1-10: Misty Pootie-colored memories

This recap will mostly be video clips tied together with the flimsiest of prose. Unlike the disappointing clip show from Flavor of Love's second season, this episode of I Love New York is almost like a valentine. It's a tribute to loves lost, loves let go and loves giving lap dances to the gay sidekick. I sense that the editors are as fed up with the cast as I am, and have decided to let us know the varying degrees of ick that permeated this set.

Yeah, couldn't be the Newports.

New York scratchily explains her vocal difficulties as well as her heartsickness, then takes us back to the beginning. No, not her audition tape for Flavor of Love. No, not her first rejection. No, not her second -- we go to the audition process for this show, okay? New York and her moms weed through the tapes sent in by aspiring MySpace stars, and one in particular stands out.

See? Like I said a couple weeks ago, 12-Pack is mainly attracted to himself.

Mr. Boston makes New York laugh in his audition, while Tango plays perfectly to her ego, saying that he saw Flavor of Love and thought New York was special from the get-go and that Flav would be a fool to let her go. Since this is what New York herself has been telling us for over a year now (it almost hurts to think of it that way), she falls for it completely.

Real also makes an impact on her, saying that he wants to settle down for the following reason:

I can't get past the Ike Turner look Real is sporting here, but New York seems to find Real hot. (Of course, I've grown to suspect that New York might find Ike Turner hot as well; she seems to like the violent types.)

Speaking of which, here's a glimpse at Chance -- sporting a mini-mohawk!

He talks about being the black sheep of his family, and that just makes New York salivate. It makes her mom give Chance the stink-eye right off the bat, and for that (and that alone) I high-five Mama NY.

Once the dudes arrive at the house, Moms goes on a mission to weed out the dudes who might be on the downlow. She zeroes in on one target in particular, and not without reason.

Okay, on the one hand, "I've got the rainbow for Chamo" could be seen as a sweet sign of solidarity. But if he's merely taunting Chamo, that's not so cool. Oh, Chamo. Can you ever win?

This is all I need to get me to watch this show: that expression on Mo'Nique's face. She's disapproving, true, but she's also concerned and maybe a little bit frightened. Which is how I feel about most of the FoL co-stars.

Come to think of it, that's sort of how the dudes feel about Romance after he takes an afternoon of slider-sledding and turns it into an exhibitionist extravaganza.

That poor camera operator. The dudes aren't just concerned and frightened, they're grossed out and extremely threatened by this nether-region-sighting. Poor Chance is so traumatized, he tells Mama NY as soon as possible, and she swings into action.

I counted 11 "butt-naked ho"s. I'd adore this clip unreservedly if I didn't have the nagging suspicion that "butt-naked ho" was code for something much more unpleasant. But maybe I'm not giving enough credit to ... Mama NY and Chance ... for being nice people. Hmmm. I do love the way Mama NY punches the "h" in "ho," though. Good times!

When nobody owns up to being or witnessing a butt-naked ho, Mama NY zeroes in on another target.

Wait, 12-Pack reads the Bible? (Wait, 12-Pack reads?)

Mama NY challenges 12-Pack to give Chamo a lap dance right then and there, and for the life of me, I cannot figure out what that's supposed to prove either way. It's like the medieval trial by ordeal, only it's an ordeal for just about everybody, and I'm still not sure if 12-Pack is a witch or not.

Chamo is bewitched, however. He pleads to keep 12-Pack around, and Mama NY tells him he can have 12-Pack on a leash. Frankly, I'd watch that show.

I'd much rather watch that show, in fact, than the sight of New York and Pootie yelling about each other for no apparent reason. New York overhears that one of the dudes was dating a seamstress, and she confronts a kitchen full of dudes over it. Pootie says he was dating a seamstress, but they're just friends since he decided to do the show. The following yelling match is what comes after he cleared that up.

While watching this, J and I were exchanging frowns of confusion. "They're pretty much agreeing... so why are they yelling?" I ask. "That's just how she rolls," J says sagely. "Plus, they're probably drunk." I would try to work "without cheese, bitch" into my daily conversation, but I love dairy cheese even more than I love TV cheese.

Sooner or later, though, Pootie's bravado gives way to sheer instability. He's just got too much baggage, a fact helpfully highlighted by the awesome editors.

The middle portion of the show spends too much time detailing the abuse Mr. Boston took at the hands of the dudes. Okay, I'm sure he was annoying and irritating. But I have a really hard time reconciling the sight of four or five dudes trying to hogtie another dude with the lighthearted "wacky shenanigans" music the editors have paired it with.

I'm kinda fascinated by how bullying and actually attacking someone is just considered dudes being dudes, but nudity in the backyard is a horrifying outrage. Some enterprising grad student with a very forgiving advisor should do a paper called "The Rakish Tilt of Tango's Hat: Codification of Masculinity in the I Love New York Milieu." I'll edit it if you want!

A further demonstration of the jacked-up gender diggity in this show is in the "courtship" portion of New York's date with Chance.

New York rasps to the camera that she likes it when Chance takes charge. Yeah, that'll end well. (Anybody else think Chance sounded just like Dave Chapelle at first?)

Another case of happy endings averted is shown in this heretofore unseen clip from the golf date with Tango and Real. If you're in a cubicle, I advise you to put on headphones. And maybe get a moist towelette, 'cause you'll probably feel dirty afterward. I call it "Massage of Shame."

I know! Who would've figured Real for talking dirty during a massage? I hope the show tipped well.

The greatest clip of all, though, is served up near the end, like a fine port. On their ballooning date, Chance and Whiteboy tell New York that they think her house is haunted... by the rejected spirit of Pootie.

I fear to add any words to that, for it is so sublime. I'm not sure I even need to see the season finale -- a phrase that makes me nervous, for surely it should be "series finale," right? We're not going to have another season of this, are we? Are we, VH1?!

Comments

[Elan]

I love that I can completely miss episodes and you always catch me right up. This show is a deliciously, hot mess. hahaha

[LeeLee]

butt naked perpetratin' HO.

[BronzeMan]

I can't believe this show has stolen ten hours from my life, which I'll never get back. We all knew Chance was going to win after the first fifteen minutes of the program

[Id]

I am so sad that I watched the final episode of this show -- it seriously makes me embarrased to be black. Yet, I'm even sadder that Carl hasn't yet recapped it.

You know the only reason I even flip to it is so I can close my eyes and giddily imagine what you'll say.

[Nora]

I only know New York because of Flavor of Love
She has put on weight, hasn't she ?
Or am I dreaming ?
(could yous answer me on my email adress , because i am french and this show isn't broadcasted in france!)
thank you talk to you soon