News and Notes - March 1, 2006

Greetings and salutations to my nine readers. Here I come on the run with a burger on a bun, and a dab of News and Notes on the side…

• Well, another season of The Bachelor has come and gone, and I did my best to stay up to date and informed on all the desperate husband hunting goings on (OK, that's bullshit, but whatever) – sadly, these efforts did not translate into postings on this fair blog, and for that I feel shame. So in order to make it up to you, here’s a handy primer of everything you would need to know in order to appear Bachelor-savvy at your local watercooler:

o During my commentary on the opening episode, I referred to Ali G (no, not that Ali G), the freakish troll woman intent on starting the reproductive phase of her life. As I told you, when she was not selected in the first MOST DRAMATIC ROSE CEREMONY EVER, she confronted the Bachelor (Travis) and demanded to know why he didn’t pick her: Too short? Not pretty enough? Boobs too small? Well, yes, yes and yes. But say “reproduction” to a single man and he will likely drop you quicker than Matrix dropped Sully over that cliff in Commando. So she basically made about as complete and total of an ass as one could possibly make of themselves…on national TV! In what comes as a shocking turn of events, she declined the invitation to appear on the “Women Tell All” episode. My question: wouldn’t you think that ABC would have made this a contractual obligation of being on the show in the first place? Isn’t she in breach of said contract by not facing the music? Isn’t there a lawyer somewhere who stands to profit off of this?

o The show was tabbed “The Bachelor: Paris” but at least 1/3 of the time was spent in another European location or in the U.S. doing the obligatory “meet the families” escapade. And while we’re on this topic, has there ever been a family in the history of this show that remained skeptical of the whole fiasco even after the visit was over? No matter how hard-ass the father/brother/mother/drunken grandmother tries to profess themselves to be, by the end they’re always gushing about what a great guy the Bachelor is and how they could really see their daughter/sister/drunken granddaughter ending up with him. Ball-less wonders, each and every one of them.

o The Canadian girl who lived at home with her parent in Winnipeg was so drunk when Travis kissed her that she didn’t remember it when they were talking the next day. I’m not sure what part of that sentence scares me the most.

o Travis narrowed down his choice down to two decidedly different ladies (there’s a shocker): a homely-yet-cute Kindergarten teacher from Nashville and an attractive-yet-psychotic brunette from LA. The teacher basically had to beg Travis to make a move on her, was loved by his family, was great with kids, and had a frumpy mother who had real reservations about the possibility of her ever leaving Nashville. The brunette was constantly being undressed by Travis’s eyes, liked to surf, had an asshole for a father and an attractive stepmother, cried at the drop of a hat and, when asked questions like “why do you like our son” by Travis’s parents, started bawling and saying things like “Do you know what it’s like to look at someone and see your own soul?” and “He rocks me to the core”. Yikes. If history held true, he’d pick the hotter chick who’s fucked in the head, but he bucked tradition and went with the safe bet. I’m sure it’s going to last.

• From the “People are a bunch of miserable fucks” department: Michelle, Brooks and I were flying home from Florida on Friday, where I had spent the week in training. We checked in, got through security and got to our gate with no issues. However, as we readied ourselves to board the plane, I looked at our boarding passes and noticed that good old United had given us two middle seats! What stellar work on their part! So we reluctantly head to our seats, and I linger in the aisle, hoping that the kind soul holding the ticket next to Michelle’s seat will see it in their heart to let these new parents sit together with their 3-month-old son.

Much to my chagrin, the two people I see bearing down on our row are two frumpy, haggard, violently ugly women bearing menacing scowls. “This should go well” I think. As they approached our row, the lead woman, who bore a striking resemblance to Leatherface from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, belts out in her wretched three-pack-a-day-smoker voice “THAT’S my seat.”

“Excuse me ma’am, this is my wife and son, and this (I point to my middle seat across the aisle) is my seat, and I was hoping…”

“I DON’T WANT TO SIT IN A MIDDLE SEAT! NO!”

Fine, you horrid bitch, I think to myself, but I quickly, calmly say, “OK, thank you” and start to gather Brooks up because, hey, this plane’s going to take off and I want to get situated. So Leatherface wheels around to her equally-disgusting friend and barks, “Do YOU want to switch seats?” “I just want to sit down!” With that response, Leatherface doesn’t even try to hide the contempt in her voice when she wheels back to me and says, “OK, FINE, GO AHEAD, WHATEVER!” I quickly try and gather my things together before her dark lord and master Satan implores her to change her mind, and very nicely say, “thank you very much, we really do appreciate it.” To which she of course responds:

“WELL I DIDN’T REALLY HAVE A CHOICE WITH THAT GUILT TRIP!”

At this point my face is so purple that Michelle thinks blood is going to start shooting out of my eyes. Guilt trip??? What in the holy living fuck are you talking about? Is my baby the source of this guilt trip? Gee, I’m sorry my wife and I decided to procreate last year, you vile creature. Michelle can see that I’m about to do something that would likely get me declared an enemy combatant and thrown in a prison for several months without being charged, so she calmly encourages me to let it go. Cooler heads prevail, and I take my new seat. But will Leatherface let it die? Of course not! She’s shooting us dirty looks. She’s making all kinds of comments: “I can’t believe I’m in a middle seat again!” “We took the time to make sure we reserved the seats we wanted, why can’t THEY?” Remember how I told you all that I regularly wish gonorrhea on people? This was seriously the closest I’ve ever come to wishing death on someone – she was truly despicable.

After we took off, the woman sitting in their row’s window seat must have caught wind of their smelly vibe, because as soon as she found out there was another seat available, she bolted like she was fleeing the Grim Reaper himself. This left Leatherface and her hideous friend room to stretch out in their seats, sleep, snore like an emphysema-riddled vagrant with their legs spread, exposing their likely-barren wombs to the world. Michelle, Brooks and I took the high road, made friends on the plane and returned to our happy lives. Leatherface and her friend went back to their sparse, depressing one bedroom apartments to eat canned dog food and wonder what life had been like had they not been born such ugly people (or so I hope). And all was right with the world.

• I have previously mentioned in this space that one of my guilty pleasures (no, not autoerotic asphyxiation) is watching many of the fine programs featured on Gen-Y Wasteland MTV. From True Life to My Super Sweet 16 to There and Back (one of Michelle’s favorites) I can’t seem to get enough stories about guys on steroids, ludicrously rich girls whose fathers throw them $100,000 parties and buy them cars for their 16th birthdays and a former boy band member who must now get a job like the rest of us schleps. However, the show that has captured my imagination most recently is Parental Control. The premise: Parents whose teenager is dating an undesirable interview several potential candidates to replace this undesirable as their child’s significant other. The mother and father each select a date for their child, and then (this is great) they sit in their living room with the undesirable and watch footage of each date, all the while trading smarmy comments and witty barbs about the child, the dates selected by the parents and the undesirable’s status as a loser. For example, the parents of one boy, who must be a huge Ali G fan because he kept saying “sexy time” and had a tattoo that said (yep) Sexy Time on his stomach (there’s no way he’ll regret that when he’s 35). His loser girlfriend, a sardonic harlot wearing too much makeup, sat with his parents and commented how their son would not be interested in a girl the mother had selected because her breasts weren’t big enough. It was surreal and delightful at the same time. My only question: who is initiating participation in this show? Is it the child dating the loser? Presumably they’re quite happy with the loser, which is why the parents are upset in the first place. Could it be the loser who wants to prove his/her worth? Why would they risk it? In the other episode I watched, the loser guy with no prospects for the future was jettisoned in favor of a tennis-playing aspiring financial professional, whereby he commented that he felt he needed to upgrade from his girlfriend anyway. Or is it the parents? This would seem logical except for the fact that I can’t figure out why the parents would be watching MTV, unless they stumbled upon the show as their son and daughter watched – but then who started it all? It’s the chicken or the egg. It’s baffling, but quite entertaining and well worth a viewing.

Until next time…