Life here isn’t that interesting. Actually, I suppose one could call it tedious, boring, even soul-destroying.

Thus my dreams of television glory are probably a little optimistic. Fame is apparently not within my reach; I shall have to languish undiscovered with the rest of you.

Ah well, at least there’s American Idol to keep me entertained.

I can’t sing. Or dance. Or perform various wilderness tasks. Hence my only path to fame and glory is if you email me at navins@stanford.edu.