The Bachelor is finally tapped out
TV’s “The Bachelor” finally came to its conclusion on ABC last night, not so much because Brad Womack had found the woman of his dreams, but because he had run out of words to say.
“I’ve talked and I’ve talked over the last few months, and I’ve said literally thousands of words, many of which I actually meant,” Womack told a TV audience estimated in the tens of millions. “Everyone who’s watched knows how much I hate to repeat myself, so I’ve decided this is the time to stop. I don’t know any more words.”
Womack told reporters at a press conference after the final episode had aired that his vocabulary is not terribly limited, but that in the course of various ruminations and lamentations and reflections and confessions offered since late last year, he’s said every word he knows.
“Some at least twice,” he noted. “Like ‘love’ and ‘special’ and ‘chemistry’ — boy, I bet I said them a lot.”
In last night’s finale, Womack told bride-to-be Emily Maynard that it was she who he’d selected to wed. Maybe. Eventually.
“You’re so much more to me than a leap of faith, you’re the one, Em, you’re it, you’re once in a lifetime,” Womack said. “Please let me be your best friend … please let me protect you and your beautiful daughter; please give me the opportunity to love you for the rest of your life.”
“Sure, why not?” Maynard, resplendent in a full-length white gown, responded. “Maybe it’ll finally shut you up.”
“I’m asking you to please give me your forever,” Womack pressed. “Make me happier than I have ever been in my life and marry me.”
“Alright, already,” a glowing Maynard answered. “Jeez.”
Cats mush toward Nome
The cat version of the annual Iditarod Trail Sled Race got off to a sloppy start in Anchorage, Alaska, yesterday, with teams of kitties attempting to pull their loads in dozens of different directions, none of which were anywhere near the finish line some 1,100 miles away in Nome.
Feline fanciers had long felt left out of the annual dog sled “mushing” competition, a grueling event that can last up to 15 days as teams pass through the rugged sub-Arctic wilderness. Organizers of the race, which began in 1973, argued that malamutes and huskies were much better equipped to traverse the snow pack than were common house cats. But a recent ruling by the Alaska Supreme Court required the race to create a special division in which cats could compete alongside dogs.
“But we’re drawing the line at hamsters and turtles,” said the court’s chief justice, Leonard Alexander. “Those creatures have no place in the snow.”
Once the kitty division race got underway, cats of all sizes and colors could be seen bounding through the two-foot deep snow where the trail begins just outside of Alaska’s largest city. Teams were made up of as many as 100 cats per sled, as opposed to the eight animals used in the dog division. It was hoped the larger number could provide more power to haul the 1,000-pound sleds containing a “musher” and supplies needed to set up camp along the icy trail.
Most entrants were animal hoarders, the notorious “cat ladies” who virtually turn their homes over to their beloved felines. A few teams tried to make do with far fewer animals, but these littered the trail in failure within several miles of the starting line, with the cats abandoning the effort in favor of sleep, cat treats, and more sleep.
“We hope to be in Nome by the end of the week,” said Mildred Hetherton, whose team had rushed to an early lead. “That is, if I can find a flight that doesn’t require me to check my cats as luggage.”
This Justin: There’s an intruder in my bedroom!
Somewhere not far from here this morning, a young girl awoke to either exquisite delight or bone-chilling horror.
I have a coworker who dotes lovingly, almost obsessively, on her daughter. I know this because she’s constantly telling us about it at the office.
“Jessica did this,” we hear, or “Jessica did that,” or occasionally, “Jessica did nothing at all — and that’s why I’m making a diorama out of a shoebox here at my desk, so she doesn’t get an ‘incomplete’ on her homework.”
For the girl’s eleventh birthday today, her mother bought her two gifts. One is a customized iPod being shipped all the way from where it was made in China. The mom has been devotedly tracking the progress of this shipment from Asia, announcing loudly on Thursday that “it’s in Hong Kong!”, then worrying Friday morning that the tsunami in Japan would waylay the delivery. By afternoon, however, her fellow employees had been assured that — disaster averted — it would arrive in the U.S. on time.
The second item is a life-sized cardboard cutout of teen singing sensation Justin Bieber. She saw it on display at a record store promoting his new album, and convinced the manager to let her buy it for her daughter, a big Bieber fan.
The plan for birthday morning was to sneak into the girl’s room while it’s still dark and set up the cardboard Justin next to her bed with the new iPod adhered to his corrugated paper body. When the daughter awoke, she’d spy the silhouette of a man-child in the shadowy light of her room and cry out either: “It’s Justin! And he has an iPod all for me!” or “Arrhhh! Mommy! Daddy! There’s an intruder in my room!”
Should it go well, I might try a similar move for my wife’s birthday in June. If only I can locate a cutout of Ralph Fiennes, her favorite actor, and figure out how to attach a selection of crocheting supplies to his two-dimensional form.