Sean Episode 2: Give that Girl a Big Hand

Hello, Readers.  Welcome back to Week Two of Sean’s season with the Amazing Count at a blistering 29 and the Journey count at a stagnant 6.  For you fellow Blogger users out there my hope is that you, like me, are now able to use your blogs again.  That little glitch put a monkey wrench in my writing schedule and a few grey hairs on my head this week.  Whichever guy in a short sleeve shirt and a tie whose turn it was to watch the server this week obviously got distracted.  Let’s not beat around the bush then.  Let’s get to it. 

We begin as we always do, with a recap of everything that’s been previously recapped (Speaking of beating around the bush).  I wonder why ABC feels compelled to create 35 minutes of filler every week on this show rather than sending out an order for a mediocre sitcom to fill the space.  We’re reminded of last week’s season kickoff, Kacie’s abject desperation, Tierra’s impending metamorphosis from First Impression (depending upon which bitch you ask) Rose to Resident Drama Coordinator, and the fact that the competition for “Sean’s Heart” has “no rules.”  I felt like I was watching Caddyshack for the 500^th time.  I could quote this show.  

Top all of that off with Sean working out with his top off and you’ll begin to understand my frustration.  The only thing more heavily run into the ground harder than Sean’s physique so far this season is Sarah’s lack of an arm.  We’ll HAND-le that later.  First, Harrison has to announce his presence, give his A.M. pep talk, and (of course) recap a bit before dropping the date card and heading to various local Farmer’s Markets in order to showcase his naked ring finger. 

As every woman in the room fights the urge to claw her way past the other women in order to rip open the date card, Kristy picks it up and reads it.  I’m certain her “model” training adequately prepared her for this moment.   I was also refreshed to learn she can actually read.  

“Sarah, are you ready to fall in love today?  Sean,” it reads and AshLee tells us that she’s “fully jealous.”  I thought she looked only “substantially jealous” but it was difficult to tell due to the fact that the camera made the first of what would be no less than a few dozen close ups on Sarah’s partial appendage.  Instead of being upset at her for drawing the coveted first one on one date I felt as if Sarah deserved some recognition from the other women.  They could have at least given her a hand. 

Annnyyyhooo. . . .

Understandably, she’s excited.  Then she talks (and talks and talks some more) about having one arm.  “Technically, she has one and a half arms,” I thought aloud, but I let her have her moment.  Look, for those of you who are angry with me for joking about this, at least let me explain myself.  First, she’s chosen to go on a reality show and showcase her unfortunate birth accident.  Second, she’s made it a point from get-go to do nothing but talk about her missing appendage.  Third, the Producers have defined her disability by choosing to focus on her lack of an arm literally every chance they get.  So much for “not being treated any differently than the others.”  For the record, I like Sarah.  She’s boring, yes, but attractive and definitely one of the nicer girls in the house.  Hands down.    

Sarah gets ready while Sean boards the Bachelor-copter and heads over to get her.  It must be nice to have a helicopter at your beck and call; especially in Los Angeles.  I think Sarah would agree that having a helicopter comes in rather Handy. 

I was so waiting for one of those catty, dateless, jealous Janes to slip and make the one arm joke.  Mark my words:  that day will come.  Sarah meets Sean for the big date and we hear more about her no arm.  Alright, I get it.  She’s “brave” for coming on the show.  Enough already.  It is now abundantly clear that Sarah was not chosen for the show in spite of having lost an arm; she was chosen because of it.    

Zooming in on the place where Sarah’s arm is supposed to be is tantamount to zooming in repeatedly on Ashley’s Fivehead, Vienna’s lazy eye, or Jake’s personality.  It struck me as a bit unfair.  

I’ll be brief about the rest of this because we’ve seen this exact date enough times to know exactly what was going to happen.  The only time I enjoyed the “out of the comfort zone scaling something tall” date is when Pavelka broke down crying on that giant bridge like a drunken sorority girl after being cheated on at the Sigma Chi No Means Yes Mixer during freshman rush.  Remember that?

Sean and Sarah successfully free fall and Sarah proves herself to be a cool date despite “Oh my gosh-ing” about 400 times.  She also cleaned up very nicely in her strappy black cocktail dress.  She tells Sean she wants to share a story with him.  I half expected him to say, “It’s not the one arm story, is it?”  Indeed it was—or a version of it.  Regardless, Sean seemed impressed.  She earns the rose. 

I have to hand it to her, she was the right person for that date; no if, hands, or buts.  She totally could have done that free fall thing with one arm tied behind her back.  Good for Sarah.  She should pat herself on the back.  Congrats on drawing the “Metaphor for Love” date and hitting it out of the park.  Then again, she really came armed with some good material. 

As Sarah is busy glad handing with Sean, the other women get the dreaded Group Date Card.  They anxiously sit around in their short shorts and we learn that Kristy, Amanda, Brooke, Leslie M., Daniella, Catherine, Robyn, Katie, Selma, Diana, Karen, Kacie, and Tierra are going to “capture the romance”.  Tierra tells us that she’s not there to make friends.  Whatever.   

Robyn straightens her hair.  Katie doesn’t.  They all knock back a few mimosas in the limo.   Talk about priming the pump.  They eventually arrive at a giant mansion that Selma calls a castle.  Sean appears in a purple sweater but magically switches from that to a plaid shirt a few times.  Nice editing.  Sigh. 

Daniella—who is quickly emerging as the resident dunce—tells us that she’s familiar with Harlequin Romance “novels.”  That's not surprising considering the fact that those make the Twilight books look like Anna Karenina.  At least her reading material is intellect-appropriate.    

It’s hair and makeup time before the big photo shoot.  Tierra drops “extensions” on several of the girls (that's apparently an insult) and simultaneously puts her ample hooters on display.  Those things are huge, by the way.  Are they fake?  Who cares?  As far as I’m concerned, if I can touch them, they’re real.  

Robyn hates her and Tierra drops “tacky ho” on Robyn.  Don Imus got fired for saying something similar and was decried as a racist for months before sort of apologizing and getting his job back.  For a show that’s been under the “racist” microscope lately I was surprised they let that comment escape the Editing Room floor.  That little dispute is nothing more than a vehicle for setting up the “right reasons” bullshit we’ve been hearing since Wes Hayden forever stained our television screens. 

The photo shoot starts in earnest. Giggles and hair flips abound as Lesley shows off her midriff and has some fun with Sean.  She seemed sincere and fun.  Sean seemed to notice too.

Kristy reminds us she’s a model.  It’s her element, apparently.  Give me a break.  Then there’s some kind of vampire thing.  Tierra informs us that she is the kind of girl who gets right to the point (read:  I put out early and often).  Kristy models until Tierra almost explodes.  Sean vnecks.  Eventually, Kristy wins the cover deal.  Congrats, Kristy.  All of the money your parents threw away on Glamour Shots finally paid off. 

Pool party.   

Kacie laments the fact that she’s still in the back seat.  I’ll bet Tierra has seen her share of back seats.  Lesley gets some one on one in a dark room.  She’s there “for love” and she and Sean are “hopeful.”  She’s actually got a personality and it showed there despite the awkward nature of the “he won’t kiss me” body language.

Daniella thinks Sean is “like so fun.”  Her giant turquoise earrings appeared smarter than she did.  Sean puts his hand on every girl’s knee and eventually awkwardly handles Kacie’s “get beyond the Friend Zone” line of forced questioning.  Hey Women, pay attention.  If a guy that you meet repeatedly at parties and social events never asks for your number and then chooses to go on a dating show where he’s likely to get engaged within 10 weeks without inviting you on that dating show then he’s probably not interested in anything BUT the “Friend Zone.”  Kacie will learn that the hard way, I suppose.   

Catherine, the resident Asian, puts the “graphic” in “graphic designer” by telling Sean (for some inexplicable reason) that she is vegan but she “loves the beef.” Selma is gorgeous and even though I’m admittedly partial to brunettes I believe she’s the best looking broad in the harem.  Speaking of harems (see what I did there?), we learn that Selma is from the Middle East.  She probably thinks Sarah was guilty of theft in her home country. 

Dude, that’s a solid joke.  Even those of you who mentally condemned me for my hand jokes earlier have to appreciate that one.  “Theft in her home country.”  Solid.  Annnyyyhooo . . . .

Tierra stuffs her face and pouts.  My guess is she was about 25 pounds heavier a few months before the show.  Katie pouts a bit too but she looked more tired than bitchy.  Either that or she’s upset about her hair.  Poor girl.  She’s hot too but her hair won’t allow her to relax.  She eventually bows out of the competition in favor of returning home and into obscurity declaring that the show is “not the right setting for her.”  Fair enough.  It’s always the ones with a good head on their shoulders who bow out, isn’t it?  I was sorry to see her go, but she was clearly miserable.  Hopefully, she lives somewhere with less humidity than L.A.    

Sean has a one on one with Tierra.  She tells him that she's hyper competitive.  No shit?  Sean reassures her that he wants a girl who is “sweet and genuine.”  She’s neither and he’ll figure that out if he hasn’t already.  She falls down the stairs next week too.  Perhaps Sean will wise up and leave her in the ER.  Perhaps he won’t.  For the record, it appears that Tierra may have a legitimate premises liability claim and a lot of potential defendants from which to seek redress.  I'm just sayin'. . .  

Kacie gets the sympathy date rose and the nasty stares that go with it.      

Ding dong. 

Time for Date Card number 3.  Jackie looks good without all of her makeup on and the purple tint of her hair color is almost unnoticeable.  Jackie tells us it’s her berfday but Sean apparently could not care less because Desiree gets the “Love is priceless” date.

I’ll gloss over the part where Sean plays the million dollar art accident prank on Desiree.  It’s fun to see a Bachelor who’s not a puppet for a change.  Sean still appears stiff at times, but he and Harrison had a great time and Desiree was a great sport.  She looked great in her black dress and handled the prank well.  The guy who played Sven the Tortured Foreign Artist probably updated his IMDB page with that credit on his lunch break at the Hollywood and Vine Starbucks that afternoon.   Good for "Sven."  Hopefully, his convincing yet sympathetic portrayal of the starving foreign artist will bring him more work as an extra.  Let's hope he's not hopelessly typecast.  At the very least, I hope it gets him laid.   Back to Sean.  

Desiree's big reward is a trip back to Sean’s place where the Bach staffers have prepared a dry Filet, steamed broccoli, and corn for Sean to pretend like he cooked.  Was Hollandaise sauce out of the question?  

Desiree scored major points with the “I’ve got great parents” talk and established herself as a front runner in her purple bikini.  She looked great and Sean could barely hide the level of comfort he felt with her.  She had a couple of real boobs and she’s got two hands too (showoff).  They share some love and marriage talk and Sean refers to her as “Des”.  We all know that early season nick names equal late season Fantasy Dates.  Recall “Ash” and “Em”.   Sean and “Des” tell us that they “feel” each other.   They should have just freed up the next 8 Monday nights of my life and got engaged right there.  Great date.  Des is cool and Sean digs her.  Nice work.       

Cocktail party time.

Proving she’s in an extremely close second in the lowest IQ in the House Contest, Lindsay, admits to being hammered night one and appeals to Sean’s sense of forgiveness.  She doesn’t know the meaning of the word “quit.”  Then again, she probably doesn’t know the meaning of a lot of words.  She’ll have to show him something besides her giggly dumb act or she’s headed home soon.  Apparently her father is a general.  I found that appropriate considering the fact that Lindsay seems generally unaware of her surroundings at all times.   

Sean tells us that Catherine, the resident Asian, has an “infectious personality.”  He’d better hope that’s the only infectious part of her. 

Some heavy pouting ensues before Daniella points out that “Tonight is like literally a tornado of negativity…waiting to happen.”  She’s, like a tornado of stupidity…that’s already happened.  Amanda drinks coffee and water in her puce dress with the Princess Leia hair shoulder pads while pouting profusely.    

Robyn tees up the “culturally diverse” card.  She’s not sure Sean likes black chicks.  Robyn brings it up to Sean, who “loves the question.”  As contrived as that was, Sean decides to take it a step further by telling Robyn that he doesn’t have a “type.”  Whatever.  We all have a type. He tells us he’s dated a bunch of ethnic chicks as Mike Fleiss put a check mark by the “mention minorities this season” box on his Bachelor Season To Do List.  I’d be willing to bet that there were a bunch of white girls in Uptown Dallas regurgitating their chardonnay as they watched that.  Nice job, ABC.  Kensington and Smith would be proud.

Daniella pounds wine with Catherine. 

Harrison eventually shows up in French blue without his wedding ring on.  He fights the urge to drop a “I’d hit that” on Sean.  You know, because he's single now and all, yo.  Decision time for Sean.   He drops multiple clichés and eventually multiple hammers. 

1.         Sarah

2.         Kacie

3.         Desiree

4.         AshLee

5.         Lindsay (nine lives)

6.         Robyn

7.         Jackie

8.         Lesley M.

9.         Selma

10.       Catherine

11.       Kristy (frosty lipstick)

12.       Leslie H.

13.       Tierra

14.       Taryn

15.       Daniella

16.       Amanda

Brooke (loses with class which is all you can hope for at this point of the season)

Diana (Her vacation from her kids ended early)

Katie (voluntary withdrawal)

Well, there it is.  The good news is that it's getting easier to manage this list.   The bad news is that I'm in trial for the next few weeks.  I'll manage.  Thanks for waiting.  Until next time, take care of yourselves.  In the meantime, I'll be hanging out with Harrison at the local art gallery faking a French accent.   DP

Bachelor Sean Episode One: I Wish I Was More Sober Right Now

Hello, hello.  Welcome back, Readers.   I suppose the same can be said of me considering the fact that I’ve been intermittently MIA for some time now.  I won’t bore you with the details.  I’m traveling for work this week so I have to get to the point.  The best I can hope for is the time to slam two full drinks in First Class before take off and that I have enough points to get the upgrade to the Rainman Suite at whatever hotel I’m booked at this week. 

Disclaimer:  This is the most difficult episode to write about from a chronological standpoint because many of the “featured” ladies (I use that term loosely---and so do a lot of them, I’m sure) appear in their doing yoga, playing with their pet, feeling sorry for themselves rundown before exiting the limo and pulling their gimmicky intro on Sean.  As such, I’ll break it down alphabetically.  Let’s get to it.

Do I even have to tell any of you how we begin?  Beaches, tropical locations, and mountains fill the screen as Sean gets reintroduced to us while simultaneously displaying a tremendous solid color v-neck collection.  He broods a bit until we move straight to the ladies and get a preview of what promises to be a bigger, cattier, and bitchier season than Ben’s (if that’s even possible).  “Why do you continue to do this,” I asked my reflection in my Lone Star bottle.  Why indeed.      

After some standard, “Guys like you” talk Sean shows us he’s in a serious contemplative mood by donning his grandfather’s Cardigan sweater and seeking the comforting serenity of a mountain stream (in Dallas?) before settling in for some Emily talk.  He looked like an albino Bing Crosby on steroids.    

With that nonsense out of the way we get to the back biting.  Usually we’d have to wait until deep into Episode two for the resident bitch to emerge.  Granted, there’s always a fair share of the bottom 10 or whatever who hem and haw before being summarily booted from the cocktail party, but this time it’s a bit different.  We’ll get to that in a bit.

First, it’s time for a lot of showering and working out.  I asked my second Lone Star bottle the same question I asked the first one.  Sigh . . .

Sean drives in a silver Jeep (I guess the Aston Martin dealership couldn’t get the stains on the seats from last season out in time) and splits time effortlessly between the Pacific Coast Highway in L.A. and the Stemmons Freeway in Dallas.  He showers, tells us he needs love, works out, tells us he loves his job, runs outside, runs shirtless outside, runs on the treadmill, runs shirtless on the treadmill, and then (I presume) showered again after all of that rampant introspection (and working out shirtless).  He then hightails it to Plano to visit the giant playhouse of his overindulged and overnamed niece and nephew, Kensington and Smith.   Please.  Those parents better pray those kids aren’t dunces.  “Kensington” doesn’t actually look appealing on a McDonalds’ nametag. 

I will say that Sean clearly seems to have taken his off-season Bachelor preparedness training seriously.  He’s a lot more camera friendly and a hell of a lot less stiff than he appeared last season.  For now, I like the change. 

Sean rocks a Kelly green t-shirt on the beach and relaxes with some shirtless rock climbing before preparing for an awkward and uncomfortably homoerotic bonding session with none other than Arie Flugenbreakherheiman or whatever his name is. 

Arie shows up to talk about one of the only three things he knows about:  Kissing, race car driving, and being Dutch.  He sports his own version of the v-neck and they Ennis Del Mar and Jack Twist it up over beers and fresh strawberries; all the while sticking to the script they got in the mail a week before this was shot. 

Arie could not have seemed more content in his contrived, supporting role.  He was so glad NOT to be the Bachelor he could barely contain it.  By the way, since when is Arie an expert?  The guy lost.  Granted, he “mourned” by banging other contestants and staff members, but he still lost. 

By the way, a friend of mine who is a graphic designer thought doctoring this movie poster would be funny a few years ago.  Look closely.   The only solace I take in this is that Ennis Del Mar was the "top guy."  At least I've got that going for me.  Annnyyyhooo . . . 

Sean puts on his Transporter/Reservoir Dogs suit (presumably over a v-neck) and heads to the chick mansion to meet Harrison and his conspicuously naked ring finger before gearing up to meet the 24 (or is it 25) ladies hand selected to annoy him and entertain us for the next 10 weeks.  I found myself wondering how many v-necks Sean owns.  My Lone Star bottle didn’t know the answer either.  

Here’s where I consolidate the women out of order.  By the way, because Sean chose to “break the rules” it was difficult for me to tell which one of these broads actually got a rose.  It appeared that he’s not a big fan of blond hair extensions, fake tans, bad skin, or wanton desperation.  I’ll use those criteria to assist me in narrowing down the ones who got the boot last night.  Oddly enough, Sean didn’t appear to be perfectly at home by sloppy drunk girls presumptuously dressed in a wedding gown.  Two words:  Producer’s Pick. 

In order of appearance, here they are.    

1.         Desiree, 26, Bridal Stylist.  Man, they’re not messing around this season.  We cut to Desiree sketching her own wedding dress and then trying another one on for good measure.  Her hair was a bit weird and her job is enough to strike abject fear into the hearts of most single men, but I found that I liked her after the cocktail party.  Her entrance in her red lacy number was enthusiastic but not fake and her “I brought pennies for a wish in the fountain” stunt actually worked compared to the other garbage Sean had to rummage through.  She earned a rose.  As Lucius said to Maximus, “I shall root for you, Gladiator.”  She’s hopeful. So am I.  

2.         Tierra, 24, I can’t remember what her job is but she’s from Denver.  Her name means “land” in Spanish, which is appropriate because she’s been trying to LAND a man since puberty.  She’s only fallen in love twice and squeals like Ned Beatty in the Georgia woods when she finds out that Sean is the Bachelor.  Frankly, they could have told her it was Bentley and I’m certain we’d get the same reaction.  She started strong with what quickly became a controversial First Impression Rose (depending on which bitch you ask).   She and her coral strappy tank appear to have their hands full this season.  She’s the resident trouble maker.  Damn you, Wes Hayden.

Sean drops the first rose on Tierra after she and her ample cans made a big impression on him in the driveway.  Sean is the kind of man I’ve been waiting for (one with a pulse?) she tells us before heading in to subtly yet purposely flaunt her rose.  My favorite line of the night, by the way, was when one of the Competitive Cathy’s upon seeing Tierra’s rose exclaimed, “A rose?  Did she come with it?”  CLASSIC.   

3.         Diana, 30, Hair salon owner.  She’s the hairdressing divorced mother of two who I found infinitely more attractive than her head shot.  Her hoop earrings and statement necklace scream singular independence.  Her two kids, however, do not.  Sean’s a family guy and she’s the only one who started with “IF Sean is the person” rather than “I’m in my wedding dress and I want to marry him.”  We’ll see how she holds up without her kids and in the presence of a lot of children this season.  I shall root for her too. 

4.         Sarah, 26, Designer.  Man, this is a tough one.  She’s so freaking nice and she’s clearly been persecuted her whole life.  Why?  She has one arm.  I’ve given this A LOT of thought and here’s the compromise I reached.  I’m going to joke about it. 

When they asked her if she knew who the new Bachelor was she looked really stumped.    However, once she found out she could barely keep her hand to herself.  After all she can count on one hand how many men she’s loved.

Alright, that’s out of my system.  Now let me say what I really think.  Ironically, she’s the ONLY person in that room who had reason to feel insecure and she’s the only person in that room who absolutely did not have to feel insecure.  I view people with a handicap like I view fat people at the gym.  Hell, it’s tough for me (and Lord knows I have no confidence issues) to work out in front of strangers or put myself in uncomfortable situations.  I can’t imagine having to deal with an issue like that and still persevere.  Props to you, Sarah.  She got a rose and she deserved it.  If I’m honest, I think she’s probably a bit boring, but she’ll be around for a few shows. 

5.         Ashley P. 20-something, Hair stylist.  She starts off with “I have NO idea why I’m still single.”  I’ll bet all of her friends do.  She loves 50 Shades of Grey, clearly has alcohol issues, and has a cat and a rocking horse in her sparsely furnished apartment.  She’s nuts and I’ll bet every person in her social circle knows it.  It’s difficult to feel sorry for someone in her shoes.  Then again, I’m sure Sean is thrilled he kicked her and her Grey tie to the curb.  She’ll return home to her Red Room of Pain and sink back into the bar scene in whatever town she’s accustomed to sloshing around in on her way to Waffle House for a post, last call stack of flapjacks.  Good riddance.

6.         Leslie, 25.  Political consultant, DC.  She led with making Sean bend over and hike the football to her.  She’d have done better playing center herself.  I suppose that’s now on the table if she makes it to the Fantasy Suite.  She’s probably too smart for her own good with a job like that and despite looking like Nicole Ritchie on a month long food binge, she oozed uncomfortableness.  She’s either too smart or too insecure to last amongst the lionesses.  I’m pretty sure she got a rose. 

7.         Kristy, 25, Model.  She’s from “like the number one model agency.”  Haven’t we been down this road with Courtney before?  That’s so boring I can hardly prevent actually yawning into my beer bottle as I watch her.   She’s an attention seeker who’s obviously banging her meathead trainer.  I think we can all agree on that.  Vapid and self-absorbed.  Sean will be tricked by her good looks for a while.  If there’s any substance behind them she’d do well to drop the act and be herself sooner rather than later.   

8.         AshLee, 32, Professional organizer also from Houston.  When I saw her closet I looked over at the SLF and said, “Control freak.  She’s either got Daddy issues or she’s been abandoned by someone.”  The SLF laughed and responded with a “how do you know this stuff?”  Frankly, this one is obvious.  There’s a fine line between “Obsessive” and “Compulsive”---they call it a hyphen.  She rallied, however, and got a rose.  She’s really attractive and is the lack of structure and over stimulation of the hooker house doesn’t throw her off her game, she might learn to relax a bit and end up doing well.  Let's hope she's not like that crazy blogger from New York. 'Memba her?  I like her.

9.         Jackie, Cosmetics Consultant, 25.  Purple hair.  She puts lipstick on Sean's cheek.  I believe the shade was Slut Red by Max Factor.  I liked her head shot and I’ll reserve judgment.  She lurked in the background.  Good strategy after her memorable intro.    

10.       Selma, 29, Real estate.  She wipes off the aforementioned lipstick with spare tissue from her cleavage.  Very Cha Cha DeGregorio of her.  She’s very pretty but boring so far.  She looks like Sean Young and Selma Hayek had a kid.  She’s too pretty to not get a rose. 

11.       Leslie H., Poker dealer, 29.  My notes say “Tall, Nice Smile.”  Frankly, aside from her “Holy Toledo” exclamation that’s all I recall about her.  She’s a Harry Carey fan, apparently.

12.       Daniella, 24, Who knows what she does for a living.  She appears to be in heat and didn’t help herself with that macho handshake greeting.  Sean looked like his v-neck was too tight.  She got a “you’re less worse than the girls I’m kicking out and I have a rose left” rose. 

13.       Kelly, 28, Cruise Ship Entertainer who never leaves the sunny portion of the lido deck.  She opens with a horrible song she “wrote.”  Bad decision.  So were those extensions.  She’d be pretty if she’d tone it down a little.  She has a super interesting job and seemed to have a personality.  Like with her appearance, she tried too hard with Sean and fumbled the microphone.  She also had the worst post rose ceremony feeling sorry for herself testimonial.  Bummer.  No rose.

14.       Katie, Yoga instructor, 27.  She calmed her Sideshow Bob hair and had a hot pink dress on with no shoes.  I have to admit, she’s my new favorite.  She also worked in “move the hands to hard center” with Sean.  That move should come in handy when she makes it to the Fantasy Suite.  She’s hot and she seemed to stay out of the drama as much as she could. 

15.       Taryn, 30, health club manager who looks like Julie Bowen’s older sister.  She’s the first to break down and cry at the “pressure” of not getting a rose during the actual party as opposed to the rose ceremony.  If she’s “30” then I’m Brad Freaking Pitt.  Still, she’s attractive.  I’ll chalk her night up to nerves and suggest we all give her a fresh start next week.

16.       Catherine, 26, No idea what her job is in the real world.  She calls Sean a “hunk,” which is a term that went out of fashion years before she was born.  She was the first to look genuinely infatuated with Sean.  She played it low key but I think she’ll go far.  Maybe.  Hell, I don’t know.

17.       Robyn, Oilfield Asst.  She’s from my hometown and she sells oilfield equipment. Nice personality, nice smile, and way too normal to stick around until the end.  She did drop the terms “permanent packer” and “higher pressure ratings” in the same sentence and she uses sticky notes to learn Spanish.  Que Lastima.  I like her.  Maybe Sean will too.   She got talked in to attempting back walkovers (yes, that’s the correct term) after a few champagne pops in the limo and fell on her head. She handled the fall well and appeared to have a bubbly and fun personality.  Let’s hope some of that positive energy counteracts the rampant estrogen in the house.  Wishful thinking, I know.  As a wise man often comments on this blog, “Can’t a boy dream?” 

18.       Lacey, 24, Graduate Student.  “A lot of people call me Lace,” she says in a sultry voice behind a mound of makeup and some serious “blond” extensions.  I was waiting for the second part of that sentence “…because that’s my stage name at the Stone Pony.”  Another red flag that she’s a stripper is her vague “job” description.  We all know that all strippers are graduate students.  Why should it be different for Lace? 

19.       Paige, 27 Jumbotron Operator.  I heard a Canadian accent.  Sean dumped her without talking to her.  She’s OOT before it started.  She had the second most pathetic post rose ceremony feeling sorry for myself testimonial.  Poor girl.  Stay behind the jumbotron camera, please.  You’re life will work out just fine.   

20.       Amanda, 26, Fit Model.  Again, boring.  She’s tall, pretty, and pretty impressed with herself.  She tried to pull of the “awkward pause” greeting that frankly wasn’t that awkward.  Like the other “model” she’d do better to dust off her personality—if it exists—and put away the hot act.

21.       Keriann, 29, Entrepreneur.  Statement necklace  She drove 2,775 miles to meet Sean.  After 5,550 miles it will be time for an oil change in her home town.  She was unremarkable and Sean noticed (or didn’t).  No Rose. 

22.       Brooke, 25, Community Organizer.   She gets a bit handsy but came across as really Housewives of Whatever.  No Rose. 

23.       Diana.  All I remember about her is that her dress was horrible.  It looked like a leotard with a tutu and her hooters were way too big to have that be her choice for night one. 

24.       Ashley H, Model.  25.  Turquoise dress.  Fake voice. Dull personality and another candidate for Real Housewives.    

25.       Lauren, 27, Journalist.  Big Italian nose.   “Blonde.”  Her Italian dad threatens him.   Must she perpetuate the stereotype?  I expected her to bust out in Poker Face or show up in a meat dress.    

26.       Lindsay, 24, Substitute Teacher.  Arrives in a wedding dress and goes in for the kiss.  She is HAMMERED.  What a mess.  Sean did give her a Producer’s Pick Rose, however.  I liked her head shot.  She needs to sober up and bring her A game immediately.  If this doesn’t work out we can always introduce her to Tim from Jillian’s season.  I love that guy. 

But wait, Someone called Harrison.  Gwen?

27.       Kacie B. from Ben’s season.  Great legs and a decent personality.  She’ll tire of the show before it tires of her.  Dumb move. 

Well, we’re off.  There it is.  With the Amazing count off to a healthy 12 and the Journey count at a respectable 6, we head into Episode 2.  I have too many numbers and I’m still a bit confused, but hey, I got the post up today.  Like the professional that I am, I’ll sort it out by next week.  It’s Elvis’ 78^th Birthday today.  Have a happy and safe Elvis’ birthday.  Until next time, if you need me I’ll be confusing twenty somethings by “breaking the rules.”    DP

Off Season Post: God Rest Their Little Souls

Hello, Readers.   Welcome back to this week’s installment.  I have to confess that I had plans this week to attempt to create an exceptionally witty post.  I even had what I thought were a few creative ideas with which to stimulate your collective fancies.  Like the boxes of ornaments in the attic, I planned to dust off a few of my usual Christmas-time jokes.  Let’s see, there’s my seasonally updateable “how do you get an elf pregnant” joke and my favorite holiday joke; you know, the one where I show off my colored balls and put on my mistletoe belt buckle.    

Over the past few years I’ve always written about what comes easily for me to write.  I suppose a person could rightfully accuse me of laziness in that regard.  However, the truth is that I am only capable of writing what comes easily for me to write. 

Normally, my hectic work schedule and my just-as-busy personal life account for the gaps in between my posts—particularly the off-season ones.  Many times, though, those gaps are created by what is commonly referred to as writer’s block. 

So what’s my point?

As a male well into his adulthood few things either impress me or capture my attention anymore.  In fact, that’s a big reason why it’s easy for me to write about the inane content of The Bachelor each week.  As small children we were all once enthralled to the point of uncontainable fascination by the face of a parent simply popping out from behind the cover of a blanket and declaring “peek-a-boo” before themselves dissolving into the same fit of laughter on our toothless faces.  Very few, if any, things like that remain for us as adults.  That’s why we bungee jump or take exotic vacations, I suppose.  Unfortunately—like it or not—boredom is a consequence of experience.   

Like most of you reading, last Friday, December 14, began just about as normally and uneventfully as any other day begins.  I awoke, showered, dressed, and headed to work.  I left for my usual lunchtime trip to the gym and deadened myself to my surroundings with the help of the Pandora App on my iPhone and began to run.  In front of the treadmills at my gym is a long line of television sets, all of which are tuned to different stations so as to maximize my overt attempt at sensory over saturation which, of course, leads me inevitably to my Zen place until the pain in my knees and back jerks me back into reality like that giant cane they used to use on the Vaudevillians. 

Five minutes into my run I began seeing the footage from the Sandy Hook Elementary School and as I read the captions below the pictures I experienced a visceral reaction that I frankly have not experienced since picking up the phone on September 11, 2001, and hearing my father tell me that my two cousins (a New York Fireman and a New York Policeman) were at Ground Zero. 

I am sickened physically and exhausted mentally over the gratuitous and unabated coverage of these events.  I am appalled by the overwhelming speculation by reporters and various other talking heads.  I am flabbergasted that children as young as 6 years old were interviewed at the site of the shootings and asked to recount what they saw inside of the school.  I am horrified that the shooter was in a very real sense a child himself. I am angry at the opportunism spawned by this event on both sides of the political aisle.  I am saddened beyond measure by the death of the 7 adults, many of whom probably knew what fate awaited them but nevertheless remained to face it in the name of protecting the children in that school.  But most of all, I am devastated at the loss of the 20 children—all between 5 and 7 years old—who did nothing but go to school that day.    

In a way, I have no choice but to write about this today.  JP and Ashley’s wedding special was a meaningless, ridiculous event prior to Friday.  Today, it barely deserves acknowledgement. 

So here we are.  I’d like to share some of my thoughts about the shootings.  I’m sorry if many of you came here looking for an escape from the coverage, the faces of those children, and the immeasurable loss inflicted upon the parents and families of all of those who died.  If you’d like to stop reading, I understand.  Come back next week. 

I’ll start—appropriately enough, I think--with a book that is ironically required reading for school age children. 

“But while I was sitting down, I saw something that drove me crazy. Somebody'd written 'fuck you' on the wall. It drove me damn near crazy. I thought how Phoebe and all the other little kids would see it, and how they'd wonder what the hell it meant, and then finally some dirty kid would tell them— all cockeyed naturally— what it meant, and how they'd all think about it and maybe even worry about it for a couple of days. I kept wanting to kill whoever'd written it.” ― J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

Salinger’s protagonist, Holden Caulfield, himself obsessed with the idea of staying young in order to preserve the time before he lost his innocence, knew through his own experience that freedom from the world’s “fuck you’s” is a thing that deserves to be prolonged as long as it can be prolonged—perhaps longer.  Yet, Holden himself discovers that it is impossible to prevent the children from running innocently through the metaphorical rye and falling off the cliff. 

From a parent’s perspective, all a parent knows is the protection of his child.  Inherent in every parent is Holden Caulfield’s desire to keep his child safe.  Said another way: 

“He knew only that the child was his warrant.  He said:  If he is not the word of God God never spoke”  --Cormac McCarthy, The Road

As “deep” as that may strike you, I’m not certain it fits neatly into what happened at that school last week.  Those children—the ones who died—died as innocent as the day they were born.  They were not escapees running unwittingly and unknowingly through the rye.  They were victims in the purest sense of the word and perhaps that is the most horrific part of this entire “thing.”   

“Nature where everything comes from, nature where everything falls back,
leaves, nests, soft branches that the air does not dare rustle,
don't make noise around this tomb;
let the child sleep and the mother weep!” wrote Victor Hugo. 

Indeed, those mothers will be weeping for a long time.  What’s worse is the relentless media onslaught and the mind-numbing political opportunism of the “gun control” and “mental health” advocates.  What happened to civilized debate and respect for the dead, I ask myself every time I turn on the television to see the latest reactionary response or self-aggrandizing political speech about “doing something” in the name of “our children.”  It’s obscene, really. 

One of my close friends is an Emergency Medicine doctor at the busiest high trauma hospital here in Austin.  I often meet him for drinks or dinner and, in the right moment, he opens up about the desensitization required in order for him to perform his job.  He once told me that aside from being rarely and momentarily bothered by “good people in bad situations” he is able to completely remove himself emotionally from his work—with one exception. 

“There is nothing worse than telling parents they’ve lost their child,” he once said before getting up from the table and immediately changing the subject upon his return from the restroom.  I suppose the doctors and first responders who were forced by the sheer coincidence of being scheduled to work during the hours of the shootings will carry the weight of carrying out that horrific responsibility forever.    

Look, this blog is many things, but it’s never been political and it sure as hell is not a vehicle for social statement.  I suppose this is as close as I’ll come before retreating into the safety, stupidity, and ease of armchair quarterbacking a meaningless reality show (please pardon the redundancy).  If you’ll humor me for a bit, however, I have a few more things to say.  I promise to be brief.   

First, regardless of your personal stance on guns, the Second Amendment, mental health, or any other hot button issue grabbed by whatever opponent and defended by whatever advocate happened to pick up the phone when Nancy Grace or Bill O’Reilly called, I think it’s worth noting (this, I confess, is the attorney in me) that all of the facts of this crime are simply not known. 

My own opinion is that Mr. Lanza would have found a method and a means to do what he did regardless of his access to firearms and ammunition.  Picking up a gun in the heat of the moment is one thing (ask Marvin Gaye’s father, for instance), but planning something like this is another.  The two largest attacks on this country were perpetrated with fertilizer and box cutters and both were planned for years.  I suspect (unfortunately) that regardless of the outcome of this particular series of events, others will inevitably follow. 

On a side note, I waited until after December 21 to post this just in case the world ended like the Mayans predicted.  It struck me after midnight on that day that if the Mayans were smart enough to predict the end of the world then there would still be Mayans.  Back to my rant.

Still, I understand that basic human need to “do something” rather than wallow in the realization that we are all, in a real sense of the word, helpless to prevent these sorts of things from happening.  I suspect that’s what’s really going on in the minds of those holding signs in front of buildings or hurling profanities at other temporarily insane, just as passionate people on the other side of the street.  It’s difficult to have an open mind when something like this happens.  Unfortunately, that’s the only way to reach any semblance of a solution.

Likewise, I’ve seen a mountain of articles, interviews, and blog posts (I’ve been interested in this quite a bit) declaring that God was (or wasn’t) there or that He caused (or didn’t cause) the deaths of the children or, in the alternative, that he permitted this to happen.  I’ve read that gay marriage and abortion law are the cause of this and that the taking of innocent children is God’s way of getting our attention. 

My response to all of that is (again, this is the lawyer in me speaking) is that it is impossible to know the mind of another person much less the Creator of the entire Universe.  Any attempt to espouse His real intent, involvement, indeed, even his presence at the event, is simply speculation on our part.  We’d all do better to believe quietly what we believe and to simply yet deliberately put those into action.  The parents, siblings, grandparents, family members, and friends who lost someone in that school need help not a lesson. 

I’d like to end this by reminding all of you that Christmas is upon us.  Whether that’s a secular holiday or the most important religious holiday of the year for you, it’s a time when the world tends to slow down long enough for us to reflect on the goodness in all of us.  Even during the worst time in my life when I was marred by cynicism (and a few other –isms) there was something about seeing the Christmas lights along the neighborhood streets or coming home to turn on the television to see the Peanuts gang singing Silent Night around that famous Charlie Brown Christmas tree that always made me smile.  Keep that in mind for me, would you?

Shakespeare wrote about the loss of a child in the last act of Hamlet. 

Your cause of sorrow

Must not be measured by his worth, for then

It hath no end

Let’s all hope that an end eventually comes to the abject suffering of the survivors of the Sandy Hook shootings.  If not, let’s hope they all find enough peace to live their lives.  In spite of the miss of the Mayans, I doubt there is enough time left in the lives of the survivors with which to make true peace.  Perhaps some meaning will come of all of this. 

However, in the likely event that meaning refuses to show its face, let’s all take the time to notice a child and to appreciate the laughter and the smiles that radiate from within them.  Let us all take an extra second to notice the look on their faces when they open “Santa’s” gifts and may we all laugh hysterically at the icing on their Christmas cookie-filled faces---all the while appreciating the fact that those priceless gifts were stolen from 26 sets of parents on December 14^th, 2012, for absolutely no reason at all. 

Jane Austen wrote, “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.”

For now, I will talk about it no more. 

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Happy New Year.  Be safe.  I’ll see you back here in January.   DP