Rainsong

Peter’s had epic love stories? Why didn’t they show us any of them? All our favorite women are back. Except we don’t have any favorites. This collection of rejects is like a nightmare in which all the annoying people you’ve sat next to on various airliners are all herded onto one plane with you for a 10 hour flight. If you’ve got enough time on your hands to make a Mykenna t-shirt then perhaps a charity or Humane Society project might make a better contribution to society. Victoria is at a railing and we thank her as we crack a cold IPA at this stock composition of shot. Her declaration of love for Peter is strangely devoid of emotion – even robotic. The poor sod in the percussion section always gets a workout during the final episodes as he grabs the mallets and spends two solid hours hammering on a cymbal. Every camera cut is accompanied by a sssssSSSSSsssss crescendo. Hannah is choosing a dress – in this case a fringed go-go number. Chris and Peter meet up in a horse pasture – which is convenient because Peter is doing his usual Eeyore routine. He’s upset with Madison’s rules, mostly because he thinks he should be the only one dictating rules. An oddly-timed rose ceremony is taking place, apparently without Madi, as the two others shiver in their barely-there dresses. It’s time to sack whomever is providing the cast and crew with weather forecasts on their call sheets because they’ve been about 20 degrees off from actual conditions throughout the season. Peter and Madison both wear expressions usually seen at a funeral. He really is a miserable git. To no one’s surprise Hannah gets the rose as the safe(st) option. To the surprise of no one with a lick of sense, Madison gets the remaining rose otherwise this would have been the world’s longest shaggy dog story. How ironic that the upcoming Bachelorette was announced today when Victoria would have been a fantastic choice for generating interest among red-blooded males while also generating pull-hair-out frustration among them. Lexi speaks first to declare that fantasy suites are part of the deal and who is Madison to pursue chastity? Sydney inexplicably claims that she and Madison are from the same community. Uh, no dear, Birmingham and Auburn are 100 miles apart. It was in all the papers. Alayah is back to have more strips torn off by her vindictive peers. The room is nearly devoid of self-awareness as Lexi calls her malicious. What’s this? Victoria P is getting a long-overdue dose of comeuppance and is called ‘the fakest person’ by Savannah. Sydney, as usual, is attempting to monopolize the conversation. A torturous return to the life and times of Kelsey is next. Visiting the dentist on consecutive days holds more appeal. Mykenna and Kelsey exchange frequent rubs on the shoulder – apparently this conveys solidarity. Against whom and what we’re not sure. Mykenna is here to bore us with more talk of feeling unworthy with a catch in her voice. She doesn’t want to treat people poorly – but this declaration of noble purpose comes 30 seconds after her snide putdown of a girl who went home on the first night. Tammy you’re still a nasty piece of work but you struck a blow for sanity with your rolling of eyes and asking Mykenna how long she rehearsed yet another speech. Quite long, apparently, as Mykenna was intent on speaking all her lines anyway. Kelsey’s turn onstage is a long exercise in cluelessness in which she equates emotional instability with ‘vulnerability’ (this year’s buzzword) and seems to believe that a nearly 30 year old female losing the plot every five minutes is an irresistible temptation for any man. Victoria F agrees that communication was difficult. She should know. Peter makes his appearance. Sydney is talking. Again. And now we’ve apparently veered off into a tiresome race and social media harangue. If The Bachelor is like high school dating then TWTA is middle school summer day camp self-esteem candyfloss. The Women Tell All? Jokes aside what was told apart from that which we already knew and dreaded hearing about again? In other words, where was the ‘all?’ TWTA actually used to have some surprises, some innuendo, some gossip, some risqué content. There was little, if any, laughter about comedic moments or in-jokes with this group of acid-tongued harpies. In fact, there didn’t seem to be any lighthearted moments due to the hissing and clawing that filled every idle minute. This year’s cast didn’t seem to care if The Bachelor was even involved – they merely wanted to fluctuate between railing against their tormentors and tormenting their peers seated nearby. Hypocrisy is too inadequate a term for the pervasive double standard employed by Mykenna et al.

Does Clare have Mike Fleiss' Social Security number or ATM PIN? She simply will not go away. Codependency is one of her DNA nucleotides. Mildly interesting especially on BIP but making her Bachelorette will a) eliminate the interesting part ie her emotional instability and b) reward her for same. Every tick of that biological clock sounds like a sonic boom and looking at her franchise peers' Instagram feeds with pregnancies and babies isn't helping one bit. They are going to be cracking the whip to get red-blooded males to pretend to be interested in this loaf of day-old bread or else they'll recruit a load of Sensitive New Age Guys (SNAGs) who, for reasons known only to them, want to take on her hair-trigger temper.

Richard Gere gave Debra Winger his officer’s cap. Pilot Pete doesn’t have his cap handy but still lacks the presence of mind to give the freezing Madison his suit jacket. Chivalry is dead – killed by narcissism (among other culprits). Madison’s apprehension is understandable from her perspective but there isn’t a red-blooded male on the planet who would object, really. But putting restrictions on a randy lad who has ‘relationships with other women’ is tricky, to be fair. She doesn’t want to give an ultimatum, she says, but is handing out exactly that. ‘That’s definitely frustrating’ says Pete, who was definitely looking forward to, er, taking out his frustrations especially after deadheading an 18 hr flight to Queensland. In an all-too-rare scenario, the hype matches the setting. The Gold Coast is, indeed, stunning. Less stunning is Pete’s flamingo-patterned shirt but he does make a beeline for his balcony and…a railing. To which we break the seal on our cocktails. Best not use ‘fantasy suite’ and ‘position’ in the same sentence, Madi. Madi’s reverie is broken by Hannah, who is wearing a selection from the Daisy Duke collection – doubtful it will set Madi’s mind at ease. ‘This is definitely the best place we’ve been too so far’ asserts Madi with ready agreement from Hannah. Given the locales to date, I-75 in Atlanta at 4 pm on a Friday might have outpaced the competition. Daisy Duke 2 enters in the form of Victoria who also is operating under the assumption that Australian Customs would confiscate any denim clothing larger than a cocktail napkin. We issue a silent plea for all cast members to give up their lame attempts at an Australian accent. At the very least a ‘Myate’ (mate) should be achievable but a dialect coach was too expensive to fly down and the locals probably want nothing to do with the bogan Yanks. The Wave Runners are beached and it’s the golden hour on the Gold Coast. Peter drops what will probably be the first in a multi-day uttering of the L word. By now most will have sussed out that the beaded necklaces seemingly preferred by males in the Bachelor franchise may, in fact, be microphones in disguise. And what’s this? A Senior version of the Bachelor being launched? Define senior. Could be interesting. For two people ‘falling in love,’ Hannah & Peter spend most of their time sitting bolt upright with lots of daylight between them. No additional notes are passed – which is almost a shame because this conversation, supposedly fraught with peril and meaning, is a formalized exchange of clichés: not going anywhere…do what you have to do to get there…thank you for that…how much that means to me…really really complicated…not giving up. Lordy, kids, throw the phrases in a hat and draw them out for a bit of unpredictable fun. On the more predictable front, Chris’s note about the suite and a novelty key are presented. Meanwhile, Victoria is dripping poison in Madi’s ear about Hannah eagerly taking up the fantasy suite offer. Interestingly, the poison vortex rotates the opposite direction in the Southern Hemisphere (it doesn’t really and neither does water draining from a bathtub but most of us have heard that fiction all our lives). Pretensions to art follow with Bachelor lust silhouetted against a translucent door. Hey, what happened to banishing the cameras from the suite? More than one participant has noted that getting a bit of privacy was as or more important than winning or advancing. To get Madison wound up good and proper, Victoria will be in the 2nd date slot. Victoria is greeted with a mere hug and some rubbish about trusting her and having her back. Are these two lovers or co-workers? The diffident attitudes are abandoned in the chopper as they tour the skyline/coastline and quickly resumed when they return earth in more ways than one. ‘I just don’t want you to give up’ says Vic. You’re in the final three, love. The giving up probably would have happened by now. Madison is now well into her third (?) day of reciting what constitutes a ‘make or break’ situation. Hannah is understandably bored to tears with it all but manages to drop her permasmile and adopt a decent poker face as she listens to the unreasonable – and unreasonably long – demands. Peter & Victoria have reached the cocktail hour. And so have we, regardless of time of day, because a stiff drink is needed to watch these two go round the houses talking about the importance of communication while failing utterly to actually communicate. ‘I don’t know – does that make sense?’ queries Victoria. Answer: absolutely not. And how could it? Nevertheless, Peter declares it to be ‘so frickin’ real.’ If you say so, pardner. But now Vic is throwing the L word around with abandon and fair play to her – it sounds like she went for one emotionally abusive bad boy after another. She offers a novel solution to the apparent lack of tissues available to the frequently teary-eyed ladies and uses her skirt hem as handkerchief. Peter and his little kookaburra part ways as he admires her yoga ensemble. Another day has dawned and Madi is STILL reciting her purity speech. At this point, railings aren’t just a point in a drinking game – they are absolutely necessary to prevent Hannah from jumping off the balcony to escape Madi’s never-ending soliloquy. Jumping is part of the date – well, it IS the date. Wait, not it’s not. This one is just a load of clambering about on the roof of a very tall building hence the safety harnesses but no helmets or bungee cords involved. Helmets might be needed back at the hotel as Victoria is in a lamp-throwing mood while Hannah nods along blankly. They’re not all that thrilled about being pawns in Madison’s endgame…and neither is Peter at having to confess. Madi does a runner, thereby ensuring Peter will pursue her. ‘Will you talk to me?’ he asks. ‘Yes,’ she replies and proceeds not to talk at all. Well, very little anyway. And very little is what happened across two bloody hours tonight except for Pete getting his leg over and playing remorseful when he was inevitably caught out. Advice to Madison: get those white cutoffs out again, head for a beach bar and see the world – as in men. Find a virgin Virgin pilot, if such a thing exists, and make the most of your tourist visa until he flies you home on your schedule, not The Bachelor’s.

The final stages of The Bachelor, especially this year’s edition, are like those old Psych 101 videos in which authority & obedience were examined as a tester asked questions about mundane subjects of an individual in another room. The tester was called upon to deliver increasingly harsh and even brutal punishments including electric shocks eliciting screams of pain from the respondent. The button, the wires and the screams were all fakes but many testers – who appeared at first as polite, mild-mannered types - dutifully adhered to their sadistic roles. Equally dutiful are Bachelor viewers who are screaming (inside) at the mental torture of watching Peter Weber’s Flying Circus in which a confused, disoriented pilot barnstorms a series of houses where bewildered onlookers wonder why exactly he is there and what exactly it is he wants. It’s raining in Knoxville but the needs of the camera crew compel Peter & Hannah (We can drop the Ann now – Hannah B appears to have been banished) to use the kind of flimsy clear umbrella that 2nd grade girls would use while waiting for the bus. White-bread Peter now looks like white bread with the crusts cut off. Ironic that they would rendezvous at the Sunsphere (a relic of the World’s Fair) as the rain pours down. But…there’s a railing in the shot! Drink! The flannel-clad locals are less than impressed with his axe-throwing ability, muscles apparently having atrophied after years of lifting nothing heavier than the control yoke of an airplane. The axes are sharp, the throwers less so but eventually the bullseye is hit and the victory (?) log split. Hannah, mercifully, has not exchanged her crop top for a lumberjack shirt – the shirttail would obscure her painted-on jeans. Peter hopes there is a refrigerator and a magnet at the Sluss home, cos he’s done his homework in neat penmanship and hopes to have it displayed alongside, er, the plumber’s business card. Hannah’s mom breaks down which is odd behavior for someone whose daughter is still a contender. Dad Rick, who probably climbed onto his roof and threatened to stay there until Peter departed, is not impressed. Strangely, Hannah more closely resembles him facially while Sis & Mom are dead ringers. Sis breaks down over ‘nice’ Peter inducing a similar reaction in Hannah. Rick braves the lights and cameras again and takes Peter to the woodshed – well, the woodpile anyway – takes the justifiable contrarian view that the L word must be reserved for only one female. Unfortunately, Rick didn’t extend his fatherly advice to giving Peter a razor and instructions to get upstairs and clean up properly. Both Peter & Hannah are openly using ‘love’ now but apparently the ‘in’ qualifier has magic powers and is a bit of a hedge. Usually the producers frown on this sort of thing until the finale which makes the viewer wonder if there isn’t a plot twist being laid out. The Bachelors’ shocking taste in outerwear is on display again with a muddy brown down jacket as he arrives in Des Moines. The producers were up a stump for a beauty-shot background. Their choices were limited to: a grain elevator, an empty Nile Kinnick Stadium, the state house or the roadside monument reading On This Site A Possibly Drunk Chris Soules Caused A Fatal Accident And Left The Scene. The state house with its ornate exterior wins out for obvious reasons. Grape-stomping with Kelsey at a winery shaped like a barn – natch – follows. One can only imagine how cold the grapes and the tin tub are given the frigid air. Kelsey wants to ‘cheers.’ The world wants to ‘cheers.’ Has the world forgotten the word ‘toast?’ It’s maddening. Peter isn’t having the elliptical approach. He wants more adulation and gets it – the usual smug smile appears when he elicits the L word from Kelsey. The spread of coronavirus is alarming and serious but it can’t hold a candle to the omnipresent scourge of center-parted hair. There are clones of the Clairol Herbal Essence girl everywhere, it seems, including in Kelsey’s home. Her family demonstrates that heredity AND environment have merged to create their default means of communication – tearful, sniffly, voice breaking. An emotional lot, this. We find that all the nose reconstruction may have been medically necessary – it appears that fractured cartilage was a very real possibility as the sisters fought over the mascara. The videographers make a hilarious attempt at an ‘amber waves of grain’ beauty shot as they shoot through a clump of cordgrass in the front yard. Moving from plains to The Plains we meet up with Madison on the campus of Auburn. B-roll footage featuring the sun gives way to more cloudy skies and wet sidewalks. At this point we have to wonder if the Great Airline Captain In The Sky isn’t expressing his skepticism at the whole thing. Yes, kids, Charles Barkley was actually that trim (relatively speaking) during his Auburn days. We’re not sure that a huge banner identifying the statue of the school’s most famous basketball alumnus is all that necessary. A tasteful plaque would suffice. But perhaps people have short memories. A scan of the AU basketball web site reveals that Dad of Mad(i) is technically the Director of Operations under Bruce Pearl. Pearl has never met a camera he didn’t like and probably jumped at the chance to orate and run a mini-clinic. Madison demonstrates some legitimate athletic skills, Peter less so, although fair play to him for making a three-pointer and an and-one bucket with a shapely coed hanging round his neck. Even more bizarre than the masking of the Browns wordmark in Cleveland is the masking of the AU logo (and the SEC logo). We’re in Auburn, AL, on the campus of Auburn University, on the floor of Auburn Arena and the couple are wearing Auburn jerseys. Is there REALLY a need to tape over the AU on uniforms and seats? Ironically, the big AUs on the bench are too big for whatever roll of sticky tape the crew brought and only the first two rows of seats have been taped over. Hey, union stagehands have their own tape – red in this case – and don’t climb more than a few steps. There are few things more awkward than family dinner table speeches. The in-laws tried it once at Thanksgiving. Without warning and without anything to drink it was a cruel surprise. The Sisterhood Of The Chunky Bracelets are having a Deep & Meaningful (D&M) about Madison’s purity. Basketball Dad dribbles deftly around the subject but we take the hint. Madison seems to be slipping back toward the field (we could make a joke about maiden and claiming races here but that would be too punny) on the homestretch but not necessarily in Peter’s eyes. Virginia Beach is, of course, clouded over. It must have been the largest and most stationary front in the history of recorded meteorology. Remember when those tintype photo booths were in every mall to say nothing of their ubiquity in tourist traps like VB? Speaking of tin, either Victoria is tin-eared or tin-plated but drags hapless Peter to yet another country (but not really) gig. He could be excused for wondering if Hunter Hayes (me neither) is another Victorian conquest now slinging a guitar. The lip sync game is given away when Hayes’ last note rings out as he steps away from the mic. The setup of all setups is uncorked as one Marissa, face obscured, magically appears to magically inform Peter that Victoria may be less a queen in black and more of a black widow instead. Proceeding rapidly from trusting his gut to relying on the uncorroborated tale from an anonymous source, Pete is conflicted. In Pat Conroy’s book, The Great Santini (himself a military pilot) declares that ‘a wind sock never lies and a man who is as honest as a wind sock is a hell of man. He’s also a real dumb ass.’ Peter is doing his best wind sock now, twitching and twisting in Gale Marissa. Vic’s response is, of course, to say nothing – well, 100 words of nothing. Hmm…the interview portion of the pageant isn’t going so well. Can we get a bit of coaching on the sly from Alayah? Vic is now breaking the fourth wall. Violently. And saying ‘like’ a lot. A next-morning attempt at rapprochement is equally disastrous. The ugly rumors that Vic may have artificially augmented her posterior gain a shred of credibility as she appears to have secreted a honeydew melon down the back waistband of her jeans. Squat cage or surgeon? You be the judge. The penultimate (or penultimate+1) rose ceremony is back in LA and damn me if they haven’t gone all out with the set. The hanger looks quite impressive with the red carpet and the beacons. The easy choices come first, of course. If you’re a male Upper Paleolithic Hunter Gatherer then instinctively you understand the choice of keeping Victoria around. The prey is interesting and attractive enough but the hunt, the chase is what gets the adrenaline flowing. Victoria is elusive and evasive and therefore maddening and mysterious even if the whole of the female viewership wants to claw her eyes out. And she knows it on both fronts. Kelsey, on the other hand, has thrown herself at Peter’s feet so often he sees her every time he ties his shoelaces and therefore was always going to be a casualty. Kelsey’s ride-home reaction is, unsurprisingly, similar to her courtship demeanor – lots of pursed lips and downcast eyes. For God’s sake lighten up, lass. It ain’t all bad all the time out there. The contrasting poses of the final three are interesting. Madison is gnawing the inside of her cheek, conflicted. Hannah has her permasmile on. Victoria is staring into the distance as usual. Not even a proper exotic locale – the Gold Coast – can snap Madi out of her funk. We end with a show staple – a helicopter shot – and Victoria’s most oft-repeated expression and one that may well become her Bachelor epitaph and ours: ‘Are you kidding me?’

Mike Fleiss will gladly pay you Wednesday for a hotel room on Tuesday. And so The Bachelor continues its tawdry low-budget ‘exotic’ location tour with Peru conveniently bordering Chile. Paddington Bear, famously from Darkest Peru, had the good sense to emigrate to London. But London is damned expensive, especially when a crew of dozens of people are flying and lodging on the company dime. So is Paris. And Rome. Kelley is mustering some more false enthusiasm, this time for creatures with strange-looking hair, diffident attitudes and who spit when annoyed. But enough about her fellow Bachelorettes. Kelley wants to see some alpacas. The Peruvian hotel is christened with yet more flopping onto the bed. Apparently Bachelorettes are unfamiliar with this most basic item of furniture given their enthusiasm for seeing one in each suite they visit. Episode previews show Peter checking in with God. But first, a call to Mom. She has more authority anyway. Incredibly, an actual pilot looks out of place wearing a bomber jacket. The producers must wonder if they have to move production to Yuma, AZ just to get a bit of sun to peek through. He pays a personal visit to the ladies’ suite. Their zeal is quickly doused by wet blanket Pete who wants to moan some more about the season he has singlehandedly ruined. Thought balloons would reveal they’d prefer a plain old date card. It's hard to chronicle a narrative in the later rounds because most of the time there is naff all happening. In a good season (a relative term to be sure) producers will move heaven and earth to convey the impression that The Bachelor is still conflicted and undecided when it’s obvious whom he prefers. In a bad season – like this one – it’s difficult for the audience to feign interest in The Bachelor because he does such a poor job of selling himself. In this, at least, we find a kinship with the bored finalists who are primarily interested in seeing themselves on the cover of a prearranged US Magazine shoot and in watching their Instagram follower count spin up like slot machine reels. If the objective was to portray Peru as an exotic, desirable destination then job most definitely NOT done. Green mountains are ten a penny on every continent. Peru looked gray, cloudy and mundane. Speaking of mundane, the ‘dashing’ Bachelor now looks like the guy sitting next to you on the light rail – sweaty, greasy, unkempt and now with a scar the same size and shape as a caterpillar splayed across his forehead. Those of us who have bonked our coconuts on golf cart canopies multiple times - possibly after a frothy beverage or two - can't help but wonder how delicate Peter's epidermis is or how violently he made contact. It’s certainly understandable that Victoria F would be the target of audience vitriol for her indecision, inability to articulate her thoughts and idiopathic mood swings. On the other hand, as form of punishment dealt to Peter she’s good value. And her anatomy is camera-friendly. The rose-at-the-limo rescue was obviously a setup. Like so many before her, Vic F cares about winning and nothing more. She knows that there are no sanctions for dumping The Bachelor and that engagement can be as serious or unserious a topic as she chooses. Hometowns look to include more of the tiresome crying jags along with tiresome, halting non-explanations – this time with a leavening of nagging. Just what every boy dreams of. Maybe those moronic Chase Rice lyrics had a more lingering effect than we first thought. Kelley couldn’t be fussed the first night. And the second. And the last. So grudging credit for some consistency. Did she mention she was an attorney? Only about 7,298 times. She’s competitive also but not in the Victoria sense – Kelley just doesn’t want to lose a case and take the ribbing at work. Hannah provided the producers with just what they wanted – floods of tears despite actually advancing in the show. Perfect misleading footage material. The luv note was a bit of a time warp back to the pre-phone era when notes were passed frantically during the 5 minutes between classes. That pasted-on smile just isn’t going away. Those of us unfamiliar with Adderall’s dosage and side effects can only conclude that it renders the user a sniffling, quivering wreck. Kelsey cries more often than she breathes. Divorces are, regrettably, as common as cracks in a sidewalk. But the fresh-trauma routine is tiresome. If this is Kelsey’s seductive side, what will her everyday did-you-buy-milk fussbudget side look like? But Peter is obviously taken by the wounded-bird persona. Madison is so far ahead of the field that comparisons to Usain Bolt are unfair. To Usain Bolt. The Auburn Tigress is clearly the fave on all fronts. Their bodies entwine like a DNA helix whenever they meet up. There will be an attempt to conjure some drama from Madi’s revelation that she’s still sporting the V plates on her bumper but rare is the red-blooded male who doesn’t appreciate a white dress that accurately represents its occupant.

As soon as the Bachelor crew reached Central America your humble scribe acquired intestinal flu, preventing him from viewing/reviewing 2 episodes in a week. A very spooky and unpleasant linkage - not least since these episodes were filmed months ago. But 5 bloody hours resulted in some serious blood from the roses' thorns it seems. Speaking of which, in playing rapid catch-up via the DVR it appears that advertisers continue to plumb the depths of tackiness by presenting graphical representations of the monthly cycle. Exactly who this sales methodology is aimed at is unclear since those who require the products in question need no lectures - especially of a glib 30-second variety - about that which they already know full well and everyone else can get along fine without more dumbed-down emojis - this time of a bodily nature. And so a more philosophical or possibly a more quantitative analysis is in order. The Bachelor says he doesn't like the drama. Most of the women say they don't like it. Most of the audience say they don't like it - or at least make the claim. So why does it dominate 5 hours of footage? Occam's Razor gives us two possible non-mutually-exclusive answers: 1) because the producers want it and 2) because Peter, his dates and his interactions provide a consistently alarming dearth of usable footage. All creativity on the date front has been exhausted by design or accident. Probably by design. It's safer, it's more predictable and therefore easier to plan and budget. The camera setups, the establishing shots (city skyline, street scene, people in a park, plaza or tourist attraction), the outfits, the greetings. Granted, 'reality TV' purportedly involves everyday people so it may not be fair to expect anything else. Strictures against discussing real people, places, things, events, etc. means that dialogue involving these things - even a simple and obvious question about favorite films or music or places - will often be deleted lest a complaint from a lawyer is received. We may rail against school bus-caliber 'I like you - do you like me?' exchanges but we don't know what's been left on the cutting room floor. On the other hand, one suspects that not a great deal must be cut especially with this year's crop of narcissists whose emotions are dangerously on a knife-edge every minute. Peter is less a Bachelor and more a predatory camp counselor. Arms outstretched, he shouts 'Yay! We're gonna have so much fun today! But first give me a soul kiss!' The constant intercutting with the bored-but-agitated reserves back at the mansion/hotel is tiresome but apparently meant to stoke understandably flagging interest in Peter's almost staggering inability to hold an adult conversation. He makes mumbling, shuffling overgrown passive-aggressive adolescent Nick Viall look like Ernest Hemingway. A sea change initiated and spread by the constant use of digital technology has robbed at least one generation of their ability to interact in person, in real time and with any subtlety or originality. Unfortunately for the producers, the reserve women no longer sit around and give Austenesque soliloquies about how they miss their man, how they shall fall upon his neck and greet him upon his return and how happy they shall be. Instead, they offer blank looks or, in far too many cases, an endless flow of tears. Some of these women are pushing 30 years old and react to any emotional stimuli the way a 6th grader might. Mary (Tyler Moore) Richards? Bailey Quarters? Diane Chambers? Even Rachel Green? What happened to the sassy, sexy, smart singleton who would find Mr Right eventually but could carry on with life in the meantime even if it meant encounters with a few wrong-uns? Granted these are fictional characters but they were simultaneously contemporary ideals and reflections of women's mindsets in the workplace and the dating scene. Most of us, male or female, would probably have chosen to live under a bridge rather than move back in under one or both parents' roof. Squandering a hard-earned adulthood was unthinkable. Contrast this independence with what appears to be a crop of failures-to-launch, daddy's girls, boomerang kids, et al. That's a long way of saying immaturity is extending well into maturity. This week the girls - and we'll call them girls when they merit the title - hissed and clawed so much we could be excused for thinking a Catwoman sequel was being cast. Trying to remember this week's players vis-a-vis the full list at the ABC site: Sydney - a chip on her shoulder the approximate size of the Rock of Gibraltar. Had a rough trot in Birmingham but despite her description it's not quite the nexus of cast-iron antebellum attitudes. Blokes may lag well behind on the scale of emotional intelligence but they can definitely sense perpetual anger and will run far away. Kelley - has there been a more indifferent Bachelorette, especially one that has advanced this far? On one level you admire her ability (?) to see it for what it is: a lark or merely a farce. A network TV credit will look good on the LinkedIn bio even if it has mostly naff all to do with more lawyerly qualifications. Alayah - damn it some of us were still fighting your corner because we love femme fatales. No apologies. Peter couldn't handle the confidence. Hannah Ann - memo to producers: giving modeling challenges to actual models is not 'getting them out of their comfort zone.' It's the exact opposite! Exactly how and why being out of one's comfort zone is supposed to make one more or less attractive to a partner is unclear but it's become an article of Bachelor faith anyway. Deftly dodged the question of 'What comes after modeling?' probably because the answer is 'Your job will be to fly the jets - mine will be to raise the babies.' Calculated but smart move to follow Peter outside. The kind of girl you DO take home to mother - and let's face it, mother is calling the shots here. But how long can even a model maintain the dewy-eyed, pasted-on-smile pose? Kelsey - the tap handle has been well and truly broken off and the tears are flowing again. This emotional basket case would cry at the sounding of a clock chime. Dangerously unstable. Pete wants to buy a peck of trouble? Have at it. Lexi - bit of a dark horse but decided to join the Witches of Eastwick and her fate was sealed. Makeup went strangely, suddenly askew at the RC rejection. Madison - there is undeniable Sean/Catherine physical chemistry there...an almost Picasso-like intertwining of their bodies when they get together. When the bitching starts she puts her head down or merely vacates the room. Smart girl. Hopefully she's also silently saying rude things about Yankee women. Mykenna - hard to add anything new to the (hilarious) discussion of this one. Perhaps she will some some constructive purpose in convincing the rest of the world to abandon the drowned-rat hair look. Most unconvincing - and derivative - Grrl Power self-affirmation speeches in history. 'I am a strong woman! You can not take my power!' is rather unconvincing when shrieking and crying. That rescue-then-rejection sequence near the end was delicious but bordering on the cruel. Tammy - the tomboy intro should have been a major hint. Women who want to participate in boys' wrestling are...different. Straight women who want to participate in boys' wrestling are even more different somehow. How and why she lasted into these rounds is still a mystery. What isn't a mystery is her stalking the group to identify and then torment the runt of the litter. Just an irredeemable bitch who really had no character arc but for some reason wasn't rumbled until later. Even Puffball Pete worked it out for himself. Victoria P - another point for Pete in giving Vic P a parachute and a premature exit. Shhh! Quiet just a sec. Is that Vic saying 'vulnerable' again? Why does she think that word has any magic power? Why does she think it's what guys want to hear? They immediately translate it to insecure - and rightfully so. Didn't cost him a rose and didn't cost anyone else a rose (except maybe Alayah after the fact). Good riddance. Natasha - it isn't a spoiler to point out that teaser footage had Peter & Nat sharing a kiss in a public venue so perhaps that's a next episode item. It may be hypocritical to dislike her Noo Yawk street-smart attitude but it seems her every on-camera moment is a snide put-down of her peers. Victoria F - getting harder to stick up for her. Might be top of the emotionally-inarticulate list. Why and how does being compelled to express oneself result in being physically sick? It doesn't take Nostradamus to conclude that petite doe-eyed brunettes will probably occupy most/all the final slots including VF. Her final words will almost certainly be 'I don't know what to say.' Again. Peter has made some poor decisions on his own, some poor decisions at the behest of the producers and some poor decisions from the women dripping poison in his ear. As others have noted, the working hypothesis that there are really just 2-3 solid contenders every year no matter how wide the casting net and no matter how often the producers scream SQUIRREL! seems to be holding up this year.

She might employ the Jessica Rabbit defense: she isn't bad, she's just drawn that way. But Victoria F, Victoria P, Alayah, Hannah Ann and a few of the other rather obvious late-round hopefuls are walking, talking examples of the social media tail wagging the real-life dog. If you're of a certain age you may use emojis liberally, sparingly or not at all. The generation of women we're seeing onscreen actually regard them as 1-to-1 matches for their own real-life emotions. A laugh, a smile, a tear. Red notification circles and likes are the coins of the realm. It would be like using a tray of water colors and never combining any of the hues. Occasionally I mention a VHS copy of a 2004 Bachelor episode (ironically featuring another pilot with the slicked-back blonde hair) that I found when I digitally converted some tapes. That was the last gasp of the pre-HDTV era and video editing and production was a different animal indeed. In order to convey a flashy visual style they used literal flashes - every scene change included a few blinding frames of white light to dazzle the eye and cause it involuntarily to refocus on the next image or scene. This technique was also used to a ridiculous and numbing extent in advertising of the day. The 2004 Bachelor may as well have been the 1954 Bachelor. Everyone looked mature and confident - even if they weren't. Grooming didn't involve 2 hours of applying war paint. Subtlety in language, emotion, movement, etc. was rife. These people were flirting like mad, not just 'spending time' and tossing out canned lines - their own or scripted. Contrast this with the current crop of blank-faced Bachelorettes who are either at an emotional peak (WOOOO!) or in an emotional Death Valley (tears, tantrums). There are no in betweens. There are are no feminine wiles, merely animalistic latching-on mating rituals. There seems to be a generational belief that emotionally-charged scearios are a license to go round the houses in actually addressing the situation. Victoria F tried all the dodges: 'This is intense'...'I don't know what to say'...etc. Let us not forget the opening vignette - Peter's dad was/is a pilot too. Families of pilots know one thing: the pilots are gone a lot. Days, even weeks at a time. This leaves, of course, Mom to run the household. It was clear from the video clip and the subsequent contrived vow renewal date that Peter's mom bigfooted everything and everyone. Emotional control, even emotional manipulation and blackmail, is the approach of many such females. Peter does absolute backflips in response to anyone who gets upset, criticizes him, complains, throws a tantrum, etc. He's forever apologizing, attempting to mediate, compensate etc. He is, without a doubt, looking for a replacement for his mother and responding to those who behave like his mother - usually without even knowing why. A quote from the late 20th Century philosopher Ferris Bueller seems fitting and oh-so-accurate here with regard to Peter: '[He's] never been in love. At least, nobody's ever been in love with him. If things don't change for him, he's gonna marry the first girl he lays, and she's gonna treat him like s***, because she will have given him what he has built up in his mind as the end-all, be-all of human existence. She won't respect him, 'cause you can't respect somebody who kisses your ass. It just doesn't work.'

Disclaimer: with many friends and some family in Northeast Ohio, all jokes about Cleveland, its weather, its people, its cityscape and its football team – especially its weather – are delivered in with all due appreciation and affection for a frequently unfairly maligned and even more frequently misunderstood place. On the other hand, when the roads are like minefields year-round and February temperatures flatline at 10 deg with an icy cold wind off the lake for an entire month the city is deserving of some good-natured opprobrium. And mocking the hapless football team would be like bringing sand to the beach. Deandra delivers the daily Mental State Of The Bachelor address before a joint session of, er, cameramen and sound technicians. It seems this duty falls to a different female each week and for some it’s the only camera time the poor dears are granted. Deandra sounds level-headed and observant, prompting the question: what the hell is she doing here? She speaks of the previous night’s activities ‘bleeding’ into others and into today. Thanks to her for unknowingly extending the metaphor of long knives, most of them wielded by Sydney (Sadney?) who has learned to juggle them in order to carry her wine glass as well. Good old Chris is hard at it trying to apply a coat of shiny new paint to the still-smoking train wreck of this season. A roomful of girls who were sold on Making A Connection™, Finding Love™ and My Wife Is In This Room™ instead express their anxiety and Chris offers the cold comfort of with ‘I don’t want you to think Peter’s giving up on this.’ Morale remains low despite the pep talk. But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East and Juliet Ohio is the sun! Conductor, cue the staccato strings! Signal the tubular bells to be rung! They’re going to…where? Mexico? Argentina? Bora Bora? Bakersfield? Nothing so predictable or cliched, ladies. You’re going to – it’s hard to get the words out – Cleveland! For anyone unclear on the definition of ‘nonplussed’ (a great word by the way) you need only look at the girls' faces. They’re waiting on a punchline that never comes. A beat passes, then two. Hello? Is this mic on? A somewhat less-than-giddy reaction finally comes. They have one hour to pack. Do they need a passport? How about snow boots and parkas – two items they likely didn’t bring? Deandra, still sensible, declares that Ohio and romance aren’t often found in the same sentence. She’s right, you know, unless you’re an Allstate agent from Van Wert watching the Buckeyes on a Saturday. Savannah, you’ve got a cheek mocking Cleveland when you hail from Houston, which is one large oil depot surrounded by hurricane fencing, barbed wire and gravel roads. Hell even Gilley’s was torched long ago. Like patient filmmakers painstakingly waiting for sea turtle eggs to hatch in the middle of the night to capture the miracle of nature, an advance video crew have been sent to Cleveland and instructed to wait for a clear sunny day. After keeping a vigil for six long months, a freak upper atmospheric pattern never before observed in the region allows the sun to peek through for 15 minutes. Residents puzzle over the strange ball of fire in the sky. The crew springs into action, getting beauty shots of, uh, the Cuyahoga River and a rusty railroad drawbridge. Meanwhile, the first-unit video crew are with Peter in the Flats – and he’s leaning on a railing! Drink! Apparently all railings shown onscreen have magnetic properties that cause the leaner’s brows to knit together, making the individual appear deep in thought. The girls do their level best to praise the city and pose on its landmark(s). Obligatory jumping on hotel bed follows. It may be the first and only time the empty football stadium and murky Lake Erie have been described as ‘beautiful.’ Suitcase Kiarra speaks of seeing her boyfriend. Who would that be then? Do the others know about him? Score a point for your humble scribe who predicted (without benefit of spoilers) that Victoria F would get a single date, putting her dark horse credentials into serious doubt. She’s worried it will be a skydiving date but when the choices for landing spots are the open waters of one of the Great Lakes or possibly downtown Akron she needn’t fret. Vic F has worn her best bandanna tied off at the waist – a meager amount of material means the shy (*ahem*) Vic has plenty of cleavage on display and don’t think our vision-tested pilot doesn’t notice. Brenda Lee's title of Little Miss Dynamite has been appropriated by Victoria F who also does the catch-in-the-voice thing. Pete loves his flying but even he may notice that the producers are taking the mickey in getting his services for free. Either that or only pilots – or possibly astronauts - may be eligible to become The Bachelor in future. Quarterbacks and racing drivers are SO last decade. A flight from the lakefront to Sandusky might take all of 10 minutes. Viewers may note that the gray cap (to use Scott Turow’s phrase) has descended on the region again and that it’s been raining at Cedar Point. Vic has her act very well-rehearsed, frequently covering her face and batting her obsidian eyes. We’re calling him Petting Zoo Pete on this date because she’s got him absolutely eating out of her hand. Despite the park being closed, a gaggle of females with mobile phones surgically attached to their hands have been bused in. An equal number of lawyers have their own bus where they force the fans to sign non-disclosure agreements and prevent any photos from being posted on social media. Someone named Chase Rice (me neither) has been booked to perform. Chase is a lanky bloke who nevertheless opts for what we in the biz call a parlor guitar which looks like a toy in his hands. Not since Tiny Tim and his ukulele has there been such a size mismatch between player and instrument. In a cosmic coincidence, Chase is the ex-boyfriend of Vic – or this is a carefully-planned stitch-up. Bet on the latter. Chase gamely plays his part but his green eyes are made greener with envy. Green is also the color of the bass played by his sideman who sports a mohawk. The band serves up the appalling but familiar mishmash of boyband melody, hip-hop cadence and put-on twangy accent that is bewilderingly still referred to as country music when it’s about as country as Central Park. Petting Zoo Pete is oblivious as to how and why Vic knows all the lyrics – it ain’t from Googling them. And what lyrics they are. We’ve descended from the iconic: I shot a man in Reno/Just to watch him die to this insipid banal doggerel: It could be AM, PM/It could be middle of the week or the weekend It might be time to buy a Chase Rice album so we can hear all about his trip to the supermarket to buy a gallon of milk. The gamine Victoria continues to economize on clothing with a pink dress covering only her top half. Peter, who is understandably conditioned to think that the world’s female population is infatuated with him, is gobsmacked to hear he’s got competition and that his rival just played a gig in front of him while he frugged away in the dark. A good rule of Bachelor thumb is if she walks away from the table she will be pursued, comforted and given a rose. If she stays it’s 50/50. So keep the shoes on, girls! A brief interlude for the group date announcement includes Madison’s hope that there won’t be drama among the big group tomorrow. Has she been sleeping through her own Bachelor season? Vic has Pete sit up, beg, roll over and speak – all in the confines of a darkened utility room. Not since Kubrick filmed Barry Lyndon strictly by candle have we had such extended scenes in such low light. A random cellist in a suit is playing on the sidewalk. Who said Cleveland wasn’t classy? Most cities just have bums in fatigue coats beating mindlessly on five-gallon buckets for tips. So there. Next day, the football date is overseen by Hanford Dixon. The Bach and the girls are probably not up on their NFL history but Dixon is the very individual who coined the term Dawgs and gave rise to the Dawg Pound and in turn to an entire fan subculture and a brand identity that a thousand marketing agencies working for a thousand years couldn’t devise. When you’re the Browns there is a kind of sad urgency about finding a more interesting nickname to replace the less-interesting nickname of Browns. Speaking of the Browns, they’re in the Browns’ stadium with the Browns’ colors all round, working with ex-Browns players. ABC/ESPN have rights to NFL games including the Browns' own. Why, then, are all the Browns’ logos blurred out – even those on clothing? Either that is some insanely strict and/or expensive licensing or the legal department are just paranoid. The football-firing device is known as a Jugs Gun. Insert anatomical Bachelorette joke here. 40-watt bulb Victoria P declares she will be on injured reserve for this game – which conveniently puts her full-time on the sideline alongside Peter. Maybe she isn’t that dim after all. Just kidding. The evening date begins with a shark swimming amongst a school of fish. Also, there’s an aquarium in the building. They aren’t remoras in that tank but Pete has his own suckerfish attached to him in the form of Victoria P who desperately continues spinning her fantasy by talking about her kids playing football. We kid ol’ Pete and the other Bachelors but if he opts for Vic P and her Crayola-sized box of 64 different neuroses he will get exactly what he deserves. Sin in haste, repent at leisure and all that. Penance arrives unexpectedly in the form of Alayah. Who just happens to be in…Cleveland? Any debate about of who-goes-next is cut off immediately. Between Vic F’s chequered past and Alayah’s sudden reappearance any rational person might start to suspect producer high jinks. But Pete’s head is spinning like a Cessna prop and he has no time for contemplation. Vic is SPRUNG and the sights and sounds are delightful. The voice breaking. The sniffling. The pleas for sympathy. Peter, finally fed up, says to hell with that. Let’s have a cage match. Alayah is the clear money line favorite – biker jacket trumps spaghetti-strap cocktail dress. Vic repeats the phrase ‘my truth’ – which, of course, means no truth at all. Alayah displays remarkable self-control by not biting Vic’s finger off. She can wipe her own tears, thanks. Alayah has played this like an old pro. When Peter inevitably offers her a place in the harem again it’s all she can do not to grin like a jack o’lantern. Instead, she offers a demure downcast look. Victory achieved. With high heel now squarely on throat, she wants some concessions: her record expunged and future blanket exemption from The Drama™. The vast roomful of bored Bachelorettes are now a vast roomful of glum ones. Alayah has parachuted in and taken their rose. Victoria involuntarily shakes her head as she watches her plan and her man sublimate from solid to wisps of vapor all in the course of an evening. It would take a heart of stone not to laugh. And yes, that’s Alayah actually smelling the rose as she delivers a Sanctioned Spoiler and reveals the Victoria F/Chase Rice news which she knows will spread rapidly throughout the hotel suite. Symbolism anyone? Apparently drama cards are just fine with Alayah as long as she’s dealing. A sly one to be sure. Alayah’s pageant personal statement is: ‘If you’re going to play the game make sure you win.’ OK, I made that part up. But I’m probably not wrong. Duty compels the chronicling of the Kelsey date even if she’s dull as ditchwater. They walk past Cleveland’s Fountain Of Eternal Life – in this context it refers to the never-ending cattiness among the girls and to Peter’s inability to see through the fog of negative emotions that surround his season. Cut to a tandem railing shot! Drink! Actually, do two shots because we’re going to get another tearjerker – this time from Kelsey who is a child of divorce, which means she is one of approximately 30 million persons in the same predicament. Quite rare then. Alarmingly, she claims ‘a lot of [her] character traits come from [her] parents’ divorce.’ Uh oh, that doesn’t sound promising to Pete. It wasn’t fun for most of us either, Kels, but we got on with it. Peter is now convinced that The Mistake By The Lake refers not to Cleveland, OH but to his decision to take this band of grumpy mopes and misfits on the road. Anywhere. They would probably pout at a party on the beach pavilion at Papeete. The wind on the river must be quite brisk as Pete cries tears that magically evaporate seconds later. A rose is offered – perhaps because he fears being chucked into the frigid Cuyahoga by an enraged Kelsey. And then they’re back to the railing! Drink! Oh wait the bottle’s empty. It's been a long night. Fireworks are launched from the shore. Baffled locals reach for the calendar. Is it July 4? It’s only 40 degrees out there. ‘That doesn’t mean much to us’ reply the locals. Fair one. Victoria F has cast the unconvincing shrinking violet routine aside to angrily confront Alayah about the Life & Times Of Chase Rice. ‘You’re fake and I’m not!’ shouts Vic, who conveniently forgets that just yesterday she managed to fake her way through an entire concert performed by her recent ex-boyfriend while dancing with her prospective new boyfriend without telling him. Oh yes – she is genuine. Emphasis on wine. The episode is bookended by still-sensible Deandra who delivers a lecture on being underrecognized. We’re not sure what that word means but she’s got the hump so we’re staying out of the way. The perpetually angry Mykenna juts her jaw and nods along as she envisions punting Peter in his privates as punishment. Lord deliver us as we flee another tantrum from Victoria P. Hey that rhymes! And it’s a hell of lot better than It could be AM, PM/It could be middle of the week or the weekend. The brushing-hair-from-face moves are getting very tiresome as are the quivering voice and tears. ‘You wanna take a seat?’ asks Peter. ‘I can’t sit,’ says Vic, who promptly sits down. One suspects that Vic is one of those people who writes her banking password on a Post-It Note attached to her monitor. Vic’s been vulnerable. It seems to be her favorite word. But doesn’t that apply to the rest of them as well? Vic’s been ‘nothing but honest’ – but didn’t she confess to lies of omission and commission when Alayah returned? Is her memory that short or her morality that malleable? It’s only episode 4 but the first suspended Rose Ceremony arrives as 12 angry (wo)men, justifiably sick of being cooped up for days on end while living out of suitcases, hurl angry accusations and allegations. Episode 5 looks to be comprised of a Lord Of The Flies group date and the appearance of a Bachelor staple as familiar as roses and champagne – an ambulance. ‘I’m so tired and so exhausted!’ wails Mykenna. Sigh...we feel the same, diddums.

The term ‘ironic distance’ was first encountered in Roger Ebert’s review of the surreal but stem-to-stern hilarious Raising Arizona. At the risk of explaining the self-explanatory it meant ‘These people have lost their everlovin’ minds and I’m thankful I’m not one of them.’ It also might be a synonym for Wrong Reasons Viewing but, to be fair, it’s getting very difficult to find Right Reasons when the producers themselves have dispensed with such idealism. Somewhere a video editor is congratulating himself/herself with the unifying water imagery introduction. A fountain, then rain, then tears. Somewhere a video editor is hoping we don’t notice that it was nice and sunny in the establishing shot of the house but that rain has begun falling in under two seconds. The Champagne Wars persist, demonstrating that a robotic I Hereby Acknowledge Your Feelings is not enough to prevent the inevitable crying jags. Hannah Ann (do we still need the Ann?) is anguished at being perceived as a champagne stealer. Quite right too. Kelsey pushes her glasses up to wipe the tears off what’s left of her nose. Victoria F speaks to Natasha F about The Drama™. We’re awarding Nat a special F designation because she is unable to communicate without the use of a particular expletive. Victoria P is going on a date. She is a Harrison/Fleiss dream candidate: damaged, desperate, demonstrative and dim. She will be a litmus test for Pete who will demonstrate if he’s looking for a partner or a stray dog/injured bird type. Vic is talking about the ‘relationship’ that does not yet exist which makes her either psychic or psycho depending on the outcome. The Ma & Pa Kettle Pickup is back as transportation. It’s a very red, very obvious signal that the date will be country themed. To hammer the point home, Pete is in a buffalo check flannel. Vapid Vic isn’t fussed. She has her stock speech about ‘spending time’ and won’t be distracted by anything that actually happens during that time. Vic’s torn jeans look like…torn jeans as in torn, not torrid, and she appears to have stolen frumpy shoes from the doorstep of some unfortunate pensioner widow in The Villages. The penny finally drops for Vic who, upon entering a Western store, insightfully declares it will be ‘cowboy & cowgirl today.’ Well spotted that girl. You aren’t going scuba diving. In a store lined floor-to-ceiling with a fantastic variety of boots including rose-themed boots and exotic skins like caiman and ostrich, they’ve opted for the most boring two pair in the place. Call it symbolism. With the proper topper Vic could have looked like sexy singleton Pam in Urban Cowboy but instead chooses a red hat and looks like 5 year old Drew Barrymore in ET. Surprise! They enter a club in the middle of the day where Surprise! a country band is playing and Surprise! an audience has gathered who Surprise! enjoy line dancing but Surprise! Vic admits she’s already forgotten the steps. As a musician I must spare a thought for the band and the players who, despite being integral to the date and the setup, are onscreen for less than 11 seconds even with all camera shots combined. Like, literally. No, like literally literally. That isn’t editing. It’s calculated cruelty. We need a union. Well, we have one. We need a better union then. Back along the Maginot Line, Kelsey denounces bullying by bullying Hannah who responds by coining a new word: ‘finasco.’ It might just catch on. Kelsey is the worst sort of debater – the kind who splutters ‘Are we making this about me?’ when she’s made it about her from the start. On a show that regularly employs barns and sheds as settings for dinner encounters the Western date theme has been inexplicably jettisoned for an aircraft hangar. We get it. Pete’s a pilot. And now Vic will manipulate him like the rudder of one of his planes as she delivers the tragic backstory. Pete’s found his Rescue Bachelorette and files his adoption papers along with a rose. He may even stop at a 7-Eleven and buy one of those paw print stickers for the truck. They climb into a single-engine plane where a camera has been conveniently mounted on the dash. Who has the heart to tell them the mile high club can’t be joined when on the ground? Alayah has read my mind as she references same. She’s letting her hair down a bit and earning merit for honesty but demerits from Sourpuss Sydney who already has a bad case of epicondylitis from wagging her finger. Demi And Her [Oh you probably know what very descriptive if slightly derogatory slang term I want to type here but they would probably kick me off the PC planet and ban my IP if I did] arrive with pillows and bullhorn to scream and spread some feathers around. The group date makes the heretofore unknown underground pillow fighting scene. It’s an apt metaphor for the tenuous Bachelorette bonds because apparent softness quickly gives way to some red-in-tooth-and-claw viciousness from the laydeez. They’re not even above a wrestling takedown or two. On a serious note, Fred Willard has had a brilliant career as a face you recognize but aren’t quite sure where you’ve seen him before. Columnist Bill Simmons called the character actor phenomenon That Guy. There have been two documentaries about That Guy called, fittingly, That Guy…Who Was In That Thing (pts 1 & 2). From Spinal Tap to Best In Show, Willard has been a master of satire because he plays his self-important but clueless parts straight in the context of a comedy or farce. His deadpan characters are the oblivious butt of the joke. It is with this appreciation for his work that it’s sad to see him in his dotage and with a rather obvious case of Parkinsonism. We are genuinely surprised that no blood has been shed during the melee. Alayah emerges victorious and Sourpuss Sydney orders the phasers set to vaporize as she awaits a chance to eliminate her rival. You will recall that Sydney is from Birmingham but made it clear that she wasn’t like – and didn’t like - the University of Alabama Delta Gamma alumnae who provide the dazzling scenery at the Superior Grill. That rasping sound you hear is coming from the also-rans on the date as they grit their collective teeth. Sourpuss explains that ‘Alayah puts on the pretty little princess façade and flaunts herself in front of the cameras in an absolute orchestrated show.’ This is akin to complaining that someone who’s jumped in a pool is using their legs and arms to stay afloat. It’s in the job description, sugarbumps. There is no doubt that Alayah has moves. Mostly of her head and shoulders. This juror finds her innocent of all charges. She is pageanting (possible new verb) like mad during the interview segment of the competition. Hannah Ann looks like a piker now. Kelley displays an admirable bit of maturity and genuine interest in Alayah’s encounter. Sydney is red-faced and it ain’t from the gas fire or the booze. Syd decides the direct approach is best and demands to know Alayah’s employment status. Alayah either fails to detect the insult or is killing Sydney with kindness by actually addressing her question. Frustrated that her needles are missing the target, Sydney aims at the solar plexus and denounces Alayah’s personality to her. Charming. The Birmingham Bitch demands authenticity but what authenticity have we seen from her apart from the obvious and off-putting? Credit to Kelley who, as a lawyer albeit one who possibly shares an office with Daddy, has seen something of the world and is able to ignore the ongoing catfight. Their previous encounter is definitely a huge springboard and an advantage. A jarring jumpcut to Like Literally Tammy whose first words are – wait for it – ‘like, literally.’ ‘This is working’ declares Pete. Well, yes, if your objective was to have a snog with every female then it’s working a treat. Sydney takes Pete to a very dark place. Also, the lights in the room are low. ‘Am I someone you would want to be with?’ she asks. A viewing nation responds by screaming ‘HELL NO!’ at their flat panels. Caesar assembles the Senate around the fire. Sydnus Brutus wields the freshly-honed blade with its new inscription: Death to Alayah. Al may not be everyone’s cuppa but Syd’s behavior is now in the realm of the obsessive. Peter, to his discredit, is ‘confused’ because he accepts one side of a story as fact. The Bachelor franchise’s own Wrong Way Corrigan caps off a disastrous night (for him) by giving Sydney a rose. For someone claiming to be seeking a wife he doesn’t seem to understand that marriage to Sydney would involve lamps flying across the room, a tracker app on his phone and sleeping with one eye open in case she douses him with gasoline and threatens to light a match – all because he forgot to take out the trash. The mama’s boy wants his mama because he lacks the emotional intelligence to detect lies and truth. He decides the best way to launch a party is to whine and moan some more. Even worse, he’s apologizing to…Sydney?!? Hey girls, some of the Seven Deadly Sins can be fun in the right context: lust, gluttony, pride. In fact, they’re part and parcel of many dates. Wrath and envy, however, are never a good time. The Carousel of Jealousy is the worst ride at Disneyland but Pete is dashing across the park to get his FastPass. Alayah, undaunted, confronts her tormentor and charms her suitor as well. This isn’t good enough for the suitor who asks Victoria P to dish the dirt. Both are shocked – SHOCKED! – that a participant might seek fame after filming. This is all getting absurd now. Vacuous Vic is unable to discern the very large difference between telling a premeditated falsehood and keeping a confidence. But hey, when you’re an emotionally needy basket case sacrifices will have to be made. Pete walks out on his own party. Cue floods of tears. Well done ladies! The boo-boo-faced Bachelor arrives for his rose ceremony still grumpy. Er, Pete didn't you say it was working? Kiarra is worried about being in the background but the way the heads are rolling around this guillotine she’s better off remaining anonymous for now. Victoria F still has her rose from what seems like a year ago. Alayah finally yields to the dozen or so blades plunged into her back. Victoria P is now in full stalker mode and declares she will put Pete first. And by Pete she means herself. But wait – what’s this? We will break the official or unofficial episode discussion rules by noting, quite obviously, that Alayah is not done. Huzzah! If Pete is going to burn his Jet A on aimless drama then we’re happy to watch. Well, not happy but content. Well, not content but we’ll watch anyway. Probably. If you ask nicely and don't play up to the cameras because we are are trying to be our true selves.

Dawn breaks with Tammy telling us – again - she doesn’t want to talk about the drama she keeps talking about. Kelsey has eyes puffier than George Foreman’s after the Ali fight. We see in the daylight that her bottle was Dom Perignon (despite the silly Sharpie masking of the logo) so perhaps she has a legitimate gripe when she ended up with the house prosecco. Inevitably last night’s combatants are sent on a group date together with all very jazzed about visiting Revolve. Every girl’s dream apparently. Some dream, some don’t about modeling. Hannah Ann could be excused for cackling loud and long – this will be a busman’s holiday for her. One gets the feeling that, ahem, less emotionally stable members of the party will not enjoy it. Hannah loves her hat but, as the old line goes, not even a Greek fisherman looks good in a Greek fisherman’s hat. Snark aside for a moment, it’s unclear why Victoria F is so insecure. Natural beauty, almond-shaped eyes, raven hair, banging figure, petite. And perceptive. She should know that Ugly Ducklings are a type unto themselves and very alluring to many males – even if it’s not on this show. For those of us unfamiliar with the fashion end of reality TV we can be excused for thinking that Rip Taylor had come back from the dead, shaved his mustache, left his confetti at home and put on a sequined jacket. This host is camp as a row of pink tents and is uninterested in any dermatologists’ warnings about sunbeds. His co-host Janice might have a word about premature aging of the skin. Natasha says the fashion haul is like ‘Pretty Woman’ without the bad parts but several of the ladies have nevertheless opted for Streetwalker Chic. Hannah makes The Statement by donning a wedding gown. Pete surrenders without firing a shot. Costumes are changed and Natasha is described as ‘a really sexy Amish person’ which will be news to anyone who’s visited Amish country and noted, shall we say, the rather homogeneous population. Kelsey appears in pajamas and carries a bottle of champagne, natch. It’s even money she’ll bonk Peter over the head with it or possibly open it and spray the crowd with it. But that would likely cost her the prize – of clothes that is. Victoria notes that Hannah’s been the frontrunner from day one. See? Perceptive. But we’re having a bit of trouble swallowing the Not Confident routine. Not Confident people don’t wear lingerie in a crowded room. Full marks to her for summiting her personal mountain. For the others, beating Hannah Ann was about as likely as outdueling Eddie Van Halen in a Guitar Center on a Saturday morning. Ooh! Power move by Hannah throwing her dress into Vic! Han milks it further by lingering for an extra turn. It’s all child’s play for her really as she coasts to victory. Equally predictable is Victoria’s despair. For once a sniffle and a cry don’t seem calculated as TB reassures her. Mykenna has copped a fair amount of opprobrium but she’s forming an alliance of sorts with Hannah – both may need the support when Hurricane Kelsey makes landfall again. ‘We’re both in a good place.' Translated: ‘We’re comfortably ahead.’ Hannah dishes the dirt on Kelsey. Previous Bachelors usually sprint away from the internecine wars in the house but certainly not here. V is for Victoryia! Nobody in the room, save Hannah perhaps, begrudges the dark horse her rose. Peter unwisely places Kelsey on the stand where she demonstrates no sense of irony as she tearfully accuses Hannah of playing the victim. The next-ep teaser is followed by a rather extensive teaser for the season. Caution is thrown mostly to the wind as we see dates, excursions and in most cases the ladies’ identities are front and center. The crying jags are too numerous to count. Interesting approach. Is it an attempt to keep the audience hooked or is it a statement of confidence in the audience’s loyalty?

Meghan Markle’s long-lost cousin Peter faces a dilemma similar to hers: what if the lure of tawdry fame and adulation is stronger than genuine feelings and obligations? And how do you sell that without looking like a total plonker? (Spoiler: you don’t). The damp squib of a group date becomes more of a group delay as the ladies sit around puzzling. Peter & Hannah B have done everything but lock lips and some grudging credit must be given to them because most would have yielded to nature about a week ago. Less credit must be offered to the video crew and their silly voyeuristic door-crack-peeping nonsense. Last week the cameras were fully in the same room during all the sturm und drang. Hannah B & Peter are well accustomed to seeing the men in black and their rigs. Now we’re getting ham-fisted cinema verité. If the also-rans think the first night was hurry-up-and-wait drudgery they ain’t seen nothin’ yet. As Paul’s grandfather complained in ‘A Hard Day’s Night’: ‘So far I’ve been in a train and a room and a car and a room and a room and a room’ – meaning the glamorous vistas they were promised and envisioned themselves have devolved quickly into a long session in a dentist’s waiting room. But at least the dentist eventually shows up and shows interest. Natasha is carrying on with her Real Housewives patter. If she normally communicates this way it’s worrying. If she’s desperate to become a meme on the internet it’s a bit sad. Mykenna gives her best Glenn Close/Fatal Attraction ‘I won’t be ignored’ speech. That is a crazed look, my dear. Alayah drags the English language even closer to the abyss by stating she wants to ‘progress their relationship.’ The girls are gathered, notebooks in hand to be informed that Pusillanimous Pete has decided to do…nothing. Well, as the great and sadly departed Neil Peart once noted, if you choose not to decide you still have made a choice. The girls are still in ‘oooh pick me’ mode but any one of them could be forgiven for smacking him on the head for leading them into his personal no-fly zone. Pete wants to reconvene at the afterparty. After what, exactly? And what is there to celebrate? These cats are well annoyed and tails are flicking madly left and right now. Natasha is fully committed…to stirring the pot with more tirades in the key of F-sharp if not The Bachelor himself. Alexa is sporting a daring hairdo not seen since Wendy and Lisa in their pomp in ‘Purple Rain.’ The ink is still wet on the Leave It In The Past Treaty but signatory Alexa wants answers anyway. Wait – aren’t we supposed to be the ones asking questions of Alexa? Natasha is now offering poison-dripping sessions to individual ear owners. Now it’s Savannah’s turn. And Savannah is doing the defensive arm-bar-hair-grab move! Who needs subtitles when you can read body language? Natasha’s next victim is Pete himself. This sounds less like a dating show and more like a customer service class at a restaurant. I’m sorry, you’re right, I was wrong, how can I fix it etc. etc. Sydney is from Birmingham AL but sounds as if she’s from Burbank CA as she steadfastly refuses to place any space between her words. Soeveryutterancesoundslikethisandendsinaquestion? Her ‘I gave up a lot to be here’ speech is a familiar one but has the desired effect on Pete as he latches on. Or maybe it’s a move out of desperation as he tries something, anything to get her to finish a sentence. Now it’s Mykenna’s turn and apparently this is her well-rehearsed switched-on I’m-such-a-flirt act. Fred Flintstone voice: ‘Hoo boy.’ They’re now reviewing line-dancing steps which are mercifully short and unmercifully arhythmic but merely a pretext for her to get a kiss. Pete unwittingly brings her inner Glenn Close out (again) by playing the role of Michael Douglas, lifting her onto a desktop. Pete, our only advice to is to keep her away from the bunnies. And boiling water. Considering he’s only been on camera with four of the nine women gathered and only kissed two of them the rose will obviously be a coin flip between Sydney and Mykenna. Payton’s body language is nearly screaming aloud – she’s leaning so far off the sofa she may knock the lamp over as she taps her foot impatiently. She looks like a poor soul waiting on her train stop as a bunch of rowdy kids climb over the seats next to her while their mother ignores them. Rabble-rousing Natasha is back at it and why not? She’s got the full complement of rabble to rouse now. Tammy is chock full of criticism for someone she’s met just the once. Pity the poor soul who ends up with her constant disapproval. Maybe she’ll pin them on the floor as punishment for leaving dirty dishes in the sink. Pete arrives with his now-standard apology and Lockjaw Lexi ‘feels a lot better.’ She wants to talk about the first night…of which Pete has no memory. That should fill her with confidence! Kisses, once a rare and prized commodity on TB, are now so uneventful that when they happen the cameras focus on…the hanging lanterns. Unlit. Even the cymbal crescendos are muted. Kelsey has brought a bottle of champagne ‘for a really special moment.’ But hasn’t she noticed the bubbly has been flowing throughout the production already? Let’s face it…some of the best moments in the franchise occur when the participants are listing to starboard and have let their guard down. I suppose we can thank the execrable Corinne again for forcing adults to be treated like children as and when the booze is rationed. In addition to her champagne, Kelsey is lighting candles. On this show it’s like bringing sand to the beach. One wonders how she is guaranteed an audience with His Pilotness and that doubt is justified because he’s dashed out the front door with Glenn – sorry, Mykenna. Both of them already have drink in hand so the champers and Kelsey can wait. Whatever M&P got up to has been left on the editing room floor but she returns, inexplicably, with a smug look, a can of Reddi Wip and a bottle of Log Cabin. Fleiss & Co. have never been above a bit of product placement but this is still very odd. Did we miss a reenactment of 9 ½ Weeks? Mykenna is still suited and booted. Does this mean Pete is naked and tied to a fence post somewhere, claw marks on his back, moaning softly in Spanish for his mama and looking like a stack of silver dollar pancakes? And why isn’t a single person in the room asking some rather obvious questions about the sugary condiments? But why talk food when you’ve got drama? Kelsey is reading every page of the riot act to Mykenna but it’s fine. Yes, it sounds entirely fine. Pete, as it turns out, did not become a human Grand Slam Breakfast also which only adds to the mystery of the cream and syrup. But now it’s Madison Time! (It’s an old song- ask yer dad). Pete may be pecking around the barnyard – and why not? – but he’s a giddy schoolboy around Maddie. Speaking of barnyards, Alayah has rather noticeably become the mother hen, acting as sounding board for the others and now makeup artist touching up Kelsey after The Showdown Pt 1. Kelsey has regained altitude but is about nosedive into despair as she suffers the twin ignominy of someone stealing her moment…and her champagne. Never has the pop! of a cork so clearly marked a dividing line. And brothers and sisters, that line has been well and truly crossed. Yes who is with him? Madison’s back with the group so it must be…Polly Purebred, er, Hannah Ann! Underdog, you’re in truuuuuuble. Hannah pleads innocent – she’s got the act down cold, to be fair – but she seems believable here. We shift quickly from The Bold & The Beautiful to Dumb & Dumber as Kelsey unwisely tips the champagne bottle to her lips and gets a faceful of it. It would be impolite NOT to laugh, really. For a split second Pete doesn’t know if he should laugh because it is genuinely hilarious. Kelsey, frankly, could defuse the whole situation by laughing herself but lacks the presence of mind. Kelsey is still convinced that she has transported the only bottle of champagne on the planet to California and the Bachelor house with her despite the open bar that has been on offer throughout. She’s like a kid who brings candy to a birthday party and throws a wobbler when others partake. Hannah is nearly robotic: ‘I acknowledge your feelings.’ It’s a fairly new passive tactic in Bachelorland but evidently a fairly common one. But it beats screaming I suppose. It’s another Mid-Episode Rose Ceremony (MERC?). Kelsey & Hannah Ann are front and center and next to each other. Coincidence no doubt. Roses awarded to Victoria P, among others, who has gone from teacup turmoil to nearly zero minutes of screen time this ep. Also to Natasha although Pete might be playing defense as he doesn’t want the final tongue-lashing from her in the room with all the others! She’s clearly in the Friend Zone but in her case it might be more accurately termed the Demilitarized Zone. Hannah, we aren’t buying the gee-I-don’t-know-if-I’ll-get-a-rose routine so stop selling. Let’s all agree in non-judgmental fashion that you’ve got aces wired. Tammy. Ugh. Shiann’s got some front talking about others’ tantrums considering she was one of the primary tantrum-throwers last ep. At this point we are pounding the table and chanting Send Kelsey Home! but the psycho stalker on an emotional knife edge is a stock character in this show so no such luck. A number of clear no-hopers have been retained which, unfortunately for the producers, only further tips off who the final group will consist of. ENTR’ACTE

McKenna starts part II with ‘journey’ and ‘find love.’ Drink? Oh give us a break..we’re hung over and didn’t sleep. Shouldn’t Chris Harrison have clothes made with a little kangaroo pouch sewn onto the back to hold the envelope? If not, where, exactly is he storing it? Can we get clothier Kelsey on the job? A rather obvious group of pigeons have been selected by the cat. Or is it the other way round? They’re really going to milk this pilot/airplane thing for all it’s worth aren’t they? That's another cat pun but it wasn't intentional. Probably because a having licensed pilot means his services are free. Pete’s excited about the female aviators but it’s fairly evident that our vapid Bachelorettes are unfamiliar with the Blue Angels – maybe they think it’s a clothing brand spun off from Victoria’s Secret? C-130? Is that a Ford pickup truck? Now we have math. ‘Oh no!’ one gasps - understandably. Pilot Instructor Cook isn’t quite up to airspeed on the fun aspect of all this. Don't ask, don't tell, airman. No laughing or giggling in her ground school, dammit. Now give me 50 pushups. Victoria P recounts yet another harrowing Devastating Personal Tragedy (DPT) – she vomited on ‘the little teacup spinny thing.’ How well-read and cosmopolitan she truly is. She speaks so lyrically. B-roll footage of the actual ride and some ominous music are inserted for those still unfamiliar with the teacups. Or vomiting. Which she predictably does and her white knight of the skies predictably runs over to the bathroom door – because we all want to converse while we’re hugging a commode and retching don’t we? Like, Tammy, literally like, can’t, like, stop saying like. Like, literally. Ugh – what did they slide down into? Grease? Pumpkin? Kelley is cheating but never have we been so happy to see someone break the rules. Kelley’s a lawyer, girls. She knows rules are made to be broken. She’s even met TB before. Victoria P with a ‘journey’ (ding!) and I think we have the first ‘comfort zone’ of the season – Comfort Zone should really become the name of a cocktail. Crikey, there’s a whole hour left? Shiann has either brought the full complement of bad gambler’s luck with her from Las Vegas or she’s getting a horrible edit. Either way, she is squarely in the Friend Zone. Kelley adds punitive damages by stealing Pete AND getting the rose. Even Hannah is a little off-kilter after that clean sweep. Aubie Madison is dressed to the nines at midday. Oiling her Tiger traps as it were. Most of the ladies are on the slim side but Madison has some noticeable muscle definition. Even her peers are impressed, especially the ones who have been relying on the Diet Coke and sneaky cigarette plan before filming commenced. A cheeky pseudo-hometown date – which is undoubtedly how the other girls will view it – follows featuring more of Pete and his Mommy issues. But Madison is returning serve with Daddy stories. The vocal fry is at max sizzle now and she’s using the word ‘wife.’ Gulp! Hoopster Madison gets a slam-dunk rose. Never in doubt. Cue the country that really isn’t country featuring a ‘bantar’ (a banjo strung and tuned like a guitar). The hours at the mansion are long. And so are the faces. Another group date involves…more Hannah B. At this point your odds of falling into a pool and staying dry are better than avoiding The Eternal Bachelorette. Natasha slips into Real Housewives mode but it’s entirely appropriate here. ‘That’s two times we’ve seen her in a week’ notes Alayah. Amen. But to be fair real emotion is on offer here from both…and it involves the complete wreckage of eye makeup. Love is a powerful force…but it’s not as powerful as network ratings and schedules. If Pete bails now there will be some rather large holes to fill on the calendar and ABC/Fleiss/Harrison aren’t having it. It’s a gripping scene and an authentic one, actually, but probably a hiding to nothing since there is a series to air! Give ‘em grudging credit. A 3-hour show still ends with a cliffhanger. Top that, Scorsese!

Committing to a season of TB is daunting because one feels compelled to get to the final rose (and beyond) no matter how dim the prospects – and indeed no matter how dim the participants – are. TB is a bit like music – most of the potential for originality is gone. And if you come up with something you THINK is original – a melody, a chord progression – you find that someone came up with the same thing many years ago. 12 notes in the Western scale and all that. And so TB is a victim of its own notoriety but especially its longevity. At this point everyone’s in on the joke except, perhaps, for a few emotionally unstable, insecure males and females who pretend they know it’s all kayfabe but actually lose the plot when they declare ‘I was here to find love.’ With Instagram a hush-hush contract with an agent is no longer required. With Instagram filters a professional photographer may be surplus to requirements as well. Cue the string of photos that are so predictable they are like those compulsory skating figures that used to be part of the Olympics. To wit: 1) Peace sign, usually with duck lips 2) Hat of some kind worn ironically or otherwise. Cowboy. Big furry Russian hat. Baseball cap. Knit watch cap (beanie). Men’s hat (derby/bowler, Homburg, fedora, etc.). Bicycle/motorcycle helmet - well, at least held in hand. Watch the hair! 3) Sunglasses worn in conjunction with #1 or #2 above 4) Evening gown 5) Pic hugging dog. Occasionally cat. 6) Family members used as props. 7) Beach photos. Lots of beach photos. Hundreds of beach photos. Photos of surf, sand, docks, seagulls, turtles, iguanas, cabanas. But mostly photos of themselves on the beach (natch) with hair and makeup done perfectly. As you do. Most beach photos involve strategic poses all laser-focused on camouflaging the thigh and bum area: legs crossed while standing with all the weight on the back foot. Standing on tiptoes so vertiginously that a violent rupture of an Achilles’ tendon seems likely. The captions are equally universal: ‘This is my perfect place’….’Already missing ______’ (an excuse to post another beach photo)…and, of course, some variation on ‘This is paradise’ – but not Paradise (capital P). That probably comes later for the truly neurotic and desperate. My usual disadvantage in missing the previous Bachelorette season but Hannah and the powers that be have pushed her incessantly on the public via cameos. Hannah would show up at the opening of an envelope, as it were. But I know next to nothing about Pete except he seems as shallow as the 2-minute video package featuring his mom hogging the camera so comprehensively that the crew may still be locked in her garage. It’s a safe bet Pete’s got mommy issues. The video vignettes for the females begin and they are as staged as WrestleMania. A waxer ‘who runs her own business’ (read: she rents a space in the Lenox Salon Lofts). Model Hannah Sluss. Nothing against models or the name Hannah (despite its current ubiquity) but remember the old days when a Joyce Frankenberg’s agent would change her name to Jane Seymour? Sluss is just too easy to mispronounce intentionally or otherwise. How about a stage name? Hannah Stevens maybe? Hey are they using the same table set for the various families or does everyone own the same table and area rug? Are we really using those paper cell blinds on windows in the house? I thought they were for ‘luxury’ apartments. I have them in my garage but…it’s a garage. Tammy’s a house flipper. You can tell by the perfectly manicured hands and the manual screwdriver that she’s a paint-stained contractor (eye roll). Boys’ wrestling team? Oh boy. Love travel a lot? It’s hard to redo a kitchen when you’re in Cabo. We’re three vignettes in and already a theme has developed: these chicks want free airfare and lots of it. Victoria activates the Devastating Personal Tragedy (DPT) alarm and will, undoubtedly, be in floods of tears upon arrival and throughout just as she is now. Do full-on self-respecting attorneys share offices with Daddy? Law firms full of relatives usually scream ‘ambulance chasers’ but Flanagan|Bilton (it came up quickly in a Google search as popular searches do) are all about fighting the man – the property tax man as it were. If you’re a public school employee look away now. We should really add a ‘railing shot’ counter to this site/section for every time a participant approaches, leans on or otherwise touches a railing near a body of water or on a balcony. War Eagle Madison is also about travel. Memo to the ladies: Pete’s a commercial pilot but he doesn’t own a Gulfstream. Maurissa is in the medical field and was a pageant girl. For the really dense viewer unable to grasp these subtleties a shot of Maurissa in her scrubs taking off a prop tiara is included. At this point it’s fair to ask if center-parted hair is a legal requirement in most states. The drowned-rat look simply won’t go away. A glimpse at magazine covers from the 60s, 70s and 80s shows an almost dizzying progression of hairstyles, some good, most bad. But they changed – rapidly – in the days of the landline phone and the newsprint paper. In the era of global instantaneous high-definition stereo-sound communications, however, we can’t advance beyond cleavage – on the scalp that is. Speaking of cleavage, Alayah has arrived with her own and a dose of double-sided tape. She’s got cans – sorry, a canned speech and a canned letter from Grandma. Awww. Sydney’s from Birmingham and has some snark for her Alabama predecessor. Dewy-eye Hannah appears again and sets a speed record running through the poses: the head tilt, the chin drop/thrust, the shrug. Sarah becomes a sentimental favorite merely because her hair is side-parted. Lauren is petite and ponytailed and arrives with cod psychology and the first mention of ‘journey.’ Drink! Victoria is overwhelmed and on an emotional knife-edge as usual even though we barely know her. Their dance is so awkward that, in the words of Mark Twain, let us draw the curtain of charity over the rest of the scene. Mykenna surveys TB like a rancher surveys a head of cattle. I’m trying to imagine what kind of hell would be raised if a the male did same to a female. Maurissa raises the ‘journey’ stakes with a ‘be true to ourselves’ and joins the chorus talking VERY prematurely about marriage. Kelsey’s a professional clothier from…Des Moines? Does she do a brisk trade in designer flannel and mud boots? Ugh our first prop (except for the letter)…Eunice is a flight attendant which saves a lot of time and trouble. She can book her own deadhead ticket and knows the procedures at the airport hotel. Bottle of champagne and all that. Now we’ve got a parade of flight attendants. Jade (best looker so far especially the raven hair and mercifully free of props). Megan and her microphone. Eunice is nonplussed. Madison reappears followed by Tammy (already top of the annoying list). A neon sign for Courtney reading ‘bunny boiler’ would probably be too obvious. But she is. Suitcase Kiarra. Yawn. Lexi isn’t listed as a ventriloquist but still talks without moving her mouth at all ‘It’s like an old car!’ Well, yes, girls. Might we expect you to recognize a Corvette? Deandra is wearing windmill blades. The puns write themselves don’t they? Dutch treat? Grist for the mill? Millstone around his neck? Payton is also obsessed with her predecessor – all of them seem blissfully unaware that the last thing a bloke wants to hear about is his shortcomings, failures, near-misses, etc. Eunice is being possessive and annoying again…I sense a trend already. Here come some more screeching ‘4 timers.’ Oh God, it’s like being back on a school bus. Victoria’s dry sense of humor really isn’t dry and really isn’t humor but it’s better than a double entendre about a cat that we heard in ‘Are You Being Served?’ decades ago. Speaking of marking territory when a Bachelorette talks about ‘establishing myself’ look out for claws and hissing. Jenna and her cow remind us that TB should have at least one preemptive black rose in which he sends a no-hoper home before she ever enters the house. Blindfold girl, name mercifully missed, gives way to Kelley who claims to be on a mission from God which is appropriate given their mutual Chicago background. The Blues Bachelorettes? Avonlea is almost a parody of Texas blondes including her profession but the intimidation factor when she enters is interesting to watch, as is the body language whenever individual ladies feel tense. The right arm reaches across the face in a defensive move as the hand grasps for the hair in a self-soothing gesture. Once you see it you can’t stop seeing it. I needn’t have worried because Hannah B is here amidst a chorus of shrieks and screams. ABC seems hell-bent on casting her in something, possibly Good Morning America or 20/20? A stultifying sequence of show and tell follows. Hannah’s fingerpainting garners her a snog. More gasps and shrieks. Mykenna gets hers. Hannah Slusses (you wish you'd said it) to the buffet again successfully and is reproached but Southern girls can wrong-foot the opposition rather smoothly by agreeing with their tormentor. Hmmm Victoria F’s dry humor seems to have dried up completely. Instead, she’s the new Ashley I having a meltdown. In the least surprising result since the NBA Dream Team carpet-bombed the Olympic basketball competition, Hannah gets the first impression rose. What a performer. The batting of the eyes, the nodding, the leaning in. ‘I cannot believe I got the rose.’ Mmm-hmm. Pull the other leg – it’s got bells on it. You believe it entirely. A mid-episode RC. Perhaps it makes up for late-season episodes in which RCs are ‘spontaneously’ interrupted and postponed. Tammy demonstrates that she literally doesn’t understand the word literally. Lexi is doing her Edgar Bergen act again. Or maybe she has an undiagnosed case of tetanus. It’s daylight now and there’s no attempt to disguise it – which means they spent nigh-on 12 hrs shooting (and probably reshooting) the arrival scenes? Few surprises although we can be excused for hoping that Tammy was a red herring – lots of footage and interviews and a first-night exit. Still, we can look forward to an early departure in the next ep or two. Sydney’s rose shows Hannah in the background letting the mask slip. The ‘greatest love story’ McKenna? Let’s not get carried away. Sarah might be a dark horse. Kelsey is in agony. Maybe it’s from wearing heels that long. Shame Pete can’t see the interviews or he would hear The Music Man warn us that Kelsey from River City is trouble – starts with T. More red-herringness is avoided when Victoria F snatches the last rose. Which means Jade, sadly, is off home. So is Maurissa – aha! The Red Herring revealed! She will no doubt be asked if her passport is in order for a trip to Mexico. Pro Sports Dancer & her Mr Bigglesworth are gone. ENTR’ACTE

Don't watch her show(s) or follow most Hollywood gossip but this is a bit of a surprise and a somewhat rare overlap between traditional fame and the reality TV kind. An educated guess says Wells probably won't need or want the bartender/counselor gig in future. https://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-7619341/Sarah-Hyland-fiance-Wells-Adams-celebrate-engagement-backyard-bash-Los-Angeles.html

It's been a near-futile exercise in trying to catch up on this season. I think I'm on the right topic/episode thread but...even if I'm not...... -The quote engine won't let me copy and paste attribution so apologies for that. Kristina said in passing that she was living in LA. Her social media would tend to confirm this and the singleton-dental-hygienist-living-in-Louisville persona has obviously been jettisoned. It wouldn't surprise me if ABC/producers kept her on a retainer. -Reality TV in general is getting rumbled (exposed) on a frequent basis these days and the tattletales are, curiously, the cast members themselves. They reveal frequent cynical manipulation by producers. Example: Love Islander A tells Islander B something and swears them to secrecy. Islander B appears to sprint downstairs to spill the beans two minutes later. Islander B takes an absolute shredding online but doesn't know about it until the show ends. At that point Islander B, trying to save face or simply set the record straight, reveals the producer involvement. -Most audiences long ago cottoned on to the unreality of reality TV and many watch it in a kind of suspended-disbelief state of mind as many others watch scripted pro wrestling. However, Fleiss/Harrison & associates may have pushed it too far with the Kristina/Blake rose: it revealed that the core 'game' is rigged (the RC) and it revealed Kristina and/or Blake as plants, provocateurs, etc. -As others have noted, the fight revealed a huge, intrusive, distracting number of crew members everywhere and anywhere on the beach. One bloke was wearing a lifeguard outfit. Elf-n-safety and all that but those 'spontaneous' forays into the surf, especially at night, become much less spontaneous when someone's monitoring you from the beach. What must his work hours be like? -The teaser clips of The Big Fight were very brief indeed and for the usual reason: to encourage watching the next episode. But due to the lighting and the angle I thought there might be a chance that it was Clay mixing it up with Christian and although Jordan gave a good account of himself with his impressive hip toss Clay would have broken the punk in half. Shame we didn't get to see that. Christian fell out of - or possibly into - character quickly. The hold-me-back guys are always good for a laugh. They know full well security and onlookers won't let them resume the fight so they rant and rave and threaten safe in the knowledge. Like many his type, Christian was revealed to be thin-skinned, insecure, quick to anger, etc. -Speaking of Blake, either women's tastes have changed drastically or poor eyesight is an epidemic. I'm sure his hair - or whatever is posing as hair - has been a frequent topic of discussion especially as it struggles mightily to cope with the heat and humidity. For a group of young people obsessed with appearance (others and their own) it beggars belief that it hasn't been a topic of discussion and/or a turn-off for them. Although in keeping with the note above, if Blake is a producer's pet then they will no doubt be cutting any footage of the girls discussing his, er, addendum. The eye can't help but be drawn to that stark white line running ear to ear on the back of his head. You will note that he has not gone under the surface of the water once. -Speaking of Blake again, only a vampire could be exposed to that much tropical sunshine - or even infrared rays on cloudy days - and maintain his fish-belly white skin tone. -Ironic distance aside, I am on record (as a politician might say) as being Pro Jen, Team Jen, Jen Fan Club Member and All About Jen. I am on record as having called her Official Wife Material because I believe she is, or at least was. But one must adopt - or at least comprehend - the Gestalt Theory of Jen Saviano. Gestalt as in 'whole package.' It isn't just the looks as in features. It's the body language, the movement, the poses (eg on the boat). Jen is quick to smile but doesn't cheese or giggle. When conversing she will drop the chin and tilt the head and bat the eyelids. Is this learned or innate behavior as the psychology texts ask? Whatever it is, it works. She's got the Goldilocks physique - not too little not too much. Doesn't look pumped up/cut from gym work, doesn't look like she's starving to fit a particular dress size. And thanks to genetics she APPEARS to be avoiding the temptation to alter her features. But then, why would she? It's fair to ask, however: if it works why isn't it working in the wider world? Good question...not sure I can answer. Jen is doing a Kristina - or perhaps Kristina's doing a Jen - in the bizarre fishbowl known as Instagram influencing. Jen has been to all four corners of the globe over the last year or so with, as a judge might say, no visible means of support. Endorsements? Quid pro quo? Hard to tell. But our Jen is pictured in many posh locales and establishments. EDIT: she has a concierge-type web site involving travel planning for visitors to Nashville. Jen would seem to be Bachelorette Candidate A-1 but possibly seems a bit too savvy compared to the often-desperate airheads that have been recent Bachelorettes. -I'm considering putting a loop together of Demi creasing her nose & forehead, shedding a tear and covering her face with one hand. The loop might last 5 min or more but if all the shots are identical (but of different origin) how could we tell? ;)

A postscript regarding the music: like its UK cousin, LIUS relied on the device of EXTREMELY close-mic'd singers doing agonized covers of standards with frequent agonized catches in their voices and all accompanied by sad tinkly piano. Apparently this is meant to convey great emotional upheaval but after the fifth or sixth number it becomes predictable and tiresome. It's also a lazy and obvious way of padding the show by including otherwise mundane footage of islanders prepping for bed and - wait for it - sleeping. A cynic might also point out that covers of old songs a) don't say much for the current crop of autotuned blandness and b) avoid payouts of performance/mechanical royalties to the original artists.

As a watcher of the UK (where it originated) & Aussie versions it was interesting to see how much 'ITV flavor' would be sprinkled on the US version. The challenges, unsurprisingly, were almost entirely duplicated. But due to the short run of LIUS there were some that didn't happen. The bingo game was a substitute for the 'drink in the face' challenge in which tabloid headlines and/or tweets were read and and the participant had to throw a cocktail (actually just dyed water) in the face of another islander. Despite the usual attempts to take it lightly, there is a natural fight-or-flight human reaction to getting doused and tempers often flared after the game - which is the whole point. The bingo game was, like most things on LIUS, a little too friendly, a little too chummy, a little too complimentary, a little too safe. Another missed trick was the lie detector. A completely bogus 'reading' of islander thoughts with answers to match, it frequently put the cat among the pigeons and upset even the most stable of couples. ITV's presence was also evident in some idiomatic expressions that were part of the official script ie instructions sent via text or the host's lines. One example: one instruction noted that it was 'down to' the islanders to decide - a very British construction where Americans typically say 'up to.' Complaints about weather are as old as weather itself but in clicking back through a few episodes it really is remarkable how dismal the weather was. It poured night and day for most of the series run and even the mostly dry days lacked South Pacific sunshine. It clearly had a negative effect individually and collectively on the frequently listless islanders. The short series also precluded some of the more devilish moves by the producers. One infamous twist from LIUK involved a couple being forced to choose between leaving the villa together or uncoupling and remaining. In that case they chose the latter but it was a close-run thing. Chucking islanders out with such rapidity and regularity meant that love triangles were almost nonexistent. It's one thing to have to choose at a recoupling, quite another to have the ex remain in the house. It happened once or twice but keeping the numbers down meant keeping the intrigue down as well. As every soap opera demonstrates, bad news and conflict are more interesting than loved-up couples canoodling on a couch. I recently read an interesting description on World War I, of all things, and trench warfare in particular: 'Trench warfare was the result of a vast increase in firepower without a corresponding increase in mobility.' This is not to compare a candyfloss TV show to The Great War but it could be said that Love Island originated before social media became ubiquitous and all-consuming (at least among a certain demographic). The first two years of LIUK were flat-out raunchy as the islanders weren't consumed with a) what the public were saying about them and b) what their prospects for life beyond the villa might be. As a bit of a summer throwaway LIUK was off the radar of the cultural tongue-cluckers and the islanders were either not as cynical and cunning as the current crop or were simply more interested in the pleasures of the flesh in the here and now. Unfortunately, fame or at least notoriety became burdensome to some of the ex-islanders who a) continued to participate heavily in social media and b) took the numerous abusive comments to heart. But let's be fair: many (most?) of the ex-islanders gladly participated in post-LI activities like parties, clubbing, TV interviews, magazine spreads and especially personal appearances where they were paid handsomely. Although the UK prize of £50,000 (only about $60,000 at present due to the rapidly-slipping exchange rate) is even less than the US prize of $100,000, even the so-called losers and early departures of LI could easily amass £50,000 or more after the show ended - and many have done so. In the case of one female islander she had already been treated for clinical depression and associated problems. Applying for the show was probably a mistake in hindsight and being cast was also a mistake. The problems remained after LI and were, it is claimed, exacerbated by the public. Another LIUK islander nicknamed 'Muggy Mike' for his rather arrogant approach to romantic pursuits and for his subsequent rejection by multiple females also took his life. The lazy explanation was that he became a figure of fun and his derisive nickname followed him. But those who knew and/or met him confirmed that he seemed completely at ease. He knew he was playing a character of sorts and as long as the checks cleared he was fine with it. What actually happened: Mike had ambitions of becoming an upscale restauranteur and, using his newfound pile of cash, pursued facilities in and around London where, understandably, prices and stakes are high. He got way underwater financially and, while he may have had the odd dark thought before, it was the failure of his business ventures that drove him to suicide. Although narcissism is often the shiny side while depression and anxiety are the tarnished side of the same coin, today's islanders are a mostly savvy lot. They know that celebrity (however they define it) and its trappings will be on offer even if they know the ride will end sooner rather than later. It has been revealed that only six of the two dozen or more UK islanders were legitimately (?) cast through the advertised application process. The rest came from modeling, acting and talent agencies. It's a safe bet that the US version followed suit. Some evidence is completely obvious: US islanders Michael, Cashel and Aissata billed themselves as models in their intros. Other evidence is there for the asking on islanders' social media profiles - they already have agencies, portfolios etc listed on their accounts while they're supposedly cloistered in Fiji. Granted, representation may be a necessity when dealing with floods of incoming calls, messages, requests, etc. The point remains - the fix is in, the producers want beautiful people and the beautiful people want fame. Consenting adults and all that. The public are not entirely naive. They've seen a pattern of so-called romantic couples breaking up after a certain length of time, typically six months. It is asserted and assumed that some PR and/or contractual considerations mean they must maintain the illusion for at least that long. It would take a serious crank to gripe about Zac & Elizabeth as winners from the viewpoint of the true believers or the wrong reasons set. There was a bit of rough water early on during the 'baggage' challenge in which, unsurprisingly, Elizabeth discovered that Zac may have had a casual and/or callous approach to women and relationships. His alibi was laughable: 'We had sex for like, two seconds.' Sure they did. But she accepted it and moved on. As before, the US narrator was mostly hopeless with his camp inflection. He obviously thought that saying 'Send!' before texts were issued was comedy gold and wore the bit threadbare. The show is crying out for a laconic David Spade-type standup comic who will mock the eminently mockable islanders without an all-out misanthropic besmirching of their character. The play-it-safe approach that characterized LIUS means that network execs, who already worship at the altar of play-it-safe, have no doubt asked for more of the same in the second series they've approved.

Word is the producers are considering moving the show to Glasgow to have at least some hope of better weather. But the rain has severely curtailed activities, including dates and moments away from the villa and has, in turn, curtailed any drama. The pack/tribal mentality that is part of the human complement of instincts has been on full display with all restricted to a subset of an already meager piece of real estate. There is the couch, day bed, bedroom, shower/bathroom area and...that's it. Uncovered areas of the villa are under a nearly constant downpour night and day and the rain has precluded any beach visits etc. Islanders are subconsciously averse to violating group cohesion. Despite their youth they sit around lethargic, even sleeping for long stretches during the day. The strict rationing of alcohol is, ironically, preventing any action, drama, raised voices, conflict, etc. that the cameras have been starved of for weeks. The job of star presenter on the various LIs - UK, Australia, US - is a piece of absolute cake. Half the time when there are votes, evictions, recouplings, etc. the host is nowhere to be found. Why? Instructions are often given via text message punctuated by long pauses. Nice work if you can get it or, in this case, avoid it entirely while still getting top billing. Speaking of long pauses, the direction/editing during the fire pit encounters is beyond a joke. If they're telling the islanders to wait a full 30 seconds before revealing their choice that's silly and contrived. If they're editing it to make it look that way so they can blare that annoying music looped over and over then it's even worse. Kyra's reaction to her surprise was that of any ex-girlfriend anywhere in the world who might claim to miss her ex but doesn't REALLY want to see them eg bumping into them at the airport. She all but forgot to embrace Cashel and spent most of her time treating him like he was radioactive. Dylan/Alex and Caro/Ray are jostling for place and show but Zac and Elizabeth appear to several lengths ahead on the homestretch. Anything left to a public vote can produce an upset result but....

If the show ends Aug 7 that is a very short run compared to the UK and even the Australian versions. But it's a sign of CBS being tentative - they moaned publicly about the big chance they took with a 5-nights-per-week show - and the realities of network primetime with what is considered a summer replacement show. By the way, this program (and all the others) are now being watched on YouTube TV. I'm in two minds about handing Google more cash and more metadata but DirecTV became ridiculously expensive and top-heavy with absolute rubbish - PPV channels, infomercial channels etc. YTTV features an unlimited (!) DVR and it's a very strange feeling not having to fret about running out of disk space and one almost feels guilty amassing such a huge library of things that will probably never be watched. Conditioning and un-conditioning is a strange, powerful thing. DirecTV Now, by comparison, limits DVR space to 20 hrs (!?) and is priced higher (depending on channel lineup) with more price increases inevitable given the depressing (for them) and now-regular stories of quarterly drops in satellite subscriptions. And then there's the app. DirecTV subscribers can, to a man, provide horror stories of their balky, unreliable, bug-filled app. Now it works, now it doesn't. You haven't left the house, left the room or even left the couch. Log in. Log out. Log in again. Oh, sorry, you wanted to catch up on the last set of that tennis match but 'the channel provider has disabled skipping ahead on the time line.' 'Watch your DVR from anywhere!' claimed the DirecTV ads. The Big Lie. Trying to access the DVR remotely (ie on another network while traveling) is impossible by rule or in practical terms as it attempts to 'register' your DVR despite having done so already many times. YTTV's app is snappy, peppy, reliable, stable, fast, intuitive, etc. Works anywhere including over cellular data. No logins, no 'registering' of DVRs. To be fair, it's all cloud-based but it still provides a stark contrast to outdated technology propped up solely by misleading advertising. Unfortunately, in order to get CBS's participation in the channel lineup YTTV agreed to stick unskippable ads (usually 6 of them where commercial breaks are placed during live air) in recorded shows 24 hrs after live air. A small pain but a pain nonetheless. The legacy providers (cable/satellite), the networks and even the newfangled streaming services still don't seem to grasp the prevalence of - ahem - other means of obtaining their shows with all interruptions edited out. For free. In any resolution desired. Using the same transmission medium as the streaming. As for LIUS, they're trying their best with mixed results - no doubt with the significant input of ITV types (the UK's network for Love Island) - to replicate the formula. But a short series run makes it tricky with Islanders coming and going so rapidly. Poor Christen got a single bleedin' day after traveling halfway around the world and was right to have a moan. The narrator is hopeless. Iain Stirling was already a successful stand-up comedian in the UK (he's Scottish) and took to voiceover work like a duck to water. He's frequently been called the secret ingredient in the success of LIUK and has no fear of, as the Brits say, taking the p*ss out of the Islanders but he manages to retain some affection for them. The US narrator is limited to - or opting for - unfunny, catty remarks. These people are, by and large, ridiculous, narcissistic, insecure (despite their looks), jealous etc and are crying out for mockery of their attitudes and self-importance not just a running commentary of their actions/reactions. Stirling does a comedy routine every night. Hoffman does an impression of the kids who gathered in the corner dorm room every weekend to bitch about everyone else. The weather has been even more hopeless. I checked Fiji's annual weather profile to see if they are subjected to monsoons like much of Asia and the Indian and Pacific oceans but they are not. It's just been bad luck with heavy rain and lots of it (eg the beer pong challenge). We need to have a tearful funeral for regional accents and phraseology. The nationalization and homogenization of everything is featureless and boring, especially the triphammer invocation of the word 'like.' It's now being used as all parts of speech. 'Like, I didn't know if I would, like, like him?' Cashel looked to be the ugly duckling among the Adonis types but had a surprisingly strong game although, inevitably, playing SNAG (sensitive new age guy) didn't work out. Yamen is riding his luck but succeeding. Fair play. I wouldn't buy a lease on an outhouse from him or the new bloke but the ladies like him. Dylan cries out for thought bubble memes similar to those utilizing Keanu Reeves as Ted 'Theodore' Logan. 'What if there are no tides and the earth just sinks down into the water every night?' etc. A dim bulb to be sure. Ray, thankfully, has dropped the rapper-with-a-mic act and can actually have thoughtful conversations. Eric is a toolbag who apparently cleared customs. He's breaking the stereotype of the soft-spoken, deferential Canadian but not in a good way. For someone who considers himself Casanova he has yet to get physical with anyone. Kids can laugh at old photos of adults wearing ridiculous clothes, shoes, hair and mustaches but a permanent etching of an alien head on the chest is going to be tough to explain or keep when the craze subsides. Weston? Making the classic errors of attempting to keep everyone happy simultaneously, thinking he can get away with it, and taking on even more trouble. Blonde buxom Kelsey would seem to be custom-made for a Texas girlfriend/wife not least her iron-fisted grip on 'her man.' Weston is hardly as spontaneous or adventurous as he thinks but has an adolescent fascination with the Bad Girls. Zac/Elizabeth are the Achilles heel of Love Island regardless of nation or network - a committed, stable, couple who might actually be in love or Love (TM). But such pairings confound the producers who want bed-hopping, gossip and drama. Good luck to 'em. Caro - words fail. But at least she has a character arc - interesting at first, then annoying, now comedy relief. Interesting that Dim Dylan summed up her personality concisely and accurately. Alexandra - on the edge of cute, on the edge of sexy. On the edge full stop. Classic example of a girl not quite as attractive as her friends despite (probably) having more personality. Killer husky voice but, like, the vocabulary needs, like, improving, y'know? She's a bag of nerves and her 'let's just be a casual couple open to getting to know other people' is as hilarious as it is patently false. Looked like ol' Dyl was putting her through her paces under the covers the other night. Those two seconds of footage are about as racy as the US version is going to risk airing. And then there's Kyra - queen bee syndrome personified. Would gladly accept an attendant walking beside her holding a full-length mirror at all times. Wants all the boys and wants all the boys to want her. To be fair, most of them have tried. Kyra is a bit of a ringer, having appeared with her band on America's Got Talent and with dozens of videos on YouTube where she was an even skinnier long-legged colt. Unfortunately, the band's music is an unlistenable shouty mishmash of hip-hop and...something. This board and many others often point out the unreality of reality TV. It is, therefore, a hiding to nothing to talk about 'norms' on a show involving 20 or fewer people. By that standard one could watch a football game and state that all humans are tall hulks who wear shoulder pads and helmets. It is decidedly abnormal in the OED sense of the word due the sample size and drawing conclusions or extrapolations is, respectfully, logically unsound. Like many of the Islanders, CBS's fear of commitment resulting from their claimed fears of backlash from showing too much skin or young people doing what young people do on a tropical island is probably going to doom LIUS to a Star Trek-type fate in which the network makes a flawed decision using flawed ratings that do not convey accurate information about the demographic they covet most. LIUK had a halting start too but became a cultural phenomenon. LI Australia also had spotty ratings in its first season. It's claimed there will be a second Australian series but it's much delayed at present.

Erstwhile Bachelorette Kimmie C*** has retired (?) from the grid girls/brolly dollies/victory lane ladies racing-related gigs and is doing morning TV in Charlotte NC. Quite literally The Bachelor(ette) in the media. PS - Primetimer eh? These columns are incredibly narrow and about 60% of my screen is idle white space.

As this season concludes, it must be said once again that by now the only things Bachelor In Paradise has in common with Bachelor Pad are the host and the network. Instead of eye-popping female forms with faces to match and a passel of confident chiseled blokes who *really* don’t need reality TV to hook up but go where the action is anyway, we have shifted to a roomful of emotional basket cases with the majority leaning heavily on the unlimited hair and makeup services and good lighting. We once had pheromones wafting from the TV speakers. Now we’re getting a whiff of Xanax. But first, Chris Harrison is here to reclaim ‘but first’ from Julie Chen. Nobody shall tease better than him, dammit! He’s been in the game longer anyway. It’s worth noting that the conformity among the cast is matched by the conformity writ large among the studio audience: flowing hair, solid colors, even the jewelry and accessories. Either there was a dress code so that the background wouldn’t a distraction full of busy patterns and visual ‘noise’ or these may actually be cardboard cutouts. Any plausible theory here is preferable to mindless lockstep so-called fashion. Can’t stand out if you don’t stand out. Maybe it’s my new subwoofer-equipped soundbar but the rumbling fans in the hushed studio are audible again this year. But first (and it’s the last time I use it…promise) we’re back to Paradise. But it’s not really Paradise is it? If you have lounged on a private beach in the Virgin Islands with perfect weather, dazzling turquoise water and just enough smallish waves lapping the shore to provide a soundtrack then Mexico’s version of Paradise looks pedestrian indeed. Kamil & Anneliese awake and Kamil should have an animated red siren light above his head already. These boys’ body language is dead easy to read. He’s interested in compatibility? Not the highest bar to get over. The last day’s segments appear to have been edited with a rusty axe – we get a jarring jump-cut from bedroom to beach. None of the patented Bachelor anticipation shots are employed. No stand on the balcony in profile, no sunrise and seagulls, no moment of contemplation with a steaming mug of coffee, no laying out of clothes, no grooming. Zap – we are at the moment of truth (?). So far, no Neil Lane sighting. Perhaps Neil’s contract says he only does sure things or shows with just one proposal. Kamil walks on the giant serape with all the alacrity of a tobacco chewer visiting his dentist. Uh oh. Anneliese has been piling up the jinxes with her nonstop talk of proposals and bended knees and all the jinxes arrive at once. Kamil wants to see where it goes. Anything less than total rejection (which, of course, arrives later) sends Anneliese over the moon and she sells the ‘commitment’ like a parent praising a fingerpainting as fine art. Because these things interest me, and because I think CH/Fleiss/ABC get away with murder in the canned footage department and because I have a nice powerful A/V editing iMac sitting here and because I have an electronic copy of the After episode, I was curious to know the signal-to-noise ratio. You probably won't be shocked to learn that out of a 2-hr broadcast window when the ads and flashbacks (not including bloopers) are deleted the show clocks in at an appalling, miserly 1 hr 9 min 30 sec. Barely over half. And you thought bags of potato chips contained a lot of empty air. Jenna is surprisingly keen. She didn’t get a fair crack of the whip during the oblivious Arie’s season despite outshining many of them in the looks department. In keeping with forum policies and the suspension of disbelief let’s leave talk of Jenna’s actual state of mind out of the conversation for now while we might, ahem, encourage readers to study up on the topic themselves. In ladylike fashion she greets her man on the beach with a bleeped expletive. Jordan is wearing a pair of those damn sneakers that will look as bad five years from now as platform shoes of 1978 did. Their scripted lines sound as if they’ve been lifted from silkscreened wooden plaques sold at Hallmark. They are lame, formulaic, derivative. If they fly in a jeweler to help seal the deal, what about a writer or two? Jordan’s reaching into his back pocket and I don’t think it’s to scratch his arse. For the first time, the music editor can pull out the track marked ‘Orchestral swells, cymbal crescendos and – crucially – tinkly glockenspiel notes in the background.’ I do hope the poor soul in the percussion section has been using earplugs in the studio. He’s been hammering those poor Zildjians for weeks. Given the level of deception inherent in Fleissiana, one is compelled to wonder if the couples’ segments were shot and presented chronologically or, more likely, if they were presented in the order of confidence or outcome. As saccharine as the Jenna/Jordan lines were, Chris has opted for a potentially crushing emotional red herring. But the suspense is short-lived and he proposes. CH notes that 35 Bippers had cycled through this year. If you’re scoring at home and you aren’t completely dubious that’s a success rate of 11.4%. Not bad but not great given the houseful of couples just two days prior. Back in the studio, the sizeable cast are reintroduced. Jacqueline is a notable absentee. Colton’s reception indicates the crowd are well-informed but, surprisingly, he’s never brought on stage (EDIT: real-world chronology may have not allowed this). Several couples lasted as long as the adhesive airline stickers on their luggage: John & Olivia, Eric & Angela. Angela Amezcua (gesundheit!) does a fantastic disbelieving sneer – unfortunately it’s one of her most frequently-used expressions. Jordan and Benoit do their tiresome snarling dogs routine again. And if you think Angela’s name is tricky, try Shushanna’s surname of Mkrtychyan. That’s not a name – it’s an eyechart! Even more tiresome are the ‘let’s take a look back’ video reviews. Charlton Heston Soylent Green voice: VIDEO REVIEWS ARE FILLER! Astrid already looked deadly despite heat and humidity in Mexico. In wardrobe and makeup and nice cool HVAC she wins in a walkover. Demerits for choosing bolshy Bibiana as her confidante. Kevin emerges and he’s as popular as a spinach lollipop. I had a friend, now sadly deceased, who had dark eyes similar to Astrid’s – they picked up every little glint of light. As we outro to yet another interminable ad break, the bumper music is a shameless uncredited lift of ‘Waterloo Sunset’ by the Kinks. I doubt Ray Davies is watching but he should be on the phone to the lawyers. Fireman Kevin rescues himself from a burning emotional building by declaring his love for Astrid. We’re half-rooting for her to give him the shove out of revenge but she’s too nice a person for that. They suit each other anyway so good luck to them. It sez here that Astrid was actually born in East Germany. Joe has finally had a haircut but can’t claim much improvement up top. He’s got a big fan club assembled but he’s still got the Nixonian beard-shadow-and-sweat going. Kendall has at least made an effort to visit him and they’re going to give a go especially now that Joe has been cast in LA-based DWTS. Someone break the news to Kendall that Joe’s partner will, by definition, be a lithe, lean, rhythmically gifted, probably attractive female dancer. Could be tricky. Tragic Anneliese, ever the optimist, states that she & Kamil are ‘in a good spot.’ But haven’t we already seen previews of her bawling in the corridor? There’s no physical contact with Kamil beyond the initial greeting – an obvious ominous sign. She seems to know the bad news was coming – or possibly she’s had lots of practice. ‘Amazing’ is the compliment of death for relationships as in ‘You’re amazing but…’ Realistically this was always the most likely outcome it was just delayed as Kamil didn’t want to crush her spirit entirely after she bided her time in Mexico waiting for Mr. Anybody With A Pulse. Tellingly, nobody in the Bipper gallery rushes out to comfort her although that comes later. Like us, maybe they’re worn out by it. An indignant Anneliese reenters the arena to berate Kamil and Gurl Power Tia nods along and says ‘Yes, bitch, yes!’ which is a bizarre choice of words to use to encourage someone. We get perhaps our most extended look behind the curtain as stage managers mill about while Kamil & Anneliese pace angrily backstage and have a sit-down. We hear the director over the PA. After all the bleeped words and pixelated mouths this season Kamil’s utterance of ‘douchebag’ is left uncensored. Final tally: one engaged couple that we can actually believe are engaged despite their oddball personalities, one engaged couple we’re not quite sold on and one train wreck. We won’t see CH – or possibly each other – until the new year. Until then, the research will continue into determining if Colton and Moose from Archie Comics were separated at birth.

Blood. Sweat. Tears. Smashed furniture. Challenges to manhood. Violent outbursts. Strange masks hiding true feelings. Mexican wrestling matches? No. It’s Bachelor In Paradise as Chris Harrison’s dream scenario has turned into a potential nightmare. A full complement of couples are now in the process of dashing themselves to pieces onto the rocks. And Harrison, Fleiss & Co. have nobody to blame but themselves. By shifting the format from ‘red-blooded singles do what comes naturally at a resort’ to an elongated Married At First Sight, the producers have placed all their chips on the Proposal spot of the roulette layout and are losing their stake quickly. The sanest members of the cast are, not coincidentally, the strongest couples are also the smarter ones who understand the implications for themselves and their partners. Being herded into a marriage scenario is disconcerting, upsetting and, as we see, mostly disastrous. But first…oops. Wait. Sorry, that’s Julie Chen’s line, widely mocked for its repetition. And speaking of disasters, she’s got one at home except home was clearly not in his plans all that often. But first…it’s romantic bliss all round with strings swelling in the background. Jordan’s beard has passed the fashionably scruffy stage and is now in Jiffy Lube attendant territory. They arrive at a photographer’s camp. And meet a camp photographer. Jenna wisely gives him and his purple mop air kisses from a distance of about 500 ft. A photo shoot involves a valet parking attendant’s rented tux and a wedding dress a bit too big for Jenna despite her boosted bust and corset lacing. Jenna seems to be giving away the game with her constant analysis of their situation rather than her usual unbridled enthusiasm. Both outfits are sacrificed to the surf and the video editor’s black box is non-negotiable this time. In Bachelorland if they use your full name it usually means you’re a designated villain. Like Robby Hayes. Jordan lifts his leg and marks his territory again. Robby finally cottons on to the existing arrangements and takes the only available female on a date. To Melrose Place. Kiwi Jordan & Cassandra finally pair off good and proper. Joe, I don’t offer advice very often, especially months after the fact when it’s pointless and you can’t hear me anyway, but you are committing a cardinal sin of joking about Very Serious Things like getting engaged. It just isn’t the done thing even on reality TV. Kendall sparks up at his flippancy and rightly so. Joe attempts to transplant his cold feet onto Kendall’s ankles. Kevin refers to ‘The way Kendall treated him.’ Huh? Bro Code and all that but let’s not revise history (badly) here. Anneliese is still talking about one knee, proposal etc. like a six year old talks about her upcoming birthday party. The theoretical is well ahead of the practical. But she displays a keen mastery of higher mathematics by noting that there is an extra male to be expunged soon. John, ever the charmer, announces to Olivia that he’s finished his book. Form a single-file line, ladies! Diggy isn’t having it. And neither are the trumpet player and his mute. John steps in and drags her to a stand of sad-looking sunflowers haphazardly poked into the sand. The set dressers on this show are stealing their wages. A few flowers, a few candles, a few blankets. Or maybe they’re partaking in the locally-produced cannabis before their shift. John is still using his creepy camp counselor voice as he wows Olivia with the breaking scientific discovery that sunflowers (and most plants in general) turn to face the sun. Diggy is a good enough sport to be the butt of one of BIP’s lame sight gags as the trumpeter follows him around the villa. Olivia returns from the sunflowers. She and Cassandra blot out Shuhanna’s sun by informing her that Robby is a cad. Joe is back to wielding his giant emotional racquet and swatting Kendall’s sentiments back at her. And now he’s being pedantic with her choice of singular and plural pronouns. Really selling it, isn’t he? Joe seems distressed that Kendall isn’t doing an Anneliese and living in his pocket but an easygoing fella like him should find that relief. He doesn’t. All that time spent and he knocks it on the head. Odd. That’s one power couple gone. CH’s collar just shrank a bit. It’s the most undramatic RC IN BACHELOR IN PARADISE HISTORY. Olivia chooses John and his wilted sunflowers. Diggy must endure one more trumpet gag with the player clearly miming. Codependent Queen Anneliese delivers the Gettysburg Address to Kamil who has no clue what she’s saying but nods along dutifully. The next day CH chooses to drive stakes into the ice to build his fishing hut and snag some proposals via fantasy suites visits. Problem is, the ice is thin and the players are nervous wrecks and not so far gone that they don’t realize that the play-acting demanded of them thus far has real-world consequences. And so they are splitting up left and right in very clinical fashion. Kamil gives Anneliese the fright of her life by pausing dramatically before responding to her 39th request for validation in the last 15 minutes. Unfortunately for us he plays along again and Anneliese is positively gloating…and probably tempting fate. Chris & Krystal are still wittering on about ‘the next level’ which sounds like it involves splicing their genes together. The goose & the gander combined, as it were. Suddenly, Kevin has lost his ever-Canuckian mind. We may never know if he got to down his eight-egg omelet but if he did the overdose of bell pepper may be having a psychotropic effect. He’s foaming slightly at the corners of the mouth. Astrid’s emotional radar is a finely tuned apparatus which is why she’s been able to accurately suss out other couples’ ups and downs, usually before they happen. But now her alarms are clanging as Kevin’s body language tells the tale before he does. She’s also, regrettably, a proponent of the dreaded ‘What’s wrong?' query. Kevin really pumps her confidence up with sad tales of his ill-fated fantasy suite adventures and hangs the ‘something’s missing’ Sword of Damocles squarely over her finely-featured noggin. He’s at 80% emotional commitment but a full 100% cowardice quotient. Astrid, understandably, is irate. Kevin, not understandably, is blubbering like a fool. As vehicles and Bippers flee the scene faster than Hurricane Florence evacuees, CH’s trachea is constricting a bit more. He’s down to three couples. He thinks. He gives them a fantasy suite pep talk and there’s a touch of panic in his ‘See all of you – hopefully - tomorrow.’ I’ve only got my VLC player running at 1.5x playback speed but I have to double-check when Krystal is speaking that I haven’t got it set to 3x speed. She talksveryquicklyinbursts. Kamil digs in further. Paste your Polish sausage joke here. Jordan has trimmed the unruly whiskers and is attempting to tame the unruly Jenna by dropping the L word. Her reaction is strange to say the least but she finally arrives at reciprocating. The triumphant over-the-top music blares, cymbals crash and fireworks explode for those who still haven’t gotten the metaphorical memo. The next day looks to be a proper assembly line of will they/won’t they. Imagine stewing in a green room waiting for your close-up during that long hot day. The in-studio portion of the finale will feature multiple tear-ups that don’t necessarily require clever editing. It will also, inevitably, feature the crashing bore known as Bibiana sticking her oar in.

I didn't see Winter Games but I've enjoyed Yuki to date. But then I've always had a soft spot for Japanese anything. The water dancing involved a shelf of thick plexiglas just under the surface of the water. From an adequate distance and/or a certain camera angle it's invisible. This effect was probably used most famously in the video for 'Magic' by The Cars.

What’s worse than few or no couples? Maybe too many couples? And now we definitely have too many couples with the arrival of the married couples who are now parents. They’re held up as the ideal and we and the Bippers are expected not to mention the 98% failure rate in favor of the 2% success rate. Carly is still insufferable and Evan’s Dime Store D’Artagnan facial hair is even more desperately awful than John’s. Jordan and Jenna do have their moments of bickering levity but they also seem hopelessly stranded in the Friend Zone no matter how much they try to pretend otherwise. Both of them simply haven’t grown up. What’s that Pet Shop Boys lyric? ‘I love you more than you love me’ – hang on, it was Electronic (a joint project involving Bernard Sumner of New Order and Johnny Marr of The Smiths, although Pet Shop Boys Neil Tennant & Chris Lowe also participated). The babysitting task proves one thing for certain – crying, wailing babies make for a long 5 minutes of airtime. Ukulele playing is automatic grounds for a call to Child Protective Services. Joe’s in desperate need of a visit to the barber shop, even a Mexican one. Sorry Michiganders but the accent is tragic. Let’s attempt a phonetic transcription of a Cassandra quote: ‘Avrywan is kappled ap. An’ it’s kanda harrrd to see how heappy thee arrr.’ Cassandra may be a sunny optimist but Eric isn’t worth the effort on a micro or macro level. And now he’s dramatically pacing in the surf. Agony Aunt Kevin hears another confession from another conflicted male. Cassandra’s rude awakening is made ruder with Eric’s announcement that he’s leaving. The Agonies Of Eric play out further over an excruciating – and excruciatingly dull – long stretch of minutes marked by his futile attempt to say something profound. Shushanna has known him for less than two days and is in melodramatic meltdown. She’s upset that the overhead lights are fixed in place because she wants that Super Trouper spotlight, babes! John displays keen insight by declaring that ‘going home would suck.’ What a glib catch he truly is. Eric keeps the tears flowing in the livery car but maybe it’s because the driver won’t exceed 5 mph. But the roads are a bit narrow, after all, and guardrails are noticeably absent. Chris & Krystal are as vapid as each other and are always ready with a relationship cliché – take it to the next level etc. Their canned on-camera lines are rewarded with a date card. Paradise and the real world have something in common: blokes getting cleaned up in short order and waiting an eternity for the missus. C&K’s outfits combine his floral shirt and her floral skirt – they look like they’re off to a dance competition. Full marks to Yuki who isn’t everyone’s cup of sake but she has stayed around and done her bit. It must be damned lonely half a world away and knowing only a handful of English words. We assume – or we hope – that she has communication with the people back home. Wells takes some stick but he does his best to include her in the discussions with his pantomime. What’s this? They’ve got a commercial and the paycheck that goes with it. Good on them. The Bippers launch a game of Truth or Dare and the producers must be slapping themselves upside the head for not thinking of it earlier. It’s a much more revealing on-camera interview than any list of prepared questions could match and the risqué parts can be edited out. In ABC’s Disneyfied world, randy singletons don’t talk about casual sex, hookups, etc. but only about true love. The mouth-to-mouth exchange of chewed food is revolting. But enough about the Carly flashback. The game puts Shu into full-on bunny boiler mode and fizzles out quickly as a result. Kiwi Jordan is left with the unappealing task of pursuing a rose while Shu pouts. If there’s one thing we’ve learned about Krystal it’s that she prefers to be the hunter, not the prey. Which means danger for Chris if he oversells things. Kids, if you’ve seen one ornery raccoon you’ve seen them all. And if you’ve seen a rabid one staggering in crazy, lazy circles you don’t want to see another. L words are exchanged, food is ignored and overwrought lounge music follows. Chris temporarily tacks a ‘t’ onto the end of his name as he walks on water for a dance. Kiwi Jordan gives it a red hot go, as they say in the Antipodes, but is unable to penetrate Shu’s now-alarming level of obsessive daze. She makes her rival Anneliese look relaxed and easygoing. Jordan sensibly opts for the physically and emotionally available Cassandra instead. Shu tracks down Kamil as the others nervously peek over their shoulders from the bar like ranch hands at an Old West saloon. Kamil is forced, once again, to give her the shove. Kamil is the new Jared and Shu the new Ashley in this stalker scenario although Shu cries a damn sight less often. Thank heaven for small favors. Shu may have met her codependent match in Anneliese, who is spoiling for a fight. Shu scores an early point in the bout by asking in droll fashion ‘Do you have to?’ Does Shu ever blink? Never mind – Anneliese blinks often enough for both of them. It’s good comedy value watching Anneliese try to talk someone else out of latching on like a barnacle but irony and self-awareness are not her long suits. They’re chucking someone else in. Diggy. Whee. At this point anyone who’s appeared on the shows, watched the shows or even seen magazine covers related to the shows might be conscripted and flown to Paradise. They are definitely cycling through the personnel. ‘You might remember me from….’ Not really. Just get on with it. He can barely elicit a few words from Shushanna through her clenched teeth. Olivia does yeoman’s work trying a second cheer-up session with Shu but Shu’s grabbed the wrong end of the stick – again – and plots to pair up with Jordan, whose, er, tide is rising as he ferries Cassandra (in an always-alluring white bikini) through the surf. Diggy & Olivia are flowing freely and locking in while clueless John is still stranded on the beach. A solo muted trumpet is not anyone’s idea of romantic slow-dance music – not least because it lacks a rhythm track - but $5 to a street musician beats paying union scale and ASCAP fees. Does Joe own a shirt with a collar? Shu has conveniently found – more likely been provided with - a framed photo of Kamil to burn. Speaking of burning, Jordan is wisely destroying any and all bridges to Locoland but his conscience prompts him to give Shu one last pep talk, even if Shu herself lacks a conscience. The producers are probably kicking themselves that Shu wasn’t in the original cast to give them plenty of filler if and when they needed it.

Three bloody hours? It’s like returning home on Halloween night. All that candy looks good. And is good. For a while. Until you’re eating it just because it’s there. The 18th Snickers Fun Size ® ™ © bar tastes like the plastic wrapper (actually, all the candy does) but you carry on because you must and you can. At least there’s a slight thrill in not knowing what the character limit per post might be and the risk of bumping up against it. Roald Amundsen & Edmund Hillary may just have some company as trailblazers. It may be shouting into the wind but we must do something about the Bippers and their pathetic and obvious attempts to coin catchphrases in the hope that they will become the shorthand reference for this or that season, similar to the silly in-joke tags displayed alongside many contestant names. Jordan has been racking his brain and come up empty so far while 40-watt Chelsea is attempting to get in on the act. If eternally boring Chelsea had to tell a joke to save someone from the firing squad, the squad had better stand by locked & loaded. Those puzzling over Chelsea’s lack of suitors might consider that off-camera the blokes have decided verbally or otherwise that she’s a melt. Angela opens proceedings by wondering if she can believe anything Eric says – someone please hire a skywriter to display a big N-O over the beach. Eric’s skill as a player is in inverse proportion to his belief in his skill, meaning his self-serving in-the-moment come-ons are lame and desperate. Credit the Bipper women for realizing that they’re being manipulated so they short-circuit the process by taking the cad and putting him literally in the middle so he can’t tell two different tales. Some of the males have a bit of success in slithering out of trouble but Eric is hopeless. But can someone please tap Angela, Tia et al on the shoulder and tell them that ‘all in’ is meaningless until and unless they get to the Jared & Ashley stage? Tia’s greatest weakness may be her frequent tempting of fate. She can’t help but emulate countless scenes from films & TV when, during the drive home after a social event, the wife in Couple A regales the husband with her views of what Couple B are doing right or wrong – usually wrong, in her view. Her attempts to compare and condemn her peers and to provoke thought in Colton (and let’s face it – that takes a lot of provoking) will boomerang on her – and quickly. She’s constantly taking her own emotional temperature while failing to notice Colton’s hangdog expression. Eric, Cassandra and her chin cleft are bundled off to Villa Tourista where, apparently, the alcohol rationing is still in effect and they are compelled to share…popsicles instead of mojitos. Perhaps Corinne was an anomaly and that drinking wasn’t the problem but sociopathic narcissism was? On the other hand, if all the sociopathic narcissists are barred from casting there won’t be a cast. Never mind. BIP now features more horseback riding than a typical episode of Gunsmoke. The locals are just thrilled to have two gringos crowned as rodeo royalty. At least we are meant to think so. Eric trots (pun!) out his best horseflop: ‘She means nothing to me.’ Cassandra is a bit too chirpy but isn’t a total fool and isn’t buying just yet. A rare day of sunshine means lights out for the oblivious Tia. Astrid is no dummy and can hear the bells tolling although she earns a demerit for asking the question that men abhor: ‘What’s wrong?’ It has no answer. It will never have an answer. It will never get an answer. Please stop asking it. Astrid’s arse is blurred although, curiously, appears unblurred (if a bit muddy) in subsequent shots inside the huts. Have we worked out what the black sludge frequently washing up on the beach might be? Colton wants to be ‘away from everybody.’ Colton, mate, perhaps you’ve seen those people carrying cameras and boom mics walking around every day, all day. You’ll never be away from everybody and at tense moments like this they will be happy to shove their A/V gear into your face as they walk in circles around you. Man-child Colton’s only piece of luggage for a potential month-long stay is a backpack? I’ve heard of traveling light but this is remarkable. Tia’s rapid, unexpected (?) breakup and exit has put the frighteners on the other ladies. Kendall declares that they want honesty but their expressions say that Colton’s brand of honesty is the last thing they want. It’s Jenna’s turn in the Meltdown Chamber. Jordan barks ‘Hey!’ at her like a Little League manager after his second baseman has booted a grounder. More harsh than helpful. To be fair, Jordan does a hilarious double take when the oblivious John emerges to ask where Tia & Colton might be. Many of the Bippers’ second thoughts are actually first thoughts. As in ‘me first.’ Exhibit A: Eric. Exhibit B: Krystal. But Kevin’s reservations are actually believable insecurities even if he repeats them frequently. He’s watching a parade of girls bounce from boy to boy. None of them can hold a candle to Astrid and he asks the very sensible if rhetorical question: ‘What am I missing here?’ Rather than worry about the answer, he drops the L word (in its original acronymic context) and Astrid is well pleased but stops just short of returning serve. Does Kevin notice? Probably. Does he mind? Not at present. It’s the next morning (we think) and Shushanna and Christen arrive to get the other women’s guts churning straight away, especially Anneliese and her hair-trigger tear ducts. Anneliese nervously blinks like an SLR camera shutter when she’s, er, nervous. Master logician John says ‘Ah…OK’ when the date cards are revealed and magically combined to form a sentence. The double date departs with the lads wearing more of those hideous T-shirts and tank tops. Visually it’s like standing in a long line for a Six Flags roller coaster in 1979. All that’s missing are the center-parted feather cuts. Jared & Ashley return. CH declares that ‘things can turn on a dime. Just like that.’ That’s redundant, Cristoforo mi amigo. Jared still hasn’t purchased a razor. Jared still can’t grow a proper beard. Jared was flown to Fiji to participate in Australia’s inaugural Bachelor In Paradise (where, it should be noted, the booze flowed freely) with a bevy of fun-loving, fair-dinkum, fully banter-equipped Aussie chicks. He spent his entire time moping and moaning and generally giving a poor representation of the ol’ red white and blue. The Australians were not impressed and that’s putting it mildly. Little did we know (or maybe we did) that he was carrying a torch for Ashley to whom he is now presenting an engagement ring. Ashley gives hope to stalkers everywhere that they too might get their man – and that it’s possible to walk in spike heels on a beach without getting stuck. Ashley is elated, of course, but that doesn’t mean we can avoid one more replay of her highlight reel of crying jags. She’s also elated that she won’t have to write ‘Iaconetti’ out longhand after the wedding although it may take some practice to spell ‘Haibon’ correctly. Haibon? Afterward, Anneliese is talking about her favorite subject. Herself. Kamil gets only the occasional mention. She wants to ‘stay out of [her] head.’ So far, that plan is failing spectacularly. She also wants to ‘experience this experience.’ Well, at least that part is guaranteed. Kevin, you’ve graduated from J&B to The Balvenie. Don’t overthink it. The date card is perfectly timed. Astrid, bless her, is philosophical. And a hell of a poker player, it would seem. She lays down the royal flush: ‘I love you.’ Kevin inexplicably frowns and bites his lip but manages to snap out of his funk. They’re also raising the stakes accordingly in the Uneaten Food Department: an entire cooked lobster is left untouched as they ditch the dinner table for the pool. As you do. The tender moment is made a bit less tender with the arrival of a mariachi band and dancing girls. Wouldn’t a lone flamenco guitarist have been more appropriate – to say nothing of more budget-friendly? But us gigging musicians know the deal – the person paying the band calls the tune. Back at the daybed, Anneliese has buttonholed the next and final victim, Eric, to bore with her anxiety. One is reminded of the scene from ‘Airplane’ where Robert Hays is tormenting the old lady with his longwinded life story only to finally look over and see that she’s escaped by hanging from a noose. Incredibly, Kamil has eschewed Shu and opted for amped-up Anneliese who is still. talking. But this time it’s a victory lap. Memo to Annaliese: you just watched Tia get a bit too smug with disastrous results. Wind your neck in. The mad scramble for roses is on with the women plotting strategy rather than executing it. Possibly ruinous mistake. John isstilltalkinglikethisandrunningallhiswordsandsentencestogether. His chat-up lines are worse than his dad jokes. And less sincere. ‘You’re a really good dancer!’ Groan. Christen has Rose Fever and doesn’t notice a thing. John is based in Northern California and so, conveniently, are redwood trees. John’s footwork is on a par with that of the General Sherman sequoia. The paired-up males are the Greek chorus providing commentary as John moves to Olivia who makes her pitch. Shushanna the Armenian gets a dose of Dutch courage from Wells and launches another sortie over Poland. But Kamil isn’t looking up at the sky. Keeping with the international theme, Kiwi Jordan and his shiny pate are a late arrival. Christen’s attempt at an accent is hopeless. ‘You sound like a drunk Mary Poppins’ is not only a great line but a fantastic putdown. New Zealanders don’t sugarcoat anything. And haven’t we had an overdose of Minnesota Nice lately anyway? Chelsea has gone from sounding board to trampoline and she’s now trying to bounce Annaliese out of Kamil’s life. The RC is a tale of haves and have-nots with the have-nots narrating from the Dept of the Bleeding Obvious. Eric chooses Cassandra. Admit it – it would be good fun to see one of the rejected girls trip a rival as the rival steps down from the riser. Shushanna’s luck arrives late but she’s not fussed about the timing. Chelsea is still banging on. And headed home. Mercifully. Christen throws a wobbler. Her ears are ringing. So are mine, no thanks to Chelsea.