But (yes—you knew that was coming)…there is simply too much reality TV to keep up with as a TV scholar; and there are too many relevant reality series I should be watching as a scholar that I simply cannot bring myself to view for more than 5 minutes at a time. And that is why Joel McHale of The Soup and Chelsea Handler of Chelsea Lately (both on E!) are saving my life every week.

Both series, for the uninitiated, spend time on their comedy shows recapping and discussing developments in reality series (and the lives of their stars); I can tune in nightly to Chelsea and weekly to Joel and discover what happened that regular viewers such as my students might be gabbing about—and I can see the key moments in brief, less excruciating time frames. After studying how each show presents its take on the genre, from The Soup and Chelsea Lately we can glean what some of the main appealing elements of this genre are for many viewers.

The “Showgirls” factor

Much as with the celebrated film Show Girls, a lot of reality TV is unintentionally funny, and the comic framings of both shows aim to make you laugh at even the most serious moments. It’s a cathartic, desperate humor at work: I want to weep when I see a 2 year old from Toddlers and Tiaras literally fall off a stage because she’s so exhausted after a pageant, but it feels better to see this and hear Joel say “Her prize was a carton of menthol cigarettes and a jug of moonshine.” I want to mail copies of The Feminine Mystique to the producers who green-lit Bridalplasty, but I can breathe a little easier when I hear Chelsea tell me that “the show’s alternate title is ‘Exploiting Desperate Women with Extremely Low Self-Esteem’” or see The Soup do a send-up called Idol Plasty (noting that it’s brought to viewers “by FOX—and E!—cause that’s kind of their thing.”)

The Inbred factor

Both series also glory in the fact that many reality shows tap into inbreeding—both metaphorically and generically. The worst moments (e.g., aforementioned toddler or the Civil War re-enactor from Milwaukee on Idol) point the finger of blame at the stars of the genre—and in fact have no problem lumping the “regular folk” in with the “celebrities” so that Kim Kardashian is painted with the same brush as a pageant mom. Our hosts posit these stars as the worst examples of our culture and society (Chelsea noted that Jersey Shore heading to Italy next season means we can “mark [Italy] off as another country that will now hate us forever”). This is what happens when stupid people get a chance to be on TV, right? I realize this is not at all fair, but I also believe many of us watch these shows to feel better about ourselves (we’re much classier and more well-bred than these folks!), and both series aid and abet us in this rationalization. Both series also blur their takes on the genre with their takes on other elements of our entertainment culture, skewering the coverage of the riots in Egypt (it might shut down Angelina Jolie’s filming of Cleopatra!), Brooke’s wedding on One Tree Hill, the website for cheaters AshleyMadison.com, and all our reality faves in one fell swoop. We might like to think “other” TV is more refined, but there’s bad to be found everywhere.

“The Host Who Watches It All for You” factor

By reducing reality TV series to brief clips and comments, McHale and Handler and their teams announce what many of us know: a lot of reality TV is merely a hodgepodge of shocking, over-the-top moments—whether it’s the bachelor choosing no one to marry or the World War II vet demonstrating that his “memento” bazooka flame thrower still works. Not unlike certain scripted procedurals that shall remain unnamed, we can do many other things while watching a reality series, using them as a way to escape a tiring day at work, at school, or with the kids.

So long live reality TV—the good and the bad of it! It gives these two comics great fodder for their shows, which in turn means I don’t have to actually watch much. And if in the end I can do a superiority dance for a few deluded minutes, I’m all for it.

Founded in 1986, QVC (which stands for Quality, Value, Convenience), broadcasts live 24 hours a day, 364 days a year (every day except Christmas). According to the official website, QVC reaches 96% of American cable homes, and more than 166 million homes worldwide.

Home shopping channels have always been big moneymakers, and QVC claims to be the biggest of them all, beating out competitors like HSN, ShopNBC, and that weird knife channel. In 2008, USA Today reported that QVC “revenue rose 5% in 2007 to $7.4 billion” from 2006, with an “average yearly growth from 2001 through 2006 of 12.3%.” Having long held prime real estate on the TV dial (USA Today reports 80% below channel 35), millions of viewers pass through the QVC lineup every day, which allows them to sell thousands (approximately 1150 unique items per week) of competitively-priced products quickly and widely. The channel claims its record sales day to be December 2, 2001, with over $80 million in orders taken.

Although present in virtually all American homes, most of their sales (95%) come from repeat customers–approximately 1.8 million viewers. Independent research firm BIGresearch counts the average viewer age at 53, and QVC would prefer for it to be lower. By offering new product lines developed by celebrities (Heidi Klum, Ellen Degeneres, Elisabeth Hasselbeck, Whoopi Goldberg, to name a few), famous designers (Bob Mackie, Kathy VanZeeland, Tacori, Isaac Mizrahi, and Project Runway winner Chloe Dao, for example), and well known beauty industry insiders (Bare Escentuals, Philosophy, Laura Geller, Wen, and Ojon, among others), the channel is clearly attempting to develop a younger audience base. And whether young or old, the audience is predominantly female (to the extent that hosts often refer to the home audience as “ladies” and suggest that viewers buy items “for your husband”) and that these women are either stay-at-home or work-from-home moms, housewives, or retirees.

This recognition of the typical QVC viewer (and customer, remember) and also the channel’s liveness lead to a very interesting interaction between hosts and audiences. The format of QVC programming is very collegial, warm and interactive. Hosts use direct address and look directly into cameras (and ostensibly to each viewer, personally). They discuss what home viewers may or may not be doing at a given moment (“Take a break from those chores, because you won’t want to miss a moment of this hour!”). They mention things that are happening live (the recent snowstorms in Pennsylvania hit the QVC headquarters, so they offered live exterior shots of the campus and suggested viewers experiencing the storm “Stay inside and shop with us!”). They take countless phone calls from viewers, who express satisfaction with the featured product or their excitement over ordering it. This friendly and surprisingly intimate set-up leads audience members to express familiarity with the channel and its hosts, saying, “You keep me company all day!” or “I’ve watched you for 20 years!” I’ve even witnessed one caller telling host Leah Williams, “When you talk to me, it’s like my best friend is talking to me.”

And it is, perhaps, this element of QVC viewership that means the most to me, as a fan. That I have gotten to know the hosts, the rhythms of the channel, the regular guests (designers, representatives), and that what I’m watching is being watched at that moment, live, with others around the country. Yes, there are some bizarre items, some amusing bloopers, some ridiculous gimmicks (David Venable’s famous “Yum!” face is at 1:30), and lots of folksy cheer. But it’s the channel’s embrace of these elements that makes it difficult for insiders to mock. There’s certainly more to QVC than meets the eye, and the channel represents a really fascinating segment of television that most scholars simply aren’t watching.