Des #5: The Blindside

The Bachelorette is not a subtle show. You can usually see what's coming pretty well. Like a fire engine, in fact. With sirens. And another fire engine leading out. The question (and the delight) isn't in figuring out what's going to happen; it's seeing how. So there were two things I loved on this week's show, not in chronological order: 

1. I got blindsided.
2. The hot tug.

This week offered a solo date, a group date, and (duh-duh) the dread two-on-one date. But more importantly, it has finally moved into the phase where it picks up the slack for The Travel Channel, which doesn't seem to find the world big enough or interesting enough to travel to and airs poker tournaments instead. However interesting or dull the interactions on the show might have been, we got the Alps! Or, as Chris Harrison told us, "your first stop on this journey to find love." Nope, not subtle.

On Chris's date, for example, we got to wander Munich. Producers, correctly estimating my interest in the date but underestimating my interest in Munich, kept interrupting the date to go to what was going on back at the bachelor suite. And then Bryden actually interrupted the date because he'd decided to bail out and absolutely, positively, couldn't wait a few hours to tell Des so. (Cue Chris saying "I don't think anything could go wrong." Did I say this show isn't subtle?) No, my not-what-but-how question is this: How did Bryden make it THIS far with a narcissistic streak THIS wide that didn't reveal itself before now? But it appears that Des is equally prone to self-serving thinking, as we saw when she asked why he would've come to Munich if he felt that way. She capped it by saying at least there are men like Chris who are "true and honest." Do you NOT REMEMBER having begged him to stay, in spite of feeling exactly that way, like, the last time you saw him?

I don't remember much about Chris until--eek!--poetry! But Des cried, so we may be looking at the winner already. She gave him a rose, and we transitioned oh-so-naturally in to the "brought to you by iTunes" portion of the show with a private concert by (say it, Chris!) Matt White. And, conveniently, his new release.

Next was group-date sledding and a super-pimped-out snow crib. Favorite moments included Juan Pablo trying to say "yodeler" and Zak giving us "Love is like sledding down a hill." Ah, yes. This is what we were waiting for. Go on, please: "From day one we all pushed off and looked down and said, 'Here we go.' We're all here for love. You have to let yourself go completely." Nice pickup, Zak, and a sure way to get your confessional footage on TV. And no, not subtle.

After we finished with all the heavily-padded cuddling, we finally got to the meat of the show: the two-on-one date. NOW is when things get intriguing. Take two men with Strong Feelings against each other, feelings that are in fact focused on the one woman they're both dating in front of each other, and then just straight send them both out with said woman at the same time...and watch what happens. Oo! Let's make one of them a lawyer who thinks a lot of his capacity to get people to incriminate themselves, and--oo!--let's make the other one really into his own nobility. K? Can we?

I love what testosterone impairment does to men. Or I think that's what was at work. It had to be something, right? Surely, on an intellectual level, anyone would understand that when you think another guy is a skeeze, and the girl you're competing with him for knows that's what you think, you'd know how many exploding awesome points you'd score for being intense and noble and restrained about it. Go all Gary Cooper.

Yes, that's it.

So what synapses connect to make a guy with an advanced education think that baiting, accusing, and grilling a dinner companion is going to make said girl, trapped at the same table, love you? We got a glimpse into the answer when Michael G. said before the date that, "I'm hoping she selected me and Ben to be on this date because she wants to expose him, and she wants my help. She wants me to be there and to show her why this guy would be so wrong for her." Whoa! By the time there's a fully formed sentence, fantasy has become reality and crazy makes sense. Are we all that close to the edge of reason?

But never fear! Des KNOWS this is going to be awkward and she has the solution! Water play! I confess I had trouble making the connection. Whether it's a polar plunge or a hot tug (AWESOME), how is water supposed to change everything? Oh wait! [forehead slap] Of course! In old westerns, if you dunked a belligerent guy in the horse trough everybody laughed and the fight was over! That must be how it works.

Michael G., I was absolutely sure, was dead meat. From the moment he knew he'd be on this tri-date with Ben and said "This is gonna be Armageddon," I knew there was no way in heaven or earth he wasn't going to step in it. With both feet and no shoes. In fact, I thought Des was going to ask him to leave straight from the table. And the rose goes to...Michael?!?!! GOTCHA! Well played. Well played.

The final non-rose-getter, on the other hand, was no surprise. The fire engine was coming with sirens blaring, and Mikey "the Shadow" T. was the only one who didn't see it. He set it up for us himself, actually, saying at the show's opening that he's looking forward to "furthering" his "relationship" with Des. At the group date he said he "needs" the rose because he hasn't gotten one yet. Oh, poor Mikey. Perhaps the clues were too subtle. If you haven't gotten a rose or had a date by now, it's over.

Next week promises contention with James "the Neck." Subtle? Unexpected? Of course not. But with all those steroids seasoning the stew, it should be very interesting to see how it happens, don't you think? 

Des #4: Every Shade of Uncomfortable

Things that are uncomfortable:

• Private concerts
• Long silences at dinner
• Third-wheel, fourth-wheel...eleventh-wheel dates
• Haves descending from their helicopters to bestow "spontaneous" gifts on have-nots
• Involuntary tiny swimsuits
• Face-level hip-thrusts
• Poetry

Check, check, check...and we're done with week 4. After last week's unwieldy boatload of awesome material, I spent most of this week wondering when it was going to be over. But that's only one kind of uncomfortable. There are so many more:

Long silences discomfort: Des's first date was with Brad. I'm not sure who he is, and given the time he spent looking at a baby picture of himself, neither was he. Oh wait! That was his son. Single dads pimping their children are starting to blur for me. The rest of the men seemed to think this guy was all wrong for Des, and after enough uncomfortable silences at dinner, she agreed. No rose, no ride home. 

This is going nowhere discomfort: Fitting that this date had taken place in Atlantic City, the second-most shallow and fake place on earth, as Des, prompted by writers, stood atop the lighthouse where they had just had that boring dinner and said, "I'm looking for a love that can light the darkness." Thing is, I'm becoming convinced she's not. She really doesn't seem too into this whole thing. I think being the Bachelorette just sounded like fun. I missed an important shot from last week:

Yeah, that's what she's there for. I'm afraid this whole "journey" thing is going to get a lot less interesting--for her and for us--when there are fewer guys around. But how can I be critical? If I'm going to skewer the saps that think they're actually going to find love on a reality TV competition dating show, I can't criticize the ones who know they won't, right? The only problem is that Des is breaking her deal with me, to entertain me, if she's not earnest enough. I'm looking for stuff like Zak K at the opening cocktail party--to repeat, with no shirt and no sense of irony--saying he's totally serious about this. Mikey T saying some problems can't be solved with talking, that sometimes they have to get physical, right before taking Ben aside for a strongly worded conversation. Now that's earnest. That's entertaining.

Too many people on a date, forced to wear skimpy clothes they don't want to discomfort: Given that every group date is uncomfortable, and that amping up the discomfort is entirely expected, having a Mr. America competition motif--in Atlantic City--seemed fitting enough. There were a few golden moments: I was intrigued to see Juan Pablo, soccer player and Latin lover, demonstrating some skill with baton twirling. Sorry not to see the finished performance there. I did get a little thrill from seeing Mikey T say he's tired about being seen as a piece of meat--with a shirt but clearly no sense of irony--immediately take off his shirt and act like a piece of meat. The swimsuit competition, complete with a cringe-worthy hip-thrust dance number from Bryden, just made me sorry for all of them.

One sparkling little gem of gift dropped into this "date," however, was the shot of James "The Neck" back at the mansion, enjoying his evening of solitude while the other men are gone. In contrast to everything else about this show, he was comfortable, all right. But not as you might expect. Does he sprawl on the sofa in front of all the votives, savoring sole possession of the remote? Soak in the hot tub? Make a giant sandwich? Take a nap? No! Mr. "I Know How to Pamper Myself" takes a bubble bath. With...meatballs?

Performance art discomfort: During the social part of the "date" we Chris read his own poetry and Zak sang his own song. Okay, writing is narcissistic. No argument. PERFORMING what you've written (reciting/reading/singing), to people who did not seek you out to hear it, is unforgivable. You've taken away a person's right to bail out or skip to the end because it doesn't even cross your mind that a person might want to. I myself was recently trapped by unwanted poetry. There were three poems, I think. Or one poem with two long, applause-less breaks in the recitation. I tried to look attentive. I failed. Des, however, responded to it quite well and rewarded both the perpetrators with roses. People who love themselves understand each other, I guess.

Capitalizing on misfortune discomfort: The arc of uncomfortable-ness reached its pinnacle with the Red Cross-sponsored disaster-tourism date with James "The Neck" to view Hurricane Sandy's devastation of the Jersey shore. The helicopter gawker tour seemed uncomfortable enough, but then it was followed by a visit to a couple selected for their pitiable-ness from among--thousands? I kept wondering about what kind of process had been followed to identify this couple, how they must've been prepped for the Beautiful People to come, and how much gratitude they were supposed to show when they were given (totally spontaneously!) an evening they could Never Afford On Their Own for (what a coincidence!) their 35th anniversary. And I thought about how I'd feel in their shoes. And I squirmed.

Private concert discomfort: Nobody ever knows where to look in one of those situations, right? When an audience consists of eyes you can count, a performer can't just look out at the crowd. It's eye contact or nothing. And the people with those eyes feel like they're behaving badly if they're not looking right at the performer. How to make it worse? Let's watch OTHER people feel uncomfortable at a private concert. The good news is, though, that the performers are all for it. I'm tripping over Darius Rucker everywhere I turn the last couple of weeks, and his agent is only too happy to get him in front of an audience of millions by way of a foursome of embarrassed eyes. It's certainly a better gig than the musician on a Southwest flight from Burbank to Denver I was on a couple of months ago, singing into the P.A. under the "toilet occupied" sign. No lie.

My antennae did perk back up, though, when James decided, in the finest of Bachelor/ette tradition, to reveal dark truths about himself on a first date. The truth? He'd cheated on a long-term girlfriend, ending a five-year relationship with someone he thought he was going to marry. This happened during his freshman year of college. BACK UP! Either he took a few years off to find himself, tour Europe, and work on a crab boat, or that relationship started when he was THIRTEEN. So I guess he's been into having somebody pay attention to him for a while, now.

More performance art discomfort: Finally, at the cocktail "party" we were treated to the discomfort of more original composition. Zak finished the song he started during Mr. America, and a desperate Michael G. presented an acrostic poem, which apparently made everyone so uncomfortable that most of it didn't make it through edits. "Desiree" is a really long name for that sort of thing. But Des ate them both up.

"I don't belong here" discomfort: Bryden, in a great show of normalcy, revealed that he was uncomfortable. That first-date curse is unavoidable: peak too soon, get sidelined while other guys move into the center of attention, then feel all hurt for longer than everybody else. Or he was just embarrassed about the stripper show at the group date. Self-elimination made a lot of sense, but after much internal wrestling he decided to stick it out one more week, which meant somebody I can't remember went home instead, hurt and uncomfortable.

Phew! We're through the dread charity date week and can move on to more drama. Next week, Michael "Quote Machine" G. promises it's going to be "Armageddon," and we were teased that James and Ben are going to be exposed as frauds. More importantly, we're going to Munich and starting the Travel Channel portion of the season, which always makes me happy. And hopeful. To next week!

Des #3: An Embarrassment of Riches

I hear people use the word "sarcastic" to describe my sense of humor. Au contraire, I say. Sarcastic is saying the opposite of what you mean, as in "Now that was smart," meaning, "That was so stupid that saying it was stupid is stupid itself." I, on the other hand, am irreverent. Irreverent is thinking things that aren't supposed to be funny are, in fact, funny. And the more important it is to somebody to be taken seriously while doing something ridiculous, the funnier I'm sure to find it. The Bachelor/ette was made for me. By those standards, this week's episode was, well, it was too much. More than I deserved. More than I had any right to.

To set the stage (and for those I understand don't watch the show but just read the blog), we were treated this week to two group dates: Predictably disastrous dodgeball, and predictably forced movie promotion. There one solo date: A bunch of nothing followed by a not-your-fault-this-didn't-go-well pity rose. Although that may not SOUND like material for a promising episode, what really matters can't be caught in a summary. Because it's the seriousness, you see.

Take, for instances, Des's explanation of why she thought it would be awesome to throw the most epic collection of meatheads ever assembled for a Bachelorette season into a violent, high-speed competition to earn the favor of a girl they all want to get their hands on:

"I want to see how the men interact with each other. I like dating guys in their natural state and seeing guys want to compete and fight for what they want." 

Des is young, and very, very dumb about this. She has not yet pieced together that the very behavior she's encouraging is the one that shows men at their absolute worst. Men who embarrass women are invariably competing about something. Michael G. (federal prosecutor), who seems to have the only intact brain of the bunch, had the wit to say "It's only a matter of time before an ambulance arrives and somebody has a broken face." In fact, it does not take a law degree to know this. I know this. And all I did was work as a summer secretary in a law firm during college. I know that if a bunch of dudes are around each other, and a pair of X chromosomes enters, they are required to show off recklessly and idiotically. Volleyball becomes dangerous. Checkers becomes dangerous. And dodgeball? Now, a girl thinking this is a good idea is funny.

Predictably, there was a hospital trip. (A 12-year-old with a broken finger gets told to take a seat and wait his turn. A grown man with a TV crew? Everybody! Stat! More tubes! More machines! More show!) A cocktail party at which the injured gladiator is missed. But no! The hero returns! This is when I knew we had something special going, and it was time to start taking pictures of the screen:

See how the knee socks, tiny shorts, and odd-necked tank top just get funnier the farther into the hotel he gets? Funnier still when you picture the guys in their collars and jackets upstairs, suave and clean, drinks in one hand, and Des in her dress made out of who-knows-how-many studded dog collars. See how serious he looks? Note, now, how he continued to carry the look, without embarrassment, through the remainder of the evening:

I'm just so, so glad that if somebody had to be injured (and given the parameters of the game, yes, somebody did) it turned out to be the one with the sweet sweat-band mullet. Who doesn't want to make out with Richard Simmons, am I right? 

Next on the agenda was the solo date with Kasey, for which Des prepared by sitting on her pretty sofa in front of her pretty bay windows writing in her journal. I'd like to know where this journal will end up. No man, ever, would want the woman in his life saving that journal in drawer somewhere, tied up with a pink ribbon. ("I'm just not sure what I'm feeling about Dirk. When we kiss it's like I'm--") Anyway, Kasey, for his part, prepared for the date by getting on tape the required footage of his own voice saying "Nothing could ruin this day." I think producers must urge everyone to say that before any solo date to make sure they've got one in the can. Just in case. In this case, trouble came in the form of the much-hyped ex-girlfriend (or is she an ex? I sure hope so by now) of, it turned out, Brian. Who's Brian? Ah yes. The one who said in his bio that his favorite movie is The Notebook, which meant going in that he's a pure poser. But even more fun than a liar, he's an egotist. Note that though he argued with the girlfriend about whether they were or weren't together, he didn't deny sleeping with her two nights before the show started taping. Just couldn't deny a conquest, no matter what it cost. So on that, he went home. I was less interested in him, though, than the support staff. Enter my man Pauly:

Pauly was born to bounce. Look at him. I want to know Pauly. I want to understand what his role is on this show. What time does he come to work every day? What does he do between the hours of x and y? How much is he paid? By whom? I was also delighted by the entourage that followed Brian on his walk of shame to pack his bags. Unfortunately for the photo op, they weren't all on screen at once, but scrolled across, one after another, the way clowns just keep coming out of that Volkswagen. First Brian and Pauly:

Then the cameraman:

Then the grip with the sound equipment:

Then some girl with a backpack:

What's she there for? What's in the backpack? Training treats? Snacks for Pauly? 

Which left the men to sit around and talk about what just happened. Just a bunch of dudes and their votives:

Finally, we got to the Lone Ranger movie-themed date. Anybody surprised at the winner of the stuntman activity ending up with a movie date that involved a private screening? And what do these private screenings ALWAYS mean? (For supporting data, check Survivor special preview screenings. Gulliver, anyone?) That's right, a terrible movie is coming. Yawn of a date. Or so I thought until this:

Cheryl, watching ahead of me, told me to have an eye on the lower left of the picture. Yes, folks. Juan Pablo's right hand stayed solidly in the bag for the entirety of that makeout session. Passion and popcorn. 

Do you see my problem? There was just too much great stuff. I've gone on too long and am reduced to bullets to try to keep from completely skipping it all:

• Drew saying of himself and his game-winning throw during the dodgeball game, "I grab it off the ground and in one fluid motion I swing around and wing it"? I have never in my life--before now--heard someone describe his own action as "one fluid motion." I love this show.
• The bromance web in the house seeming to have gotten Bryden "Bangs" some help with his hair--looking much more natural tonight. Sideswept.
• The pool party replacement for the cocktail not-party, about which I only wondered, "Who's waiting below the edge of the infinity pool to scramble down the hill to get the ball back after those awesome testosterone-fueled overcompensation spikes? Pauly? The girl with the backpack?
• Mikey T "the Shadow," saying of Ben "the Liar," "He deserves a punch in the face. All this conversation doesn't really get anywhere. To hammer your point home, and to say look, this is it, sometimes it has to get physical." And then proceeding to sit down and talk with him. I'm loving Mikey T. His devotion to the man code is so wonderfully serious. What Des? He's there for the dudes. Jill identified him as the kind of guy who says everybody is his best friend. "This is my friend. He's my best friend." Like her sister's seven-year-old does.

In the end, in a quick band-aid fashion rose ceremony, the ones left without were Dan "No Impression Whatsoever" and Brandon "Daddy Issues." After we watched him cry at the thought of the fatherless child abandoned by the shiftless Brian, then cry at the prospect of losing Des, then cry at actually losing Des, we were left with his painfully needy closing line: "Once again, someone left me. Once again. Way to go, Brandon. I can't even cry. I'm just out of tears." I had hopes of Brandon staying longer, of promising to guard and protect her heart, then getting abandoned on an iceberg. Oh wait. That's been done. But it still works. As people determined to be serious always do for me. Bravo, Bachelor producers. You served it to me exactly the way I like it.

Des #2: Turbo tell-all

I understand paramedics, at some point, become numb to trauma. Doctors learn to distance themselves from tragedy. Puppy mill operators eventually find puppies no longer cute. Watching this week's episode of The Bachelorette I found myself wondering, At what point does a bachelorette completely glaze over in the face of yet another sob story? Yes, Des is a nice girl, and she makes appropriate pouty lips when somebody says "There's something I haven't told you about myself yet," but at one point during tonight's cocktail not-party I found myself thinking she checked out a few sad puppies ago.

And it got me wondering...What about the setup of this show makes people think it's important to lead with a bummer? To manufacture deep connection? Show vulnerability? Play a sympathy card? These guys this week (and last) are not unique. Season after season, contestants seem to feel the need to buttonhole the object d'amour at the first opportunity and explain how he or she was abandoned by a parent, the lone survivor of a fiery car crash, damaged by a bad relationship, afflicted by cancer...you get the idea. Odd, isn't it? At a normal singles mixer, who walks up to the person who's caught your eye and says "I just really need to tell you I'm an orphan"?

I think I've figured out one way that villains make it so far in this show: They keep their secrets and talk about fun stuff. Take a note, over-serious guys. Let the tragedies come out a little more organically.

The point at which I think Des had stopped listening was the same point at which Evil Ben interrupted and took her off for a cheerful conversation. Yeah, the same guy who got a rose earlier for...what?...having cheerful conversations. And what was he interrupting? The desperately important news that Brandon has...(drumroll)...TYPE I DIABETES. Yup, serious, for sure. I know a few people who have it. But it was never the first thing I knew about them. It would come up when they refused dessert or asked for a glass of juice. The fact that Brandon thinks this is a HUGE HUGE SECRET that is VERY IMPORTANT to share RIGHT UP FRONT because it's a TERRIFYING condition that he lives with EVERY DAY tells me he's got a crappy endocrinologist. Dude, if you're living in terror, the person who's supposed to be supporting your quality of life is doing a lousy job.

If we've learned anything from past seasons, though, it's that Bachelor producers love to push people out of their comfort zones. At our watch party Jill suggested we'd be seeing him on a Willy Wonka-esque journey-through-candyland group date.

But it took that long for things to get interesting. First she had the always-cursed first date with Peach Fuzz Brooks. Goofing off at her bridal shop, sunset atop the Hollywood sign, dinner on a closed street. We've seen this before. In fact, this exact date. Remember Ali and Frank, the guy with the "retail consultant" (shirt-folder at the Gap) job? I took no notes.

After that, the painful group date, in which the men were supposed to come up with rap verses for a music video. The standards by which someone is supposed to judge the candidates are strange indeed. I have a good number of friends. Fun people, in fact, who think I'm fun, too. Nay, even funny, in a pinch. But I would be so excruciatingly uncomfortable in that setting I'd make everyone else wish they could disappear. Axe. Then again, given the predisposition toward narcissism required to be on the show at all, maybe thinking about how quickly I'd get bypassed has very little to do with what's going on here.

Bryden "Bangs" the Veteran had the next solo date. In light of the apparent producer-pimping of his veteran status, I expected the date to involve a visit to disabled flag makers or making blankets for soldiers' children, but the the byline was the only place where "veteran" ever showed up. And even that was frequently covered by the scroll of tweets criticizing his hair. "Sweep your bangs to one side!" "Get a new barber!" Agree. I miss Des's bangs, and his cut-along-a-piece-of-tape fringe isn't making up for it. Oh, and in case you've gotten a great date idea for yourself from the show, let me clarify--as a Californian--that orange grove owners do not, as a rule, welcome passers-by to drive into the grove, pull oranges off the trees, and spread themselves out for a picnic in the shade.

And finally, the Des and the Dirks mixer, which seems a more apt name than "party," which ought to be an event people would be excited to come to. Men in suits, talking to each other, fighting over the one woman invited? Who'd want to come to that party? Well, Five-O'Clock-Super-Shadow Mikey T, for one, whose "right reasons" for being there seem to be mostly to make friends with the guys. Bro's before ho's, all the way. Earlier in the show, he confronted the dastardly Ben (suspected by the other men of not being there for the right reasons) by saying Ben seemed fake, and that Mikey T just wanted to be friends. Reassured they were, he shared a handshake and went back to the pool. As the mixer opened, he said he "doesn't want anyone to go home." Well sure. They're bro's. Then after Ben interrupted Brandon's HUGE HUGE SECRET revelation, I had to back up and double check to figure out whether I was seeing actual cartoon steam coming out of Mikey T's ears over the offense. Not Brandon's. MIKEY T's. He was mortally offended by an action in which he was not involved. In any way at all. Not even a witness. Didn't know about it until the bro's told him. I gave Mikey T a one-smiley rating coming out of the first show. I was way off. His entertainment value ratings are doubling and redoubling all over themselves.

At the end of the evening, Des sent home the three least Dirk-like guys remaining. Hi-Fiver Will, Robert the Sign Spinner (for whom I thought Des had a little sparkle at the beginning), and Nick M., the least "financial advisor" looking of the financial advisors. She must have told producers before the season started that she never understood why Belle in Beauty and the Beast didn't go for Gaston. "Now that's the kind of man I'm after," she said. Maybe if the men looked around at each other a little more critically they'd see how little interest she must have in personal tragedies and save them for a little later in the relationship. You know, like normal people.