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Idiot Box Savant: Love or money? Gee...

By Andrew Kiraly

Summer's here. Goddamn my sofa is hot! Even with frosty cans of Diet A&W sentenced to the purgatory of being taped to my armpits. But alas, my sofa is my only haven from both the blistering heat outdoors and people asking me a million times a day if I've seen The Lametrix Reblowme yet (yes). Oh, how I begged that playful rogue Captain Morgan to rescue me by invoking one of his magical spontaneous rum-based parties! My verdict on the flick: Three thumbs down, my two and the volunteer hand of this annoying goth kid who sat in front me and finally succumbed to the Savant's powerful headlocking abilities. "Your...thumb...will...go down, black-garbed knave!"

Anyway, Hopeless Addiction to Relationship Shows update: It continues. The monkey on my back forced me to watch the premiere episode of "For Love or Money" Monday night, while a separate but equally strong monkey forced me to eat a creme butter cake. Ahhh...I sink into a pleasure-glazed torpor as my trash-TV fix kicks in. In this show, 15 women compete for the affections of a handsome, articulate lawyer superbachelor from Texas. The catch: They can't tell him the one he finally chooses has a choice to make herself. Da-dum! She gets to choose between the hunk...and a hunk of change to the tune of $1 million! Premise aside, the usual gang shows up. You got yer superficial DKNY slogbags; doe-eyed earnest-monsters from the cloudy spires of Hello Kittyland; sophisticated lay-dees with heels so high their calves cry out for the healing balm of my Crisco-covered hands, etc. When the host told them they could win a million dollars by being the Chosen One, the claws flicked out like switchblades. Damn, so much for a late-night pillow fight boiling over into an explosion of unbridled lesbian passion.

But the real catch of "For Love or Money" (KVBC Channel 3, Mondays, 9 p.m.) is, well, Rob the bachelor doesn't seem to really give a shit. Either Rob is a Zen master or has a bong the size approximated by the way my arms are currently hugging an imagined version of your mom. I think the producers thought they'd settled on a smoove operator or something, but, man, there's a fine line between coolness and a vaguely contemptuous lack of interest in life itself, and Rob has pole-vaulted that line with a Slim Jim (sports edition). During the initial meet 'n' greet, during which the women wore their best Taliban-enraging outfits, Rob looked as though he wanted nothing more than to smoke another bowl of Peruvian wonder-schwag. He was like, "Yeah...uh-huh...nice meeting you...well, see ya later." Here's a quote: "I like your dress. It matches the carpet." Fortunately, my coffee table is a massive, bioengineered Little Debbie Crispy Treat, because I swooned so hard when I heard that I banged my tongue on wholesome goodness.

But I think I know what made me sit through the two-hour kickoff show. I mean, I know it's trash TV, I know I could be doing something more productive like spending quality time sustaining the pretense of reading a book or watching a gritty hospital drama. But damn, when these TV gawds--whether in the form of "Joe Millionaire" or "The Bachelor" or "Mr. Personality" or "For Love or Money"--pit the soulmate myth against the constant roilings of our competitive, money- and status-obsessed society, I can't help but watch. Money always walks away with the trophy, of course, but those society-wide cliches seduce us into hoping otherwise. You know 'em: "Money can't buy you love," "It's lonely at the top," and, my credo, "I may not be rich, honey, but surely this primitive wheel I've carved out of cheddar cheese will do as a rudimentary form of currency." Call me a rock-hearted cynic, but every time one of these women says, "I'm here to find a life partner. The money isn't important to me!" I gag, not because she believes it, but because someone out there watching does. You fools! May Captain Morgan rain flaming rum on your house!