Juan Pablo #6: Who's in Charge, Here?

Where I live, I am only one hour away from Sochi time, and am watching my Olympics live, on a generic English-language Olympic channel. Much as I enjoyed my familiar NBC coverage, I really appreciate these announcers, who (a) understand that I don't need to know who they are, and that I'm not watching to see them, (b) are enthusiastic about all outstanding performances, without regard to the nationality of the competitors, and (c) know what "penultimate" means. I particularly admire the restraint with which I was served a half hour of Olympic speed-skating ice, with no commentary and no one on it. Eventually a band came out and entertained the crowd until competitors appeared and started warming up. Only then did the announcers pipe back up. Now that, ladies and gentlemen, is called "trusting your audience." Or "nobody in the booth."

Not so The Bachelor! Any show that brings out a host to say "This is the final rose" when everyone can see a single rose in a chrome tray (or count backward from three) does not lack for production leadership. There's certainly a lot of the story we're not seeing, but we're not in charge, here. All we can do is sit back and swallow what they serve.

Or, more accurately, what they're trying to serve. Above the producers, I'll tell you who's in charge of my television experience: space people. Satellites, in particular, and don't kid yourself that they're mere machines. I watch The Bachelor through a DVR in the U.S., first thing in my Tuesday morning, which is only an hour or two after it airs there. This morning, however, I was the victim of a thing called "bitrate."

40 Kbps is bad. I watched that cat for a long time.

And that's my blue screen of death. I can only conclude that the space people made a fully conscious decision to mess with my morning. Jerks. Through the halts and breakdowns I got the gist of it in spite of them. I missed some screenshots, but I don't think I missed anything life altering. And who's kidding who? I wouldn't have missed anything life-altering if I'd missed the whole season.

So let's play Who's In Charge! For me, the space people. For U.S. viewers, the producers. For Juan Pablo...it's complicated.

The first New Zealand date went to Andi, who has been at the bottom of the power rankings for some time. I think Juan Pablo is genuinely interested in Andi, despite the curse of the last one-on-one date, but it seemed that producers were out to tank her chances. The speedboating was fun but passive, the wading through cold water was not what I'd dream of, and dinner beside a geyser was a disaster. You ever been to a hot spring? Unless you have a thing for rotten eggs, you don't want to eat or drink anywhere nearby. Add the cold wet spray from the geyser itself for a bonus. On the plus side, the wading led to a warm waterfall where they enjoyed some nice bonding time, and Andi went home with a rose. Safe for the time being, at least, but that date didn't appear to go nearly as well as I need for Andi to make it all the way to the end. I mean, come on. She's smart, she's fun, and she was rockin' a black one-piece. (Though I'm not sure how she got away with it under the white pants.) Props for the self-respect, and a little gratitude from everybody who wants the world to think you're wearing one because you have self-respect too, rather than just lumpy things to hide.

Who's in charge? The date-planning producer. Certainly not poor Andi, who came into the date "hoping for a breakthrough." I'm afraid wanting romance super-bad doesn't put one in a good position to take control at a critical moment. I will vote for Andi as the next Bachelorette, though.

I wanted to be on this week's group date. Well, after it got going, anyway. Things got a little weird at the beginning when Chelsie called Juan Pablo away from the opening picnic to sit a short distance away and blow on grass blades. What? But the interruption was mercifully brief, and then it was time to let the good times roll! (Sorry.)

We even got to see Sharleen Serious dive in like a kid, so it MUST have been fun. Then dinner in Hobbiton? Are you kidding? Frankly, Hobbiton was wasted on stumpy little folk with hairy feet. No, it's made for romance. You know, real romance. The kind where there's lots of candles and expensive dresses and beautiful people. Not ordinary romance for regular people or hobbits.

Or for Cassandra, it turned out. The birthday girl...Look! 21:

And now 22:

...admitted to missing her son, which helped Juan Pablo to see he was just messin' around and send her home straight from Hobbiton. Talk about your tough fantasy-to-reality transition. I must credit Juan Pablo with being a master break-upper, though. Somehow the "it's not you," didn't become the predictable "it's me," but instead "it's not you, because you're one of the most special ones, and I'm so grateful I got to know your specialness and be part of making you even MORE special and ready to be with someone not as special as me but more appropriate for you." Head still spinning, there was nothing left for her to say but "Thank you," and then a tearful limousine trip wondering what just happened. Dudes who want to escape a breakup unscatched, study up.

Who was in charge? JP, all the way. Poor Cassandra may only just now be figuring out what hit her. And getting kinda mad about it.

Want to challenge my scoring? Think back on his one-on-one time that same evening with Sharleen. Conversation? Not for him. No, Juan Pablo went straight for the action, leaving Sharleen to pull back and ask whether they could...you know, talk a little. Hoping to test him a little and put some of her unease to rest, Sharleen asked whether he could guess what she was feeling. His answer: "Great but scared." That's an exact, unredacted quote. And her reaction? Angel choir! He knows me! Every time I'm nervous he finds a way to put my mind at ease! All I can say is that I want to be the fortune teller that gets her in a tent when she's got a pocketful of cash. Yeah, Juan Pablo's definitely in charge.

The final one-on-one date went to Clare. Crazy Clare. Clare Cray-Cray. Clare, winner of the Tierra Tiara, and she wore it masterfully this week. She's more in control of herself than Tierra was. Although she doesn't have any friends in the house, she hasn't gone to war and created show-stopping drama, hasn't given the other girls reason to let JP know that she's a problem, and she's kept her theatrics at just the right level around him. Who's in charge? Clare. By a mile. By the end of their date, I'd put my vote in the sealed box. She's going to end up with the final rose, folks. Mark my words.

The situation was clear before the date even started, with Juan Pablo's narration that "Last week I got in big trouble with Clare. I made her upset." His sin? Telling her that he'd been uncomfortable. Events got fed into the Clare Grinder, came out as Clare Tears, and suddenly he's at fault in his own mind. For confirmation? Listen to Clare herself: "He hurt my feelings. He's welcome to say I'm sorry." As I recall, she was remorseful when events were fresh, but the Clare Grinder reforms things in her own mind, too. He made a good start with his apology early in the date, yet somehow that wasn't quite enough. Power had not yet fully come into her hands. So she pushed for more and got this:

Juan Pablo: "Promise you won't ever cry because of me."
Clare Cray Cray: "Just don't make me sad."

Game, set, match. Add that to finishing the evening by lounging around his room being adorable in sweats and the deed is done. Ladies and gentlemen, your winner. I'm taking dates right now for the final breakup. I've got July 1.

The final power rankings? Bottom to top, I have Girls, Producers, Juan Pablo, Clare. Then the space people.

We had nothing much to see after that, other than watching Kat take a big, slow-motion, third-strike swing at the cocktail party by going back to her alcoholic dad for meaningful conversation material. Juan Pablo, to his credit, is a kind listener, but her exit was known well before the first rose was awarded. Who's next? Will Sharleen eliminate herself? If not, I'd say the wind is blowing at Chelsie's back. I only hope the space people will let me find out when the time comes.

Juan Pablo #5: And the Award Goes To...

It is customary to name prizes after the person who serves as a model of the thing the award recognizes. Just this week the NFL awarded its Walter Payton award. Baseball gives us the Cy Young, Roberto Clemente, and Hank Aaron awards  (as well as the Rolaids Relief Man, asking us to never forget the qualities and accomplishments of...oh, dear). Hockey has the grandest heritage of them all, with SIXTEEN of them. (Doubt me? Check here.) For The Bachelor, I believe we need only one, however. Ladies and gentlemen, may I propose the Tierra Memorial Tiara:

I was rather shocked to discover I couldn't find a picture of her wearing an actual tiara, so the sunglasses will have to do. We can make our own additions. First it should sparkle, obviously.

(Note the desperation to be at the center of somebody's world shown by the tattoo on her ring finger.)

Second, the tiara should have a liquid reservoir to pump tears out at any necessary moment.

And finally, it should have a pinch mechanism to pull one eye up in a coy sideways glance.

(Care should be taken with the placement of the eye-pull mechanism, or you'll give the wearer a reason to claim that she can't control her eyebrows.)

Unlike the sports awards, we can't wait to give the Tierra Tiara until the end of the season because the winning moment usually comes at the midpoint. No, the Tierra Tiara is more like a prize at a flower show, in which you wait until a bloom has reached its peak of blossom before submitting the entry. For this season of The Bachelor, the time is now. And the winner is...

Clare. In a runaway.

There are certain markers in a Tierra Tiara award recipient, and these are the same markers you find in the people who wreak social havoc in your own world.  If Bachelors were wise to the markers they'd avoid a lot of emotional torment and we'd miss a lot of classic programming. (This award could very easily also be called the Michelle Money Memorial or the Courtney Cup or the Vienna Vase.) So we'll keep them to ourselves, ladies, right? You, me, and the producers are the only ones who need to know:

1. Trouble making women friends. Yeah, there's always that woman in the house that nobody else likes. This is NOT because the other women are all mean/snobby/catty or whatever she claims. No, it's because the female sense about these crazies is magnified by the company of other women. The award nominee might manipulate one person away from another in normal life, but throw her into a pool of strangers at once and she's done for. The moment when Juan Pablo told the girls on the group date to pair up and Clare couldn't manage that? Yeah. Red flag, buddy.

2. Romances marked by intense instantaneous bonding. Award recipients usually haven't been single for very long when they come on the show. Whether they've gone through one boyfriend after another or just recently ended a tortured relationship, they know how to hook a man in a flash but not how to keep him in the boat, so to speak. (Though Clare did a fine job of GETTING him in the boat and then making sure he enjoyed his stay.) But ugh--the hair touches, the head tilts, the lip purses, the little sideways looks...sickening to women. Crack cocaine to men out lookin' fer love.

3. Narcissism. This one is tougher to diagnose, given the competition. However, it usually shows up in a heightened sense of entitlement, of thinking everything about the show exists to support her. The one who sneaks off to the Bachelor's room for some time nobody else gets? Or causes scenes that require the Bachelor to take time away from everybody else to tend to her? Yup. There's your girl. Tierra to a T.

4. Altered reality. There was a beautiful moment this week where JP tried to gently tell Clare that the private get-together, where she'd snuck off to his room to invite him out for a midnight swim, was no good. "I was just trying to do what I would if there was nobody else here and no cameras," she explained. He gently pointed out that they were not in that situation. Her response was complete shock and puzzlement. The real world had priority over the one she'd constructed to justify her actions? Not possible!

Now, with the award requirements in mind, let's review this week's show and see whether you agree with my nomination.

The group traveled to Vietnam by cartoon insta-plane and gave us a good Lesson for Ladies: Be judicious in sharing your scarf-tying tips:

Thought you were mortified by the girl who showed up at prom wearing your same dress? How about the FIVE who showed up on television wearing your same prominent accessory, styled the same way?

Giving them time to change, the first solo date was with Renee. What man doesn't want to date Jennifer Anniston? This is as close as you're gonna get, JP, and this one is actually your age. These no-adventure dates (shopping, taking in the culture) are great for travel shows but tend to be kinda boring. It's a shame, because I REALLY like Renee. Him saying that he kinda sees himself when he looks at her could be bad, but if he loves himself enough, could be good. Fingers crossed that the girl whose "palms hurt" (how adorable is that?) is there at the end.

The group date was the Cultural Experience tour. Clare, as mentioned earlier, failed to come up with a friend to paddle her wee Vietnamese boat with, and wound up with JP as her partner, backed into the weeds, making out, while the other girls had super-fun dates with each other. Chelsie exposed herself as a complete sucker by thinking that JP had actually scored lunch for all them at a Vietnamese home by asking a random stranger whether they could eat somewhere nearby. Not to be outdone in the d'oh department, however, was Cassandra. On discovering this close-knit community where the people worked the fields together and shared everything they owned, she revealed herself as a communist: "We should do this in America!" Clare, obviously, drew attention to herself by not touching the strange food and sustained herself by sucking on a few green beans. But she refused to be ridiculed, and confessed to the camera that she was "not going to change who I am for them!" Gonna keep her sparkle, that one.

For the Fancy Dress portion of the date, JP and Clare slipped away first, where they wound up in swimsuits in the "hot" tub together and she complained about being cold ("I need you! Take care of me!"). How long are these evenings, anyway? There were nine girls involved, and spending that much time with one wasn't unusual? I would have LOVED seeing the girls do as Kelly suggested, just marching over to the pool and handing Clare the rose. Oh, the curse of the funny girl. If Kelly had known she was on the way out, would she have been more willing to go with a splash?

We did get a clue about group date duration, and why the girls talked about being tired, when Clare showed up at JP's door at 4:00 a.m., presumably not long after the date's end, to request a private audience. She's never swum in the ocean! Stuck her toe in, she admitted, but never more than that. Oh, brother. So off they went, got a little more than wild in the waves, and JP was left at the edge of a regret whirlpool. I was a little surprised, given Juan Pablo's history of not allowing passion to drive the important things out of his mind:

Yup, that's our man, last season, one hand still in the popcorn while getting to know Des a little better.

The final solo date went to Nikki, much to Andi's disappointment (though previews for next week suggest she's going to end up just fine about it). Where he and Renee went ordinary, he and Nikki went extreme, rappelling down a chute into a cavern referred to and decorated as "Hell." Nikki was afraid to dance last week, and was now afraid to descend. Unfortunately, though probably not unassisted, she got stuck stating the Metaphor from Hell as she resisted stepping out over the darkness: "This is a lot like falling in love, trusting the other person, and also having very little control." What she failed to do, however, was see the metaphor all the way through to its end: "Slowly descending beyond all hope of rescue, becoming acclimated to more and more discomfort, and eventually ending up in hell, with your entire self and soul consumed."

She made up for it, though, by giving me what might be my favorite takeaway from this otherwise inarguably worthless show. In explaining why she's a pediatric nurse, she said "There's hope that comes with sick kids." No matter what else she does or where she ends up, that one insight has earned her my admiration. But then she put things back in their proper place by describing the way she feels around JP as being as if she's stuck her finger in a light socket. Clearly she's never stuck her finger in a light socket. I hope she doesn't end up caring for a kid who has, or she might not hit the right note of empathy. ("Oh, you must feel WONDERFUL!")

Finally, the cocktail party delivered the promised drama by giving us JP expressing his regret about their rendezvous to Clare, who had just slyly toasted "Finding love, falling in love, and making love" in front of the whole group. Oops! Here's where the Tierra Tiara is won.

• Trouble making women friends? Check. Everybody comments on her crying without doing anything to comfort her.
• Intense romantic bonding? Check. Let's remember this is still the same woman who got mauled by him immediately after saying she'd thrown up in her mouth.
• Narcissism? Check. That "making love" part of the toast was downright creepy.
• Altered reality? This is the moment where she gives us that utter, shattered-world bewilderment at being told that they're not, actually, alone together on this little adventure.

We have our winner! With her rose already in hand (granted BEFORE the wild-waves adventure), three others took the fall tonight. I will miss Kelly's wisecracks, but the funny girl never makes it to the end. Her dog and her job (one and the same, one must conclude) will be glad to have her back. Danielle, of the No Camera Time and Nothing to Say, stated the obvious when she said she could tell there wasn't a connection there. Alli, however, threw me, perhaps because I didn't know she and Andi were different people:

(Sorry, Andi, for the awkward moment I caught.) Yeah, the two of them showed up next to each other in the rose lineup and I thought, "That's Andi on the right and...Li'l Andi?" I like Andi, and hope JP likes her, too, so I'll hope her chances go up with the elimination of any identity confusion.

Previews for next week promise Clare parading her Tierra Tiara in all its glory. Juan Pablo and the human carnage all around may suffer, but I, for one, can't wait.

Juan Pablo #4: Bachelorettes--They're Just Like Us!

If you've ever had some time to kill in an unmoving grocery store line you may have opened an Us Weekly and come across my favorite feature, "Stars--They're Just Like Us!"

That's some quality journalism right there, folks. What could be more valuable than reminding us all of our shared humanity? (I'm sure that's the intent.) And that's what struck me during this week's episode of The Bachelor: how very much like these inhumanly beautiful self-absorbed young women we all are. Or at least I am. (Remember, self-absorbed is one of the listed qualities.)

Here's where I was today:

Second-hand Souk, Riyadh

Here's where the Bachelor girls were:

Bachelorettes in Seoul

Here are the kinds of dresses I was looking at: 

Finery at the Second-hand Souk, Riyadh

While the Bachelor girls got to choose from a wardrobe that produced the likes of this:

Bachelorettes at the rose ceremony

See the similarities? In fact, that green number on Elise in the front row might be a crossover piece.

To keep going, this week I got to return to Riyadh after a monthlong stay in the U.S. Meanwhile, the Bachelor crowd got to travel to Seoul, Korea. Both trips are long. But I did notice that travel sure goes a lot quicker when you go by cartoon:

Whoosh! With some background giggling and a passing-jet sound effect, they were there in only a few seconds! Before leaving, the girls were told they had only an hour to pack, which didn't seem like a big deal because all evidence to this point suggests that they've just been heaving stuff onto the floor all along and only needed to cram it back into the already-half-loaded suitcases. But then I saw this:

Whoa! They have A LOT of luggage! And guess what? I also filled one of those carts when I arrived in Riyadh this week! I was supplying two people with six months' worth of supplies we can't get here. The bachelorettes, on the other hand, were carrying an unknown number of glitter dresses, cute leggings with boots, assorted spandex pieces, rompers and hot pants, and shoes and shoes and shoes. I'd be curious how much volume they could've eliminated if they realized that all their hair care and exfoliation appliances wouldn't plug into foreign outlets. Or maybe they already DID leave those things behind. Oh, dear.

For the first group date, they were told to prepare to POP! By that standard, only one did: Kat. She was bursting with self-love about her dancing ability, sure she was going to shine like New York at night. In preparing to act as backup dancers for a Korean girl-pop group, she claimed she was KILLING IT and that this couldn't be ANY BETTER and if the rose were going to be given based on dancing ability then she'd have it FOR SURE. (I have yet to see a talent-based rose bestowal, but I guess there's always a first time.) "I'm a dancer!" she bleated more than once.

Wait a second. According to the bios, she's a medical sales rep. However, we DO have one actual dancer.

There it is. Right on the screen. Didn't hear a word from her about it. I have to give some credit to this woman-child for her restraint when SHE was the one who actually had something to brag about. Later in the show, she also showed extremely high maturity with her unwillingness to join in a bachelorette gripe session. Yes, Cassandra, you may take two giant steps forward.

I'll tell you who IS just like me, though. Nikki the Non-Dancer. And I'll tell you who I WANT to be just like me: Chelsie, who could only talk about how incredible it was to be given an opportunity to do something no one else ever will. Gratitude and a positive attitude, check. Chelsie, two giant steps forward.

Kat, however, appeared to be moving backward. How did she choose to show Juan Pablo that she's "not just a fun and games girl"? By talking about her alcoholic dad. She also said, "I've always been the strong, successful, independent one." Well, shoot. ME TOO!

Sharleen the Opera Singer scored the solo date. Juan Pablo appears to be way more taken with her than she is with him. (Shades of Desiree and Brooks, anyone?) His choice indicates that he is anxious to date up. Admirable, yes, but wise? Probably not.

The final group date took the remaining girls around Seoul, trying exotic food like OCTOPUS! Hey! I've eaten that! So has about EVERYONE! We're JUST LIKE them! Well, almost all of them. Not Clare, who acted as if she'd been asked to eat a dog pile. If Juan Pablo wants to be just like me, he'll stay away from princesses. But so far, no.

For the sparkly dress portion of the evening, Juan Pablo spontaneously made a vow to keep himself kissing-abstinent. Coincidentally and unfortunately, each of the women spontaneously decided they NEEDED to be kissed that particular night. Oops! Communication is at the foundation of all successful relationships, right? Thus we ended up with Lauren feeling rejected and crying (the #1 biological turn-off to men) and thereby tying her own noose. But whose mouth did he find irresistible, the one that made him completely lose himself and forget his vow? Clare! Yes! The one who JUST EXPLAINED that eating the octopus made her throw up in her mouth. THAT mouth.

Clare throwing up a little in her mouth

Okay, I'm nothing like her. Or him. Except that maybe I'm starting to throw up a little bit in my mouth right now.

The cocktail party was marked by lots of tough talk from girls who WOULD NOT STAND for bad behavior from the others. Clare (surprise!) in particular talked about how she wasn't going to let people Walk All Over Her. And she did so while in the act of being interrupted by Nikki and stepping aside without asserting herself in the slightest. What she did do instead was create a super-uncomfortable passive-aggressively confrontational moment across an innocent dog-loving third party a little later:

Lesson: Don't be the girl in the middle. In the end, though, no harm no foul YET among the girls who are making each other mad. The go-homers were Elise of the Low Camera Time and the Strange Dress,

and Lauren of the Bad Timing and the Practical Khaki Jacket.

But their time will come, guaranteed. As it will for all of us because, well, we're just like them, right?

Juan Pablo #3: The Children's Hour

I had dinner with a couple of little boys Monday night. Ages eight and nine, to be precise. I mean, they're children. They're actually really good company, especially if you're into this certain app that lets you add special effects to videos you take with your phone, like dropping a piano on your brother or blowing him up. If you're not, though, I can see how a night would seem to pass kinda slowly. I can see how someone might be concerned that the Object of Her Affection would be, say, a titch bored in the company of somebody who's too young.

Eight-year-old: You know what kind of animal I would be? A hippo-horse! A hippo-horse-dog-zebra-monkey-bear-lion-giraffe-table-floor-chicken-spoon-plate-everythingthereis! Bahahahaha!

Forget about my sheep pig (which is real). Now THERE'S some raw conversational material. I mean, check out the results I get for a search on "animal mashups":

And it goes on for pages. But I'll admit the topic does have its limitations, and after you've gone a few rounds you're pretty much done.

Cassandra, former NBA dancer: Oh my gosh! Hahahaha!

That kind of conversation, on the other hand, it much more open-ended, and when you have the body of a teenager because you're, well, just barely beyond being a teenager, apparently that's enough to make a relationship really start going somewhere. And high time one did for this poor girl! Did you know it's been THREE YEARS since she last had a first date? THREE YEARS! How could anyone survive a drought like that! What hardship! What sacrifice! I mean, she hasn't been on a first date since she was EIGHTEEN! That's ages! That's, like...

Okay. She's 21.

But in her eyes, she's washed up. Career over, a worn-out single mom, ready to start shopping for cotton underwear. She hardly knows what to do on a first date. Juan Pablo, for his part, knew what he was getting into: "She seems kinda shy." Given his limited English, I'm going to fill in the word he must have meant to use: "vapid." However, he said he was having "a blast" as they jetted around the harbor in the auto/speedboat. What he didn't say was whether it was any more of "a blast" than he had when he took the thing out for the first time by himself and learned how to drive it the day before.

But despite the few words that made it past her ventriloquist lips (did anyone ever see her pronounce a consonant?), and the way she reached to touch the edge of the pan when they were cooking, Juan Pablo seemed satisfied enough at her qualifications to mother his own child that he gave her a red-petaled pass to the next round. Date One, Done.

Group Date: The soccer game failed to deliver the emergency room trip that would have resulted from a field full of bachelors (girls be dratted). Sharleen the Opera Singer probably came closest, and maybe we can blame a soccer ball to the face for the really difficult-to-watch kissing they attempted later. And in the wake of so many stolen kisses in and around the stadium and all the attendant jealousy, I was gratified to see the evening's rose go to Nikki, who settled for a hug. I was also pleased that no one talked about how relationships are like headers or that she'd be sure to score her goal of ending up with Juan Pablo.

The final solo date went to Chelsie, rather than Elise, who'd been complaining to anyone who would listen about girls--particularly Chelsie, her rival for a date card--who were too young. Juan Pablo, she was sure, was looking for a mother for his daughter, not another child to raise.

Some other girl: How old do you think Chelsie is?
Elise: I don't know.
Some other girl: Maybe 25 or 26, I think.
Elise: Really?
Some other girl: And you're...
Elise: 27.

Chelsie scored the requisite Intense Premature Bonding Over Shared Danger date, which involved bungee jumping in this case. After much dread and indecision and reassurance that it didn't matter, that she could do whatever she wanted, she decided to go for it, and she did it WITHOUT ONE WORD about relationships being "like a freefall" or that they require you to "take a leap of faith." Bravo! And at dinner they seemed to hit it off way more naturally than the Premature Bonding would have me expect. Shockingly, she actually knew the band playing for their (surprise!) private concert, though I did not. (The musical product placement clearly failed when "Billy Grngdn" was the best I could capture for my notes. Currington, it turns out, so I had it about right unless you're a mightily insulted country music fan. Sorry.) Her singing and dancing along made this the first private concert that didn't seem acutely uncomfortable. I like this couple.

Finally, in lieu of a cocktail party, Juan Pablo showed up at Bachelor Mansion with breakfast fixins' to surprise the girls in the early morning. Not terribly early, it seemed. The sun was fully up and the rooms were completely bright when the li'l angel darlings smelled meat and pulled off their sleep masks. Top marks go to Renee the Kindly House Mother, who didn't fuss with her hair or makeup (or even brush her teeth) before going to the kitchen. And still looked like Jennifer Aniston. This fact did not escape Juan Pablo's notice: "The girls look great in piyamas," he said.

The obvious next step? A pooparty! he declares. A small cadre of girls did not completely understand this expression, and thought it was still a cocktail party. I'm not sure of the source of the confusion. The words don't sound anything alike. Nevertheless, while Juan Pablo, his chest, and a bevy of beauties took to the pool, Cassandra, Sharleen, Kelly the dog lover, and some blonde girl we later identified as Christy stood at the side of the pool in full makeup and curled hair, holding stemware and recoiling from the water. And complaining about Kat "throwing herself" on Juan Pablo by, I dunno, playing in the poo at a pooparty.

In the end, Christy ("Sparkle Shorts") and Lucy ("Free Spirit") went home. Christy regretted that she hadn't opened up more. If she opened up to the camera about as much as she opened up to Juan Pablo, I see the problem. Lucy, who certainly made the most of her camera time while she had it last week, graciously wished the best to everyone else. She wiped her tears with a hand adorned with her $7000 Cartier love bracelet (thank you for the spot, Kathleen) and walked out barefoot, carrying her $700 Christian Louboutin shoes (thank you, Cheryl). Someone, somewhere, has been keeping an adding machine tape running on the price of everything the professional free spirit ("unemployed princess child of rich parents") from Santa Barbara has worn in her brief stay in Bachelor mansion. I'd love to have it, and I'd love to know what else we'll never see from her suitcase.

So there we are. Two children gone, a play house still full of other children, a really pretty Fairy Goodmother, and a few grumpy alcoholic nannies. Perhaps it's time they all grew up, eh?

(Shameless grandchild promotion.) Many thanks again to my rescuers last week, who filled in spectacularly while I took care of my own mother (in law). I've had great stay, but it's time to head home. Back to the sandbox!

Juan Pablo #2: With a Little Help from My Friends

I don't want to die.

It's got nothing to do with disease or catastrophe or everlasting judgment--those things are going to be whatever they are, and I can't do a whole lot about them right now. Well, I guess I can work on that whole "do unto others thing," but that's beside the point.

No, the terror of dying for me right now is in what comes after. Somebody will go through all my stuff and comment on it, and there's only two ways for that to play out. A) "What a slob!" or B) "What an obsessive freak!" No one, in the middle of a post-decease house-cleanout, looks up and says, "Only a truly noble and gracious and wise human being could have stored batteries the way she did."

That's what I've been doing this week: digging into the private lives of people who can't defend themselves. (Anybody surprised?) When Steve and I moved to Saudi Arabia, leaving my elderly mother-in-law with no family nearby, she moved to a furnished place near Steve's brother. Now that she's comfortably settled there, it's time to clear out her old house while I'm in the U.S. and available to help. My father-in-law, her husband, passed away a few years ago, so going through all the stuff puts me squarely in the commentary box, where I'm scoring demerits against the time when I move into the pine box myself and my dear ones take over the commentary seat. I earn those demerits by commenting on things like this, the box full of retired phones:

(Retired, I believe, because they didn't work. And kept because, I believe...?)

And my darling great-grandmother-in-law and her cousins! If you've ever caught yourself laughing at the size of a bow on a baby girl's head, the photo suggests the trend is far from new:

And oh! The long-expired tax documents, kept in labeled boxes and portfolios! I was already tsk-tsking over the portfolios labeled 2000 and 2002 when I removed one and found this:

But wait! What's that I see to the right?

Yes. And the outside of the box was telling the truth.

But were all boxes telling the truth? I opened this one to make sure I really was about to put a modem (rather than, say, a gold ingot) into the Goodwill pile:

Hold it. There's a box INSIDE of a box. Open that to find...

I DON'T WANT THIS TO HAPPEN TO ME. Upon returning to the U.S., I will go through EVERY box I've packed away and weigh the merits of EVERY single item before I return it to the personal collection somebody is going to judge me for. Why? Because I'm among the class of people that don't actually want everyone on earth to know everything about their most personal selves. You know, the class that The Bachelor might make us forget actually exists. The one that would provide no one to dissolve into tears in a bathroom over a sketchy man she barely knows. No one to bare it all on national television...four times. You know, the one that provides people for the commentary boxes, rather than the glass-fronted pine boxes.

There actually are a lot of commentators, which is good news for me. Locked as I am in a house with no television this week (?!??!?!), I had to call upon friends for blog help. Kristy the Great and Powerful, whose own genius blog is here, volunteered to do the guest spot. But I asked a few others to give me some live-blog commentary to see what kind of a mashup we might end up with.  Our supplemental commentators are an ad exec, a non-profit program manager, a sociology professor, and an art historian. (This is supposed to make you feel as if watching this show doesn't actually make you dumber.) I loved watching the comments come in through the evening, and I figured out pretty quickly I was missing a great week. I hope you enjoy the results as much as I enjoyed watching it come together!

The Naked Truth

by Kristy Steele
(with parentheticals from fellow commentators)

I’ve seen a lot of crazy things over the years watching The Bachelor, but I have to say I never thought I would witness a moment when the words, “We’ll both be naked so we’ll be okay,” would put a woman at ease. Either Juan Pablo has a special gift or he is on a dating show with a lot of needy women. 

One shocking! twist! in tonight’s episode was that not everyone would actually get a date--solo or otherwise--with their potential future husband that week. It was pretty devastating news for a bunch of women anxious to lay claim on words like, “let my guard down,” “vulnerable,” “put myself out there,” and “connection.” But it was great news for Clare, who managed to secure the first one-on-one with Juan Pablo. You remember Clare, the blonde one who squeals every time JP enters the room? Some might say Clare came on the show to find true love and NOT to patch up unresolved issues surrounding the fact that just like the word team, apparently there is no i in Clare. I’m undecided. 

When Juan Pablo came to pick up Clare, housemates in tow like a swarm of worker bees surrounding their queen, he whipped out a scarf to tie around her eyes so their date would remain a surprise. Now, usually when a guy blindfolds you and puts you in his car you’re supposed to be screaming in your head, “NEVER GO TO THE SECOND LOCATION!” and claw your way out at all costs. But throw in a few cameras, a TV host, and 25--sorry, twenty-SEVEN--former homecoming queens and instead you’re whipping out phrases like, “He smells like heaven in a bottle,” and earning yourself a center spot in a hot tub. It’s the American way. When the blindfold came off and revealed a Winter Wonderland in the middle of Los Angeles, her breath was naturally taken away. Don’t worry, she got it back just in time to kiss him and tell him, “You taste like snow.” You heard it here folks, this Latin lover single Dad tastes like…water. Cold, flaky water. It’s okay, though. She made up for it later by avoiding clichés when describing their date as a “perfect fairy tale.” 

(AdExec says Clare is "cray-cray." She is also sure Clare's deceased dad must be very proud of the way Clare is finally "putting herself out there." NonProfit expresses her usual discomfort with private concerts.)

The next lucky winner of the coveted one-on-one date was Kat. Unlike Clare’s “Let’s chill out” invitation, Kat was informed on her note, “I can feel the electricity.” At first I was confused because they were led to a private jet, which seemed anything but electric. That’s when it hit me, “OOOhhh, it must be a PRIUS jet.” The two hopped on and Kat was left in the dark about their destination until Juan Pablo whipped out what looked like missing paraphernalia from an Olivia Newton-John video and told her to put them on. I guess the thing about being a size negative zero is that flashing neon workout clothes don’t look that bad on you. It is finally revealed that they have arrived in Salt Lake City, UT to head up an “Electric Run”--a 5K race done at night with everyone dressed in glow-in-the-dark gear. They are greeted by a screaming mob of glowing runners whose race culminates near a stage where Kat and JP are leading a dance party with thumping music and screaming fans--likely the same lot who made Stephenie Meyer a millionaire--and an elusive rose in soft focus behind the exuberant couple. JP grabs the rose. “Kat?” he yells into the microphone as the crowd completely loses their mind, “Will you accept this rose?” It is in this moment that I desperately want her to say “No.” Please, Kat? Just this once? Say no and watch the lights go out in the stadium. It’s better for ratings. My hopes are in vain as she shouts back, “YES!” into the microphone and her voiceover declares, “It was like we were the only two people there.” Garth Brooks once winked at me at an outdoor concert in San Diego so I know what she means. 

(AdExec says that sexy photo shoots help sell dogs. Fact. And she would know. But she did not know that Lehi, Utah is an awesome destination for electric rave parties, even though she lives nearby. I doubt anyone knew that.)

My clothes are beginning to feel cumbersome so I must be ready to discuss the group date. If this experience could be summed up by Prince Humperdinck it would go something like this: “I’ve got an attorney to disrobe, dogs to save, a bipolar legal assistant to send home, and a Creative Director with an oompa loompa beard to please. I’m swamped!” Not that a photo shoot with dogs while having to dress as a fire hydrant doesn’t sound like something I instantly want to add to my bucket list, or that a category 9 meltdown by a drunk 24-year-old who is REALLY confused about the Heimlich (HeimLICH!) Maneuver wouldn’t be fun to witness, but this date earned train wreck status and it’s only week 2. 

(EVERYONE took delight in "Hymen maneuver." ArtHist wonders how Juan Pablo will feel when his daughter someday hears him reassuring a woman who doesn't want to take her clothes off that "It's okay, I'll do it with you." NonProfit keeps a sizable list of red flags to watch for in people, and added "When I'm mad, I'm really, really mad, and when I'm happy I'm really, really happy" to it. Despite her background she did learn something new last night from The Bachelor: there's a fine line between a hippie and a sex offender. SocProf gives JP points for not giving the rose to the naked cop and for not engaging with the crazy drunk lady. She's hoping having a kid will make him a little more on guard against the crazy. ArtHist (on whom you can count for spotting larger themes) points out that getting naked always buys you more time in the Bachelor house, but that getting messy drunk always gets you sent home.)

My votes: 

• Date Favorite: Elise. Unlike Oompa Loompa beard man, she knows the real meaning of a role model. 
• Best Quote: Kelly. “The date card said ‘say cheese’. I would assume it’s a photo shoot but maybe it’s eating cheese. I’m good at both so I’m alright with either one.” 
• Most Likely To Serve Up Dandelions As An Appetizer At The Clothing Optional Wedding: Lucy. Obvs. 
• Lamest Observation and Therefore My Favorite Observation: Lauren, who said Pablo was looking extra hot because “he’s wearing blue and his arms are showing.” Good news for Lauren! If JP doesn’t take her to the altar, she still has options: 

• Modest Is Hottest!: Andi, for bringing a one-piece bathing suit to the mansion. “Being naked is not my comfort zone. I mean, I send people to jail every day for a living.” 

At the conclusion of the group date from Hugh Heffner meets PETA’s playbook, Juan Pablo awarded Kelly, the one painted brown with white spots, with a rose for being the “best sport.” Painted spots trumped nudity. Note to Lucy: Dalmation costume for the next date, all the way. Ultimately, it was Amy and Chantel who got the boot. Amy seemed surprised that her newscaster role play failed to impress her audience, but I think she gets it now. Chantel, Chantel. You couldn’t help yourself could you? The shock, the tears, and then the ever predictable, “I thought we had a connection.” Yes, well, I thought I would share my skinny grandma’s metabolism. We all have our ups and downs. One day your prince will come and whisper those precious words, “We’ll both be naked so we’ll be okay.” And it will be.

Juan Pablo #1: The Audacity of Hope

"I think this is going to be a really good season."

That was my daughter Jill, clinging to the universal hope that this year will be better, that morning will come, that bullies will be humiliated, bank errors in your favor will go undetected, and ducklings will cross the road safely. Rhett Butler will come back and Tara will be saved, right? Hope is the power that moves us forward, upward, onward. Or that parks some of us in front of the TV, believing in the power of True Love to overcome all the obstacles of contrived courtship. Others of us (ahem, right here) find ourselves parked in front of the TV believing instead in the power of Astute Casting to provide us with 11 weeks of high entertainment. The first week is never a good bellweather for the season to come--too many people, too much chaos to learn anything very useful. But Bachelor producers have never failed to pepper the cast with just the right number of flakes to keep the stew interesting. So I have hope.

And it's hope that brought all these outstanding ladies together, isn't it? A bizarre, narcissism-fueled hope, but hope nonetheless. Consider the breadth of insecurity in the typical, less hopeful female:

• Do these pants make my butt look fat? 
• My ears stick out.
• I have a weird laugh.
• That mascara is how much? I'll take it.
• I just seem to be a loser magnet.
• I hate my knees.
• I hate her.

(In the final item, "her" refers to whatever prettier girl is in the room. And there's always at least one.)

Among Bachelor candidates, however, the thinking goes like this: "In a pool of 25 stone foxes, women so beautiful they beat thousands of other beautiful women to get here, all competing for one man with all the substantial resources at their disposal...I'd say my chances are good." These are women so mathematically and logically challenged that they see this setup as a legitimately solid way to find not just a guy, but a life mate. Speed dating, with a one-to-one ratio? Nope. Online dating, with a one-at-a-time process? Nope. Setup by a friend? Not a chance. A competition against a roomful of women who are all the hottest woman in any room they're in? THAT'S where I'm going to shine.

Now that's hope worth watching.

We got a preview of the season on Sunday night, and a chance to see some of these women before their limo-exit appearances. We also got a peek into some of their reasons for volunteering to be on the Bachelor:

• "I'm not getting any younger or more fertile."
• "I'm always a booty call."
• "I can stick my fist in my mouth."
• (Mom) "You need a boyfriend."
• "I can drink a lot of wine."

That last one is onto something. She may be the best qualified to do well on this show. I didn't get much else from the preview, except the squirm-inducing moment when Chris Harrison explained how the women would be notified they'd made the final cut by producers fanned out across the country to visit each one personally: "We're hitting all these women in one day," Chris said. Eeyikes.

Monday's opening show left an equally minor impression. Two of my three top crazies went home straightaway, which says a lot for Juan Pablo but not a lot for my entertainment prospects. Lauren, the broken-hearted ex-fiancee with the strange mouth and the overwhelming emotions, couldn't talk herself out of using her solo time with Juan Pablo to talk about said ex-fiancee situation. Amy J., the massage therapist who got WAY too ecstatic while giving massages, overplayed her hand (so to speak) by oiling up (did she leave prints on his suit coat?) and digging in on a virtual stranger who was visibly uncomfortable. (The unfortunate consequence of all too many massages.) We do still have Lucy, whose identified profession is "free spirit." It's always a puzzle why some of these edgy or oddball women stick around as long as they do. Maybe a weirdo that puts people off in a normal setting appears adorable among so many more conventional beauties.

Then there are the ones that seem too level-headed for this show, which means they're doing a good job of keeping their freak flags furled for the time being. Renee, the single mom, seemed to connect very easily with JP. He was also quite taken with Andi, the prosecutor in the dark purple dress. (Let's hope she avoids the contention trap that the last prosecutor couldn't keep himself from stepping in.) I like Lacy, the nursing home owner, as well. Sharleen, the opera singer, got a LOT of attention for her classical dress, which should be a lesson to everyone who thinks the key to being noticed is to show a lot of skin. She also seemed unclear about why she was there and how she got there, and came within a whisk of turning down the uncomfortable surprise of the first-impression rose. (My favorite line of the night: "Seriously?") Perhaps it was jet lag. Perhaps it was late-onset common sense. Either way, Juan Pablo wasn't reading the situation very well.

Other observations from the first night:

• There's nothing Juan Pablo can say that these women won't all giggle for. He's delightful! He's charming! He's witty! Now give us another line about how many and beautiful we are!
• I'm obsessing a little bit over the planning that went into the entrance for Lauren S., the music composer, who pushed a piano along the driveway. Did she get to do a test run? Or did she just take producers' words that there wouldn't be too much of a slope up or down?
• I'm also wondering about Molly, the dog, and how she spent the evening. Did Kelly (profession: "dog lover") bring poop bags with her? Is the dog going to stay in the mansion the whole time?
• During the previews for the rest of the season I realized I'd never noticed how many corners there are in this house for crying into. Suddenly the labyrinthine architecture makes sense. More corners = more crying venues. I was also puzzled by the women's restroom sign on the door outside the spot where someone collapsed by the toilet sobbing "I hope you die, Juan Pablo!" Aren't they all women's restrooms right now? (And is there something innately wrong with me that this is my question, rather than what he did to deserve death?)
• My daughters saw Juan Pablo this afternoon at LAX, so look for an LA winner. Or he was just here for promos and premier night. One of those two.
• Finally, I'd like to give a resounding round of applause to Ashley, the grade school teacher who took the time to comfort crazy-mouth, and said as she sobbed about how she couldn't believe she was sobbing, "So what are you going to do?" Now THERE'S a woman who knows how to take care of business. 

At this point, I don't think I've seen anything to really get excited about, but I'll go with Jill and choose to be hopeful. I mean, I just learned there's such a thing as a sheep pig. So anything's possible. And next week is right around the corner.

Mangalitsa pigs

Des #11: The Whole Truth

Bachelor producers are a bunch of lying liars. Sure, I've given them plenty of credit before for pretending they're making a serious show, and maybe they were telling the truth when they said we'd NEVER seen a season like this before! or that this would be the most! shocking! season! finale! ever!, but when they say they're "coming to you live from L.A." they're not. They're just not. Watching from L.A. this week, I'm here to tell you we're the last to find out. In real time, Eastern and Central time zones watch at the same time, an hour later it starts in Mountain (hollah! No, seriously, HOLLAH. Maybe someday people will know we exist.), then Pacific TWO HOURS after that. The general tone of the texts I got through the evening was "Have you seen it yet?" No, was my answer. I'm in TVLand, waiting for TV.

At some point (ahem--MUCH earlier in the day) our Bachelor Nation delegates gathered in their solid-color sleevelesses in Convention Hall, which is really just an occasional reuse of the ABC Lighting Prop Warehouse.

Please, can we identify ALL the sources of light in that room? Holy b'glow-sticks, Batman! We have the votives, of course, serving as a Barrier of Flame to keep the women off Juan Pablo (oops! spoiler!), some sort of uplight behind the votives, some creepy spotlit bouquet-thingies, illuminated stair risers, sconces, spotlights, TV panels, and of course the glowing stage floor. Now I've watched enough HGTV to know that lighting is what transforms a room, but apparently somebody who picked up that same general idea also had an unlimited budget and no restraint. If you got it, Lighting Department, I want it. Chris Harrison wants ambiance!

 

I cannot identify all the light-emitting things in the background of this shot. Sure is shiny, though.

And what are those orbs? Okay, perhaps I'm getting sidetracked from the show, but I'm not alone. If there really had been two hours of content, that would have been what we saw, but instead we got about forty-five minutes of content and a whole lot of studio time. So is it my fault for being distracted if producers bore me with audience input and simultaneously throw in a bunch of shiny things? (I say no.)

When we did have something to watch, we got to see Des, freshly heartbroken from Brooks' rejection, talking about next steps with Chris Harrison:

Des: I just want to go home.

Chris: I understand. (Silence.)

Translation: You can't.

Yeah, she's stuck there, all right. Gotta deal with these other men one way or another. We've been treated to plenty of hyperbole about how high the stakes are: "Can Des find the love she deserves?" (Deserves? What does that mean? How do you break through the dividing line between those who do deserve love and those who don't?) "Or will her dream of finding love be CRUSHED FOREVER?" Forever, folks. Forever. This is her absolute last and only chance of finding companionship. Fail here, and it's straight to the kitty section of the animal shelter.

So, because she looks like a person who might have allergies, she decides to give it a go and check out the remainders one more time: Drew "One Fluid Motion" and Chris "Poetry Man." She's certainly all in, though, because she's giving herself just that one microsecond at the rose ceremony, while cameras are rolling, her mind is tumbling, and she may or may not be nauseated, to decide whether she "feels" anything. In her own words, "If I can't see a future, for me it's over."

Well, hello, kitty!

Don't worry, with enough love you can redeem anything.

But no! She's going to give the men one more chance! Open her heart to love again! Have another couple of dates, see how things shake out, and who knows? Maybe that cat will have to find another home.

First off, Drew, who has already set his own course for an animal shelter shopping trip by saying, "I'm ready to propose. I'm so in love with her that I could never walk away from her. That's just never gonna happen. I'll never leave Desiree." Look, pal, in movies, if you don't want to be killed off, don't cough, and don't look at a picture of your wife and baby before you go into a battle. In reality TV, if you don't want to get cut, don't say "I'll never" or "Nothing could go wrong" or "I'm in control of this game." We clear?

But my warning is going to hit about three months too late, and things already seemed strained as they got on some seriously pokey horses to w-a-l-k v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y to the beach.

Hey, wait a sec! As I'm searching for pictures of Pokey I see Drew actually looks kinda like Gumby:

Do you see it? Move that swoop of his over a little to the side, give Drew some mittens, give Gumby a collar and a sweater...I think we're there. Now all we need is Drew saying "Oh, no! Oh, no!" in falsetto while twisting his clay head from side to side while Des (taking a lesson from last week and speeding things up) tells him there's nothing there.

One down, only one to go. Not giving herself a lot of options, is she? Is Des starting to feel that little kitty tongue licking her face in the morning to wake her up? Apparently so, because she says before her date with Chris, "This is the last chance for me." Last, folks. The last.

(It's important to keep your options in mind.)

So to avoid ending up with Pirate Kitty, Des announces that she would "like for today to go perfect." Well, gosh. I'd like today to go perfect, too. Here's my perfect: Wake up perfectly rested. Go for a walk. Meet a puppy. Pick up croissants for breakfast. Write the blog in ten minutes. Get a good watermelon. Save a child's life by stopping a stroller from rolling into the street. Have a stranger tell me I look great. Tarte flambe for dinner. I don't think either Des or I are asking too much.

But in her case it works! And I honestly really like what happens here. Des pulls the covers off the way The Bachelor goes about failing at helping couples find each other, and they let her. The problem, she can see, is that she went for the wrong guy in Brooks, got swept into romance by romantic settings and acting out old patterns of falling for guys who just never quite loved her back. "You do like the chase," she admits. All the unnatural constraints of the show made it hard to see the plainly solid, good guy that was exactly NOT what all her past mistakes were. For that reason--that the first choice got cleared out of the way so that she could see the better choice--I think these two actually have a chance. The honest truth.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Mustn't give short shrift to my favorite bizarre twist of the whole process: The ring "shopping." I dearly wish I knew more about the arrangements, here. Is this ring on loan? Is Chris on the line for the full price if the wedding goes through? For sure he ain't buyin' it on the spot. Chris refers to it as "a commitment I will provide for her." Note: With a ring that has been provided for you. Weird. Every time.

As for the proposal, I think we could all read exactly what Chris was thinking and feeling when, after he poured out his heart and was about to drop onto one knee for the proposal, Des said to wait, that she had something to tell him. Ack! The knife! I'm not sure when or how he fully processed that she wasn't about to send him home, but it took a while, and the poor guy was feeling that knife twist back and forth a number of times.

Phew! Another season done! The wishes of many were granted in seeing Juan Pablo emerge as next season's Bachelor, which I will be watching from across an incomprehensible cultural divide. (I'm pretty sure there's a Saudi Arabian Idol, and equally sure there's not a Saudi Arabian Bachelor.) For more on what I find between now and January as I start living in said exotic locale, keep an eye on Foreign-Girl.blogspot.com. I have exactly one actual post there now. Making progress.

I'll see you in January! And I'll let you know if this guy turns up anywhere: