The Countdown Begins
I've been watching "Chimp Crazy" and "Into the Fire" while we wait.
In brief, because I know how busy you are, let’s discuss the shows I’ve been using as a placeholder until Joan finds her silver fox:
Chimp Crazy: this is an HBO show about a lady in pink named Tania that adopted a monkey named Tonka that was once in a movie with Alan Cumming. PETA demanded that Tania remove Tonka from her basement and let him live in a chimp sanctuary so Tania faked Tonka’s death. This four-part docuseries is directed by the same guy who did Tiger King, but he hired a fake director to be in Chimp Crazy, a bizarre step that I don’t quite understand. I think there was some concern Tania would refuse to participate in a documentary if it was from the Tiger King people as the Tiger King is now campaigning for Donald Trump from a jail cell, which he will hopefully soon be sharing with his preferred candidate. Anyway, a lotta buzz about Chimp Crazy. It’s crazy, sure, but it’s no Tiger King.
Into the Fire: I know true crime is not everyone’s cup of deadly tea. Sadly, I cannot fall asleep or drive a car without listening to a true crime podcast. Even if murder and mayhem is upsetting to you (as it should be), Episode One of Into the Fire on Netflix is f***ing amazing. The case centers on Aundria Bowman, who went missing in 1989 when she was 14 years old. Aundria was given up for adoption by her mother Cathy when Cathy was just 17. Cathy had no idea what happened to her baby util 36 years later when the POLICE call and say they need a DNA sample because the daughter she gave up for adoption has been missing for years and years and they may have a found her body. Welp. the body wasn’t Aundria but Cathy has been ACTIVATED. Cathy is, in a word, incredible. You really only need to watch the first episode to experience this sad situation, which is unintentionally a stunning examination about the “choices” women are forced to make, and the innate connection between a mother and her child, despite not knowing each other and one of them being dead. Watch this for Cathy. You will love Cathy and you will never forget her. (Cathy, if you are ever in the Bay Area, I want to buy you dinner and hold your hand.)
On a lighter note:
I think we all know what’s airing next Wednesday. The Golden Bachelorette is finally here, just in time. Given the tension in our (already) great country, we need an elderly person dating show right now. It will be healing.
First thing’s first: my mother is very concerned that the 20 bachelors selected to woo Joan aren’t old enough. Garbage Television will be including reactions from my 70-something parents because 1. they are technically senior citizens and we welcome a response from people in their “golden” years and 2. they are PBS/New York Times people and it’s funny that they watch this trash and get so upset.
My mother makes an excellent point. One of the contestants is 57 years old. That is not golden! My best friend is 50. I am 46. My husband is 44. We are obvi very young and full of rizz. But garbage television beggars cannot be choosers and I am really excited for Wednesday. Here’s hoping that ABC has done their due diligence and we don’t find ourselves in the wrinkled clutches of a tearful conman.
Other than love, Joan needs to be looking at 1. finances, 2. preexisting children, and 3. overall health/ability to drive at night. In my experience, money can indeed buy happiness. (I could be happier, folks. A lot happier.) I also have my suspicions that there was something up with either Gerry or Teresa’s children and that may be why they divorced after 15 minutes of marriage. Marrying someone with adult children could be very challenging. If god forbid one of my beloved folks ever dies and the living parent tries to date, I would make that grifter’s life a living hell.
What are your hopes and dreams for the Golden Bachelorette? Are you as excited as me, or are should I be worried about my mental wellbeing? I welcome your thoughts, as always, and may all of your suitors be able to get themselves in and out of a car without assistance.