Well, it looks like my theory about I Love New York episodes being like Star Trek films, in that every other one bores me, is holding steady so far. This episode was really kinda drab despite the presence of:
- a one-on-one b-ball tournament
- a threesome date
- an allegedly orgasm-inducing massage
- a balcony scene
- not one but two insect attacks.
The editors performed their usual magic, but they only had so much to work with.
And remember, no matter what you might think, none of these screen shots are scenes from a porno.
With Heat out of the picture, 12-Pack has to find a new lesser dude to take under his lats -- er, wing. He selects Mr. Boston, who's been picked on since the series started. 12-Pack seems to think that if Mr. B just beefs up, his social problems will be solved. I don't think that'll do much for the general pall of social ineptitude that engulfs Mr. Boston, but what do I know? I can barely bench 80 pounds.
And yet, I suddenly feel brawny and strapping.
Chamo greets the dudes downstairs and tells them he'll see them in court -- the basketball court, that is! (Rimshot -- ow!) The dudes all get special outfits for the challenge, and I can't help but think VH1 could make a tidy bundle by selling these jerseys.
The dudes dress out for gym and head to what I think is Venice Beach. (I could be wrong.) They are soon joined by New York and Chamo (sporting pom-poms and short shorts), and introduced to their taskmaster, point guard for the L.A. Sparks Tamara Moore:
The dudes will each play Moore; those who score on her will progress to Round 2. Chance is of the opinion that this will be no problem:
Chance is the first to get scored on by Moore. But he's not the last. She scores on Real, despite his utterly un-gentlemanly butt grab (that's a five-point deduction from your deportment score, sir!):
If I were Moore, I'd bust out an "accidental" elbow to the eye, but that's just how I roll.
Whiteboy's scoring on Moore is greeted with great enthusiasm, especially by Chamo:
Tango tries to gimp out, cradling his right shoulder in a Funky-Chicken-like move.
Whiteboy is rather predictably disgusted. Tango "gamely" tries to "stick it out" and "play through the pain" but Moore scores on him anyway. Like we all knew she would.
Rico plays a little rougher, knocking Moore to the ground. He scores on her, though, and progresses to the next round. And then there's Mr. Boston. I think this clip says a lot about how low the general expectations are for him.
"Wow, he postponed failure longer than we thought he would!" Bless his heart.
Only Rico and Whiteboy face off in Round 2, playing one-on-one with a winning score of 3. Whiteboy's strength is the outside shot, and he totally plays to that, shutting Rico out completely.
Whiteboy wins a one-on-one date with New York and a tacky-ass trophy. Woo hoo!
Before she leaves for her date, New York is informed by a whining Tango that his shoulder still hurts so he's going to see a doctor about it. She says she's impressed by the fact that Tango can reveal his weaknesses and show that he's not bulletproof. Careful what you wish for, honey.
Whiteboy and New York head to an LA eatery, where they have one of those really uncomfortable dates where one party is much more into the other than vice versa. New York gives Whiteboy a watch that costs at least 4 digits, and he makes some noncommital noise about ... nothing much of anything, really. I have yet to see Whiteboy express any real interest in New York herself; he's just focused on winning, which is a little bit sad. Especially since New York is convinced that they're really clicking on a mental level:
Speaking of mental, Real and 12-Pack are planning a double-team surprise for New York when she gets home. Whoa, that sounded much dirtier than I intended it to. Rico walks in on the preparations and seems forlorn that he hadn't thought of something like that first. Real and I agree: Rico ain't too bright.
Oh, but Whiteboy ain't too great a kisser! Look at that; he's unhinging his jaw!
New York is grossed out, too, and laments the ickiness of Whiteboy's mouth-mauling.
Back at the mansion, Real and 12-Pack greet New York with every cliche in the book:
Wine? Check. Tuxes? Check. Single red roses? Check!
Candles? Rose petals? Bubble bath? Check, check and check!
Creepy magic-marker art?
CHECK.
New York changes into a bikini and the boys begin massaging her. This is kinda kinky, and I can't say I mind; in my single days, I think I would've liked a date where I was outnumbered (Jason, pay this sentence no mind). Being the alpha dude he is, 12-Pack heads for the loins...
... while Real is stuck on foot patrol.
While New York giggles about 12-Pack's talented hands, 12-Pack tells the camera that this is going to do great things for his modeling and acting career. Oh, ouch. I'm no huge fan of New York, but I just winced at that.
The dudes note how well-behaved little Your Majesty is being, and New York explains that that's not an accident:
How do you train a dog to -- no, I don't want to know. New York lets us know that she really enjoyed the massage, so much so that she "climaxed" during it. Mercifully, we are spared video of that moment.
But such bliss is not for long. Soon, Tango mopes his way up the stairs and intrudes to let New York know that he's okay.
Real has had just about enough of Tango's ongoing state of woe:
Soon Mr. Boston joins the festivities to take New York's order for the midnight snack he's made her the past few nights. Point to you for knowing one of her weaknesses, sir!
I can't decide whether to credit or fault him for hitting the button that drains the tub. It seems to be deliberate, and I can't decide if that's dirty pool or ingenious strategy. Incapable of coming up with an original thought, Rico decides to bring New York a plate of fruit.
New York is less than impressed.
New York is not about fruit, y'all. She is, however, all about ranch dressing, which Mr. Boston brings her alongside a plate of macaroni and cheese and chicken. (That's a pretty stout midnight snack, and that's coming from someone who thinks cheese fries are one of the greatest achievements of Western civilization.) Mr. Boston tells New York she's introduced him to ranch dressing, and he's really grown to like it.
That's our Mr. Boston: as smooth and white as... well, ranch dressing.
Soon Chance joins the group in the Cock Block Suite, and springs into action when New York notes the presence of an insect.
"It was, like, a 12-foot bug in that motherfucker -- excuse me, a 12-inch bug in that motherfucker." Give or take, say, 10 inches.
The next day, New York and the dudes are joined by Mama NY for brunch outside, where they are plagued by bees. We, meanwhile, are plagued by a return of mom's insistence that her daughter not get "fat" from Mr. Boston's midnight snacks. Damn, I hate it when people do this, especially to their own children and in front of other people. It's just awful.
New York makes a point of telling the camera that she enjoys eating and has no intention of stopping while eating spaghetti and what might or might not be a cannoli. On this issue, I am 1,000% on New York's side: shut the hell up, Mama NY. And pull your wig down a bit in the front.
Not content to mess with her daughter's mind, Mom tries to stir the shit up by saying that she's "heard" that one of the dudes at the table has fallen in love with New York.
Oh, quit smirking. Fortunately, we are saved from a scene of outdoor humiliation by a bee stinging New York.
"That little yellow-and-black motherfucker!" she fumes at the camera. I think she just wanted to change the subject myself, but to no avail: everybody moves inside, but Mama NY brings up that whole cheesy one-of-you-is-in-love thing.
Tango (oh, don't even pretend you're surprised) asks if he can talk to New York in private. Whiteboy starts griping about how Tango is being all fake and dramatic again, and Tango starts trying to defend himself against this (completely, utterly true) accusation.
New York, weary of the squabbling, gets up and leaves the room. The dudes continue arguing, to the apparent relief of Mama NY.
Did anybody ever think it was a kumbaya, kumbaya up in there? I know I didn't. Anyway. Tango leaves the room and heads outside for a smoke. But soft! What light through yonder-- oh, let's not.
It is the east and New York is the sun, I guess. (Insert "Uranus" joke here.)
They blather about... something. He's talking about how much he feels for her, although I think this is probably the longest conversation they've ever had. So he's either a lying camera-hog or a creepy stalker. Is it wrong that I'm feeling bad for New York, having to pick a suitor out of this sorry bunch?
At elimination, New York gives out chains to Real, Chance, 12-Pack, Whiteboy and Mr. Boston, who seems rather surprised at his continued presence.
So it's down to one chain left, and Tango and Rico remaining in the dude pool.
Pray all you want, Rico. You're still going home. Given the choice between a dumb cheeseball and a drama-queen cheeseball, New York went the drama route. I guess this is no surprise, but what a crappy choice to have to make.
This was a pretty lame episode, wasn't it? Let's hope next week's is better. I certainly have my hopes...
This could be good.
OK - who is this New York chick, anyway?
I'm severely out of touch.
Posted by: sudiegirl | February 16, 2007 at 11:23 AM
I can't believe you left out Mr. Boston picking his nose. That was the best part!
Posted by: regularreader6 | February 17, 2007 at 10:15 PM
I wonder if these idiots realize it's against the law to kill praying Mantis and carries a $500 fine. At least it is in my state.
Posted by: Leenerbups | February 20, 2007 at 08:59 PM
This write-up was posted on my birthday, like anyone cares!
New York's moaning and groaning made me ill. I'm about to throw up the cake that I ate three weeks ago!
Posted by: Cheesemeister | March 07, 2007 at 06:57 AM