Hello Readers, welcome back.  

As freeing as the feeling of shirking off the Bachelor/Bachelorette hairshirt I once tolerated is, it is difficult to organize any semblance of a profound thought upon which to leave you pondering week to week.  My commitment, however, is unwavering. 

Recent events (both past and ongoing) in my own busy life over the past couple of weeks have forced me to ponder life and mortality more than I usually do: that is to say constantly.  In the recent weeks I attended the wedding of two people I care greatly about.  For the first time in as long as I can remember, when the priest asked the congregation at the wedding if we would help the new couple to grow by providing support and guidance to them in their new marriage, I whole heartedly responded, "I will."  I actually paid attention during the ceremony rather than wondering what time the bar would open and if it would be a full bar or just beer and wine.  I did not wonder if there would be a DJ or a band.  I did not commit to dance the funky chicken or the hokey pokey.  I simply sat in my pew and enjoyed the happiness pouring from the altar.    

Shortly after that wonderful event, I also attended the funeral of someone I also cared about.  Without providing too many personal details, this person was a very old person who was, to say the least, a huge influence in the lives of her family, extended family, and friends.  A full life is something to celebrate; however, the loss of a person like that is still a cause for sadness much like a final bite of chocolate cake or finishing the final page of a great book.  Like that cake or the book, she will be fondly remember yet difficult, if not impossible, to replace.  Only a few people like that are available to us in our lifetimes and being aware of that is a real gift.  

I suppose all an average Joe or Jane can hope for is to die peacefully while the love and respect you've inspired in others continues to remain alive.  We cannot all change the entire world, but the best of us change the world around them for the better.   

To top all of that off, another person  I care deeply about was hospitalized and, there's no way of sugar coating it, came way too close to joining the aforementioned old person on St. Peter's escalator.  Fortunately, St. Peter will have to wait a while longer to meet that person.      

All in all it's been quite a couple of weeks.  I realize that one's mortality is not the light-hearted banter you anticipated this week, but the thoughts are inescapable.  On a lighter note, there are apparently more than one of you out there who still care about the blog.  Outdated platform aside, I promise to keep the content as fresh as a baby's newly powdered bottom if you'll promise to humor me from time to time.  Thank you for your comments.  I'm glad you're all doing well in your respective parts of the world.        

Franz Kafka once said, "the meaning of life is that it stops."  German atheists have a gift for brevity and bluntness, do they not?   Regardless, that strikes me as true. 

Christians are taught that life is nothing more the soul's temporary layover in an imperfect vessel called the body.  Depending on how that temporary vessel is utilized, the final destination of that soul is either a soft place to land or a hot place to burn . . . forever.

In the world of Instagram, reality television, Tik Tok, and Snapchat, our lives have been reduced to 280 (thanks, for the additional 160 characters, Elon) characters or a brief snippet on social media.  I can literally see what my favorite celebrities had for lunch, look around for 360 degrees on the beach where they ate it, and watch some old lady dance with her granddaughter at any time, at any second, on any day of the week.   

Whether we realize it or not, this unfettered, unadulterated access to everything at all times via an iPhone screen is literally robbing us of our lives.  Granted, my generation had the advantage of not growing up with any social media or smartphones.  My father's idea of social media, was turning off the television, throwing our shoes outside, and us right behind them before locking the door and telling us, "go play."  Back then that was called good parenting.  Today, that would warrant a call from Child Protective Services.  It's a shame, really.  

The most deleterious yet subconscious consequence of burying our faces in a screen for hours upon hours, is that not only are we filling our minds superfluous trash, we never replace that trash with anything substantive.  Scrolling incessantly is like unwrapping all of the merchandise in a vast warehouse, shipping it out the back door, and allowing the cardboard and packing peanuts to fill the void.  It is a metaphorical kicking of the can down the road wherein our minds are never allowed to turn off and never permitted to rest or reset.  We are the balloon caught in the updraft or the hamster caught on the wheel.  This has caused my generation great harm, but it is literally in the process of destroying the two generations behind mine.  

So today, I am going to encourage all of you to do a couple of things.  First, please call, write, text, or make contact with someone you love.  That's it.  There's no requirement that you tell that person what he or she means to you.  No requirement you say, "I love you."  Just be present in their day, if even for just a few moments.  Second, go buy a paper book and commit to read it.  I recently re-read two books that were assigned reading in high school and college to re-examine my perspective as a cranky old(er) man versus the naive teenager I was when I was forced to read them.  It was a rewarding exercise that helped me appreciate my walk from adolescence into middle age and beyond.  It also kept me away from my phone for many hours.       

George Santayana wrote, "there is no cure for birth and death save to enjoy the interval."  Doing that takes a concerted, sustained, conscious effort; especially in today's world.  Do yourselves a favor and make time to enjoy your own interval.   

We'll talk soon.  Have a wonderful week.  DP

SOME GUY IN AUSTIN IS BACK!

How like a winter hath my absence been
From Thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen,
What old December's bareness everywhere!

 

--William Shakespeare, Sonnet 97

 

Winter indeed.  August 16, 2017.  Not only was that day the 40^th anniversary of Elvis’ death it was the last date that I, Some Guy in Austin, posted on this blog.  As mind-shattering as that is to me, I’m pleased to let you all know—if any of you are left—that not only am I still here almost six (yes, six) years later, like Ron Desantis, I’m officially announcing that I’m back in the race.

As is probably the case with any of you reading this, a lot—and I mean a lot—has happened in my life since 2017.  I’m certain that some of you keep up with Lincee Ray (ihategreenbeans.com) on her site and her podcast, which means that you’ve been listening to me on a regular basis.  While that’s something I really enjoy doing, I recently found myself contemplating my life in the way that insomnia-ridden men of my age do from time to time.  In the middle of the night, I pulled up my blog and began reading the comments on some of the old posts.  I smiled a lot.    

 

The truth is that I miss writing.  Granted, as a lawyer, I write constantly, but not the same way I do here.  I miss the introspection that pours from my brain into my fingers on the keyboard.  I miss the catharsis of hitting “send” and awaiting your feedback.  I miss the process. 

 

So, rather than languish in self-pity, I’m dusting off the creative side of my brain and committing to blocking out some time each week to post on this blog again.  I do not physically or, more accurately mentally, have the energy to watch and recap The Bachelor anymore.  I also don’t have the time.  Ergo, the length of the posts will be substantially shorter than my prior ones, but I hope to pack them as full as a fat lady’s jeans.  Reading my blog, like taking off that fat lady’s jeans, will be like opening a can of biscuits. 

The subject of the blog will be whatever pops into my head and stays there when I sit down to type it out.  I wholeheartedly ask that you provide me post ideas in the comment section of the blog.  As was the case in the past, I’ll attempt to get to all of them.  I don’t know if any of you are still out there.  If you are, please know, I’ve missed you and I am thrilled to be back.  Now let’s get to it.

 

First of all, do people even read blogs anymore?  I feel like I did in 2008 when a very long relationship I was in ended and I had to “put myself out there” again.  When I entered that relationship texting didn’t exist and Match was something you used to light a fire.

 

As nostalgic as that memory makes me feel, it also reminds me that I’m lucky to be married to Mrs. Some Guy.  She’s proven herself to be reliable, patient, and tolerant.  Did I mention tolerant?  Regardless, this blog is my preferred vehicle to communicate my musings.  For now, anyway, I’m choosing to own it. Robert Frost once wrote, “[h]ome is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.”  Here, I’m home.  Take me in.

 

In reading through some of my old posts and the comments they elicited, I was struck by the renewed sense of familiarity I felt.  I felt as if we’d never been apart from one another.  I felt as if we still cared about one another.  I suppose that feeling is perhaps one of the greatest gifts of bridging the gap between fear and vulnerability by sharing a part of oneself with another person.  There is a comfort and a security in it and I never realized how much I missed that until I began reading the comments once again.  Granted, I’m not alone now.  I have a very blessed life with Mrs. Some Guy; however, if you’ll recall, our relationship began as a result of this blog.  

Looky here:  (http://guyinaustin.blogspot.com/2012/07/dp-off-season-post-34-peak-behind-vail.html).

 

Incidentally, like many women, I suppose, Mrs. Some Guy makes lists of things to do, to pack, to throw out, to donate, to look up, to eat, to (insert anything).  She’s like a living Buzzfeed.  In looking at one of her lists last night I was remind that she has beautiful handwriting.  I mean impeccable penmanship.  Like, if she was an Essene, her Dead Sea Scroll would have been the neatest one found in the broken clay pot in the cave.  Archeologists centuries later would know exactly what she was scrolling about.  Good penmanship is a turn on for me.  Over the last ten (yes, ten) years that penmanship has proven to be an apt metaphor for who she is.  My penmanship is sh*t.  Jackson Pollack painted neater than I write.  Let’s not dwell on what that says about who I am.  Anyhoo.  I digress.  

In my quest to tackle my busy life over the past six years, I had forgotten what gifts I received simply by writing to all of you.  It’s hard to believe that half of that time included a pandemic that shook us all to the core.  Our tenuous grasp on all things real (at least mine anyway) was challenged in a way none of us could foresee.  It wasn’t all bad for me, however.  After stocking my deep freeze with meat, accumulating as much bottled water and toilet paper as I could gather, and preparing for Armageddon, something unexpected happened. 

For a short time at the beginning of the pandemic there was a silence in my life that had not been there for, well, ever.  There was calm. 

 

There were no planes to catch, no laptop to take out of my bag in the security line, no traffic to swear in, no deadlines to meet.  There were substantially fewer emails, and even fewer places to be.  As upended as my life became, serenity permeated through the uncertainty. 

 

There was no twenty-minute wait at my favorite place to eat lunch. There was a homemade lunch.    There was no dry cleaning to lug across the parking lot to my car, no suit to put on, and no tie.  There was a t-shirt and jeans, and my favorite pair of boots.  There was no late-night phone call to Mrs. Some Guy from a strange hotel room after a day at the courthouse.  There was a hug or a light rub across the arm and a “goodnight” in my ear.  There were no lines to stand in, no people to wait on.  There was no road noise to drown out the birds singing in my back yard.  There was just me.  At home.

 

Goethe wrote, “he is happiest, be he king or peasant, who finds peace in his home.”  For a short time after March 20, 2020, I indeed found that peace at home just as I used to find peace writing this blog.  I hope all of you did too.  Welcome Home. 

 

Well, there it is.  Please join me again once a week and tell others to as well.  Take care of yourselves and recognize the places you feel at home.  In the meantime, if you need me, I’ll be shaking off the rust.  It’s nice to be back.  DP     

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Who's Down with B.I.P.?

Hello Listeners (nee Readers),

Exciting changes have occurred.  My good friend and fellow blogger, Lincee www.ihategreenbeans.com Ray has successfully launched her I Hate Green Beans Podcast which can be linked from her website or via iTunes.  I've been honored to be a guest on several of the episodes, but please, don't limit your listening enjoyment to me.  

We've worked out a few kinks, polished up our "Ummms," "Uhhhs," and we're focusing on our non-regional diction so y'all can understand us.  It's not perfect (yet), but Lincee deserves huge congratulations for entering a new medium and figuring out how to edit, post, and entertain all at the same time.  

In the latest episode, we chronicle Part 1 of Episode 1 of this season's Bachelor in Paradise.  It's posted now.  ENJOY and comment below and on Twitter.  At this point, any suggestions on content, making the show better, or simply just a note to say hello are all welcome.  

For those of you wondering, yes, I'll be launching my own non-Bachelor Podcast in the near future.  I, too, have some kinks that need to be worked out first.  More to come on that, but first, enjoy Part 1 of Episode 1 and look out for Part 2 in the very near future.  Congrats, Lincee.  I'm proud of you.  

DP

Howdy Folks! BACHELORETTE PODCAST ANYONE?

Hello (former) Readers.  I know, it's been a tough ride for all of you this season without my clever observations about this season.  What gives, you ask?  Work.  That's what.  As much as I miss writing  and interacting with all of you, the bills have to get paid around SGIA's house and when I'm not on an airplane sometimes I get to enjoy that house.  

Never fear, however.  As most of you know www.ihategreenbeans.com Lincee Ray has started her own podcast.  You can hear the both of us break down this season's episodes live and in person (sort of) by logging on to her site and clicking on the link.  

I'll post as soon as I can get above the fray here in Austin.  Just because I'm not here doesn't mean I don't want to be.  Take care of yourselves and let me know what you think about the podcasts.  

We'll talk soon.  DP

SGIA LIVES

Well HELLO, Readers (those of you who are left).  Let me say a few things about the past few weeks before I get to my well-reasoned explanation for not taking time out to write about the past couple of Bachelor episodes.  

First off, I'm fine.  THANK YOU so much to those of you who posted "where are you" and "how are you" and "I'm starting to worry about you" messages in my email and social media pages.  Frankly, I am humbled and flattered that my absence from what to me, at times, seems like such a meaningless endeavor could actually compel some of you to check on my well-being.  Thank you again.  I sincerely apologize if any of you wasted even a moment of your precious time being even remotely concerned about me.  

Second, I have to confess that I have not watched the past two episodes, nor have I taken the time to find out what happened.  With the exception of a very brief conversation with my dear friend, Lincee www.ihategreenbeans.com Ray--who also received inquiries about my aforementioned well-being--I have no clue as to where we stand.  

Granted, Fleiss let the cat out of the bag when he prematurely announced Rachel as our next Bachelorette before she was (presumably) defiled by Nick (No. 6 in the Defiled by Nick on National Television Fan Club, by the way) in the Fantasy Suite prior to being sent home. So my assumption is that Raven and Vanessa are the last women standing.  I'll catch up.  I just don't know when. 

Third, for those of you who have been reading this blog (Bachelor and non-Bachelor content) for some time now, you're undoubtedly familiar with my love of Bigfoot; a love, by the way, that predates any of the ridiculous "documentaries" currently posing as entertainment on various networks across the cable spectrum.  

I actually watch Finding Bigfoot.  I watch not because I actually believe that a bi-pedal hominid is going to come waltzing out of the woods in front of the camera, but because I am literally fascinated by the utter lack of rationalism and objectivity required by the scientific method demonstrated on the show in addition to the presupposed, unilateral conclusion that "Bigfoots" (yes, plural) are omnipresent before any of the "evidence" is gathered.  They might as well be looking for the Easter Bunny or Easter Bunnies as it were.  

As I see it, there are really only two logical possibilities that a person can draw from watching that show.  Either Bigfoot, as elusive as he is regarded to be, does not exist or he has a severe aversion to fat white men and lesbians.  

That show would more aptly be titled Not Finding Bigfoot.  Regardless, I read that the four "investigators" on that show just signed multi-year, seven figure deals--each--to continue to not find Bigfoot in some of the most pristine wilderness sites across the world.  

I, as the saying goes, am in the wrong business.  

SGIA Captured in Northern California circa March 2017

Unlike Bigfoot, I don't have multiple groups of middle-aged men hiking around Northern California howling into the darkness and hitting trees with sticks looking for me in an effort to find fame and fortune while fighting off the inevitable onset of Type-2 Diabetes.  Ergo, my own elusiveness as of late.

Frankly, if anyone wants to find me he should just place a six pack of cold Lone Star bottles with my name on it at the front door of any Austin honky tonk and retire to the bushes with a dart gun.  I'd be stuffed and on display inside of a week.  

As most of you also know, I am an attorney by day and those responsibilities, as of late, have grown like the Venus Flytrap in Little Shop of Horrors.  Just to give you an idea of what my life has been like over the past 11 days.  My schedule is listed below. 

• March 1.  Fly to central Florida for a deposition then fly back to Austin on the same day. 

• March 2.  Fly to southern California for several depositions and client meetings.  

• March 3.  Fly home on morning red eye for court in Austin that afternoon

• March 6.  Fly to northern California for a hearing in Federal Court and client meetings before and after it.  

• March 7 Redeye home for a hearing in Austin in the AM then hop a flight to Houston for a hearing in the afternoon.  Fly back to Austin that night.

• March 8 Status conference via phone (thank God) for Houston case.

• March 9-10  Federal brief and state pleadings drafted in addition to supplementation of discovery in 4 cases with pending depositions and hearings in March.  

I'm also traveling the 13th and 14th, 19th-23rd, and 27th and 28th of March.  Oh yea, none of that takes in to account the amount of preparation (reading, writing, meeting, researching  etc.) and I have personal stuff to attend to as well.  

You get the picture.  Sorry I haven't written.  For what it's worth, the blog isn't the only thing on hold.  Overall, I am blessed to have a busy practice and a lot of work to translate into the one thing that makes the world go around.  

Stressful?  Yes.  Fun?  Not really.  Perspective is gained and lost depending on one's proximity to the stresses of life. (un)Fortunately, I've been in cycle after cycle of this type during my career.  It will slow down . . . eventually.   

Oh, listen to me.  I've gotten so wound up in my own trivialities and solipsism that I haven't yet focused on what is really important here.  I hope that Nick finds true happiness after sleeping with Raven and Vanessa  . . . and Kaitlyn, and Andi, and Amanda, and Rachel . . . .

Thanks again for caring.  Your messages mean a lot.  If you care, my money is on Vanessa next week.  Frankly, I think Nick would prefer a geographically close Canadian with a boisterous family who drink like fish to a conservative, Bible belt Southern Girl from small town Arkansas.  I would have chosen differently, but let's hope it all works out.  

Love you.  Mean it. 

Have a wonderful week.  In the meantime, if you need me, I'll be about 38,000 feet over your heads.  DP

Bachelor Nick Episode 6: A Real Beach Fest

Hello, Readers.  Well, it’s week 6 but it sure feels a hell of a lot like weeks 1-5, doesn’t it?  Aside from Nick crying more than little girl on the playground with a scraped knee the season has been rather uneventful.  I suppose it’s a good thing that Nick hasn’t (yet) defiled anyone (as far as we know), but that might change next week if Corinne and her (allegedly) platinum “vagine” have anything to say about it.  Good Lord.  This is what passes for entertainment these days. 

Fresh off last week’s highbrow lecture about “emotional intelligence” Taylor literally and figuratively heads out in a bit of a different direction.  You’ll recall she was left to the mercy of a chanting voodoo tribe after being dumped like a load of hot mulch in the swamp when Nick chose Corinne over her on the dreaded two-on-one date.  “It’s “absolute bullshit that I’m going home,” she whines as she walks through the woods to the heretofore unannounced location of Nick and Corinne’s dinner. 

“Absolute bullshit.”  Man, you have to love a lady.  By the way, did anyone else wonder how she knew where to go?  Maybe the tarot card lady told her or maybe the Queen of Cups foretold the dinner location?  I didn’t see a compass.     

Regardless, Taylor shows up braless and fresh off the voodoo ritual to cock block Corinne at the victory dinner.  “What the f*ck is she doing here,” wonders Corinne aloud.  Again, you have to love a lady.  

Look, I’m no puritan and Lord knows I have a foul mouth but both of these women could use a few etiquette lessons from Henry Freaking Higgins.  I was going to say from Emily Post but I read her book recently and she lost all credibility in my eyes.  An entire book on manners and there’s not one chapter on farting. 

Back to Nick.   

Nick looked so over it he could barely prevent himself from rolling his eyes and sighing.  Corinne occupies herself as she always does:  by pounding flutes of free champagne.  Taylor takes him outside for . . . well, I’m not sure why she took him outside.  

As Whitney would find out later in the show, Nick’s decision was made the first time he told her to go home and the answer, not surprisingly, was still “no” when she wandered back from the malaria infested swamp seeking redemption.  She confirmed what we were all thinking last week:  that she’s hardly emotionally intelligent. 

Boooorrrriiinnggggg.    

Let’s face it, Nick deserved a little taste of the medicine he’s been doling out on the past 4 reality shows but we certainly didn’t.  Taylor didn’t do herself any favors and eventually wanders off camera to begin filling out her Bachelor in Paradise application.   Corinne barely manages to keep it cool but can’t resist a “what happened” when Nick sits back down.  Corinne gloats.  Why not?  She earned it.    

The girls get a carriage ride to the Rose Ceremony after getting more dressed up than a sore finger.  Sternums abound.  I haven’t seen so much exposed sternum since my last Hasselhoff concert.  I immediately lamented turning down an opportunity to invest in double-sided boob tape a few years ago.  They must have that stuff by the case laying around the mansion.   

Jaimi opines that every night is “im-poor-int”.  Apparently not im-poor-int enough for a cocktail party. Harrison shows up to announce that Nick knows what he wants.  Translation:  This show has a limited amount of time and a lot of dates to pack in.  No drinks.    

Roses

Corinne

Rachel

Kristina

Raven

Vanessa

Danielle L.

Jasmine

Whitney

Danielle M.

  

Gone

Josephine

Alexis (time to dry clean the dolphin/shark suit)

Jaimi (dumped in her home town)

The remaining bunch is headed to St. Thomas. 

Vistas of St. Thomas via sea plane followed by vistas of Nick’s junk in his short shorts, tank top, and bright white tennis shoes.  He was dressed like a 12 year old girl on her first day at cheer camp. 

The girls go with denim shorts and loose fitting tops and we learn that not unlike every other post-continental U.S. location in Bachelor history, St. Thomas is indeed the “perfect place to fall in love.”  

The sea plane pulls a Maverick and buzzes the tower.  I was looking for Ricardo Montalban and Herve Villachaize to waive it into the dock.  Dressed like a 12 year old girl on her second day of cheer camp, Nick shows up in  pastel short shorts, white shoes, and a tank top.  The only thing he was missing was a matching bow and a set of pompoms.  

Kristina immediately gets the one-on-one and Jasmine melts down on the dock and complains as he ferries Kristina away in the sea plane. 

Nick heads to the Annaberg Ruins with Kristina for beers and the most horrific broken family story we’ve ever heard on this show.  How freaking sad was that?  Eating lipstick, getting kicked out of the house at 6 years old by her mother, living in a Russian orphanage, being forced to go to America and leave her sister behind.  It went on and on. 

Props to her for not breaking that out at the first cocktail party.  She seemed reluctant to “use” it and that made it all the more credible and, frankly, a lot sadder.  I had visions of Oliver asking for more porridge rather than Little Orphan Annie jumping playfully from bed to bed with the other orphans.  

Her childhood was straight out of a Dostoyevsky novel.  That explains why she hasn’t bitched about living in the house with 26 other women all of this time.  She gets a rose.  Frankly, I can’t think of a Date Rose that was more well-deserved than that one.        

Corinne—whose roughest moment in life likely occurred when she was forced to eat caviar without her favorite crackers--is going to drink champagne rather than pout all day.  Good for her.  Lorna, the local nanny, is there to assist her in everything she needs.  That producer stunt fell flat.  I think I speak for us all when I say I’m sick of Corinne.  We get it.  She’s a millennial brat.  Move on.    

Group Date.  Love’s a beach.  Rachel, Raven, Vanessa, Corinne, Jasmine, Danielle M.   

I think we’d all agree that this date was as painful to watch as it was to be on.  In light of that, I’ll paraphrase. 

Catamaran ride.  Bikini time.  Raven has her Taylor Swift bikini on.  Poor choice.    

Corinne is drunk . . . again. 

Rachel and Jasmine melt down.  They’re all drunk and demeaned.  They all quit and go sulk.  You know they all skimped on breakfast because it was a bikini date.  Top off low blood sugar with the booze and the 3 hours worth of producer-mandated volleyball and it’s time to sulk.  Poor Nick.

Nick backtracks with each girl at the dinner party.  Jasmine snaps, and I mean snaps.  As our current President would put it, she snapped big league.     

In what would prove to be a foreboding comment, Danielle L. tells us that she “doesn’t know where Nick’s head is at.”  We, of course, do know where: his ass. 

Rachel sees the Jasmine writing on the wall and cringes as Jasmine crosses from a calm, rational women into a ranting lunatic at warp speed.  Don’t get me wrong, being honest is good but incessant complaining and talking over Nick while he at least attempts to empathize is not. 

I actually yelled at the TV “let him talk” during her alone time with him.  She fumbled well before she got into the red zone.  And then the cherry on the sundae:  “I want to choke you so bad,” actually slips out.  He did everything he could to not run away in fear.  He sent her home instead.  Epic.  

She literally talked herself off the show.  Still oblivious, Jasmine actually gave him a bitter “good luck, dude” on the way out.  I don’t know if it will be her or her family who cringes more when they watch that episode.  Granted, for the most part she handled herself well, but she truly lost her mind at the end there. 

Let the pouting continue.  To be fair, I don’t think we’ve seen one evening cocktail party or Rose Ceremony that hasn’t ended in a sunrise.  They haven’t slept for weeks and I’d imagine that the flying that far East didn’t do wonders for their states of mind. 

We cut to Kristina, Raven, Rachel in bed—just like back at the Russian orphanage. 

Me:  Now we’re talking

Mrs. SGIA:  Whatever.    

2 on 1 date.  Danielle L. and Whitney.  Frankly, I was surprised by this date and I refused to admit that one (or both) of them could be headed home.  In my mind, these are two of the most attractive women left and he had a great first date with Danielle L.  She was also a top 3 pick of mine (damnit).  Danielle L. had the edge in my mind but I wanted to see if Whitney could turn the corner and show some personality. 

After Kristina’s lipstick lunch story I was surprised to hear more talk about how tough their free week filled with helicopter rides, free booze, and volleyball games has been.  They continue to whine, including Nick. 

 

Vanessa, who has up to this point been an oak, teeters over the edge a bit.  She and her Lululemon athletic wear need to keep it together.  She’s likely a top 3 if she can tap the brakes a bit, but the down time and the travel was clearly a factor.  

Whitney basks in the wonder of the beach cabana while Danielle and Nick talk.  Nick puts her on hold and goes back to Whitney.  He dumps Whitney.  Bummer.  Like Jasmine and Taylor before her, she tries to hang on without getting sent home. 

Pay attention ladies.  There is some brilliant male perspective relationship advice headed your way.

As Whitney complains about Danielle L. by questioning Nick if he believes she’s ready for a relationship, I threw my arms into the air and before I could get my thought from my brain to my lips Nick stops Whitney with, “For me this isn’t about Danielle.  It’s about you and I.”  Ouch.  Poor grammar aside, that statement is extremely pregnant with wisdom. 

In other words, it’s not her, it’s you. That’s exactly the point.  No woman in the history of this show, or any other for that matter, has ever been sent home because of something another woman did or didn’t do.  It has nothing to do with Danielle L.’s glorious cleavage or her delicately manicured eyebrows and it will have nothing next week to do with Corinne’s (allegedly) “platinum vagine.”  Jasmine, Taylor, Whitney, and ultimately a clearly blindsided Danielle L. all got sent home not because Nick saw himself with another woman but because he didn’t see himself with any one of them.  Big distinction.    

We saw more of this faulty reasoning back at the resort when Vanessa and her Lululemon outerwear wondered what Nick was thinking.  "Why can’t they focus on themselves and overthink what he’s thinking," I wondered.  It’s infuriating from a man’s perspective.  This tendency to overthink things, indeed, is the female psyches’ greatest strength while simultaneously serving as its greatest weakness. 

Nick has dinner at an old fort with Danielle L.  I was surprised Taylor didn’t come back to try and ruin that. 

Nick starts to sweat.  Uh oh. 

Nick’s “heart is telling him no” about Danielle L.  and he abruptly sends her home.  Normally, I am not this far off in my predictions, but I admit, this one surprised me.  Either he’s an incredibly decisive person or based on his age and perpetually single status it is more likely that he simply can’t commit. 

The English/Philosophy degrees in me made me think back to a book called The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath.  There is a scene in the story where its main character compares her life to a fig tree whose branches stand for the different paths her life may take.  She sees each fig as a metaphorically different possibility for her future. 

She writes,

“I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”

Granted, I’m sure the irony of me using Sylvia Plath to draw a comparison to a womanizing guy dating 27 women simultaneously while supposedly trying to find a wife, is not lost on my fellow English/Philosophy majors, but, irony aside, I think it fits.  Most of these women have nice sets of figs.    

Nick seems intent on trying to find the perfect woman and he’s paralyzed himself with an inability to choose.  Ergo, hasty, poorly considered dismissals and loads of indecisive tears to a group of remaining women who sit there wrinkling, going black, one by one, before plopping to the ground at his feet. 

Gone:  Danielle L., Whitney, and Jasmine.  You think they met at the St. Thomas International Airport Chili’s Too and killed a few margaritas before their flights?

Rachel, Danielle M., Corinne, Vanessa, Raven, and Kristina remain.  Top 3 now that Danielle L. is gone?  Hmm.  I’m sticking with Raven, Vanessa, and I’ll go with Kristina over Danielle M.  I still think Corinne makes it to hometowns so the show can mock her.  I can’t wait.

There it is.  Thoughts?  Comments?  Feedback?  Until next week, take care of yourselves.  In the meantime if you need me, I’ll be playing volleyball while I wonder just what Nick must be thinking.  DP.