Reality television is gimmicky. I get that. It’s entertainment and depicts a distorted, artificial reality that doesn’t exist in the world that you and I inhabit. Still, the gimmickry can be overdone at times. 30 Days is a documentary series that profiles various people in month-long experiments that might have been dreamt up by a slightly daft social studies teacher. Past episodes have featured scenarios like a staunch immigration opponent being sent to live with an undocumented family and a computer programmer whose job was outsourced sent to live with a family in India. Lessons are supposed to be learned and eyes are supposed to be opened.

Last night’s episode featured an ex-NFL player who agreed to use a wheelchair for thirty days. The cameras followed him around as he struggled to maneuver through his palatial but minimally accessible house, competed with a wheelchair rugby team, and met with people in a rehab hospital who had experienced spinal cord injuries. The whole thing seemed silly to me. A television audience isn’t going to learn much about living with a physical disability by watching a wealthy, able-bodied athlete get around in a wheelchair for a few weeks. In fact, the episode came close to portraying the wheelchair as the sum total of the disability experience.

I’m probably expecting too much of a television show, but the episode’s tone left me frustrated and depressed. Its superficial voyeurism did little to give viewers any real insight into the lives of people with disabilities. The producers could have chosen a more interesting route and focused on someone with an actual disability who goes to live with, I don’t know, just about any family in America that’s clueless about disability; it’s not like they’re in short supply. Instead, we get this tripe that probably had most viewers think, “Holy crap, glad I’m not a gimp.”

I haven’t been a fan of the writing-as-therapy model. Writing about one’s feelings and experiences as a way to work stuff out has long struck me as self-indulgent and narcissistic. But perhaps I’m too harsh a critic of people’s motivations for writing, especially in light of studies that show that expressive writing–including blogging–leads to better health.

I still have a tendency to roll my eyes when I come across writing that seems overly confessional or breathless. I like my blogging to show some restraint, thank you very much. That said, I can’t deny that I receive some therapeutic benefits from writing and keeping this blog. Not long ago, a friend rightly pointed out that underneath my charming exterior lies a pretty melancholy person. Actually, she might not have used the word “charming”, but that’s beside the point. I’m not melancholy to the point where I dress in black every day and sprinkle my speech with quotes from nineteenth-century poets, but I do live inside my head and there’s lots of shadowy nooks and crannies in here. Writing for an audience (however small) is how I get perspective. It’s my way of letting in the sun.

Having these songs on your iPod might make you almost as cool as me:

“In the City” by Chromatics: Hypnotic, synth-driven pop that you want playing in your car as you drive home from a party late at night, sleepy and maybe a little stoned. I have no idea what the lead singer is going on about when she sings of “shining violence, shining victim”, but I don’t really care.

“With Every Heartbeat” by Robyn: A Swedish artist with a knack for crafting pop songs that don’t make adults cringe, Robyn uses strings and drum machines to dramatic effect in this song about a failed relationship that will have you crying on the dancefloor.

“Distant Dreamer” by Duffy: Rounding out today’s set is this bit of power pop from another British artist fond of that classic diva sound from the era of transistor radios. She demonstrates more of a vocal range and mastery of style than Amy Winehouse, especially in this soaring orchestral track.

Wow, you can get just about anything at the library these days. Not just the usual stuff like books and DVDs, but actual conversations with fascinating and exotic people. So-called “Living Libraries” give patrons the opportunity to reserve thirty-minute blocks of time with individuals of varying backgrounds; the idea being that face-to-face dialog is sometimes the best way to understand a perspective different than your own. If this concept ever comes to my local library, I’m going to sign up as a volunteer. I’m all kinds of interesting. But I’m going to give everyone this list of bullet points to prevent every conversation from covering the same boring territory:

• No, I’m not in pain.
• No, I was not in an accident.
• No, I won’t give you free legal advice.

Not long ago, I wrote about the stares I sometimes receive and my reactions to them. Montana-based artist Kevin Connolly, who was born without legs, took a more original tack and turned his camera on the gawkers ogling him in all corners of the globe. The photos capture people expressing varying degrees of curiosity as they check out Connolly. They really aren’t much different from the people staring at me. The human brain seems to be hardwired to respond to the novel and that’s why I have to wonder, if my own circumstances were different, whether I could be one of the people in these photos.