Le Célibataire

Bon jour, mon ami! Champagne, cheese, baguette, Perrier, souffl'ee, beret, Cochon américain, and c'est la vie to all of you! I am reporting to you LIVE from Paris, the city where everyone surrenders themselves to both the powers of love and the marching of occupying Germans. OK, I'm not really in Paris, but I felt as if I was whisked to this magical city while watching the premiere of what has become a seemingly neverending stream of installments of ABC's The Bachelor - the newest prize is Travis, a seemingly likeable, tall, dark, handsome emergency room doctor in whose chin dimple one could serve spinach dip. Yes, I know it's hard to imagine any woman being interested in a man possessing these qualities, but let's try and live the fantasy, shall we?

Early on in the whole Bachelor phenomenon, the whole concept was thought to be new and fresh and wholesome, and one could fool oneself into believing that people could actually find love on television if one really tried. Of course a skeptic like myself wasn't having any of it - the minute I saw what's-his-name choose what's-her-face over Trista the Attention Whore, I knew there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that it would last. However, Michelle, ever the romantic that she is, was fascinated by the concept, and thought that these good folks wanted to find their true love, even if it meant having directions barked at them by ABC producers.

However, with each subsequent installment of this program, as the pool of borderline-respectable participants continued to thin, as the level of dignity decreased in the half-life manner of a radioactive element - you know, barely a shred of dignity left, but just enough where you had to feel some embarrassment for these people, as opposed to say, participants on The Real World, where everyone is simply insane - Michelle slowly adopted the same jaded views as mine, and the results of this deterioration of respect came through in the most entertaining manner during the recent season premiere. One by one, the desparate women unable to meet a man by conventional means poured out of limousines driven by French men who bore such a look of contempt it was almost frightening, and over and over, Michelle and I competed to see who could be more cruel and belittling, with predictably hilarious results.

The first episode of each Bachelor/ette installment usually breaks down like this:

8:00-8:05 - Meet the person who will cause 25 people to act like unstable, petty, emotional freaks.
8:05-8:25 - Limos pull up and prospective mates get out to awkwardly introduce themselves to the alpha male/female; several then go inside the house/mansion/chateau and begin drinking heavily, which greatly enhances my viewing entertainment
8:25-8:42 - Alpha male/female makes the rounds to enjoy several nervous, uncomfortable conversations, prays producers are keeping track of names
8:42-8:54 - Elimination process is shown in excrutiating detail; several potential mates become visibly ill when they are not among the first two people called, even the ones you've pegged as eliminated from the moment you saw them (i.e. delusional is another fine quality of these people)
8:54-8:58 - post-elimination goodbyes, featuring forced hugs, insincere well-wishes, and the obligatory freak-out from one of the more unstable losers
8:58-9:00 - Dude, scenes

I, for one, found it heartwarming that Michelle now shared my contempt for these fools. We first noted that 10 of the girls were 25 or under, and only two were over 30. In what would prove to be a shocking turn of events, the two 30+ girls were sent packing (more on one of those old bags later). Why, in God's name, would anyone at or under the age of 25 feel the need to participate in a process, televised or not, whereby in a scant six weeks they may be receiving a proposal? I realize that people in my parent's generation regularly got married at 22 - oddly enough, they are also key contributors to the current divorce rate that stands at roughly 50%. Conincidence? Of course not. I think about myself at 25 versus now at the ripe old age of 32, and I realize that while I most certainly don't have everything figured out, I'm definitely a hell of a lot better off than I was at 25. Sure, I had a blast at that time of my life - but I was also, in many ways, a complete moron with no basic life skills. So why would I make a decision that only majorly altered the course of my life, but that of at least one other person (and is multiplied when kids are thrown into the mix) and that point of my life? I barely feel mature enough to handle fatherhood at this age - I would have been an absolute train wreck at 25. My point is, I just don't understand the rush these girls are in. They are all at least remotely cute, and seem somewhat personable, but the fact that they've reached this point tells me that they're either a) desparate, b) impossible to deal with, or c) attention-starved - three traits that, while they might contribute to an entertaining and heated short term sexual tryst, are hardly the qualities normal people would hope that their life partner would possess.

What else did Michelle and I learn about this installment's crop of potential mates for our dreamy doctor?

- Well, we learned that women in Sales, Marketing or Advertising must either be the only ones willing to apply for this show in droves or are just plain desperate - approximately 1/3 of these sad, lonely creatures worked in these fields, with Student/Teacher being the next most common category (16%).

- We learned that there are some sets of parents out there who either a) have a cruel sense of humor, or b) simply don't have a clue about naming children to avoid schoolyard ridicule. Observe if you will some of the names: Cole, Jehan (I kept saying Jihad), Kyle, Moana, Princess (yes, you read that right), Shiloh (I think her twin's name is Antietam), and Venus (Parents names: Zeus and Hera). Yes, it's fun to play cruel jokes on your children that will haunt them the rest of their lives, even when they desperately appear on TV in the hopes of landing a husband in front of millions of viewers.

- Many of these ladies lacked basic social skills. Michelle was incredibly cruel in this regard (much to my delight) as she ripped each contestant for her ability to introduce themselves in a somewhat human manner. Our favorite trend was the obligatory butchering of the French language - i.e. the girl from Virginia screeching, "Well BON JEW-OAR! I'm Jaime from Virginny! OK, see you inside, Travis! OAR-REE-VOO-OUR!" The other one was every girl from the South who upon hearing Travis lived in Nashville, naturally asked, "Don't you just love country music?" His response: "Uh, not really"

- Maybe it was their passengers' nationality, maybe their general bubbliness, but once again, the look of pure contempt on each French limo driver's face was truly a sight to behold.

Per usual, Travis made his way through the group, had his awkward conversations, identified the girls who pleased him the most when he had mentally undressed them, and pared the field down for easier scorekeeping at home. He keeps 12 girls, meaning 13 are sent right back to Charles DeGaulle for the looooong flight back to the States. Twelve of these ladies leave with some shred of basic human dignity - but not Allie G. Oh no, being dignified is way beyond this 33-year-old Oncologist. After she is cut, she can't seem to fathom how in the hell this guy wasn't interested in her. After all, she's a doctor too, a powerful, successful woman who put everything on hold to focus on HERself and HER career. Hey Allie, figuring it out yet? That whole attitude alone would be enough to send even the steeliest of men running for cover.

But Allie takes it a step further - as she's rambling on to Travis about how awesome she is for having a kick ass career and such, another girl pulls the classic Bachelor move by coming over and requesting that Travis finish this conversation with this obviously psychopathic individual so he can hear about the benefits of others at the party. So Allie is asked to finish her thought, and like any logical woman whose biological clock is ticking with the force of a wrecking ball striking a battleship, she launches into the following: "So basically, I'm at a point in my life where I'm ready to reproduce. My eggs are going to dry up and, well, I'd like to reproduce."

You hear that sound, Allie? It's the sound of your unborn child saying "NOOOOOOOO you fool! Shut up! You're blowing it for both of us!!!" This, of course, brings me back to the shock that Allie expresses after being shown la porte. As she heads out to the limo to return to her lonely, childless existence, possiby to concoct a plan to steal a baby from the nursery at her hospital, she suddenly turns around, storms back in and confronts an obviously frightented Travis. "So...why did you eliminate me, huh? Huh? What, too short? Boobs too small? What? Why?" Before the producers have the opportunity to step in and taser her, Travis smiles calmly and says, "Frankly it was because you said you wanted to 'reproduce' and that's not what I'm here for, not now." This response doesn't satisfy this little badger of a woman, who responds beligerantly, "Then what? What are you here for? Why are you even here?" Again, Travis stays level and says, "not for that," and points toward the door, where Allie is ushered out, not to be seen or hear from again until the MOST ANTICIPATED AFTER THE FINAL ROSE EPISODE...EVER! I for one have already instructed my Tivo to record it. This whole exchange leads me to ignore my own advice to can the hyperbole and declare Travis the BEST BACHELOR EVER. As a final view into Allie's madness, during the closing credits she is shown berating a producer about Travis's intentions, and all the producer can do is respond to every barb nervously, "Hey, I don't know him!" Can I get a psych consult?

Will I continue to keep my eye on this Paris adventure? Absolument! I will keep you updated on the madness, so keep an eye on those biological clocks and make sure you stay fertile...until next time...