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This past Saturday, the first season of MTV’s “The Hills” devoured me like a puma, leaving only the dried up husk of my once live body to decay on my futon. Before you judge, let me explain. It took me quite awhile to realize why MTV’s new scripted reality hit “The Hills” struck me the way it did. The Hills and its stepmother “Laguna Beach” represent a new medium of television, blurring the line between reality and narrative TV. This clash creates a glamorized reality. The kind of day-to-day innocent drama that nearly anyone can relate to, garnished with high profile jobs, expensive apartments, fancy cars, and indie pop songs. I find myself trying to recall a memory as if on the tip of my brain from when my life was as care-free, wealthy, and drama-consumed. This memory will never come because, like so many other events that run through my head, it never existed. “The Hills” is like a false sense of nostalgia, a feeling just inches out of my grasp. As the episodes in the first season started to dwindle I found myself spacing them out, like an addict tinkering and perfecting the final lines on the mirror. I lay awake at night in “reality’ detox, afraid to give myself into a second season.