"I'll make you a deal," hot but jilted hotel manager Jason says to his ex, Nicole. "I keep Oahu and you can have the rest of the world." Holy soapy goodness. I so need this show to provide some escapist fun that it's not even funny. A mouse that apparently planned on summering in my Brooklyn brownstone chewed through the denim bag I got at the 1999 MTV awards to get at a Snickers wrapper I'd forgotten was in the purse. The bag one of the cute little Levi numbers that MTV had left in every seat (ah, those were the days) was sitting in my favorite chair. Which means the mouse was in my chair. And by association, it was probably on the couch next to it. The couch is my TV-watching sanctuary my sacred prime-time place.
This is so not something you need to know especially since the Grand Waimea Resort (get it Why Me, ah?) would never have this kind of problem. (They're too busy with teens who accuse lifeguards of rape just to get some attention from Mommie.) I'm only telling you so that you'll understand why a girl not only needs to watch the melodrama of Brooke Burns and other vaguely familiar pretty people with assembly line nose jobs, but she also needs them to make like neighbors on Melrose Place. I need it! I need the baritone-voiced, buff piece of bartending heaven (hello, Jason Momoa!) to take my mind off the vermin that bypassed peanut-butter-baited sticky traps to get at a wrapper I was saving just so I could figure out how many Weight Watchers points were in the forbidden snack. "I'm the bartender. I know everything," Momoa, aka Frankie Seau fine says, while carrying a box of whocareswhat. Look at those arms! (Come on, now, lift baby!) Oh, yeah. He's going to keep me from revacuuming the furniture and spritzing it with bleach, which I'm sure would ruin the upholstery but cleanse the essence of rat from the house. North Shore, take me away!
Oral B Brushups Commercial
Any commercial that can use jazz hands to sell finger-covering toothbrushes is alright by me. Rip, zip, brush, ah!... Rip, zip, brush, ah!
1. Oh, look, another infomercial for Las Vegas. What, are CBS's CSI and NBC's Las Vegas not enough?
2. Yes, these guys are mini-moguls. But Tom plus Tim does not equal Trump. OK? I mean, I just don't get it. Who are these people who trust these guys with $175 million? And how did they get the Nevada Gaming Commission to grant them a gaming license? Seriously. While you're passing out licenses like that, can I be down? I mean, I have some ideas on how to revamp the Aladdin hotel...
3. "We'll take Andre [Agassi]'s cash," Tom (or was it Tim!?) said. "But we need his caché." Looks like somebody knows what kind of punchy soundbites Mark Burnett likes to hear. For real. The Survivor guy's slick touch is so obvious here it's not even funny. The show even has the same look as The Apprentice.
4. Oh, please. I knew the moment the Lady in Red opened her mouth that she was a man, baby. Get real. And sleazy high roller Big Chuck knew it, too. Why are people faking the funk like he didn't hear the testosterone in that "deep, sexy voice." Whatever.
5. Matt Roush, you were right.
Weddings Gone Wild
Groomzilla adj 1. Rip-off of "bridezilla" used to describe a control-freak husband-to-be who goes all obsessive-compulsive Nazi while planning the wedding of his dreams. In this case it applies to Roger, who drops $300,000 on his Kama Sutra-themed nuptials to Daria, the woman he pursued for three years. 2. Also known as the guy who's going to come out of the closet 10 years, three kids and a vacation home from now.
Next Action Star
This casting special was an entertaining and decent try-not-to-think-about-the-mouse distraction. But, note to "Fan Man" Reggie Austin: This is not The Last Dragon. For your next audition, please don't pull the kung-fu-fan-carrying-black-man act. It's such a lame move. I mean, seriously. Why would you do that? You know you did not got to Yale Drama school to clown like that. And, while I'm leaving notes. Hi Dan from Boy Meets Boy and evil what'shername from Average Joe. What, did y'all think we wouldn't notice? We're TV Guide. We see everything.
So let me get this straight: Crazy Lady was only killing people who'd gone into the light and came back. She had no problems with folks who saw the light and got close to the light but didn't technically go down the tunnel. Interesting. Oh, and, by the way: Detective Creegan is officially the creepiest cop ever. Seriously. If he weren't so hot, he'd be sharing David Caruso territory. But I kinda wouldn't mind kissing him so I forgive him for caressing coma girl's hand (you know, the alert one he could "believe in") and giving me the heebie-jeebies. See you next season, Creegan.
I have intentionally not watched this show because I think it doesn't just touch evil, it is evil. But it is the finale, so here I am with Rosa, Jamie and "Superstario Mario" the three "unsuspecting performers" who are so clearly in denial it's disturbing. OK. I'm watching. And watching. And, Jamie's singing "Respect." And, Lord help me, I can't. Michael Ausiello will have to tell you who wins. Because, for me, it ends here.