author intrusion

what the . . . ?

Sabrina Bryan, by far the best dancer, voted off Dancing with the Stars? I'm sick, sick, sick. It makes me wonder if the show isn't rigged. Jane Seymour, bless her prairie doctor heart, is sweet, but she's just not the dancer Bryan is. I mean, it's like comparing a lady making really nice plastic canvas kleenex holders with someone tatting fine lace. Well, yeah, it's both needlework, but . . .

I'm sorry to see you go!! The Samsons loved you, Sabrina!

Drat.

so there were these women . . .

I don't know why I did it. Really. It was stupid. I knew I'd end up angry. I knew all my scorn would fly to the surface and I'd start railing about lack of self-respect, pathetic women and heaven help us, surely we've come farther than this!

Yes, for some reason only the Lord knows . . . okay, okay, I was procrastinating, I knew the reason too, I watched most of The Bachelor last night.

I hardly ever watch TV. But Dancing with the Stars was on, you see, and Ty and Gwyn roped me in, and honestly, I do love me some Dancing with the Stars occasionally. (Marie Osmond did a great job, didn't she? Whoa!)

The Bachelor came on next, and only self-control kept me from bashing my forehead against the TV screen and cracking it to kingdom come. The loudest question that comes to mind, which came to my mind when I watched it in its first season years ago is: WHAT IN HEAVEN'S NAME IS WRONG WITH THESE WOMEN?!

Oh my goodness!

And what was wrong with me for watching this dreck? Yuck. Yuck. Yuck and yuck. None of them had one single, solitary intelligent or interesting thing to say. Please tell me they really did have a brain in their head, but the evidence of such ended up on the cutting room floor. A blurb from their website:

Do you have the charm, style, class and culture to be our next star, or know someone who does?  If so, apply/nominate now!

Class and culture? Are you kidding me? Shaking their butts in some weird contest, one woman taking off her bikini top and running down the beach? That makes me think of the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel or Madame Butterfly every time. It should read, "Do you look good in a bikini? Are you desperate? Or better yet, a cutthroat gossip? Do you throw yourself at men who are perfect strangers?"

To the bachelor himself, Brad Womack: GET OUT OF THE HOT TUB WHILE THERE'S STILL TIME!!

(I know, I know. The entire show's already in the can. It's a done deal. But still.) And another thing. If he's so eligible, why in the world is he on The Bachelor? I mean, can you imagine your husband doing that? Isn't that akin to a guy getting a permanent wave, a pedicure, or a male girdle? I am just sayin'.

Once again, Hollywood proves how progressive it is regarding women. These people continually amaze me how they show us with such dignity, intelligence. Their high regard simply stuns me at times.

Why do I do this to myself? Why did I sit there? It wasn't like anything compelling even happened. There was nothing surprising, only lamentably predictable behavior on all fronts. If I tried to write a book like this, my editor would have my head. Maybe I should have a better sense of humor about this. And maybe I would if even one witty, brightly sarcastic word was uttered.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. The producers have me exactly where they want me. Blogging and yakking about their show. I get it. I get it.

Nevertheless, I'm reminded afresh why I hardly ever turn on the boob tube. Next week. Dancing with the Stars. Period.

Oy vey!

two down, one to go . . . don't die Richard Dawson!

Well, the passing of Charles Nelson Reilly this past May made me sad, to be sure. But I just found out that Brett Somers passed last week at the age of 83. I'm a huge fan of Match Game. I watched it growing up, and still watch it if I'm somewhere there's cable TV. The interplay between Richard Dawson, Brett Somers and Charles Nelson Reilly was more than entertaining, and let's face it, those three were intelligent, and never just went for the laugh at the expense of the contestant. They knew how to play that game.

Brett Somers died of stomach and colon cancer at her home in Westport last week. She changed her name from Audrey to Brett, after Hemingway's heroine in The Sun Also Rises. While she and Jack Klugman separated in 1974, they never actually divorced.

So . . . for the match:

Brett Somers, Richard Dawson and Charles Nelson Reilly, will forever be known as The Three _________________.

Leave your answer in the comments!