“ Liz's hair is pulled into two pigtails, and the only reason this means she's not going to get a rose is because of the awkwardness of trying to pronounce the hyphenate 'Longstocking- Firestone' every time they meet somebody new. ”
Thanks, Glark!
It's some kind of ambiguously early time in the living room of Looking For A Man-To-Lay Bay when the disembodied voice of Chris "The Original Mr. Personality" Harrison calls up the stairs, "Ladies, good morning. If you'll come join me in the living room, please." Thinking perhaps that they heard him add, "Today we'll be auditioning for promotions to the B-list, and the Access Hollywood van just this second pulled up!," the remaining contestants appear from all corners of the house, batting each other out of the way and swarming like a kicked nest of that stinging, venomous, wilds-dwelling insect known as "bitchy twenty-two-year-olds on TV." Congregating on the increasingly vacant couches which, just weeks before, were occupied by so many more vacant minds, the women listen raptly as Chris once more spells out the rules of there-will-never-be-an-engagement: "This week, all of you will go on dates with Andrew. There's one group date and three intimate one-on-one dates." But to absolve Andrew of having to incur any anger from the ladies -- besides the fact that he does not belong to the religious sect that allows men to start making adult decisions for themselves at his tender age of thirteen -- Chris further explains, "Prior to the show, you all took personality analysis [sic]. So did Andrew. This test was scientifically designed to determine which of your personalities best fit Andrew's." Wow. Dig the copywriting gravitas of "scientifically designed." Like each of the women was strapped to a computer that read their auras and spit out a sheet of paper filled with lines of binary code while the machine makes that authoritative "computer functioning" sound effect like the Jeopardy! categories falling into place. More likely, I'm willing to bet that the "personality tests" to which Chris refers took the form of a sheet of lined paper from your ninth-grade math notebook folded into that fortune-telling device you operate with both of your thumbs and forefingers, so that the date boxes can arrive at the house with really explanatory notes reading, "The good news is that you get an intimate, one-on-one date with Andrew. The bad news? You, like, totally have cooties." time they should go with "MASH" notes instead; they're far more accurate and they don't require all of that pain-in-the-ass folding no one ever knows how to do.
"Of course," Chris noodles on like this is improvisational jazz and his instrument is SHUT UP, "You should know me well enough by now to know that I do know the results. And I'm not going to tell you." They know him well enough by now? Have they seen his own MASH results? Using my context clues, I'll guess he was lucky enough to have landed on "mansion."
In a quick interview, Liz's hair is pulled into two pigtails, and the only reason this means she's not going to get a rose is because of the awkwardness of trying to pronounce the hyphenate "Longstocking-Firestone" every time they meet somebody new. In said interview, she admits, "I am a little nervous. Obviously, the friends didn't choose me for the one-on-one date, so if the compatibility test doesn't work out for me, I don't know if that means I'm gonna be going home pretty soon." Well, considering not one episode out of the past three has rolled in at under sixty minutes, I would place a relative stress only on "soon." But yes, still "soon" nonetheless.
Tennis, Everyone?
“ Looks like the section of Liz's foolproof personality analysis asking 'On a scale of one to crazy, are you, like, totally crazy?' had one too many follow-ups, 'No, really, are you? Are you? You are, aren't you?' to convince the computer otherwise. ”
Ann-Michelle finds a box approximately the size of a shoebox on a pedestal outside the house. Inside the house, she opens it to find a card reading, "Jen." And because I predicted that Jen wasn't good enough television to be kept around for this long, it is clear that this date box is a product-placed gift compliments of the fine folks at Lady Foot-In-Mouth Locker. Meh. Ann-Michelle holds a small, plastic helicopter in her hand, waving it around jerkily to signify flight. Hey, careful with the Spruce Moose. We're a quick cut from Jen occupying Ann-Michelle's spot, reading a note out loud: "Come fly with me. Paradise awaits us." Ann-Michelle instinctively knows that this means Jen will be going on "a helicopter ride to a spa," and before we cut away we check in on Liz, who is gnashing her teeth together into a twisted facsimile of a smile and announcing, "That's so exciting!" Looks like the section of her foolproof personality analysis asking "On a scale of one to crazy, are you, like, totally crazy?" had one too many follow-ups, "No, really, are you? Are you? You are, aren't you?" to convince the computer otherwise.
As he approaches the front door of the Maison Du Crazed Ones, Andrew "Putting The 'Fun' Back In 'Trust Fund'" Firestone voices over for our approval, "I'm really looking forward to my date with Jen today. I think it's going to be a blast." Well, she seems like a nice girl and all, but...a "blast"? What show is this, Zoom? In his limo, Andrew muses in voice-over, "The getting-to-know-you stage is over, and now it's more to find out if there's compatibility, if there's fire. And the only way to find that out is to open up emotionally." The getting-to-know-you stage was comprised of the two questions, "You know I'm crazy freakin' rich, right?" and "So, what do you think of Kirsten?" Please note that it is now "over."
Andrew raps three times on the front door of the house, and Jen opens the front door to find one whole sentence of this recap written with a complete and utter absence of snark. Do something loud or desperate or boozy or stupid, Jen! Fall down a pothole or puke in a hot tub or suggest an intimate one-on-one date at Ruby Tuesday's or tweeze your eyebrows into a Rorschach drawing of two question marks that make you look like you're always scheming up your evil deed. Okay, granted. Most of those things have already been done by other girls in the house. So, Jen! Fall down a pothole! It's not that we don't like you, it's just that we want to like you more in a make-fun-of-you-for-falling-down-a-pothole kind of way. Andrew enters the house, giving Jen a big hug and offering the remaining five women a strained "Hi, guys. How are you?" In an interview, Jen notes, "I think they're all probably a little envious that I'm going on the one-on-one date with him." And I'm kind of envious of the five girls who get to hang around the house away from the camera's angry gaze for a few hours while we all jet off in the Spruce Moose to watch Andrew and Jen force conversation of the "I like spas. Don't you like spas? I like robes. Isn't this a blast?" variety. On my personality analysis, I answered every question, "Not as exciting as watching Liz's mouth twitch involuntarily, thanks." Somebody wanna check if that machine is still plugged in?
Tennis, Everyone?
“ What's going on? Is this the experimental section? I feel like I've been watching this episode for nine quatrains and a bushel. ”
The limo steams into a private heliport of some kind, and we cut to the back of the car to find Andrew and Jen engaged in a conversation regarding whether or not the helicopter they're about to go in has parachutes or not. Andrew laughs uproariously, perhaps reminiscing about the "my other car is also a plane" bumper sticker he affixed to one of his own fleet of helicopters back at the estate, and he explains to my-car-and- my-personality- are-both- a-taupe-Civic Jen: "If that thing is spinning, I don't think you want to jump out." Jen pauses so long that helicopter transportation is rendered fundamentally obsolete when humans develop the evolutionary power of flight over the several million years, before volleying back her rejoinder, "I don't want to stay in!" Wait. What were we talking about again?
Up in the helicopter now, Andrew and Jen are wearing those giant earphones with the microphones at the end that were such a godsent inhibitor for Trista in her constant battle to avoid having to be in any way intimate with Russ (I think she would have gone on a date to a Klan meeting just so she could be all, "Look! These convenient hoods will prevent us from having to even see each others' faces, much less mash them together in a shameful display of what you humans call love." But anyway). Jen and Andrew touch down in Palm Springs and wind up at some spa that they oooh and aaah over despite the fact that it looks exactly like both of the houses they're living in on the show. They crack open a bottle of champagne and retire to a nearby couch, where Andrew tells us in an interview how "at ease" he feels when he's around her. Andrew regales her with tales of his siblings and how many kids they have. Hold on, now! I thought the "getting to know you stage" was over. I feel no such "fire," except the one I have just set in my hair to keep things interesting and me awake. Andrew shares the offspring statistics of his siblings, explaining in a misguided tense -- indicating that his oratory powers are sic-ly at best -- "One has four kids, four kids, and three kids." Wait, what? One of his siblings has eleven kids? What a strange numerical construction. I look forward to Andrew's musings on "how many blackbirds are baked in a pie" and his historical analysis of "how long ago our fathers brought forth upon this continent a new nation." What's going on? Is this the experimental section? I feel like I've been watching this episode for nine quatrains and a bushel.
Andrew asks Jen her thoughts on how many kids she would like to have. She employs the same "word problem" logic Andrew did so ambiguously earlier, trying to tailor her answer to his by barking out a dozen conflicting numbers: "Two or three, maybe. I don't think four. But if I had a boy and a girl, and had two boys, I would try for a girl." Andrew corrects her in the form of a question: "You would try, or we would try?" Jen laughs nervously, clearly a little flustered because she hasn't seen the dailies and doesn't know that Andrew has also already offered to father Amber's children, elope to Hawaii with Kirsten, conjure the ghost of Schwab to offer Christina advice on porkbellies, commission the Lord Himself to construct a new planet called LizTopia on which he will live with his bride and her many facial twitchings and divergent personalities, and secure Ann-Michelle's place in history by personally petitioning the dictionary to change the name of the "elevator" to the Ann-Michellevator. I'm just saying, the guy's made a lot of false promises.
“ Christina scoffs that it's 'not fair' that 'some people' are getting two one-on- one dates while other people are getting none. Don't look at us, Christina. Blame science. ”
Jen and Andrew are in white bathrobes and slippers now, walking up a flight of stairs to their afternoon massages. They chatter on about being on a date while they're on their date, and Andrew tells us in voice-over that, more than her looks or her personality, Andrew's favorite thing about Jen is as follows: "A calmness I feel when I'm around her." Oh, Andrew. This "calmness" you refer to now is what the rest of the world refers to as "deep, deep slumber." Face it, y'all. They gave the man twenty-four girls and a big ol' box of Sleepytime Tea.
It's after dark back at the Palace Of Malice when Christina finds the second date box outside. The women assemble in the living room to find a note to Kirsten, which she reads: "Join me for a trip down Memory Lane." She reads it like she's all affronted that Ye Olde Crier didn't walk into town with a giant scroll and read the note for Her Grace in the square. She makes a face like, "All these consonants are hurting my nose job!" Careful with the facial wrinkling, dear. If someone slaps you on the back, your plastic surgery freezes like that and your face will look that way forever.
Outside the house, the girls hate Kirsten more than I do, even. Tina tells us that "even though someone looks great on paper, they might not be so great in person," though we never learn if she's talking about Kirsten or not, while Liz follows up that she's "a wolf in sheep's clothing," though we never learn if she's talking about Kirsten or not. Christina scoffs that it's "not fair" that "some people" are getting two one-on-one dates while other people are getting none. Don't look at us, Christina. Blame science.
"I am always going to get a massage before I eat dinner," Andrew says outside at a dinner table for two. Jen volleys back, "And eat dinner in a robe!" Oh, and they're still in their bathrobes. The young but benevolent King Andrew thus decrees, "If you and I end up together after this is all done, we're going to eat dinner once a month in a robe." Thy will is done. Let us sup, then, whilst ensconced in these finest threads made from the cloth of terry, and enjoyeth the sounds of crickets chirping whilst secretly wishing we could at least be outfitted in some securing form of undergarmentry. Because honestly, this is a little creepy. One thing's for sure, I'm never looking anyone up ever in any of the phone books he's sitting on to make it look like he's as tall as she is. Andrew turns the topic back to the house, apologizing, "I know I'm harping on this." Whatever. It's better than the conversational bullet point of determining wacky theme nights for dinners that will never occur following an engagement that's not going to happen. In other words: stuff it, Robespierre. Jen can't think of an original way to answer the same question again, so she breaks out a fiddle and a penny flute to play that old tune of "I think of all of the girls that none of us has clicked with Kirsten" from her legendary album release, Songs in the Key of Zzzzzzzz. In an interview, Jen muses that she thinks that Kirsten will be her competition "until the end." Andrew asks if Jen thinks that his wife is in the remaining group of six, and Jen replies by vaguely pointing her index finger toward her forehead and replying, "That's all I'm gonna say." I'm sure I should know what The Floaty Finger Of Marked Territory should mean in literal terms, but the only time I've even seen anyone do that near me, I find it usually means, "Hey, Dan? I don't know how, but you, like, have pen all over your forehead." Thanks for letting me know, Jen. That's a true friend for you. Then they make with the smacky kissing in the limo, because the music supervisor found some knock-off Mazzy Star sound-alike snippet on the cheap, and gosh darnit if they were going to let it go to waste. In an interview, Jen tells us, "I really want a rose at the Rose Ceremony." Well, we'll just see what MASH has to say about that.
“ We cut to Kirsten and Andrew sitting in the car (I guess this is what teenagers in The Time Of That Car called 'parking'), Andrew exclaiming, 'There's something, like, um, sort of in store for us.' Yes, yes. That sounds like it'll be a real zoot suit riot, indeed. ”
So, like, Kirsten? Is, like, totally nervous? About other girls in the house? "On this date," she tells us, she hopes that Andrew will "open up" and let her know where she stands. Kirsten pulls up at a gas station in a town car, because apparently Southern California is completely out of spas, and suddenly limos are only for Firestones and funeral processions. Did The Bachelor do a Trading Spaces thing with the budget of Elimidate Deluxe? Was that ever actually a show? Perhaps the cash money allocated for this segment all went to renting the enormous, gas guzzling, red-and-white- and-Keeping-The-Faith-video convertible Kirsten finds Andrew waiting for her in front of. Kirsten unemotionally tells us that Andrew looked "really cute" standing in front of the car, and she greets him with a hug and a "hey, you," leaving off the obvious "daddy-o" that would have been so appropriate at this juncture. Andrew tells us that it's "scary" that he already has such feelings for her, and we cut to the two of them sitting in the car (I guess this is what teenagers in The Time Of That Car called "parking"), Andrew exclaiming, "There's something, like, um, sort of in store for us." Yes, yes. That sounds like it'll be a real zoot suit riot, indeed. A non-good-cut later, Andrew and Kirsten are still in the car, celebrating the fact that they're "scientifically" a match. Science is all, "Hey, don't look at me. I also invented Tab. I'm fallible." Kirsten steers the conversation (though not the car, which won't be going anywhere, quite frankly, until Andrew carves two holes on the driver's seat floor and runs, Fred-Flinstone-style, down a really steep ramp to get the thing going again) toward talk of the house, warning him, "I think different people portray themselves differently in front of you than at the house." And some people walk up to a faux Roman column on the front lawn and are all, "You know, I really think you and I have a connection" before saying the same thing to a tree, a carton of milk, and anything else that promises to love it back unconditionally. You decide which is the lesser evil of the two.
Speaking of home, we cut back to House ScrewYouTiful to discover Tina discovering the latest date box and bringing it inside. The girls crowd around as Tina opens it to discover three tennis rackets and a note addressed to herself, Liz, and Christina. Christina shakes her head to show her disgust and to show her horror and to try to snag some kind of commercial endorsement in an ad for a product promising hair in the genre of "long and lustrous." Tina and Liz pretend that they're really happy they're going to be playing tennis on a group date, but Christina bitches and moans and expresses most of the frustration of her forty-plus years of solitude in the sentiment, "[Bleep]!" Ann-Michelle cracks up that she loves Christina's "attitude" and "honesty," but that she's only smiling because she knows now that she's gotten the last one-on-one date by default. If this show really wanted to amp up the drama, there would be two one-on-one dates, the second of which would be announced after the group-date box came, which means of the two girls left over, one girl would get a one-on-one date and one girl wouldn't get a date at all. Hello? Mr. Fleiss? The phone lines are now open. Christina bemoans, "That's not what I'm looking for right now," and we cut back to her giving exactly the same pursed lips look of incredulity we just watched her give two seconds ago. Ann-Michelle cleverly notes all deadpan, "I'm sure it'll end at the hot tub at the tennis courts," and no one laughs at her Bachelor meta-statement because three of the girls are pissed, and Jen doesn't get it. Christina storms out, voicing over that she hoped the last one-on-one date would be for her, and that Ann-Michelle getting it means that "she'll probably get a rose on Friday." Friday? Meanwhile, the winner's circle of Jen and Ann-Michelle share a hug.
“ From The Department Of Inauthentic Offers, Liz offers not to even go on the date, telling Christina, 'If I don't go, that's one less person.' Whoa whoa whoa. Slow down, Dr. Pythagoras! Let me get some of those numbers down on paper! ”
Upstairs now, Liz and Christina sit in a bedroom, Christina wondering briefly if she would even accept a rose were she offered one on Friday. From The Department Of Inauthentic Offers, Liz offers not to even go on the date, telling Christina, "If I don't go, that's one less person." Whoa whoa whoa. Slow down, Dr. Pythagoras! Let me get some of those numbers down on paper! I don't know how Andrew doesn't think they're a totally perfect match, when Liz should have the "how many kids do your siblings have" conversation with Andrew. But Christina notes that it doesn't matter how many people are there (it doesn't?), saying that in "real life" she doesn't go on "group dates." I have absolutely no idea what this argument is about right now.
Back to Andrew and Kirsten heading to happy hour at Jackrabbit Slim's. They pull into a drive-in movie theater, on which the marquee reads, "Memory Lane starring Kirsten and Andrew." Kirsten laughs uproariously, oblivious to the important cultural revelation that Memory Lane is totally the Heaven's Gate of the world's last drive-in. Kirsten and Andrew neck like teenagers because that's what you do at the drive-in and that's how a large number of us came into this world. We learn from Andrew, "The movie that I had planned for Kirsten and I [sic] were kind of a series of pictures from growing up until now." Oh, good. It's Bar Mitzvah: The Movie, except without that one shot of my crazy Aunt Sheila falling down on the dance floor during the reception band's rendition of "Pink Cadillac" due to an almost lethal overdose of Manischewitz, high heels, and bewilderingly cumbersome shoulder pads. That kicked ass. You want to be able to sit through all of Bar Mitzvah: The Movie? Don't cast it with a bunch of rich, icy WASPs. As indicated here. Picture of Andrew. Picture of Kirsten. Picture of Andrew, a little older. Picture of Kirsten, nose a little smaller. Picture of Andrew, pretending to be a football player. Picture of Kirsten, looking in her teens a lot more like a linebacker than L'il Andy ever will. ["Isn't this a crappy DeBeers commercial? I mean, moreso than the whole series is?" -- Wing Chun]
We learn once more that Christina is "disappointed" at having to go on another group date, and she varies her one-note rhapsody in blues by stooping to snark the other girls right into a montage of the group daters: "I'm with Liz, who is gonna talk up a storm. I'm with Tina, who's gonna be like the clown. And I am not really going to be able to get a romantic or intimate setting with Andrew before the Rose Ceremony." Tina and Liz cop in interviews to being not particularly gifted tennis players, and we montage right through the limo ride (in which we learn only that Gatorade is now making a "Perrier-Jouet" vintage sure to keep their electrolytes high and their hand-eye coordination low). They arrive at the Beverly Hills Country Club to find that they've been outfitted with new tennis outfits, and the girls make themselves up as Christina sings a song entitled, I think, "I'm Waiting for My Love Match (With Andrew, of Course)," the cumulative lyrics of which are, "I'm waiting my love match. I'm waiting for my love match. With Andrew, of course." Sigh. Do I have to do everything around here?
And if the court is made of clay
I want Andrew to fall in love with me on this fine fine day
And if the court is reduced to rubble
I want Andrew to burst those other bitches' bubbles
And if the court is made of grass
I want Andrew to admire my fine, fine...everybody!
I'm waiting for my love match
I'll scream it 'til I'm hoarse.
I'm waiting for my love match
The game'll end in love, not in divorce
I'm waiting for my love match
I'll sing it, scream it, say it, or tap it out with my racquet in the code of Morse
Yes, I'm waiting for my love match
With Andreeeeeeeeeeeew
Of coooooooourse!
[Christina leaps onto Andrew's back. He twirls around a few times. Mike Fleiss enters, falls to his knees in front of them -- all put their arms up, jazz hands.]