Well, that happened. A cackling, chemical-mad Andy Cohen pulled back the sheet and revealed his latest hideous creation, a pod of ghouls who haunt the dark sandy shores of America's aging phallus. Yes, it's time for yet another Real Housewives franchise, this one set in sunny Murder Bay, known to the Indians as Miami. So what went down on last night's premiere episode? Well, actually, not a whole hell of a lot. But we did get to meet the cast of freaks, so let's take a look at them individually.
Larsa is the wife of
an old Swedish woodworker named Lars basketball's most famous second-in-command, Scottie Pippen. He was on the Chicago Bulls at roughly the same time as Michael Jordan, and while a very good basketed-ball player, could never match the insane aerodynamics of The Great One. He was the Sigourney Weaver to Jordan's Meryl Streep, both at Yale, the best in the land, but one just better, more effortless, blessed and kissed by invisible gods. This feeling of being second is reflected in Larsa, in the way that she fiercely defends Miami, and in the way that she had to go on a stupid reality television show to prove her worth. In this first episode Larsa mainly went shopping for terrible clothes, holding up garish bolts of fabric and handfuls glitter and beads and asking her assistants, or whoever, if things looked sexy but cute, hot but demure. That kind of nonsense. She's a nonsense woman. She went to a fashion show with two of the other nonsense women and one of the other nonsense women was all "This is a stupid fashion show because in New York they have real fashion shows..." and Larsa got soooo mad. "Well this is Miami. We're talking about Miami now." She was very upset to have her city criticized, to have it SECOND guessed. Ahh! Psychology, flying in a vortex around her head! I wish Larsa really was the simple, handsome wife of Lars the woodworker, living in a cabin on the prairie, Willa Cather rolling by on her pump trolley in the distance, her daughter Kirsten growing up to be a strong, true American Girl. (Distressing note: Did you know that they seem to have discontinued Kirsten as an American Girl doll? That's the one my sister had! Sigh. Time is an unforgiving freight train.) I wish Larsa was all of that. But instead she's this, this dumb thing living in Miami. Feh.
Cristy is a pile of rice that no one likes. I mean, she might as well be. She used to be married to a basketed-ball player too, but he disappeared into the abstract long ago and now she's just Cristy. Boring old Cristy. Cristy pretends she likes to whoop it up on the beach like a Girls Gone Wild girl, like someone thirty years her junior, but she doesn't really. Inside she's rotted, full of dried leaves. She and Larsa are friends and Cristy spends most of her time being so burning, burning, burning jealous of Larsa. Oh gosh, her brain just balls up into a tight little fist of a brain and her eyes feel like they're in a jacuzzi and she stares so hard at Larsa and she thinks that just maybe, if she just stares hard and long enough and wishes with all of her spider brain's might and tries to make some sort of rumble happen in the cave of her chest, that mayyybe her soul will leap from its body and plop down into Larsa's, and she will be her, simple as that. The real Larsa's spirit will be... oh who knows where. In the fields of Aaru. It doesn't matter. What matters is that Cristy will finally have the life she wants, the life she deserves, here inside her Larsa machine. But that hasn't happened, yet, obviously. So instead she consults with psychics and goes to fashion shows, her heart fluttering around in her ribcage like a barn swallow trying to find its way out, wishing for cool, clear sky.
Adriana De Moura
Adriana is from Brazil and has a few old battle scars and some interesting, sad theories about herself. Her main theory is that she is Miami hot. Or at least hottest in Miami. Other places she might be overlooked, but she likes Miami because there she can get the man of her dreams. This is her philosophy, I guess. It seems to have paid off, I guess, in that she is engaged to a man named Fred who has a boat. Fred has a boat and that's all that matters in this tattered, dying world, so good for you, Adriana. Adriana also just likes to have fun. She went to the fashion show with the Basketball Wives and she embarrassed them with her fun-having. Well first she felt embarrassed because she didn't understand why they were at the fashion show so early, because in New York blah blah. After the show the girls went backstage and Adriana couldn't stop ogling the male models, her eyes zoompfing out of her head like a cartoon wolf, tongue hanging out, drool and wheezing, the whole bit. It was hilarious and probably what I would have done too, had I been under the cover of a stringy black wig and a Brazilian accent. Then Adriana decided to walk down the catwalk and the Basketball Wives were so embarrassed and we all said "Oh shut up, Basketball Wives. Already nobody likes you." Later in the episode Adriana told us a story about how her first husband was married to a NASCAR person, so I guess it was Danica Patrick. Adriana's ex-husband was secretly married to a 17-year-old Danica Patrick and had a secret kid and everything. Hm? What's that? Oh escort bride? Aha. Danica Patrick was an escort for a time, apparently. I think that's what everyone was talking about, right?
Alexia is a Barbie doll that is alive and can speak. Her words, not mine! The only difference between Alexia and Barbie is that Barbie is dead. Or just, y'know, was never alive. And Barbie doesn't speak. That Alexia is aware of. Right. That's it. She's got it. Alexia killed Barbie. Or something. Anyway the point is that Alexia is blonde and accented and likes to work out and has two sons. One of them is a shaggy-haired 13-year-old who is basically the Miami equivalent of Crackerjacks De Lesseps' son Noelle. They should meet and, yes, when they are of age, date. Andy, you old yenta, set this up! Alexia's other son, Ken Jr., is 17 years old and far be it for me to say this about someone ten years younger than me (jesus), but he's a handsome fellow! And he knows it, as he's apparently trying to become a model and an actor. Buttt, it seems he's put on a little weight recently, so Alexia told him last night to watch what he eats and gave him some good (read: sad) tips. I'd like to see more of this acting/modeling storyline, mostly because it's fun to watch people fail at things (sorry, but it's true — so long as those things are vain and awful, like "I want to be a model") and I'd also like Ken Jr. to have an affair with Adriana. She's proven that she's likes-a the mens! Ken Jr. is not quite a man, per se, but I imagine he'll do. It'll be a good way for her to get back at her ex for killing Danica Patrick when she was 17. Ken Jr., you're headed to NASCAR!
Poor Lea is the old lady of the group. She is married to a lawyer whom she met while serving as a juror on the William Kennedy Smith rape case. Oh, that old story. You know, how that is. You're sitting on a jury for a rape, hearing all the sexy details, and then you just up and fall in love with the lawyer defending the Kennedy who stands accused. It's just a classic story. (OK, lest I get in any trouble here, the supposed facts of the case are that Lisa Lea Haller met Roy Black a couple months after the trial had ended.) Her husband has also defended Rush Limbaugh, so he's a pretty stand-up guy. Lea has lots of "famous" "friends," among them Dennis Rodman, who, judging from his behavior last night, is maybe just totally out of the closet in Miami? I mean, I don't know? Do you know what I'm talking about though? If that's the case I say good for him! But whatever. Lea likes to brag about all these faaabulous people, as well as about her huge home, a historical home that she renovated anyway because it wasn't huge enough. She's a peach. She had a portrait of her nine-year-old son commissioned, so that's pretty cool. She also had all the girls over for a cooking party, because she's their senior leader. The party was basically the women wearing embarrassing chef hats (toques!) while some sad man taught them what an avocado is. Then one of the girls shredded up her hands on a mandolin. Pretty great stuff. I imagine that Lea will become the most annoying, in that she'll think she's super high class and talk about that all the time, but of course will be nothing but gutter garbage from the planet Garbatron. That's all I have to say about that.
Marysol's face has apparently been stung by bees many times and I am worried. Does anyone have an EpiPen? This is a bad situation. Anyway, while we wait for the ambulance, let's talk more about Marysol. Marysol is the owner of the largest PR firm in Miami, so it's about three desks in a utility closet at a semi-abandoned office building, water dripping from pipes and strange moans coming from the darkened higher floors. She is as big and as powerful as D.C.'s Lynda Erkiletian, which is to say she is not big or powerful in the slightest in any way that human beings would define concepts of big or powerful. To a lowly dung beetle, I'd imagine both Lynda and Marysol are pretty mighty, but to us sentient humans, they are just old ladies crying on the inside. Marysol is the woman who heard "NASCAR" when Adriana said "escort," so that was funny. And she dates these weird younger men in this extraordinarily sad, Quinn from O.C.-like way that is pretty terrific. But the best thing about Marysol is her mother. Obviously. The best thing about this show is her mother the witch, a gnarled old stump of a creature who sits in a high-backed chair and croaks out strange incantations from her wide toad mouth when she isn't sluicing dark berry wine into it. I mean... how does one speak about Marysol's mother? Do you think she's had any work done? I can't tell. Sometimes it's hard to tell. I mean, I think she's maybe had a little nip or tuck here and there, but maybe not. What do you think?
OK, that's about it. I guess here we go? I mean, I guess I should keep writing about this show? I'm curious about a few things, but other things I'm very much not curious about. Bravo, listen up: please cut Larsa and Cristy from the show because absolutely nobody cares. No one in the world cares about Larsa. And I've already forgotten who Cristy is. Other than that, I think it's fine. It's definitely a step above D.C., but that's like saying pee is a step up from poop.