Love Thursday: Hollywood Edition

As a testament to how much I love you guys, please know that in my cooking frenzy tonight I attempted to slice my finger clean off. And yet, here I am typing away with the nine remaining digits. My poor finger. It might benefit from stiches, but I don't really know since I opted not to look at it, instead slapping a band-aid on immediately and pulling it so tightly that my fingertip is throbbing and turning blue, which is really too bad since I was thinking I'd paint my nails tonight. Um, negative. (That'll teach me to wash the knife off after cutting raw meat, so as to avoid spreading the pork equivalent of salmonella to the vegetables. Damn hygiene.)

Anyway.

While in LA last weekend, I was exposed to a wondrous, new experience. My eyes were opened in ways I never dreamed possible. It was incredible. And this new-found cultural event came in the form of VH1's Flavor of Love.

For the uninitiated, Flavor of Love is one of those ubiquitous reality TV shows that is nothing more than a Bachelor knock-off. There's a guy and a bunch of psycho girls who make "a connection" with him and he gets to eliminate one of them every week until he's left with his one true love. (Usually by week three, I'd like to eliminate them all. But that doesn't generate enough ad revenue for the networks, so it drags on for nine or ten more weeks.)

The guy in question on Flavor of Love is none other than Flavor Flav.* Danielle explained it thus:

D: You know who Flavor Flav is, right?
Me:
D: Apparently he used to be part of Public Enemy.
Me: Ummm, heard of them. That's about it.
D: He wears a clock around his neck as a permanent accessory.
Me: Wow. Ok, well, I'll take your word for it.

I should also take this opportunity to remind you that I am quite possibly the whitest white girl ever. I'm lucky I've heard of Public Enemy. Actually identifying any of their music would have frightened me.

So. My man Flav is -- of his own free will -- living in a house with a dozen psycho-bitch-hos. (I am not exaggerating. These girls are AWFUL, in so many ways.) While I am sure there are people who genuinely want to know which girl wins Flav's heart, I watched it purely for the cultural experience it provides. By which I mean, how many catfights, trainwrecks and bleeped-out f-bombs can one episode contain?

There are many fascinating aspects to this show. The first one being, Flav? Is not a pretty man. And he's gotta be twice the age of the average contestant. What, exactly, compels these women to compete for him and his clock is beyond me.

Next is the fact that Mr. Flavor Flav gives each girl a nickname, which she is called for the duration of the season. A sample: Buckeey, Nibblz, Krazy, Deelishis, and, my personal favorite, Payshyntz.

Mmmm-hmmmm. I think that's supposed to be "Patience," but I wouldn't put money on it.

You would think that watching several episodes of Flavor of Love, my ghettospeak would have improved. But no. VH1, in a move that I find disturbing for its apparent unwillingness to keep up with MTV's low standards, bleeps out A LOT of words. I'm good at swearing. I can usually fill in the bleeps. But when these ladies get going and all hell breaks loose, I'm lucky to catch eight non-bleeped words and fill in a dozen bleeps, which still only leaves me with about 10% of the conversation and a lackluster ghetto vocabulary.

This show, however, has standards. I mean, Flav is looking for someone who's real, genuine, who feels him, who really wants to be with him (as he tells the girls). He even sends packing a girl who, it is exposed, "does porn." (To be fair, it was the lying that bothered him, not the fact that she did/does porn. Me, I was just verklempt by the expression "does porn." I guess I always refer to it as "being a porn star." C'mon, brag a little!)

Apparently the honesty standard extends to Flav's conversations with the girls' parents. To those who inquire about his intentions, he says he's looking for someone to "kick it with" for a while. Isn't that what everyone wants for their little girl? For her to kick it with a guy who perpetually wears a clock around his neck? Yeah, New York's mama wasn't too impressed with that response, and, in the manner of psycho bitches everywhere, attempted to guilt her daughter into leaving by telling her she had a mysterious illness and didn't have much time left. What is it? Oh, it's rare. So rare they don't even have a name for it yet.

Bwaaaaaahahahaha.

You've really got to see it to believe it, so check it out (VH1, 10:00 pm EDT, Sundays). We're down to the final two ladies, so this week is the behind-the-scenes/season re-cap, and the finale will be next weekend! Wheeeeeeee! I hope Flav finds what he's looking for, because I'm not sure I can afford to hemorrhage brain cells like this for another season. These bitches drive me nuts. But I laugh my ass off.

AND! In other non-ghetto, non-porn-doing news (and if that's inaccurate, please, y'all, don't tell me), Steve is in a real, live play at a real, live theatre with a real, live advertising budget. A play that's even been written up in a real, live arts magazine. So, if you're in the Chicago area in the next six weeks, go support the arts. And Steve.


(Click here or e-mail me for tickets.)

*This is the VH1 spelling of Flav's name. Urban Dictionary lists it as "Flava Flav." I prefer the latter, but will defer to the experts at VH1.