These Are The Best Things

You can go ahead and tuck all your favorite diss tracks into whatever dusty receptacle holds the VHS tapes, socialized patriarchy, and Nokia phone chargers down in your basement. Because in this season of thanksgiving, Ariana Grande has given us something better than a coy, petty break-up anthem: in “thank u, next” we have been gifted with an enlightened bop of gratitude.

As it seems to so often with people younger and wealthier than me, this all started with a tweet. Or rather, with a Saturday Night Live spot following the not-exactly-shocking dissolution of Ariana and Pete Davidson's engagement.

A few weeks after the breakup was made public, Davidson jokingly asked on an SNL promo if musical guest Maggie Rogers might like to marry him. She said no; he snarked, "0 for 3." Ariana then tweeted, "for somebody who claims to hate relevancy u sure love clinging to it huh"; deleted it. Tweeted "tag yourself I'm Maggie"; hilarious; deleted it. Tweeted the now iconic “thank u, next”; seemingly once again regretted her hasty retort; deleted it.

These are the sassy comebacks you might expect from a young pop star annoyed with her ex. But given the time and artistic space to elaborate, the title track from Ariana’s next project, “thank u, next”, has turned out to offer something much more unique. This is no clap-back — this is Ariana's round of applause for herself.

Ariana hasn’t just given us a new kind of diss track, she’s given us a new kind of love song: a romantic tribute to self-love (and no, I don’t mean masturbation, mostly because that is its own genre altogether). "Thank u, next" also happens to feature some of Ariana's best annunciation yet, I think, because it's important to her that this time, we hear every word…

Thought I'd end up with Sean

But he wasn't a match

Wrote some songs about Ricky

Now I listen and laugh

Even almost got married

And for Pete, I'm so thankful

Wish I could say, "Thank you" to Malcolm

'Cause he was an angel

“Thank u, next” doesn't just reference a few of Ariana Grande's ex-boyfriends by name — it does so in the first verse. Four boyfriends; four breakups; four lessons learned in the painful, patient reality of love. There is nothing coy about this break-up ballad, because as Ariana seems to be telling us that she's learned: there is nothing coy about love, at least not real, adult love. And in "thank u, next" Ariana shows herself to be a grown ass woman.

Listening to this song, I had no idea how it emotional it would make me. Not only witnessing someone's emotional growth, but having them invite you along for the journey in real time through their art? Oh yeah, I cried. Sure, I cried. Because I feel proud of her, and I feel proud of myself, and for anyone who's done the difficult work of moving on. A song did that.

Love is a thrill unique to each relationship that music so often attempts to universalize, but heartbreak — baby, that's so run of the mill, it takes a mere few words to relate to heartbreak. It is a deep, deep artistic well. Breakups are what made Adele an icon, and what Taylor Swift goes back to again and again. And there's still plenty of room for that in music because just as the pain of a breakup is universal, it is also timeless.

But what comes after heartbreak? Well, ideally: growth. The singularity of this track’s empowering message is what makes it so novel: the song isn’t about them. “Thank u, next” is about Ariana.

I know they say I move on too fast

But this one gon' last

'Cause her name is Ari

And I'm so good with that

If “thank u, next” dismisses anything, it's not Ariana's past relationships, which she clearly states have imprinted on her for better and worse. But of the outsider's notion that these relationships, in their youthful magnitude, were mistakes. Just because something is ill-advised does not make it a mistake. It may mean make you immature, or willfully ignorant, or far too patient — but it doesn't make you wrong.

The outside world might see Ariana Grande as someone who has had a lot of boyfriends, and therefore, made a lot of mistakes. But if the Bachelor franchise has taught me anything [ed. note: it has not!], there are those who see themselves as people with "a lot of love to give" and there are those who...would never even consider using a phrase like that because they have just your average one-to-two-serious-relationships amount of love to give.

She taught me love

She taught me patience

How she handles pain

That shit's amazing

I've loved and I've lost

But that's not what I see

'Cause look what I've found

Ain't no need for searching, and for that, I say…

Thank you, next

Perhaps Ariana has more love to give than most, but "thank u, next" assures us that she's taking on the emotional responsibility of her own mental well-being. We stan a self-reflective pop princess.

Truth reveals itself with time alone, and Ari is getting there. And she's taking us with her in such a startlingly joyful way. Look no further than her debut performance of “thank u, next” on Ellen to understand that this song about breakups and pain and learning is still an undeniable celebration.

Before "thank u, next" I'd only ever been an Ariana Grande fan from afar. But a joyful anthem about moving on, coupled with First Wives Club cosplay? I now understand that she is a businesswoman, an artist, a skilled musician, and a subtle comedian all wrapped up in a Limited Too trench coat.

One day I'll walk down the aisle

Holding hands with my mama

I'll be thanking my dad

'Cause she grew from the drama

Only wanna do it once, real bad

Gon' make that shit last

God forbid something happens

Least this song is a smash

With the humanizing stumble, the inescapable swell of emotion, and her friends, frequent collaborators and "thank u, next" cowriters Victoria Monét and Tayla Parx supporting spunkily be her side, it is an imperfectly perfect performance.

It would be easy to look at this song and the Ariana/Pete breakup, and say: Ah, yes it was Ari who had the Big Dick Energy all along. But I don't think that's true. BDE, for all its silliness, is defined by exuding an effortless satisfaction with oneself. What Ariana is saying in "thank u, next," and what she's often shown through the vulnerability and candor of her public-facing platforms like Twitter is:

This. shit. takes. effort.

Surely this "thank you, next" sentiment will be swiftly co-opted into funny memes (check), a Whopper commercial, and a little further down the road, a 2020 Presidential campaign. And that's fine. It's pretty broad—and not at all terrible—advice when taken out of context.

But in context, Ariana's "thank u, next" is not a simplistic dismissal of exes, nor a thoughtless platitude about moving on. It's about unloading the angry burdens of our past to pave a way forward with gratitude and graciousness. Even if Ariana, that little minx, did drop her record-breaking banger 30 minutes before Saturday's East Coast airing of SNL…

Hey, if Ariana has taught us anything [ed. note: she has!], it's that there's no reason self-improvement can't be productive and at least a little bit of a smash at the same time. As I think the saying goes: Revenge is a dish best served smokin' hot, in a white pantsuit, serving transcendent emotional realness.

This article originally appeared in the These Are the Best Things newsletter on Substack. Get more TATBT articles directly to your inbox by subscribing below!

"Ghosts can be a lot of things: a memory, a daydream... but most times they're just what we want to see."

**This article originally appeared in the TATBT newsletter. No spoilers beyond the first episode!**

Steven Crain uses these words to undermine the idea of "real" ghosts in the earliest moments of this ghost story, immediately establishing himself as The Haunting of Hill House’s skeptical audience surrogate (although I trust that we are all much less of a drag than Steve, while simultaneously being just as hot as him).

Series creator Mike Flanagan then spends the next 10 episodes proving to us and to Steven, in the most frightening ways possible, that just because the ghosts of Hill House can be explained doesn't make them any less real — and no amount of logical explanation can rid Steven or his family of the ghosts that bind them together. Trauma is not logic-bound, and neither are the scars it leaves behind.

The Haunting of Hill House dropped on Netflix a week ago, and while I knew it would be an extremely loose adaptation of Shirley Jackson's fearsome 1959 gothic horror novel of the same name, I surely could not have guessed that the malleable nature of that adaptation would turn this haunted house story into what I've been referring to as...Spooky Parenthood.

And that’s a compliment. Prepare yourself for a gushing recommendation,; although I do discourage you from watching Hill House with the lights off, a full bladder, or in the near vicinity of anything that casts a shadow. The list of things that made me do a double-take, followed by a full 20-second stare down to see if they moved again include: the shadow of a sink faucet, every open door in my house, and the reflection of my own face in the TV when I finally turned Hill House off.

The Haunting of Hill House follows the Crain family at two different points in their lives: the summer when they briefly lived in a gorgeous, super haunted Victorian manor that was "born bad," and then 26 years later when a great tragedy forces them to reckon with the ways in which that house never left them, no matter how long ago they left it. The nonlinear nature of this family story might lend itself more glaringly to a This Is Us comparison, but the thing is...I'm the one making said comparison, and I think Parenthood is a far superior family drama to This Is Us.

And The Haunting of Hill House is, indeed, an excellent family drama. Who knew?! I love a good scare, especially around Halloween, so I set into Hill House expecting to do a little doom, make a little ghost, get scared tonight. All those things happened, but I also found myself crying repeatedly — a reaction to entertainment I both cherish and live in fear of. The cleverness of this series is that Flanagan understands that horror can be doubly horrifying when its rooted in care.

After getting to know the Crain family, you don't just want these people not to be tormented by ghosts because ghosts are the worst; you don't want them not to be tormented by ghosts because you care for them, in that same complicated way they care for each other in the midst of their own grief and tragedy.

The scares of Hill House aren’t just frightening...they’re sad. And surely there is nothing more frightening than despair. So the question remains: can you enjoy watching a series that asks you to repeatedly bare your second-hand soul in a sea of self-reflective human tears? 

Parenthood and The Haunting of Hill House say yes you can, and you will probably love it all the more precisely because of that emotional connection.

With style and empathy, Hill House coaxes viewers into caring for a family who turn away from their shared trauma and mental health at every turn. It makes you care for them so hard, you won't even give up on them when those turns so often reveal floating men in bowler hats and long-haired ladies with disturbing 90-degree angles in their necks.

Because of that time spent cowering under beds and around corners with the terrorized younger Crains, you understand why older Luke would turn to drugs; why Shirley would build up walls so steep no one can get in; why Theo would give so much to her work and so little to herself; why Nell would find the allure of her mother's own mysterious demise irresistible in the wake of numbing personal tragedy; and why Steve...

Well, Steve is just kind of sanctimonious and rude, but he's an eldest child with a superiority complex, and when building a family drama, it's important to depict accurate family dynamics. We need look no further than Adam and Kristina Braverman to know that just because someone is annoying doesn't mean they're not bringing a necessary ingredient to the familial table.

Sorry oldest children. — signed, ME, an endlessly lovable youngest child; a more reliable Crosby, if you will.

Of course, the youngest child in this scenario is Nell, a touch on the unreliable side because at only 6-years-old when her parents moved her to Hill House, she and her twin Luke were most vulnerable the spectral happenings within. A child cannot use logic or happenstance to explain away what's right in front of them — they can only see what's there. It's no surprise that being told what’s right in front of you is actually all in your head could leave psychological scars so lasting they'd lead grown-up Nell to...

Well, you’ll see.

If you don't like horror or earnestness, there's a good chance you won't like The Haunting of Hill House. But if you like even one of those things, this weird hybrid of a series might just sway you into liking the other. To call it "fun" would not exactly be correct on account of all the oppressive grief and sorrow and whatnot. But it thrills in that way only a truly spooky story can, and the family at its center is so thoroughly engaging.

Undoubtedly, life is a far more difficult journey for the Crains than it was for the Bravermans, but I am here to tell you, the healing that awaits them at the end of this battle is worth the fights and frights, if you’re willing to take the trip with them.

Oh that's right — this show is scary as hell and it gets a (mostly) happy ending. A few other helpful things to know going in:

THE CASTING

I've said repeatedly that Flanagan takes his time establishing empathy for the Crain family through recognizable sibling dynamics, and familial grief and devotion, but there is one thing he employs that establishes connection immediately...

The Crains are all smokin’ gorgeous, starting with their parents played by Henry Thomas in a pair of spooky-but-whatever-I'm-into-it blue contacts and Carla Gugino who has been maybe the most beautiful woman in the world for like 20 years running. The woman does not age, she just spawns cute little versions of herself who grow up to be beautiful, haunted adult iterations of herself. And the only thing I like more than a group of unreasonably hot characters...

Is the perfect casting of miniature versions of those characters. Seriously, I know y'all like This Is Us, but eat your fucking heart out Mandy Moore's painted-on wrinkles. The kids in that show are cute and they bear a passing resemblance to their adult counterparts, sure, but look at this:

Elizabeth Reaser (grown-up Shirley) and Lulu Wilson (l'il Shirley and also Camille's ghost sister in Sharp Objects) look...exactly alike??? It is wild. And it just goes on from there...

I've hardly even mentioned Theo, the coolest Crain sibling by far, played by the impossibly gorgeous Kate Siegel in full-size, and by the most prolific child actor of her generation, McKenna Grace, in fun-size.

I have mentioned Steve, but it's worth noting that much of his insufferable adult characteristics are assuaged by the fact that his younger self (Paxton Singleton) is a highly endearing little preteen nugget, and his older self is played by hot ass Michiel Huisman pretending to be a nerd by always carrying around a pair of lucite-framed glasses, but never actually wearing them.

And, oh the twins; these poor, poor twins who have just the most adorable faces, you can almost understand how a ghost would want to get all up in there for a squeeze. Given all these Honey-I-Shrunk-the-Actor magic tricks, it could only be intentional that tiny bespectacled Luke (Julian Hilliard who must have Jacob Tremblay absolutely shaking) grows up to be Oliver Jackson-Cohen who could legitimately play Captain America post-experiment. 

The camera spends a lot of its 10-hour run time zoomed-in on the face of little Nelly (Violet McCraw), so it's a delight every time you're struck once more by how much grown-up Nell (Victoria Pedretti) looks exactly like an enlarged version of her child self...even if every zoom of grown-up Nell is not a delight in and of itself.

That’s from the first episode! It’s not a spoiler, really! You’ll just have to watch!

IT'S THE SUMMER OF 1992

The Mall of America is opening, Ross Perot thinks he should run for President, and the Crain family have just moved to Hill House with intentions of flipping it to make enough money for their "forever home." It's difficult to immediately tell what time period the Crains are in when they move into Hill House because Olivia, the warm but occasionally possessed Crain mother is prone to swanning around the drafty mansion in velvet robes and wedges.

So, sometimes you might feel like it's 1970, but knowing from the beginning that it's 1992 could be helpful to your viewing experience.

The present-day timeline is 26 years later, and this will make it all the more curious as to why they brought in Timothy Hutton to play a 26-years-later Henry Thomas when Timothy Hutton is only 10 years older than Henry Thomas, but...should I just show you the young-and-old Shirley comparison again, and what say we forget all about this misstep??

THIS IS EPISODIC TELEVISION

The first five episodes of Hill House are building blocks, each one told from a different Crain sibling's perspective. I don't normally like to say this because it can make a viewer hyper-aware of their own viewing experience, but you gotta stay vigilant when there are ghouls peeking out from every dark corner anyway, so here goes: Just give it a few episodes! You might not find yourself enthralled in the first one or two, but the build is so enjoyable along the way. Y'know, if you find secondhand suffering and personal terror enjoyable (I doooo).

And once you make it to episode 5 — Nell's episode — you might not shake it for days. I certainly would not recommend watching it right before bedtime or in any sort of rush. I can think of few other entertainment experiences so suspenseful and conclusive; so terrifying and moving all at once.

And that emotional climax makes the perfect entry point to the marathon that is episode 6, which plays out like a stage production in only five continuous shots, the longest one running 17 minutes straight.

And this is where I warn you that some people who have loved the series have not loved the final episode. I am not one of those people because I'm sappy as hell and I love a perfectly tied ribbon around an oozing, molding, rotten, terror-wrapped package.

No, the emotion-heavy resolution of Hill House is not subtle, but family resolutions rarely are. They take time, and work, and they cannot be passive. Deep wounds — cuts that have been kept open for a lifetime — must be healed with intention. The ghosts that have haunted the Crain family for decades haven't disappeared by the time the final credits roll, but acknowledging that they were ever there in the first place is comfort enough.

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This post contains mostly no spoilers, unless you consider *general geography* a spoiler which, fine, but we all took third and seventh grade...

HAAAAaaahhhhOOOOHHhhhaaaaAAAHHHOhaaaHAAA-IIIIIIII have now seen A Star Is Born and I am here to confirm what you already know: the hype is real. Come for the melodrama; stay for Lady Gaga's incredible face that Bradley Cooper's camera simply cannot stay away from — except for all the times when he puts the camera on his own face, which is also incredible in all its bronzed, gin-sweat glory, and also an inspiring muse, even if you didn't know Bradley Cooper was the star you were coming to see Bradley Cooper birth.

I do not mean to undermine Lady Gaga's performance. She's...so good. And in such an unexpected way, as perfectly showcased when Ally first sings "Shallow" onstage, and you're sitting there thinking that song has already been normalized for you because of its iconic rollout in the trailer, but halfway through trying to wipe the butter off your hands so that you can wipe the tears off your face, you realize what's most iconic of all is the fear and vulnerability with which Lady Gaga is able to color Ally's first time singing in front of an arena, even though Lady Gaga herself has straight up body-surfed at the Super Bowl halftime show, like, six times. 

Ally is definitely the star that is born in the first act, but then in the second act, she's just kind of…a self-assured toddler who is already very comfortable being a star? That's when the focus turns to Jackson Maine, who is very uncomfortable with his life as a star, or at least needs to snort a large caterpillar's worth of cocaine to get comfortable with it.

And that works too, I guess! Cooper’s is excellently crafted man pain, and I've heard it has made more than a few men cry many man tears. I myself cried enough man tears that I felt very relieved I hadn't worn makeup, and upon entering the restroom, realized while I had not intentionally worn makeup, I had done a real half-ass job of taking off some former makeup, as evidenced by my eyes looking like Jackson Maine's after he's drunk enough whiskey to forget the death of A R T.

Oh yes, I did cry enough in those two final scenes — you know the ones — to activate some three-day old, already once removed LashBlast. Wait...am I the star that was born?

No. No, I am not. But which star this movie births is just one of its many conundrums (others have said the star is Gail, and once you know who Gail is, you know they might just be right).

The absolute best thing about A Star Is Born is how self-assured it is. In fact, Cooper’s directorial confidence that what's happening is the exact right thing to be happening… and does not need to be explained or made sense of…even when it is completely illogical, is perhaps the only thing that keeps the wheels from coming off in A Star Is Born. Like me telling anyone who tries to make me eat breakfast the unchecked fact I heard one single time three years ago that breakfast being the most important meal of the day was a marketing tactic made up by General Mills in the 1970s to sell cereal — unearned confidence will get you everywhere.

And by everywhere, I mean: your loved ones off of your back about not eating breakfast, and/or $50 million opening weekend domestic.

I don't think it would be a contrarian take, even for the film's biggest advocates, to say that almost everything about this film is technically "good" while not technically “making any sense at all." For example, why would a bunch of people who paid for a Jackson Maine concert be thrilled when he brings a lady in a t-shirt onstage to sing the encore, even if "Shallow" is a baaaaahooooohaaaahooohanger? Who cares, it gives us that incredible moment!

Further, was it...necessary to make Jackson Maine's brother a full 30 years older than him? Which came first: Sam Elliot's casting or Bradley Cooper's Sam Elliot impression? I love Sam Elliot as much as the next Bradley Cooper, but what are we doing here and why are we doing it? The answer is, of course: “Sam Elliot” and “because we can,” respectively.

Does it matter that Bradley Cooper is completely believable as in irreparable drunk with a heart of gold right up until the point when he takes his shirt off and your tongue rolls out of your mouth like a Sylvester the cat because these are not the abs of a man who hosts a DIY gin bucket in his torso every night? You can grease down his hair, sprinkle cigarette ash down his throat, and put as much Tom Ford bronzer on him as you want, but you cannot hide those abs.

Well, you could — with a shirt. A Star Is Born simply chooses not to because it knows you can live in two worlds: one where you enjoy Bradley Cooper's grizzled performance as Jackson Maine, one one where you enjoy Bradley Cooper's abs as Bradley Cooper's abs. Because this is a tried and true melodrama. We're not here for the Pythagorean theorem, we're here for: Hair. Body. Face.

We could call into question if A Star Is Born actually doesn't realize it's shitting on pop music while featuring one of the greatest virtuoso pop stars of our time, or if it's doing the much trickier thing of shitting on people who shit on pop music by making Jackson Maine such a (sympathetic) asshole that he drinks a whole bottle of backstage-SNL liquor just because Ally sings a (good) song about butts, sure…

But that's hard work. And melodramas shouldn't be mentally laborious for the audience — you come; you cry; you leave; you throw your wig at Lady Gaga slinging non-stop bops (even the ones that aren’t supposed to bop) if you feel so inclined because you had a good ass time.

There are plenty of things that don't make logical sense in A Star Is Born, but for the most part, it is so big and yet small, bold and yet subtle, emotionally manipulative and yet earnest, that you just move past the fact that sometimes Jackson Maine's brother accuses Jackson of stealing his voice even though we are at no point given any evidence that his brother was a singer of any kind. There was only one logical fallacy actually took me outside of the film while watching it:

WHERE IN THE FRESH MONTERREY HELL DO ANY OF THESE PEOPLE LIVE?

For the first, I don't know, 45 minutes of this movie, there was no doubt in my mind that Ally lived in New York. Yes, I am a pretentious east coast nightmare who assumes that everything worthwhile happens in New York, but also...Lady Gaga has a Queens accent…her dad has a Queens accent…and all of her dad's friends who hang out at their house that is very clearly in Queens have Queens accents???

Long Island would not have knocked me over with a feather. I would have even been willing to consider New Jersey. But that Ally and her father did not live a bridge or tunnel away from the Empire State Buildings was inconceivable.

Until Jackson Maine comes to Ally's house and asks if she wants to go on a motorcycle ride TO ARIZONA...

Apparently Ally actually lives within an interstate or highway (or eight, I clearly do no know how L.A. works) of the HOLLYWOOD sign??? Which begs the question: if Ally lives in L.A., why does Jackson fly her on a private jet to a concert that takes place at what is quite notably the Greek Theatre in L.A.? And further, if we're just taking private jets across cities, and motorcycles across states (or maybe countries, I’m honestly still not sure!!!), and treating the space time continuum like a recalled Stretch Armstrong, then why can't Jackson fly Ally's dad from (allegedly!!!) L.A. to Memphisfor their wedding???

Also, if Dave Chapelle lives in Memphis, where are he and Jackson childhood friends from? Arizona?? Was there some unaccounted for time in Nashville because Jackson's brother who (allegedly!!!) wanted to be a country star raised him? Does this movie think audiences just don't listen to state names??? Everyone learned a whole ass song about them in elementary school! We could sing them to you in alphabetical order, Bradley Cooper!!!

Alas, I got over it. The best thing about A Star Is Born is that it is a simple love story, told over and over. At its core, it really isn't a movie about the trials of fame, or the death of A R T or even the tragedy of substance abuse. It definitely is not a movie about the responsible narrative use of place and setting.

It's just a movie about two people doomed to fall in love, and the audience, doomed to fall further under the spell of a movie star who might also be an auteur, playing a country star; and a pop star who might also be a movie star, playing a ingenue. (And it all happened right here IN NEW YORK CITY!)

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Audiences often prefer The Bachelor franchise over The Bachelorette franchise because large groups of women tend to bring more complex social dynamics to the table; more external displays of emotion; and most importantly — more dramzzz.

Enter Becca's expectation-subverting boyfriends who, at any given time, are one stolen-hoodie away from a full emotional meltdown. And I love them for it. I hope Becca moves to Utah, gets an oil drum full of Klonopin, and marries every single one of them, so that I never have to live in a world where five men are not solemnly nodding their heads along to the sacred proverb: You never touch another man's property.

The 20 remaining men vying for Becca K's affections had no less than three tearful fits of the heart, two Right-Reasons-related conflicts, and one dramatic confession in season 14’s second episode on Monday night. They are — in a phrase — the most extra. Regarding the tears, Alex's were for a typical Bachelorette reason: he was released by Becca into the fresh Calabasas air after spending six days in a cloud of Old Spice deodorant working way beyond its pay grade, subsisting on deli meats and protein-shake-mimosas, and sleeping in a bunk bed as a full-grown 30 year old man. Indeed, the psychological torture that takes place in that mustard-colored stucco mansion will be studied in text books one day…

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But the other first-date breakdowns were a little more unique to the, uh, passion-driven ethos of Becca's season thus far: (a very sleepy-seeming) Wills was overcome with emotion thinking about how much he loves his mom and dad, and Lincoln…well, Lincoln's group-date-party-favor got broken by a meanie, Connor, who seems to have taken all the buttons off his shirt, melted them down into a pomade, and then swiped that button juice through his hair in order to achieve Marge-Simpson-like heights.

Again, I reiterate that there is nothing wrong with these soft, tender-spirited men; their wild internalized mood swings, fits of emotion, flare for the dramatic, and memorabilia-triggered histrionics only serve to attract me to them more. After years of withheld emotions, over-confidence, and worshiping at the altar of Mark Cuban, these tentative, fragile little nuggets are a welcome and unexpected reprieve. Even this season's transcribed villain, Jordan, is perhaps the least threatening male to ever be on this show. You could run him off with a drug-store-brand conditioner, you could tie him up with a four-syllable word, and you could permanently confound him with nothing more than "what's black and white and red all over?" He is — and I do not say this lightly — harmless. (Except, of course, to himself. I suspect the man is at risk of drowning every time he takes a shower.)

Even the most aesthetically macho brotestant among them, Leo — who looks like a combination of Fabio and a Victorian-era Strong Man — is, in fact, cattier than a Real Housewife of Beverly Hills, snootier than a Real Housewife of New York, and possesses a lace-front even more snatched than a Real Housewife of Atlanta. When the fellas disrobed at the first group date, I was shocked to see all the six-packs. Not because sensitive men cannot be smoke shows, but because this particular group of delicate bros seem like they spend so much time using their rhyming dictionaries to write Becca terrible poems, and gluing macaroni to picture frames to replace the ones they broke during temper tantrums, that I don't understand where they find the time to make their obliques look like packs of grass-fed sausage links.

Much more important than the simple thrill of watching these dudes work themselves into a emotional group-think tizzy though, is the fact that their flights of fancy make Becca seem all the more level-headed and self-assured by comparison. The woman is attacking the process of finding a husband on reality television with the focus and efficiency of someone trying to replace a subordinate before their own boss realizes that they don't actually have any responsibilities. Or as Bachelor Nation faves, Trista, Kaitlyn, Desiree, and Ashley I. will tell you: like Debby Ocean putting together a heist team to steal the Heart of the Ocean or whatever from the Met Ball #ad

[Ed. note: Wills is Rihanna and Leo is Helena Bonham Carter! And I'M SANDY BULLOCK!]

When Lincoln tells Becca that she brings out the best in him, she asks him to elaborate on what he means by that — the woman is not interested in your platitudes. Lincoln helpfully explains: "I can be myself, and I think when I'm myself, which most people are, they are their best, and I genuinely believe that as long as you are who you are, which you always are, you would always get nothing but from the best from me." Oh, well then! Rest assured Becca, this man is definitely invested in you as a person, and not at all tied up in the fact that you're the Bachelorette and a human woman.

Funnily enough, despite Becca being surprisingly adept at navigating this minefield of dumb-dumbs, she cannot stop unnecessarily reiterating to us that we can trust her; that she would never mislead us; that she's not going to lie to us. She's! Not! Gonna! Lie! She's not gonna lie about these guys having good style. She's not gonna lie about being frustrated that there's so much drama. She's not gonna lie about being upset that Colton dated one of her former sister-girlfriends…

BECCA! It's okay! We trust you!

And listen, I’ve obviously said “I’m not gonna lie” a time or two in my life — am I not human? Do I not bleed? Do I not occasionally preface a statement with a gratuitous "honestly, or "literally," or "at the end of the day"? (Just kidding, I don’t say the last one, I'm not a Kardashian eating a $13 salad out of plastic bowl — I'm just me eating a $13 salad out of a plastic bowl!) But I fear that this newly found catchphrase of Becca’s represents something deeper than a mere filler phrase. I'm worried for our dear Becca, and not just because her underarms must be sequin-chafed to ribbons. But also because her constant vigilance for sniffing out dishonesty and insincerity in her potential husbands seems indicative of an internalized pressure to do this job so well, to not make any mistakes, to not completely biff this whole thing at someone else’s emotional expense, like Arie did to her…

Okay, that's enough armchair psychology for one dating game show — let's talk about trampoline dodgeball and what that mouf do!

**The Bachelorette premiere recap is on its way over at the TATBT newsletter! How about some extensive Bio Breakdowns of Becca’s bros to wet your whistle in the meantime?**

Should I… Shall I… Dare I?

Let's (ugh) do (ugh) the (ugh) damn (ugh) thing (UUUUUUGH). Because ABC's newest Bachelorette, Becca K, recently had the sparkly Midwestern heart torn right from her chest cavity, then passed through a particularly elaborate Rube Goldberg machine for two hours before being spiked directly into an AirBnB's trash compactor by the human equivalent of a broken down Big Wheels, all on live television, I feel inclined to blindly support all of her endeavors.

If Becca wanted to wear Tevas with socks and only cold-shouldered gowns for the entire season, I would let her do that. If Becca wanted to tell me about the incredible new company she's working for that changed her whole life and is helping her be a both a business woman and lead a rewarding personal life, I would gladly buy the least expensive eye cream she had. [Ed note: Have you considered subscribing to These Are the Best Things, a fun new editorial venture by ME, Jodi Walker?!] If Becca wanted to go to a Star Wars convention in Star Trek cosplay, or date John Mayer, or prefer Real Housewives of New Jersey over Real Housewives of New York, or skin Chris Harrison and wear him like a coat, that would be fine. Insane—but fine, because a few short months ago, ABC brought Becca to a mansion in the Hollywood Hills, locked the door from the outside and said, Bleeeeeeeeed, woman.

But Becca didn't do it. She didn't bleed for them or for her cotton-candy-for-brains fiancé. For that reason, we have decided to stan forever [ed. note: we'll never be sick of her hoe ass]. But this tagline…

This tagline simply cannot stand. Riiiight up until Becca became a symbol of feminine strength and a rallying cry for unloading the emotional burdens of weak-willed men, the only thing we knew about her was that she was Minnesota-nice, she seemed to enjoy shiny dresses, and she had a propensity for saying, "let's do the damn thing" when a simple yes would suffice.

Whereas we knew Rachel to be a badass lawyer, and we knew JoJo to be super hot, and we knew Kaitlyn to be funny, and we knew Andi to be spunky — we have only ever known Becca to say these five words. And listen, I love a self-assigned bit. It can be comforting when someone repeats the same lines over and over because you know that, for a little while at least, you can stop listening to them. A great thing about men is that they quote movies a lot, and when they do that, you can tune out for a few seconds and think about midcentury modern furniture or Idris Elba at the Royal Wedding. I myself say "cervix" instead of "service" anytime I'm referencing my cell phone signal — it's a big hit 60 percent of the time!

So, I can't put my finger on exactly what it is that's so grating about this bit of Becca’s. Oh wait, yes I can: it's the use of “damn.”

One of the most enjoyable and, uh, knowable things about Becca K is that she is lovely, in both look and demeanor. So, it's very disconcerting to hear her sounding like Hank Hill telling his family to shut the gotdang door all the time. Damn is one of those sterile curse words that the worst kid at the slumber party would eagerly point out you're technically allowed to say because it's in the Bible. Hey, Zoe? Pony up and say one of the real ones, or pipe the fuck down, we're trying to watch Fear before Hannah’s parents get back home!

It is my greatest hope that Becca has allowed ABC to force this thing she said a few times into being her official tagline, and all utterances of it will cease immediately following the premiere. Those might seem like low expectations of our beloved Bachelorette, but that is because, as previously addressed, Becca could do this entire season in pig Latin while dabbing and quoting Napoleon Dynamite and we would forgive her for it. Eck-hay es-yay. The only people we really have the permission to judge are the 28 lunkheads who have gathered at the McMansion that Jake-Pavelka-and-The-Okay-But-Not-Great-Kind-of-HPV built to compete for Becca's damn affections.

The incredible thing about these 28 particular lunkheads is that, unlike all other lunkheads who came before them, they are starting out in the green by having achieved one simple thing: they are not Arie. In that way, these 28 men are already winners; only they can prove themselves to be losers; only they can get drunk and poop in the pool on the first night; only they can reveal to us that there are, surprisingly, 28 different wrong ways to wear a suit. And for some reason, ABC did these dudes the additional favor — and us the disservice — of not posting full excerpts from their patented Bachelorette questionnaire that includes such staples as, Meatloaf said he would ‘do anything for love, but he won’t do that’ … what will you not do? Which always, no matter what, kind of tells you which dudes are down to peg.

But this year, we do not get that vital information! Because, somehow, this franchise is a success despite constantly and consistently misunderstanding the things that the audience likes about it. How am I going to know what citrus fruit Darren F would be if Darren F could be any citrus fruit, ABC??? How am I supposed to know that Corbin has a Little Bear tattoo on on his bicep that's an inside joke with his mom and his second ex-fiance? How might I ascertain the intel on which of these guys would have lunch with Mark Cuban if they could have lunch with any person, living or dead??? (Just kidding, I know that one — it's all of them!) I guess I'll just have to…

MAKE WILD ASSUMPTIONS ABOUT THEIR PERSONALITY AND CHARACTER BASED ON THEIR LOOKS ALONE, PLUS A HANDFUL OF SENTENCES COBBLED TOGETHER BY UNPAID AND UNDERNOURISHED INTERNS IN ABSOLUTELY NO PARTICULAR ORDER AND WITH ZERO DISCRETION:

ALEX, 31: Construction Manager from Atlanta

A self-proclaimed country music lover, Alex enjoys spending time with his dog, Donzi, and taking trips to the beach with his boat. When he's not out on the water, you can find Alex hitting the ski slopes out West.

Alex is doing a lot…visually. I would say he's doing The Most, but he is basically the only brochacho this season who doesn’t have his hair styled a full six inches above his head like a peaked-ass meringue, so. Alex, you’re very good looking in that "going to miss being the next Bachelor by th[-----]is much" sort of way! You really don’t need a velvet paisley blazer layered over a dress shirt with two different prints. ABC describes Alex as a "self-proclaimed country music lover," and I just have to wonder: surely whoever pieced together these blurbs understands that all of the information they're given is self-proclamation? That you cannot be a scientifically-proven to be a country music lover? That a team of investigative journalists did not go full-Spotlight on Alex and dig up that he...has a boat and loves his dog? Surely. Surely.

CHRISTON, 31: Former Harlem Globetrotter from LA

Bored with his corporate job in Detroit, Christon sent an e-mail to the Harlem Globetrotters to see if they were looking for new talent. Before he knew it, he was flying around the world entertaining thousands with his acrobatic dunks. Now a professional dunker in LA, Christon hopes finding love with the Bachelorette will be a lay-up.

As much as Alex was doing with his optic choices, Christon is doing with his life choices. This bio had me gasping for air at every turn, and this is just a three-sentence distillation of Christon's life. Imagine if you actually got to sit down with this professional slam-dunker and hear the full tale of how he willed himself onto the legendary Harlem Globetrotters. Does Scooby Doo still exist, and is Christon a character on it when the gang runs into the Globetrotters? Just how tall is this man? Is being a professional slam dunker like being a professional poker player? Is there a…circuit? I have so many questions that only Christon has the answers to. I want to be mad at Christon about his tie, but I can't because the man literally glows of happiness from a life well-lived; this man has cleansed, toned, exfoliated, essenced, and moisturized his whole entire life. He absolutely will not make it past night one.

NICK, 27; Attorney from Orlando, FL

Nick is a fun-loving attorney with a zest for life. When he's not winning trials, you can catch him in his signature tracksuits being the life of the party. Nick is a self-proclaimed "weekend warrior" who loves brunches, barbecues and the beach.

Nick, I’m going to be real with you because as a (self-proclaimed!) weekend-warrior, I’m sure you can handle the brutal honesty: there's a reason Armie Hammer can pull off his signature tracksuits (RIP). I'm not going to explain to you what that reason is, and the correlating reason for why you cannot do the same…but I am going to explain to you that this photo makes it appear that your signature look is, in fact, raw-nipping it under an Orvis quarter-zip. My father would literally kick you out of our home for defiling Orvis like this.

DAVID, 25; Venture Capitalist from Denver

David is a successful businessman who enjoys fitness, golfing, skiing and spending time with his family at their beach house. He loves guacamole, but hates avocado. Hopefully, that's not a deal breaker for the Bachelorette!

I know you're going to be distracted by David's objectively bad pink v-neck (or maybe I just think it’s bad because David resembles Tanner of "Jade and Tanner's wedding" and that makes me think of using a baby for Different Eyewear #spon, which puts me in a bad place), but we actually need to talk about something else that David is wearing. Coming into season 14 of The Bachelorette, I was fearful of the Dean Effect: surely no one could replicate quite the fall from adorable grace that Dean had after Rachel's season, but they could replicate his young, hipster, twink-tastic style. One man in many floral skinny-ties is fine. Many men in many floral skinny-ties is too much for one season to handle.

What I was not expecting was the Karamo Effect. If you've watched the Queer Eyereboot on Neflix, you know that resident culture expert (???) and former Real-World-er (!!!) Karamo has an arsenal of snazzy bomber jackets so robust, he could actually outfit an entire infantry, should regulation uniform ever begin involving silk dragon appliques. [Ed note: If you haven't watched Queer Eye, do so now; the next 3,000 words can wait. Prepare to cry profusely, coo profoundly, and lust furiously after Antoni and his bland, shark-eyed appeal.] The men of season 14 have taken note of Karamo’s signature piece, apparently. David is just our first of many bombers, and I encourage you to imbibe in a liquor drink or perhaps a chicken tender every time you spot one.

CLAY, 30: Pro Football Player from Chicago

Clay is a professional football player who has come a long way from his small town in the outskirts of Chicago. Clay loves hip-hop and country music, and likes to think he's a good mix of a city and country boy. He is a true gentleman who doesn't even curse!

In a sea of Former Harlem Globetrotters and adult men still identifying themselves as high school baseball stars, Clay is an actual NFL football player. In addition to that, he doesn't curse, he has varied music tastes, and he's comfortable in all environments…

All proof that it is truly is incredible how much good will you can undo with one poorly-timed mock turtleneck. I hope Clay has a great experience running props at his One Act Play competition this year.

COLTON, 26; Former Pro Football Player from Denver

Colton was named after the Indianapolis Colts. He played professionally for three teams before an injury forced him to retire. Post-football, Colton has dedicated himself to helping children fighting Cystic Fibrosis. When he's not working on his charity, he's spending time with his family and his dog, Sniper.

Another former NFL player (sort of), Colton is living that Meghan Markle life, just like, retiring from his job before he's even started to get crow's feet, and becoming a full-time philanthropist. Must be nice. Some of us have to write about reality TV for a living. I want to like Colton, really I do — but I spy a gold chain, a leather jacket with two zippers, and I happen to know that he slid into Aly Raisman's DMs to holler at a champion, began dating her…and now they are no longer dating. And I trust Aly Raisman's judgement implicitly. You know whose judgment I have concern for? Former fiancé of Arie Luyendyk Jr., Becca K. Careful with this one.

RICKEY, 27; IT Consultant from San Diego

After college at JMU and a stint on Wall Street, Rickey created a successful online personal training company. He dreams of finding a woman who can keep up with his lifestyle and be his best friend first, and lover second.

Hey, Rickey — I've got friends. Solid bomber tho. (Drink/Tender!)

GRANT, 27; Electrician from Danville, CA

Grant is a fourth generation electrician with a great sense of humor. If the Bachelorette can handle a healthy dose of sarcasm, there will definitely be sparks with Grant!

At some point on The Bachelorette, "sales rep" starts sounding less like a job and more like a race of highly-coiffed men. Although this season, sales reps are actually in the minority to the largest subgroup: former athletes forced to move onto…something else. But amidst all those technically unemployed hunks, and ambiguously selling bros, comes Grant: an exotic electrician! And not just any electrician — a pedigreed electrician. Four generations! Grant's family could have feasibly been slinging electricity since, oh let's say, 1879…

WHEN ELECTRICITY WAS INVENTED. Eat your fucking heart out, John the Software Engineer! Plus, the Bachelor mansion could use Grant's Benny-Franklin touch; you know that place is just rampant with yanked-out sconces.

LINCOLN, 26; Account Sales from L.A.

May I offer you a snacc with no context?

LEO, 31; Stuntman from Studio City, CA

May I offer you a second snacc with a tiny amount of context? Stuntman.

JAKE, 29; Marketing Consultant from Minneapolis

This adventure-seeking Minneapolis native grew up riding dirt bikes in rural areas, racing motocross since the age of 13. He's also jumped off the third highest bungee jump in the world! He is a hopeless romantic who likes to write poems and loves a good dance.

I'm so sorry, but poetry is one of those things you either do professionally, or you just…keep it. I mean, you can write poetry in your spare time! Go for it, absolutely, express yourself. But if I express myself from time to time through dance, shall I call myself a dancer? Let me answer that for you, Jake: no, I absolutely shall not. I beg of you, do not read any poetry aloud to Becca. And so help me, Jake, if it rhymes…

[As an aside I hope just one person might appreciate: By way of the “How Did This Get Made” podcast, I recently watched a little film called Adore. Iiiiiit's about a coupl'a hot mom best friends played by Robin Wright and Naomi Watts who are…fucking each other's respective hot sons from the time they are 18, well into adulthood when the hot sons are married to wives that have no idea their husbands are — or have ever — fucked their best friend's mom. It's supposed to be flirting with taboo, but instead is just very hilarious because nobody speaks more than a 6-word sentence the entire movie, and all of those fragments are in wonderfully effortful shrimp-on-tha-bahbie Australian accents. Anyway, Jake looks exactly like a scrawnier version of the less-hot hot-son. I’m not recommending that you watch Adore, but if you do, definitely talk to me about it.]

JEAN BLANC, 31; Colognoisseur from Pensacola, FL

Jean Blanc was born in Haiti and immigrated with his family to Boston when he was only two years old. Jean Blanc attends college at Duke, got a masters degree in business administration and then moved to Memphis to work as an engineer. He recently relocated to Pensacola where he works in finance and continues to add to his very impressive cologne collection.

Let me get this straight. This man Jean Blanc has an MBA from Duke…worked as an engineer…has successfully transitioned into finance…and we're going to call him a colognoisseur. I'm beginning to feel like a broken record (or in Bachelor-terms, a Chris Harrison saying "we got bloopers!" at the Women Tell All), but what if — and stay with me here — we just called people's jobs their jobs, and their hobbies their hobbies?

I once spent a bunch of money on shiny rocks in a Marfa, Texas gem store…shall we call me a Geologist? Once again dear reader, I tell you: we! shall! not! I took Geology pass/fail at 8 a.m. the last semester of my senior year of college; I sat next to a boy who wore a puka shell necklace and O'Neill board shorts to class every day, January to May, and I cannot even explain to you how much lazier and worse at rocks I was than him. Why can't Jean Blanc just be a beautiful businessman who has a scent for every occasion and a name that sounds like a fancy pen?

TRENT, 28; Realtor from Naples, FL

This animal lover from Carrol, IA moved to Florida to pursue a career as a realtor and a model. He has been on the cover of romance novels and has done catalog work as well. Trent is excited to show the Bachelorette his sweet Midwestern charm.

I'm almost positive Trent is my brother's friend. Or your brother's friend. Trent just looks like somebody's brother's friend and that is the most that can be said about him, except that maybe he also looks like the quiet frat guy that you're shocked to find actually does the most violent hazing. At some point, Trent has made someone butt-chug something. And it was probably your brother. But nothing — nothing — could be more shocking than finding out that this Assistant Manager of the Pier 1 at the mall in your parent's hometown is a romance novel model. No shade, just… questions.

JOE, 31; Grocery Store Owner from Chicago

Formerly one of the youngest traders on the Chicago stock exchange, Joe turned a successful career in big finance into a successful career in small business. He followed his family's footsteps in the grocery store world, where he currently owns and manages his own store. Successful in produce, but unsuccessful in love, Joe's ripe and ready to be picked by the Bachelorette.

H’oh boy. Do you ever get so excited for a trip or a holiday that you feel like it's already passed because you've been anticipating it for so long? That's how I feel about Joe. I can hardly even type this out; I’m sweating. And it's not because he's wearing the best of all the bombers. It’s that…I don't even know if I can explain what it would mean to me to date a grocery store owner.

And he comes from a grocery store family? Be still by fucking heart, folks. When I leave New York, I will miss nothing more than my neighborhood grocery store and the people inside of it. I want to be clear: I will miss my locally-owned Brooklyn grocery store more than I will miss my friends, my home, Central Park, the Manhattan skyline, the Hamptons, dollar slice, my church, my friends again, the food (unless it's from my grocery store), the art, the culture, one more time for my friends in the back…anything else. My cold, dead heart will miss my grocery store alone.

But hark! Some of that pain is eased, as I have only just discovered via Joe and Joe's family — who I can't wait to meet in a Crazy-Rich-Asians-style culture clash of Grocery Store People and non-Grocery Store Person (me) — that marrying a cute grocery store [owner] is something I could be working toward for my future. I am about to gold-dig my way right to the checkout line.

KAMIL, 30; Social Media Participant from Monroe, NY

Kamil was born in Poland and moved to the United States with his parents when he was five years old. He learned English by watching cartoons. Kamil has a successful career in real estate and dabbles in modeling as well.

Never have I personally been dragged so hard as when I read the phrase "Social Media Participant." I know that title is is for Kamil, but I have been seen, and I have been R E A D. At the end of my life, when I go to The Good Place (and have to explain all the things I've written here), I will be handed a participant ribbon that says, Really, Jodi? That's the best you could do on Twitter? I mourn the loss of Kamil on the first night, for we shall never know what the hell he is talking about with this job description, and I absolutely refuse to the journalistic work to figure it out myself.  

MIKE, 27; Sports Analyst from Cincinnati

This Notre Dame alum majored in Accounting and Computer Applications and currently works as a football analyst. Mike loves festivals, horse races and state fairs. He also loves his bulldog, Riggins.

Mike is a real football analyst. Like, with real reporting who uses real stats, and with very real Brendan-Fraser-George-of-the-Jungle hair. Due to the George-of-the-Jungle-related sexual awakening all women of a certain age took part in, that automatically makes me attracted to him, even if this particular photo would cause my mom to whap Mike between the shoulder blades to correct his posture before going out the door to Sunday school. Given that Mike actually knows his shit about football, I find it fascinating that he could potentially analyze all these former NFL players in real time.

RYAN, 26; Banjoist from Manhattan Beach, CA

This banjo-playing Cape Cod native is extremely close to his family. They all play together in a bluegrass band. He loves playing the banjo, ukulele, guitar and trombone. Ryan also has a passion for sailing and can't wait to make the Bachelorette his first mate!

Every season, a lanky, asexualized, very white, music-loving dork comes along to fill what shall forever by known as the Wells Spot in my heart. Ryan is that man in season 14. Gah, just look at him; he looks like he should be running a grassroots gubernatorial campaign 12 years from now. I will love and root for Ryan fiercely until Becca tearfully dismisses him, telling him he's been her best friend in this journey, but she must choose the five hunkier men in front of him — all the while knowing that should we ever meet, he and his Cape Cod bluegrass family band would absolutely hate me :)

I sorely missed the full questionnaire bios, but I guess since we know so little about Becca, it’s okay that only know the most important of details about her men as well, like how fast they can run a mile and if they have boats.

**A TATBT Announcement** 

The artist formerly known as, ahem, this Tumblr is transitioning into a WEEKLY These Are The Best Things newsletter. That means I'll be recapping every! single! episode! of Becca K's season of The Bachelorette in my signature no-less-than-4,000-words style, in addition to other obsessively pop-cultural content. 

So, as it turns out: "needle dick" was a pretty solid assessment of a highly thoughtless person, gifted to us during The Bachelor's season 22 “Women Tell All” special a few weeks ago. Yes, it was an assessment made by a pathological narcissist with a YouTube channel and a WebMD printout of "laryngitis" symptoms, but still...

On Monday night, The Bachelor decided to air three hours' worth of their chosen testicle-in-charge Arie repeatedly telling his final two sister-girlfriends that he was so in love with each of them, choosing one to propose marriage to, and then breaking off the engagement with That One while a camera crew filmed the whole thing because he figured out he was actually in love with The Other One. Now, let's be clear: Becca K. as she's known around the Bachelor Thunderdome, has dodged the most boring of bullets. When all is said and done — or in the case of Arie and Lauren, when all is just done — this situation will ultimately be nothing but a win for Becca K. She comes out looking like a Minnesota rose with the most treasured quality of all: not being engaged to Arie.

But this entire show is designed to make Becca fall in love with Arie, and she did that. Becca did exactly what The Bachelor asked of her, and they repaid her by having a dude whose personality amounts to "cars go vroom vroom" break up with her in real time on national television. Obviously, the very worst thing Arie did on Monday night was setting his fiancé up for a blindside, and agreeing to film it for mass consumption. But in The Bachelor world, it's near impossible to know what's contractually obligated and what kind of behind-the-scenes manipulation is at play. I put the burden of airing Becca's heartbreak on this franchise; at least until the final two hours of this trainwreck air on Tuesday night when perhaps Arie will explain himself [ed. note: hahhahahahaha omg srsly, wut am i thinking?].

Even with that benefit of the doubt given to Arie about just how callous and insensitive we could believe him to be to the women he claims to love, our Bachelor still spent the entire three hours of Monday's filmed finale in "hold my beer, watch this" mode. Truly, he had moves we've never seen — and a few we've all seen. Without needing to hear a single thing he has to say live on Tuesday night, these are unequivocally The Worst Things Arie did in Monday night's Bachelor finale:

TELLING BOTH WOMEN HE LOVED THEM EVERY TIME THEY GLANCED IN HIS DIRECTION

At some point, Arie decided to replace his most-used catch phrase, "I love that," which is entirely devoid of meaning, with a variation—"I love you"—which is one of the most important phrases in the English language. When Ben Higgins told both of his final two women that he loved them, he immediately knew he'd made a mistake, and spent the rest of the finale looking like he was going to throw up on his penny loafers. Because Ben realized telling them such an important thing would make both women feel extremely confident, and eventually one of them would be extra hurt and confused, knowing that he loved her a day ago when they were making out by a waterfall, but he's now rejecting her next to a pedestal from Home Goods with Chris Harrison lurking around in the background. Basically, Ben took one single moment to consider his girlfriends' feelings and was like, Ohhhh, I'm a fucking idiot.

Arie is a fucking idiot who will never, ever realize it, as is evidenced over and over again in his final, excruciating breakup with Becca. He loved that Becca and Lauren both felt so confident about their relationship with him, almost like he never once considered that one of them would be completely traumatized once they hobbled down a Peruvian hillside in the name of an engagement to the man they loved—and who loved them!—only to get a swift Kanye to the face [ed note: you know, Imma let you finish, but Becca had the best wife potential of all time]. Arie telling both women he loved them repeatedly, often, and with mounting conviction wasn't his worst mistake, but it was his most fundamental mistake. It's the infrastructural jackassery upon which his Mount Rushmore of his jackassery stands. Shall we proceed?

ASKING HIS FAMILY WHICH OF HIS TWO BELOVED GIRLFRIENDS HE SHOULD MARRY

Okay, I did kind of savor how rude Arie's parents were without seeming to have any idea how awful they were being. While I could empathetically understand that it would suck for Becca that Arie's family kept being like, Yes when we met Arie Jr.'s other girlfriend Lauren yesterday, we enjoyed her exactly as much as we are currently enjoying you…it was also a little hilarious how insensitively clueless they were. Heyyyy, it's almost like that characteristic runs in the family or something! Food for thought.

My family's opinion matters to me too — wanting to keep that opinion hovering around "only slightly worried about her delayed progression into adulthood" is one of the many reasons I would never go on The Bachelor (the other reasons are that The Bachelor wouldn't take me because I have curly hair, have never been a catalog model, and unabashedly ate a cookie for breakfast last week). What I'm saying, is your family's opinions go out the window the minute you decide to do any of this. But Arie clearly couldn't get past his family's assessment of two women they'd spent maybe three hours with, and whose only immediate differentiating features are: one is shy-nice, and one is outgoing-nice and they have two different hair colors, though I can't for the life of me remember which belonged to which woman. I want to say there was a Sarah. Was someone named Sarah, Arie Jr.??? Anyway, pick Becca—she talks!

AT LEAST ARIE'S FAMILY COULD EXPLAIN WHY THEY CHOSE BECCA OVER LAUREN

This situation was doomed from the moment ol' Pillow Lips himself explained that he wanted to be able to tell Lauren something that would help her understand why he was breaking up with her, "But I have no real reason to give her."

All I wanted to say to Arie throughout the entire finale was: TRY, Arie. Why don't you just try to explain it? It's a good practice, trying! I get that it's hard, but if you put in the work, and try even a little bit to understand your feelings, I swear you can ink something out, even if it's just: I do love this, and I don't love this. Those words are very solidly in your vocabulary, I know it. Just TRY to relay your feelings to the people you supposedly love, you weak-willed doofus!

LETTING LAUREN LAY OUT ALL THE REASONS SHE LOVES HIM BEFORE TELLING HER HE'S BREAKING UP WITH HER

Rude, so rude. This woman literally hates to speak, Arie—that is what you love about her! (I think!) And you're going to let her go on and on, quite eloquently might I add, about how you've inspired her to let her walls down and how she's soooo glad she finally let herself believe that this love could be real??? This man's spine is made of pudding cups.

TELLING LAUREN HE LOVED HER AS SHE GOT IN THE BREAKUP LIMO

At this point, the idiocy truly became astounding. Not only has he blindsided and traumatized a woman who he has been telling that he loves for weeks by choosing another women over her, but now he's going to tell Lauren that he loves her moments before proposing to Becca? Has he considered that might be painful for his alleged future wife? Of course not! I think if you told Arie that other people have internal thoughts and feelings just like him, his head would explode, and then he'd just go on living his exact same life as a headless torso being told what to do by the Bachelor producers. But at least this brings us to...

HONORABLE MENTION: THE BEST THING LAUREN DID

I know this will shock you, but the best thing Lauren did during the finale was speak a series of words out loud — and boy were those words dead on the money. In the limo, feeling shocked and betrayed, she repeats out loud one of the idiotic things Arie told her when he broke up with her: that he didn't know who he was going to choose until just that morning. "Does that not terrify him?" she asks. "How could you get down on one knee if you weren't sure, like, three hours ago?" An excellent question, and proof that even Lauren would have been a more equipped Bachelor than Arie.  

PROPOSING TO BECCA

Obviously, Arie's biggest mistake, from which there is no turning back—although he sure does try, that stinker!—was exactly what Lauren couldn't wrap her head around: he got down on one knee and proposed marriage to Becca when he had been completely in love with another woman and unsure of who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with just hours before. 

Never has it been clearer how toxic the construct of this show is than now, when it's been thrust upon a canvas as blank and malleable as Arie. He spends the entire finale saying he's not sure about one woman, spending time with that woman, and then being completely reassured that he's in love with her, basically because she is in love with him; lather, rinse, repeat with the next one. I truly believe that if Becca had the first final date with Arie, and Lauren had the second spot, Arie would have chosen Lauren instead. He has the emotional retention span of a drunken dance floor makeout. I think a baby trying ice cream for the first time might have a stronger grasp on what love is than Arie.

Oh, and let's not forget this standout line from Arie’s proposal of marriage: "I choose you today, and I choose you every day from here on out." Arie apparently thought "here-on-out" was like one of those Old English words like "wherefore" or "fortnight" where it sounds like it means one thing (forever), but actually means another (two months, or whenever the camera crew is available to come out to this mansion in the Hills).

THE ENTIRE BREAK UP CONVERSATION WITH BECCA, START TO (ATTEMPTED) FINISH

Assessing the production genius and emotional sociopathy of the decision to show Arie breaking Becca's heart in real-time split-screen is for another time. For now, let's just block off the next four hours to discuss every single stupid thing Arie did during said exploitative disaster. First, after sitting Becca down for a serious talk, Arie tries to ask her how a recent trip to Las Vegas was and compliment a new tattoo. [Ed. note: The distraction of trying to figure out if the tattoo had anything to do with Arie, and ultimately, the immense relief that it did not but was merely your average bumblebee wrist-tattoo, was at least appreciated.]

Becca, however, is like, cut the shit and tell me what you want to talk about; that is our first sign that Becca is equipped to deal with the fuck boi nonsense that is about to be presented to her. I would like to be clear though, that just because Becca is strong, and Arie is weak, would not make this any less painful for her. 

Arie then proceeds to explain in great detail how he can't explain why he's breaking up with her, except to say it in the absolute harshest, and most callous way possible: "The more I hung out with you, the more I felt like I was losing the possibility of maybe reconciling things with Lauren." I honestly think the worst part of that awful statement isn't saying that you've been thinking about someone else the entire time you’ve been with Becca; it isn't saying that you're leaving her for another woman; it isn't naming that woman by name just to really drive the knife right in the bumblebee tattoo; it's calling your engagement "hanging out." GROW UP, ARIE!!!

Becca's flawless response: "Are you fucking kidding me?" NEVER CHANGE, BECCA!!!

Arie goes on to say just about every wrong thing possible. He didn't think "it would be fair" to stay with Becca if he was only half in the relationship. "So are you going to be half in with her?" Becca asks. Nope, Arie's gonna full-love Lauren, and he feels like he's been "pretty upfront" with Becca about how he's been struggling to get past his feelings for Lauren. That's when Becca's left hand with her giant engagement ring briefly dips below the split-screen, and without saying anything, comes back up diamondless. And that's when I fall in full-love with Becca. Perhaps, Arie says, he didn't let Becca know "the extent" to which he hadn't moved on from Lauren. "Clearly," says Becca, a queen.

Then this martyr-ass-muthafucka tells the fiancé he's breaking up with in order to go chase after another woman that he "thought it would be good for us to talk about this now," rather than doing it on After the Final Rose. Becca tells him it would have been good if he hadn't proposed to her in the first place. She says she's done here, and goes in the back of the house to start re-packing the suitcases she brought with her when she was assuming this would be a romantic weekend with her fiancé…

NOT FUCKING LEAVING WHEN BECCA ASKED HIM TO FUCKING LEAVE 100 DIFFERENT TIMES

People talk to me about The Bachelor a lot. Even when I'm not writing about a season, or not really watching it, they know I'll be down to clown about The Bachelor and I love that — always talk to me about The Bachelor, I beg of you.

The number one thing I've heard from women who watched last night's slow-motion disaster, is how sick they felt watching Arie hang around that house and follow Becca around, and ask her to talk to him, even after she’d repeatedly told him that she wanted him to leave and had nothing to say to him. Because there is a certain type of immature man than many women (and men, I'd imagine) have dealt with: men who want women to reassure them that they're still good men even though they're doing a bad thing. Arie begged Becca to talk to him some more, and when she relented, he stared at her in silence. Because he was waiting and waiting for her alleviate the emotional weight of his guilt for him, so that he wouldn't have to feel it anymore.

I recently watched my first ever Hallmark movie and, for a style of film that is entirely about two straight white people falling in love at Christmas because they accidentally fell on top of each other in a snowbank, I have a surprising number of questions. They are: 1. Is Danny Glover a psychopath? 2. Is Danny Glover an angel of romance? 3. Can Danny Glover be both? 4. What exactly is a Christmas Train? I will try — and I will fail — to answer these questions for myself, for you, and for Danny Glover’s family. Don’t worry, explaining the entire plot in great detail will not spoil the film for you because the only thing that spoils the plot of a Hallmark movie is the first five minutes of a Hallmark movie. And yet, here I am, utterly shooketh by the last five minutes of the instant Hallmark classic, The Christmas Train.

Most things in the world currently feel like an self-pollinating trash heap made entirely of onion peels, used dental floss, and ghosts...so in an effort to treat myself, I decided to become someone who watches Hallmark’s “Countdown to Christmas.”  Admittedly, this is not an organic way to come to the Hallmark altar. As far as I know, I am the only person to ever actively seek out their first Hallmark Christmas movie; these movies are built to be discovered in fits of Thanksgiving boredom so paralyzing that no one in your family is able to muster the physical or mental strength to change the channel. But once you’ve tasted that sweet, sweet mindless sauce, life will never be the same without it; Hallmark Christmas movies are the meth of TV cinema.

In any given Hallmark Christmas movie, there is a man; there is a woman; they do not enjoy each other upon first meeting. Or, at least, the woman does not enjoy the man. The woman rarely enjoys anything. Except Christmas — the woman fucking loves Christmas. Like, travels-with-a-reusable-tote-full-of-ornaments-just-in-case-she-comes-across-a-naked-spruce, puts-candy-canes-in-her-dirty-martinis, would-make-out-with-a-moose-should-the-binding-laws-of-mistletoe-so-demand-it kind of love.

It is unclear exactly why Christmas, a technically religious holiday based on an infant-cum-savior born to a virgin teen, is synonymous with romance in the eyes of Hallmark. To be fair, the romance that every Hallmark man and woman find is also quite virginal. In Hallmark movies, people drink but don’t get drunk, they hold coffee cups constantly but never seem to be rushing to the bathroom, and they have sexual tension but absolutely never have sex. You’re lucky if they even kiss, and it’s usually not until the last 20 seconds of the movie so as to avoid any possible risk of tongue stuff. Tongue stuff, I guess, is not what Christmas is about.

Christmas is about a kooky cast of characters with notable traits like “an accent!” and “lurking around corners!” and “Danny Glover!” It’s about gal pals with slightly dead eyes and a solitary passion for listening to the protagonist’s love life qualms. It’s about snow angels, and jewel tones, and not exposing your collar bone. A lot of times it seems to be about being a writer of some kind and/or an original member of the cast of Full House. You can find all this and more in The Christmas Train, which I would now like to explain to you, because it is boring for 90 minutes, and then nosedives into a 48 Hours episode in the last 10. It’s incredible.

Hey y'all, something bad is coming on Game of Thrones, so just real quick, let's remember the good times in episodes 3 and 4, when teenage assassins were reuniniting with their teenage ruler sisters and teenage psychic brothers. When Littlefinger was getting ragged on so hard. When Jon and Davos had nothing better to do than chalk up the cave walls of Dragonstone with little bitty zombie drawings to prove a point and flirt with Missandei, respectively.

There were Catspaw Dagger references for the most careful of watchers, Jon saying "I'm not a Stark" as a Targaryen dragon flies overhead for the mildly observant viewer, and there's Jon and Dany touching each other's wrists in caves for everyone else who's just like, I don't understand what's happening here, I've never understood what's happening here, I don't care what's happening here, but I will be here until it's all over and Dany has married her nephew, SO HELP ME R'HLLOR.

So, once again, this is not a recap, not a review, just a simple, definitive, and all-encompassing list of The Best Things Happening on Game of Thrones right now (which is to say last week and the week before):

Almost Everyone Playing the Game of Thrones Is a Baby-Child

It suddenly became clear in episode 3 that while the lead characters in Game of Thrones don't seem particularly young when they are commanding their armies and large, magic animals—when they come face to face in a throne room, they suddenly seem like two particularly formidable and hormonal teenagers facing off at a Model United Nations simulation. Except, y'know, one of them recently died and was resurrected by a thousand year old sexy priestess, and the other has a bunch of giant toddler dragons and, like, ended slavery, I think.

I'm, of course, speaking of Dany and Jon, the two most popular rulers at Westeros High. Now, since Kit Harrington and Emelia Clarke are each 30, you wouldn’t think they would seem that young…but they're also both, like, 5'1 if they're an inch, so when they first came face-to-face in episode 3, they more often resembled a couple of adorable Shiba Unus tussling over a Kong ball and sniffing each other's butts, instead of two rulers arguing over getting to save the world in the specific way they want to.

In that sense, their first meeting was a particularly precious reminder of how young they still are. Yes, all the GoT kids were aged up three or four years from the books at the start of the series, but Dany and Jon are still only 22 or 23 as they fight to save the world from heretofore unknown evils—and by that, I of course mean Queen Cersei making ever woman get her goofy pageboy haircut. 

When Missandei announces Dany like one of Blair Waldorf's be-headbanded lackeys, Game of Thrones briefly turned into a Disney Channel Original movie, bringing along all the clashing dynamics of darkness and precociousness a DCOM denotes. You can practically hear Missy saying, "You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn, President of the Student Council, rightful member of the A/B Honor Roll, rightful owner of a used Ford Prius she got as a reward for said A/B Honor Roll, Haver of an Afterschool Volunteer Internship at a Veterinary Office, Breaker of Bullies, the Sister of a College Sophomore Who Lets Her Wear His Old Fraternity Formal Shirts So People Think She's Cool, Voted Most Likely to Play with Fire and Like It a Little Too Much, and the Survivor of a Particularly Bad Case of Strep Throat Last Year.

You scared yet Jon Snow, you creepy-loner-who-doesn't-know-he's-hot-and-smokes-cigarettes-behind-the-school-but-secretly-makes-all-As-and-has-a-heart-of-gold-Patrick-Verona-lookin'-ass, you?

If Dany hasn't stood up on the Iron Throne and tearfully choked her way through a rendition of the "10 Things I Hate About Jon Snow" by the end of all this, I will be shocked. Because, as we will discuss later, Dany doesn't hate King Jon (King Snow? No, that doesn't sound right, does it Davos)…not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.

The Stark Children Are Happy…Well, As Happy As a Live Stark Child Can Be

Of course that's not even mentioning the actual children roaming around Winterfell with severe PTSD and a recently developed case of the huggies. Sansa's running the Stark show at Winterfell while Jon is away at Dragostone giving up all his weapons and doing arts and crafts in the underground caves, and in her time as a prisoner of various evil families, she seems to have picked up quite a knack for organizing grain supplies and commanding that leather be added to armor because the dipshits apparently haven't heard that WINTER HAS COME.

I thought Sansa would be cool for like an episode or two and then go back to being dreadful, but her recent transition from Little Sister to Big Sister inside the walls of Winterfell seems to be suiting her well. When Meera finally brings Brann back home and after dragging his 6'4 ass all over the North, she gets exactly zero sibling hugs because her brother died protecting Brann—justice (and a warm shower) for Meera—but the newly minted Three Eyed Raven gets a sweet embrace from big sister Sansa. 

He returns the love by informing Sansa that now he can see everything that's ever happened in the world, including the worst night of her life when she was forced to marry Ramsay and he raped her.

Hey Brann, I know it's not your fault that Jaime Lannister pushed you out of a window, and your dad got beheaded, and Theon fake-torched you, all setting you on a fan-least-favorite path toward becoming the Three Eyed Raven but—you totally suck! Someone else can tell Jon he's a Targaryen if it means you having to be all weird to your sisters now that you're finally, gloriously, wonderfully reunited. In this extended high school analogy I've been drawing, Brann is the kid who took one philosophy class at the community college for extra credit and thinks he knows everything now. You don't know shit, Brann!

Okay, fine, Brann knows some shit, and is obviously intended for some higher purpose in this game of thrones or he surely wouldn't have been—quite literally—dragged through all seven seasons. I just wish that purpose was being a nice supportive brother to his super-survivor sisters, which brings us to…

ARYA IS BACK AT WINTERFELL AND SHE SPARRED WITH BRIENNE AND MAYBE THEY CAN GO LADY-ARMOR SHOPPING TOGETHER NOW, WHAT'S GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD?!

As it turns out, the already disparate Stark children have become even more contrasted with time and (grueling, awful, traumatic, painful, oftentimes unbelievable) circumstances. Sansa, who was a pretty girl who wanted to marry a prince, is now the Wardeness of Westeros' largest region with a keen political mind and a dude who would fucking love to marry her that she's constantly mocking. Arya was a tomboy who had a real good time at her afterschool swordsmanship lessons, and has since grown into a stone-cold assassin who cuts people's faces off and magic-pastes them onto her own face, then feeds those recipient of the face-cutting to his own family, and then also kills that entire family. Brann has turned from a boy who liked to ride horses into Westeros' creepy Miss Cleo, and also, he no longer goes by Brann, and also, is a pretty constant dick to the women in his life.

That all kind of made me love their reunions even more though. Arya saying, "Do I have to call you Lady Stark?" as her first greeting to Sansa was incredible. Sansa replying, "Yes," very much in the way of Old Sansa, but then turning around and hugging Arya and bonding with her about how much pain they've lived through and how everything they used to know is dead except for each other was even better. And Sansa telling Arya that "Brann has visions," in the same tone of voice you might warn a guest that your little brother has recently gotten really into making his own chainmail was EVEN BETTER.  There was also Jon all the way over at Dragonstone being all "She's startin' to let on" when Tyrion says that Sansa is smarter than she lets on—love those two, sure hope Littlefinger doesn't turn them against each other and shatter my heart into a million pieces!

But simply the best was watching those three rough and tumble Starks wheel and walk their way back from the Weirwood tree and into their home at Winterfell, down a couple family members, not really sure of who they've become, and probably on the brink of being murdered by ice zombies, sure…but they're also together—three lone wolves restored to a pack—and, for now, they're alive.

Of course, it is hard to ignore all that side eye Sansa was giving Arya as she sorted that out that Lil' Sis super-duper was not kidding about having a murder list. But Sansa isn't on said murder list, and hey, she also once fed a dude to his (canine) children, so maybe this girl gets it. Maybe everything will be fine and once Jon and Dany save the world, they can all go in on a family beach house together and parasail on dragons. Speaking of…

THAS-A-MUTHAFUGGIN-LOOT-TRAAAAAAAIN

I've always thought of Weiss and Benioff as kind of cool young dudes who were surprisingly hot and surprisingly married to Amanda Peet (which I would want to brag about in Emmy speeches too, no shade). But for some reason, recently, they've started to seem more and more to me like kind of clueless dads who, were we ever to see their legs in the after-show interviews, would be wearing pristine New Balances with loosely fitted light-wash jeans.

I don't know if it's because I recently fell into a deep dark YouTube black hole where I watched clips of a panel where Sophie Tuner and Maisie Williams interviewed B&W and just keep making fun of them for being old (of note, Sophie Turner is really funny). Or if it's because they're quite literally getting older and making this show where they have to spend three million dollars to light 20 real people on fire in order to make it look like 1,000 fake people are being lit on fire has probably aged them an extra decade.

But mostly I think it's because now that they're out from under the shadow of GRRM they can stop pretending they're dead inside and let their TV pathos flags fly, and that alone makes them seem a lot less hard than they used to. Them talking about how Dany and Jon it's so obvious Jon and Dany have developed feelings for each in the cave scene was just adorable. Guys! They've had like, two conversations, and neither one has made a single inappropriate "bend the knee" joke which they obviously would if they were two real life 19-year olds falling in luv in a cave.

All this is to say that, I am so thankful to them for bringing GoT to my television, but truly, only two dumb dads could have taken this insane, explosive, dragon-fueled battle and called it…"The Loot Train Attack." Or as I prefer to call it: the mutha fuckin' LOOOOOT TRAAAAAAIN!!!

There is nothing that I can personally write that would make the battle where Dany brought dragons to a sword fight at the counsel of Jon any better than it already was, so I'll be brief: It is in episode 4 of season 7, at the end of the Loot Train—LOOT TRAAAAAAAIN!—battle, as Jaime charges Daenerys with a giant spear, that it became clear just how impossibly complex this web of character has become. It used to be impossible to root for anyone because they were all either evil or definitely going to die in the next episode exactly because they weren't evil. No more.

I had no idea who I would choose to live and die between Jaime and Dany. And that is perhaps unique to me because in this game of thrones, everyone can choose their own winner and we can all be simultaneously right and wrong. Just as the people of Westeros are born into certain houses, we all have our allegiances. But the time is coming for us to also make important choices, because things can only be happy reunions and convenient river dives and spare Sand Snake killings and flirty-cave-fun-times for so long. Sides will be chosen, alliances will be made, and main characters will start getting their heads chopped off again. Weiss and Bennioff might be out dads, but if TV has taught me anything—and it has taught me literally everything—it's that tough love is the most rewarding form of parenting.

Two roads diverged in an ABC wood

And sorry she could not travel both

And be a polygamist with TWO engagement rings, long she stood

And stared down a life of (alleged) mediocrity

To where it stood in the Miami sun, under the looming presence of Olga;

…

I shall be telling this with a sigh

For at least the next week until Bachelor in Paradise premieres;

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and Rachel—

Rachel took the one most traveled by,

And that…has made all the (terrible) difference

My apologies to Robert Frost and 6th grade English teachers everywhere, but it simply had to be done. Rachel's explanation to Bryan as to why she would be choosing to accept his marriage proposal (as constant torrential winds whipped her edges and lashes into a fury, while simultaneously numbing her recently shredded heart), is that she has always gone for the complicated, challenging man, and turned away from the easy choice in the past. And that has not worked out for her. So here, on the altar of ABC, and with literally only one option in front of her, Rachel is choosing the easy route this time: the man who wants to propose to her without exception, the man who does not challenge or complicate her life. Rachel is choosing the road most traveled by.

And that has really fucked up her Bachelorette legacy.

Watching Rachel's 3-hour finale may have been stone-cold torture, but that was only because it contained one of the realest moments ever seen on this contrived reality show purportedly about romance. Given the choice between a man who would potentially give her that once-in-a-lifetime kinda love but wasn't ready to propose that once-in-a -lifetime kinda commitment, and a man who was prepared to propose to her from the moment he met her when she still had 29 other boyfriends and he only knew her name, Rachel — the self-assured, luminescent, beloved, successful attorney from a wealthy Dallas family — chose the bro that was a sure thing to get her an engagement ring.

I’m not saying it’s the wrong choice. I’m saying, Rachel lived out the plot of The Notebook and she chose James Marsden over Noah. Because The Notebook is a movie and this is real life. And reality clearly states: for monogamy to live, romance must die. [Ed Note: But if you're married and reading this, your relationship is probably the exception! Definitely!]

In that moment, Bryan was Rachel's second choice, and no amount of Instagram posts sponsored by Dunkin' Donuts Cold Brew are going to convince anyone of anything else. There are lots of people who fall passionately in love with someone and think they're going to marry them, but it doesn't work, so their now slightly hardened heart falls reasonably in love with someone else, and that's the person they can make marriage work with. The caveat here is that most people don't travel those two journeys at the same time until they reach a fork in the road with one path labeled, "Once a Girlfriend, Always a Girlfriend Ave," and the other, "Fiancé to Bryan, Former Contestant on UPN Gameshow The Player Street."

We’ll get to what Rachel’s ultimate choice means for the status of her #blessed life, but let's put it off a little longer by focusing on some other, slightly more hopeful points of this season's all-to-real conclusion:

The Glow Up of Eric

What a difference a beard makes! I think every single person who watched The Bachelorette this season had a complicated relationship with Eric's physical appearance. At times he was boyishly handsome; at times he resembled a young, broader Steve Buscemi; at times he was hella fly; at times — those times usually spent in tiny, ornamental scarves — he was utterly goofy. But most times he resembled that episode of The Office where Jim tries to convince Dwight he's a vampire by flipping up the collar on an oversized coat. Because Eric wasn't always shown to be the zen-like sweetheart hottie that he is now, but he was always, always, wearing a winter coat with a big ass collar.

But post-Hometown Eric was a different Eric. Yes, he still wore a lot of (thick?) crew neck t-shirts with sport jackets, and then, inexplicably, with a pea coat over that, but beginning with that first nicely-fitted Canadian tuxedo in Baltimore, post-Hometown Eric just generally looked more like a grown ass man. And when he returned to the Chris Harrison's Loveseat of Terrors during his After the Final Rose segment, it became clear…

Rachel broke Eric's heart and made him a man. For real, he looked like he could have been in the singing group Boyz II Men, and he definitely looked like he could make love to you, like you'd want him to. Further, he looked like a man who can grow an excellent beard and weave a narrative about love and opening your heart and growing that makes you punch out one thousand heart eye emojis to your best friend while furiously googling "eric bigger bachelorette trainer baltimore phone number or email address."

Everyone—seriously, everyone, even Neil Lane who got like a two seconds of airtime—came out looking like a loser in this Bachelorette finale, except for Eric. Glow on, baby, ya did good!

Evaluating a Few of the Other Rejects from Men Tell All So We Can Continue to Put Off the Painful Inevitable

Kenny, I love you. I cried when Chris "Plus-We-Got-Bloopers-Comin'-Up" Harrison told your daughter that you were going to Disneyland. But what in the fresh Men's Wearhouse hell is this?

Kenny. The tie! Kenny?!

Kenny's outfit choice was unfortunate, but hey, the man has has been a dad for 11 years — the last time fashion was his top priority, I guess he would have been wearing decorative dog tags and a Von Dutch hat. So I can cut Kenny some slack. You knew who I will cut zero slack?

Dress for the gross, racist, sociopathic persona you want…because it looks exactly like the gross, racist, sociopathic persona you already have. I don't know why Lee insists on wearing this teal shirt so much. Maybe he thinks it brings out the height in his Something About Mary jizz hair? Maybe he thinks it distracts from the fact that he sent out insanely racist and misogynistic tweets and has yet to apologize for them, and now his apology is just saying that he wants to "learn"? Here's an educational tip, Lee: don't wear a three piece suit where the third piece is from a different, somehow even uglier suit, where the overall combination comes together to make you look like a mortician’s apprentice at a family-run funeral home in Reno where something seems just a liiiiittle off about everybody.

But I'm really not the expert to advise on these matters. No, for that let's turn to Anthony, a master in both three-piece-suits with unorthodox shirt-color choices and racial rhetoric.

"I think you're just saying ‘I've been a bad person,’ but you're not acknowledging the kind of invisible racism in your mind. You may not be doing it intentionally, but it's still motivating your actions. The racism that is ingrained in your actions to the point of invisibility is still pushing you to behave in a certain way towards Kenny, towards Eric, towards me that you don't even recognize. So, are your actions motivated by racist thoughts that are implicitly embedded in your mentality?"

For the record, Lee's response goes a little something like this:

And finally, dear Dean, whose clock on being this franchise's It Girl began running out the moment it started ticking — time is a cruel friend, Dean. You'll learn that when you're old enough to spot your first laugh line.

I still love Dean, but this really ridiculous blazer has me nervous that he might grow too thirsty for his own britches post-Paradise. But at least those britches aren't also navy camouflage.

That, and the fact that he wasn't a dick to Rachel, at least, gives me hope.

Define…Engagement

Okay, there's no more putting off the inevitable. The episode preceding the finale ended on a cliffhanger because suddenly it became clear that Rachel and her hot co-boyfriend Peter were at an impasse. As of the Fantasy Suites — which is to say both his second-to-last solo date with Rachel and his fourth-ever solo date with Rachel — Peter was not sure if he would be ready to propose to her after just six weeks of being aware she existed. See, he believes, “Engagement is marriage. I want to do it as many times as I get married, which is once." And Rachel believes that getting engaged in the next two simply days means, "cultivating a relationship and seeing if it can work outside of that."

This is the one place that Rachel is just crazy-wrong. She is defining a committed dating relationship, but she is assigning that definition to something else entirely. The hardest part of watching this finale is that Rachel was so good at being the Bachelorette. She was smart and thoughtful and in control. What I wanted out of Rachel as a Bachelorette was for her to be different, for her to grow beyond the vehicle she chose to ride in on her “journey to love”...

But Rachel Wasn’t Different

Rachel told Eric's Aunt Verna [ed. note: long live the queen] that, yes, she was the first black Bachelorette, but she came to the show looking for one thing — love — and in that way, she should be exactly the same as the 12 Bachelorettes that came before her.

And that might have been the hardest pill to swallow while watching Peter and Rachel have a lash-destroying, sweater-ripping breakdown as they realized that they loved one another, but they simply couldn't make their wants and their needs match up. In the end, Rachel wasn't any different than the 12 Bachelorettes that came before her. She might have seemed better than the show, and she surely was too good for a lot of the dudes the show provided her with…but she and The Bachelorette shared one goal that overrides all of that: this journey for love ends in an engagement with a Neil-fucking-Lane diamond, and you can either get on board with that or get the hell off of the love train, ya'heard?

So Rachel chose Bryan. Which hopefully felt like a fairytale ending for them, but to everyone else, it kind of felt like the end of love and romance and passion and maybe the franchise. Watching The Bachelorette is supposed to be an escape, but hearing Peter tell Rachel that not choosing to meet him in the middle would be choosing a mediocre life, and then watching her do it was all too real. (He later apologized at After the Final Rose. Rachel insisted she was living her best life. The audience wept.)

As I ruminated upon the disillusionment of romantic love as I know it though, my subconscious reminded me that oftentimes during Rachel's journey for love© I found myself thinking of Des and Des' Bangs journey for love© in season 9. Those comparison's never made a ton of sense at face value because when it came to being the Bachelorette, Des managed the job with all the aplomb of a crumpled napkin whereas Rachel was a confident and assured polygamist leader.

But both women ended up in the same place. You may recall Des weeping on a dock for somewhere between four hours and four calendar years because Brooks the Secret Mormon realized he just wasn't as into her as she was into him. She was running toward the altar and he was all, "This has been super fun Des, but I'm going to have to scoot on back to Salt Lake City now." And that was really tough on Des, the human equivalent of a Lip Smackers. Then all of a sudden, as if the scales of Bad Boy Mormon Brooks had fallen from her eyes, Des realized that she was free to be fully in love with Boring Regular Boy Chris who came from a family of — I kid you fucking not — chiropractors.

And do you know what? Those two mediocre kids have lived happily ever after. Both Des and Rachel seemed to want one thing really, really badly, but in the end, maybe they actually needed another thing. And that thing was free chiropractic adjustments for life and not a handsome, well-adjusted former model (in both cases, I swear!)

Of course, I have a hard time believing that this Bryan and Rachel can go the distance until they get a handle on his mom's whole Lysa Arryn vibe, and his whole robot-made-of-plastic vibe. But sometimes…sometimes, mediocrity is built to last — I truly believe that Toyota Camrys will be all that survive the looming world apocalypse.

Part II: The Next Bachelor

The most disappointing part of what was truly an emotionally grueling finale experience was not even getting the climactic relief of finding out who the next Bachelor is. Now, I understand the predicament ABC is in—there's no perfect candidate from Rachel's crop, probably because they took up valuable space of what could have been non-Bryans who were willing to propose after four weeks with numbnuts like Lee and Lucas. So let's assess our options:

Peter and/or Dean

The most obvious options for the next Bachelor are Dean and Peter. The former was a favorite all season because he quickly revealed himself to be a hot Precious Moments doll with a heart of gold, and the former was always hot, but in the last analysis revealed himself to be someone who is aware that this process is bogus and while it might create a romantic adventure full of blimps and Greco-Roman wrestling simulations, it does not set couples up for long-term success.

Unfortunately, both Peter and Dean's greatest strengths are their greatest weaknesses, as well. Peter's use of logic in not wanting to propose to Rachel if he wasn't prepared to marry her, made him a more attractive candidate to as the Bachelor, but it also made him a worse one. As Rachel pointed out in their After the Final Rose segment, Peter might not be cut out for the speed of this this process. As I would like to point out, Peter definitely wasn't cut out for this process, and Rachel's comment was definitely fueled by still being in love with him and being defensive about choosing Bryan by default. Gasp, oh yes I did.

As for Dean, the main problem seems to be that he's going on Bachelor in Paradise, which is like starting with wine, moving to tequila shots, and then trying to go back to wine again—it's not going to be pretty. The best thing about Dean being the Bachelor is that he would mess up so much. He is very young and very sweet, and needs to do quite a bit of, let's say, self-work before he holds the hearts of 30 women in his clumsy Ken Doll hands. And being the woke young thing that he is, Dean said as much to The Hollywood Reporter: "I’d say I don’t think I’m ready yet, at this point in my life. Of course, I would never immediately dismiss any offer, but I think I’d really have to sit down and really think about it."

So, my I present for you consideration that Dean and Peter be the Bachelor together??? Not like when they made the dudes vote between Kaitlyn and Britt, and then Kaitlyn won, but not by a lot, so like half of the guys were still there to date someone else. That was really stupid. [Ed. Note: this probably would be too.] But as everyone knows, the most beautiful love affair to come out of Rachel's season was that of handsome male bonding between Dean and Peter. And they complement each other so well! Dean could help Peter loosen up a little; Peter could help Dean get in touch with his emotions; Dean could help Peter experiment with florals; Peter could help Dean not experiment quite so much with florals. And they could have totally separate groups of potential women sister-girlfriends, and no one would ever have to get in a fight, they could just support each other and everyone could be happy.

Eric

Eric would be an excellent Bachelor, his only problem is that the editors didn't reveal his fun personality, and he didn’t reveal the full extent of his hotness until way too late in the season. I just don't know if he has the popularity. Also, I know ABC is scared to cast a black Bachelor again because they haven't yet realized that pretty much the only adjustment that needs to be made is not purposefully casting racist potential suitors to stir up racially-fueled drama. Which seems like a pretty easy fix!

A Semi-Famous Person's Brother

The Bachelor already has a storied history in this arena. There was Aaron Murray's brother Josh Murray; the much more famous Aaron Rodger's (estranged) brother Jordan Rodgers; and most importantly for our purposes here, Jerry O'Connell's brother Charlie O'Connell was cast as the actual Bachelor simply because he was Jerry O'Connell's brother. Like, Zac Efron has a brother who's in his mid-20s and already has a Buzzfeed article devoted to how cute he is. Doesn't Scarlett Johansson have a twin or something? I don't know, I'm not a casting agent, just find a reason to get someone random and hot on here so we don't have to keep swimming around in the same tepid pool of candidates!

A Nostalgically Semi-Famous Person

Listen, I'm just trying to think outside the box here. Like…what's Trey from Laguna Beach up to these days? He was cute with a budding career in trucker hat activism. Maybe a non-Ashley-Parker-Angel member of O-Town? Where’d that guy from Brink! disappear to? I'm pretty sure Ephram from The WB's Everwood is still out there somewhere? I think we're onto something here…

Bachelor: The Next Generation

I'm just crunching some numbers here, and if current contestant Kenny has a daughter that's 11, then a contestant from the original season of The Bachelor 15 years ago could reasonably have a child that's 25 or 26 now. It's not a real suggestion that said hypothetical offspring should be the next Bachelor…but it's worth noting that one day, in the not so distant future, someone will come onto this show as a contestant…whose parent was a contestant before them. It happened on American Idol, and it will happen here. Swear to me, dear reader, that we’ll make it out before that happens...

Oh man, The Bachelorette is really on one this season, huh? First the rise of feces-and-coded-language personified, Lee. And now the purposeless televised exploitation of human Cockapoo — if Cockapoos could be hot like when Robin Hood was an animated fox — Dean. What gives?!

Oh, I know what gives. They hired a black Bachelorette after 100 years of marshmallow fluff in the shape of Brad Womack (twice!) and now they think they can just be shitty about every single other thing. Let's be clear: nothing good was ever going to come of Dean bringing Rachel home to his estranged family. I think we all remember Des — well, no one remembers Des, who had zero hand tattoos, but we definitely remember Des' brother who had all the hand tattoos, and a limitless determination to ruin his sister's love life.

Dean's dad doesn't seem to want to ruin Dean's love life; in fact he attempts to make it clear in a number tones ranging from "formal compassion" to "barely suppressed rage" that he supports Dean dating Rachel if it makes them happy. But he also doesn’t seem particularly interested in affording his son any happiness that might have anything more directly to do with him. I don't love calling a man I don't know selfish — but being selfless is kind of the main qualifier for being a parent, and Dean's dad is definitely not that, so I'm just working in antonyms here.

Also, I'd probably break a champagne bottle over Aspen's highest mountain and fight anyone who made Dean's eyes sparkle with anything other than the prince-like wonder generally twinkling around in there, so yeah. What likely started as Dean's father trying to be generous to his estranged son quickly went south because the two haven't had a relationship since Dean's mother died, and everyone in Dean's current reality TV world told him this one night, surrounded by cameras and exactly zero licensed psychologists, would be a good time to address that. I can understand that Dean's father wouldn't have appreciated inviting all these strangers into his home and sharing his mungbeans with them, and then having his son remind him that he emotionally abandoned his kid when he needed him most…

But he did! Both the emotional abandonment and allowing these ABC monsters into his hime. The truly confounding part lies in exactly how The Bachelorette convinced any of these people that this was a reasonable thing to do, especially Rachel who seems dead set on meeting Dean's father even though Dean had just told that his dad was "not a person who has any bearing on my emotional experience."

Well look alive baby boy, because you're about to have one seriously emotional experience. But first! The boyfriends who weren't manipulated by TV love into a familial trauma…

Eric

Oh hello, Eric, nice to meet you, where the hell have you been? Seeing Eric in his hometown of Baltimore was like stumbling across some guy on Instagram that you were in a few college classes with and being like…Wait, was he always this hot and I just never noticed?? Shut up, is he coaching a little league team in that picture?! I wonder if he's seeing anyone. Does he live near me? Would he be open to starting our relationship long-distance? I'd always thought I'd want a summer wedding, but January could be really luxurious. Omg, I could wear a fur stole! One day I'll pass it down to our daughters. I'm so thankful I found a monogamous life mate in Eric; I feel God in this Lo-Fi filter today.

Those are the kinds of leaps I made during Eric's 20-minute segment. Whereas pretty much everybody else came out of their hometowns looking less appealing — excluding for Dean who I just wanted to wrap up in one of those emergency blankets they give out at marathons — Eric came out of his Hometown suddenly possessing a lovely and fun personality, with a family to match. Now if he can just ditch all those wispy scarves he likes to wear and keep smuggling his broad ass shoulders into laid back Canadian tuxedo, we could have ourselves a winner.

I mean…Eric won't win. But still, I want him to marry Rachel and get a spinoff about their families that would force Bachelor Nation to watch not just one, but many different black people on television from not just one, but many different backgrounds, with no Lees in the mix whatsoever. And that show would, of course, be called: Aunt Verna's Variety Show and Also Rachel and Eric Are Here.

I loved Eric's hometown. The turn from his openness about growing up in a family where many of the men were "successful in the streets" and the women had to be extra strong as a result, to Rachel being enveloped in a screaming cloud of hospitality and love when meeting said family was, frankly, heartwarming — a platitude I do not use lightly. I was full on Grinch'in it for most of Rachel's visit to Baltimore.

Yes, a lot of my love for this family had to do with his one aunt's head-to-toe daytime rhinestones, but also, with every conversation Eric had with one of his family members it became clearer that this is a family that has been through tough times with each other, but has put in the work to be able to understand the challenges one another have faced. All that mature familial growth just felt so hopeful. Put a pin in that thought…

Now, may we PTL for Aunt Verna who finally put in text what The Bachelorette has been just begging us to read in subtext all season: as spells it out, "R-A-C-E." That blonde pixie! That tunic! That moxie! I die! Aunt V is all, Soooo, Rach. Being the first black Bachelorette—that must have been a lot of pressure. And as though not one producer ever thought to ask Rachel what the implications were for her of being the show's first black Bachelorette (perhaps they were too busy screaming, We did it! We ended racism! Right here on ABC!) Rachel's tiny lil' floodgates open and she says, indeed, "It's a lot of pressure because you're judged by two different groups. I'm getting judged by black people and I'm getting judged by…everybody else."

This is a feeling that Rachel has alluded to exactly once before and she immediately cut herself off. Would Aunt Verna, perhaps, like to be paid one bajillion dollars to take over Chris Harrison's job? Suddenly, all of Rachel's comments about "in this position, I have to [be selfish] to get what I really want" carry a much heavier weight. Rachel says "I want love and love doesn't have a color, so my journey for love shouldn't be any different than the other 12 Bachelorettes in front of me." That's right Rach! You go and choose you a kinda smarmy guy with tall hair, stay engaged to him for two years, and then break up on the cover of People, just like your ancestral sisters!

But not really. I want Rachel's journey to be different; I want her to choose Eric — there I go, pressuring her — who's very empathetic when his mom tells him how she kept her distance from him growing up because she didn't want him to be just another boy who knew he could always fall back on his mama if he messed up. It feels harsh, but in the case of Eric, you can't say the theory didn't work. And you know, I've said parents should love their kids unconditionally — but maybe there are conditions you should apply to, oh I don't know, let's just say, MATERNAL LOVE…

Bryan

Bryan's particular brand of "I dunno, girl" is hard to pin down, but there has been one red flag that was particularly glaring: he told Rachel that his mom was the reason his last relationship ended. Now, sure, there are probably some women out there who might feel threatened by their boyfriend's relationship with their mother…but that usually doesn’t happen in a relationship where the man has a typical relationship with his mother. It happens when the mother breastfeeds the boy until he's 12, then moves on to baby-bird feeding Alicia Silverstone-style when he's a teenager, and when he's forced to feed the nest, she just creepily says she's in love with him all the time

That might be enough for even me, the most independent of lovers, to be like, Dude, I think you need scale it back with your mom a little bit, she FedEx'd us a bunch of chewed up food on dry ice yesterday.

When Bryan and Rachel arrive at his family's home in Miami, his mom basically gives Rachel the Heisman to get to her son. Later, she offers up this toast to welcome Rachel into their family's home: "For the most precious thing that I have in my life." Cheers to Rachel! Olga tells the camera, while openly weeping, "Bryan is my life. He's my love, he's my pride. We really have such a wonderful relationship, that for me, a woman that separates him from me would be terrible." Cool, sounds like a normal closeness between mother and son where the mom would rather the son be alone forever than to share any of the love in his love tank with another woman. Cool, cool, cool.

If Olga has other children, they go unnamed (and—this is just a guess—unloved). But there is a young mystery woman that looks like Bryan who tells Rachel that the ex-girlfriend "was threatened by the relationship he had with his mother" which the unnamed woman seems to think is proof the ex was crazy, and not an indicator that if a love interest is threatened by a mother/son relationship, there's probably good reason. [Ed. Note: Has everyone seen Bates Motel? It's terrific!]

Like, if your boyfriend's mom is constantly saying, "Bryan is my life, and I just want to advise you, to give you a warning: You are marrying the family too," that might be a good enough reason to feel threatened, quite literally, for your life, and not just for your relationship with this walking haircut (a bad one, according to Olga).

But Rachel, in her continued refusal to see that most things about Bryan are tinged with an unknowable filter of MOLLY, YOU IN DANGER GIRL, just laughs off his mom's literal threats and professes her adoration for Lil' BryGuy. To be fair, at the end of the visit, Olga tells the camera that she could see in Rachel's eyes she's a good person—the subtext is that a good person would never try to replace her as Bryan's number one, they would just be comfortable settling into a far distant number two. At least until, as Olga says, she dies and leaves that number one spot open: "I want the day we leave, I can be in peace because he can have someone to take care of him. He's the love of my life."

Bryan will be allowed to love someone else, quite literally, over Olga's dead body.

Peter

I've really like Peter this whole time, and for valid reason: he's super-hot. He's a personal trainer and former model, and he has a nice deep voice. People say the most important thing to them is a sense of humor, but when faced with a total babe who seems reasonably smart and into you, who among us would be longing for the killer knock-knock jokes of our youthful fantasies?

But boy, did Wisconsin bring out the dull in this guy. We don't get to meet Dean's friends (which I've heard was filmed as a segment because I listen to multiple Bachelorette podcasts, don't talk to me, I don’t want to hear it), but we get to meet Peter's friends who, coincidentally, seem like they've never met Peter before in their lives? No one smiles with their teeth for the entire encounter.

Peter laughs with his "pals" about how he told Rachel that he has a group of 10 close friends, eight of whom are black. Which is like, half-reassuring, and half makes you realize that Peter has a real Allison Williams vibe about him. I guess all two of his white friends and two of his black friends show up, and the two males are immediately sequestered four feet away from Rachel for "guy talk."

Peter's whole thing is that he only wants to propose marriage once in his life and he's not positive he should be doing that in three weeks after having spent a total of six hours alone with this woman. And I get it. But like…Rachel is a beautiful, self-aware, successful attorney…I'd probably Married At First Sight her ass if given the opportunity. His "friends," not making eye contact and maybe calling him Patrick at one point, tell him not to fuck it up. But when Rachel meets Peter's family — bearing two unidentified wrapped parcels — Peter's mom tells her he's ready for marriage emotionally, but at this moment, he might be more prepared for a "commitment" than forking over a diamond.

Peter's thoughts are totally logical — it's exactly how I would feel if put in this situation, but with less prominent cheekbones and no charming tooth-gap (just weakened enamel from years of drinking Diet Coke—is that hot). But I wouldn't put myself in this situation — Peter, with his gorgeous face and strong tooth enamel, did.

Peter seems to thank that he's playing his game: what can he handle, what is he ready for. But this ain't yo game boo-boo. For as self-aware as Rachel is, this isn't even her game. This is The Bachelorette. Peter is trying to play checkers in a game of Psychological Warfare Chess (patent pending). You've got to be eight steps ahead; when you're on your first date, you have to be thinking about your third date where you will, of course, be staring in to Neil Lane's icey blue eyes, deciding on princess-cut, emerald cut, or running away fast enough that Chris Harrison can't catch you.

In the end, Peter tells Rachel, "I'm just very happy right now." Rachel responds: "And I…am very happy too." A love story for the ages!

Dean

What's left to be said about Dean's Hometown date? Well, I guess, the details: The scene opens up on Dean, the Skipper of reanimated Ken dolls, set against the gorgeous landscape of Aspen, about to have one of the worst experiences of his life, which again, was completely avoidable. I've found Dean to be surprisingly mature throughout the season, including his explanation of his father's faith choices, which he explains pragmatically; for Dean, that means only impulsively smiling, like, ever twenty seconds instead of every five. Six years ago, his father converted to the practices of a Kundalini Yogi—as Dean explains, his faith is much like Sikhism, and as he further explained in a thoughtful Instagram post in advance of the episode, it's not what he was referring to when he called his father "eccentric."

You guys, I know I'm stanning for Dean too hard, like he’s just a cute 26-year-old with a complicated past. But I can't help it. I have to imagine my reaction to him is akin to if I was a 14-year-old and understood what a Shawn Mendes is. In a franchise where stereotypical masculinity is valued so highly that being "protective" is frequently manufactured from bungee jumping and cave diving excursions, it's really interesting to see Rachel take on the role of protector as she gently forces (okay, that part's not great) Dean to go inside his father's home amidst his admissions of being "legitimately terrified."

But everything is fine! This is the first time all of Dean's three siblings, his father Paramroop, and Paramroop's wife Santantar have all been together in eight years. Paramroop asks them to all lay down and face their heads toward his gong, and plays some soothing gong tunes which actually seem to…soothe everyone.

And okay, Dean wasn't actually forced into seeing his family, presumably this was his own decision. I will never understand why Rachel encouraged him to choose this already volatile time to confront his dad for apparently the first time every about his lack of sensitivity following his mother's death, but…he did it. And it did not go well!

Paramroop seems like he's really trying to put on a nice, albeit uncomfortable, dinner for everyone, but Dean feels like everyone is putting on a front that they're one big happy family. Well, yeah, that's what you do when there's a stranger in your home and you're trying to make them feel welcome. But Dean asks if he and his father can have a few moment son their own which means everyone else has to…go outside? Outside, Dean's sister tells Rachel what a strong person Dean is and how much she admires him. It's very sweet. Inside, Paramroop tells Dean he's glad he's doing something he loves to do, and when Dean asks for clarification, Paramroop says, "I guess…hanging out with a beautiful woman?" It's very painful.

Dean asks his father if he thinks he's "fulfilled things" as a father and Dean's dad says, "I must have been a pretty great dad because look at my son," and oooooh it possibly the worst attempted compliment of all time. Dean tries to explain his frustration of his dad not being there for him after his mother passed, but Paramroop is not willing to take on that emotional responsibility. Dean wants them to be able to talk about it now that they're both adults and he understands better what was happening, but they just go back and forth until Paramroop says, "Because of my teaching, we believe the other person is you. So whatever you think of me is what you think of yourself." Which…sucks.

Paramroop storms outside and when Rachel asks if she can speak with him he says, "If you must." It's a forced conversation but Paramroop tells Rachel she's welcome back anytime and she tells him what she has with his son is very special. Dean is distraught inside. He tells Rachel, "I know that I'm falling in love with you. I don't even know how to conceptualize this, that's why I'm so blown away." Rachel whispers back, "I'm falling in love with you too."

And then she breaks up with him!!!

Thank goodness. Not because I want Dean's little bird heart to break, or because it made a ton of sense for Rachel to tell him she was falling in love with him and then dash he bowtied heart days later. But because Rachel and Dean were never going to work. She is a mature queen among women, and he's just a baby with a lot of self-admitted growing up to do...

And where better to do that than in Bachelor in Paradise, where boys go to become men. Dean asks Rachel why she said she was falling in love with him and she tells him that she meant it. So that's…the opposite of closure and will probably haunt him while he tries to make out with Raven, etc. But sometimes you just have to cut the good ones loose so they can reconnect with their nuclear family and probably become Musica.ly stars or whatever.

If the current season of Game of Thrones is fan service, then consider me — a fan — serviced, and sign me up, baby. We've been through the hard stuff, we deserve this. This series has finally broken through the stratosphere of TV criticism and into the land of pure joy where Arya can be both a raging lil' sociopath and a beloved protagonist.

So this is neither a review nor a recap, a critique nor a thoughtful analysis influenced by my superior status as a "book-reader." Instead, it is the most advanced of all literary art forms: a list of I've been tickled by in the first two episodes of season 7. The best things happening on Game of Thrones right now definitively are:

Very Silly Reveals That Are Supposed to Change the Game (of Thrones) But Are Kind of Just Really Obvious Solutions

1. There's a Shit Ton of Dragon Glass at…Dragonstone

Of all the things I expected out of this season—reunions, rifts, Cersei dramatically guzzling wine, Arya masked-murderin', Dany sittin' on thrones, hopefully the glorious return of Gendry's biceps—I never anticipated quite this much focus on igneous rocks. Jon Stark's laser focus on digging up dragon glass is starting to sound like a Goop newsletter, and it's not that I wouldn't subscribe (imagine: the fur recs! the tips for sultry lashes! the straightforward syntax without any annoying exclamation points!), it's just all a little more plainly sated than I expected. Jon calls, like, eight Big Chamber Meetings to tell all the Northern elders, plus Lil' Lyanna Mormont that their number one priority is to find dragon glass because it's the only thing they can create weapons out of in mass to kill white walkers. Those meetings go a little something like this:

Jon: How are we gonna kill white walkers?!

Northerners: DRAGONGLASS!

Jon: And where are we gonna find it?!

Sam, from Oldtown: AT—AND YOU'RE REALLY NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THIS—DRAGONSTONE!

[Ed. note: I've edited out the regular interruptions from Sansa that give me extreme conflicting emotional anxiety, but we'll get to those later in the "So You're Co-Ruling with Your Half-Sister Who's Actually Your Cousin and She's Recently Developed a Mind of Her Own After Surviving Extreme Trauma" section.]

Sending Sam to Oldtown to train as a maester is like the coconut oil/Franks RedHot of Westeros: that shit works on everything. At the Citadel, Sam begins scooping soup, souping poop (in a scene I would have exchanged for an hour-long loop of gruesome murders), and most importantly, sneaking into the restricted section of the library like some sort of chubby lovechild between Voldemort and Harry Potter. He even gets shut down by Jim Broadbent (aka Archmaester Marwyn, absolutely killing the wise, gives-no-shits maester game) and sneaks in anyway. And what did Samwell find in the restricted section?

Well, Sam steals maybe five books and finds the exact answer he needs, plus one he didn't even know he should be looking for—more on that in a minute.

And you know what? That's kind of dumb and unrealistic, but Sam deserves this. He's had a tough life and his dad is a jerk that wanted to kill him and his brother is (well, used to be) the hot guy from Unreal, and everyone shits on him all the time even though he is legitimately the nicest person alive in their godforsaken, feces infested world — dude has earned finding the solution to saving mankind after exactly 10 minutes of cozy reading with his cute wildling life partner and their ageless baby.

So, Sam finds out (via a super lame picture that Jaime could have drawn with his strong hand) that there's a big ol' dragon glass mine at—you're not going to believe this—Dragonstone. All they've gotta do is dig it up. Well, and, y'know, get past Daenerys Targaryen, heir of Dragonstone who recently arrived on its sandy, glass-filled shores. And that other thing that Sam found?

2. The Cure for Greyscale is Just…Peeling Off the Greyscale

Well, no fucking shit, Sam.  I mean, listen, I know I was just singing the kid's praises, but it's pretty crazy to act like you just found the magical cure for Greyscale in your magical secret books when that cure is…peeling off the Greyscaled skin and then putting a bunch of medieval Neosporin on it. But whatever, it's really sweet that Sam wants to help Jorah Mormont so badly because of his affection for Lord Commander Mormont and is willing to flay him to save his life (and definitely give himself Greyscale with the way he's using those gloves). So go ahead, Sam, peel off that Greyscale in your secret Dr. Pimple sessions—your solution might be obvious, but at least it's not dumb, dumb, dumb…

3. The Dragon Feller That's Just…a Crossbow

So, John is concerned with defeating the white walkers because, y'know, strong moral fiber and a her survivor's guilt complex and all that. But Cersei is mainly concerned with defeating anyone who would try to take the Iron Throne from her that she didn't already blow up with magic fire. And that means she's got to look alive about the tiny blonde Targaryen heading her way who's bringing, along with her legitimate claim to the throne, her three big ass dragons that were, coincidentally, born from a magic fire.

It's going to take something big to defeat those dragons. Something magical. Something much more powerful than even wildfire. Something like…

A BIG ASS CROSSBOW, BABY! Yeah, that will be great for killing dragons — if the dragons are sitting still, 1,000 years old, and already dying peacefully of natural causes. It's okay, Qyburn. They can't all be skull-crushing Frankenzombies held together by Husky R' Us armor level ideas, buddy.

Arya and Her Whole Thing

I remember when How to Get Away With Murder premiered there were a bunch of think pieces that were all, Finally! A Female Anti-Hero for Us to Love Just Like All Those Dude Anti-Heroes We Loved on A&E and HBO! Of course, no one loved Viola Davis' anti-hero like they loved Walter White because people don’t like to love flawed women like they like to love flawed men (and the show's not as good, but Viola is). And so, when Arya gave the best revenge performance of all time at the top of the season 7 premiere, there were a bunch of (to be fair, legitimate) articles that were all Should We Really Be Rooting for Arya? Is Arya a Sociopath Now? Arya Sure Looked like She Wanted to Kill Ed Sheeran, an Innocent Soldier, Who We Will Tell You Later How WE'D Like to Kill, But for Different Totally Valid Reasons.

So let me just say, yes! Arya is a probably a semi-psychopathic now, and yes! We should be rooting for her. She is but a simple mercenary setting out to avenge the death of her loved ones using humble blood magic. Yes, she killed Walder Frey, and yes, she fed him to his sons, and yes she then skinned him and wore his face in order to poison all those sons who she had just fed a pie made out of their dad, but you know what she also did…spared the women who hadn’t done anything wrong except be born into that nasty family. And yes she maybe only spared them to have this bad ass parting line, delivered with just perfect level-headed menace by Maisy Williams: "When people ask you what happened here — tell them the North remembers. Tell them winter came for House Frey."

But she is Arya and I love her, and I support her in anything she does…unless she kills any of the characters I like, in which case I will have to write some think pieces.

Sibling Dramzzz: Stark Edition

And speaking of Starks you have to keep your eye on, Sansa and Jon are having kind of a hard time co-parenting the North, and that's probably because people just loooove putting Jon in charge, even though Sansa should kind of technically be in charge, the only problem is, that Sansa's so annoying. Now, Sansa has made large strides toward being less annoying. But for every two steps forward (occasionally telling Lord Baelish to go fuck himself, knowing about war, not being a moralizing idealist), she interrupts Jon six times in their council meetings and tells him how stupid he is.

And listen, I get it — I have siblings. No one knows you better, and no one knows they know you better. When someone acts like they understand you better than you understand yourself, and worse, they're probably right, it can be trying. When Sansa tells Jon that he's going to get his head chopped off like his virtuous father and brother before him, she's not necessarily, but she is annoying. In a made-up world with dragons and child-sacrifice and, like, constant incest that's often not very relatable, I find this Jon and Sansa stuff frustratingly relevant.

The complexity of familial bonds is a language that spans universes (I mean, I guess that's ignoring the thing I just said about near-constant incest), so when Sansa says just the right bratty thing — "Joffrey never let anyone question his decisions, do you think he was a good king?" — to set Jon off, or when Jon and Sansa get on the same page about something, then he immediately changes his mind and announces it at the dinner table, so she questions his decision in front of all their gossipy cousins…it's normal family stuff, just at much higher, head-chopping stakes.

My great fear is that the tentative but often sweet partnership these two eldest "children" of Ned Stark have formed will somehow be ruined by Littlefinger. So boyyyyyy was it gratifying when Jon choked his old ass out when he was all I wanted to fuck your step-mom and now I want to fuck your half-sister, just thought I'd tell you that right here in front of your dead dad's crypt. And mannnnn was it concerning when Sansa backed down from publicly challenging Jon about his decision to leave the North and sale to Dragonstone the moment she learned he was leaving her in charge of the North in his absence, then immediately looked to Littlefinger for…what? Approval? Guidance? Shared joy? None are great options.

Just get though this Jon and Sansa  — I promise you’ll be best friends when you’re adults!

Sibling Dramzzz: Greyjoy Edition

Yo, this family is Messed! Up! Theon jumped off a ship rather than risk saving his sister Yara from their super-pirate uncle who's now taking Yara, Ellaria, and the last remaining Sand Snake, Tyene as his gift to Cersei which will totally make her want to marry him so he can be king, I guess, and not just of his raggedy salt islands.

It will never not be distracting how much Euron looks like Pacey though. If Pacey had a run-in with an H&M clearance rack and the entire smoky eye section of Sephora.

Sibling Dramzzz: Lannister Edition

And speaking of Cersei's current romantic status: Jaime is giving her a looooot of side-eye because she's, y'know, terrible. But she is doing a really fun thing this season where she's constantly recapping how much she hates everyone while subconsciously remaining us how much everyone hates her in return. While roaming around her Etsy map of Westeros, Cersei tells Jaime: "Enemies to the east. Enemies to the south: Ellaria Sand and her brood of bitches. Enemies to the west: Olenna, the old cunt, another traitor. Enemies to the North: Ned Stark's bastard has been named King of the North, and that murdering whore Sansa stands beside him. Enemies everywhere, we're surrounded by traitors!"

Girl, anymore zingers and maybe a concluding paragraph, and they'll give you a byline at Vulture. It is my one true hope that Jaime will realize his sister is insane and kill her before she kills him or Tyrion.

Everything Lil' Lyanna Mormont Does

I don't care if it's Disney-Channel-level precocious, I don't care if they're just giving us more of what we want…actually, I do care. Give me more of what I want! And what I want is the Lil'est Lady of Bear Island repeatedly telling a bunch of giant grizzled dudes to STFU. "I don't plan on knitting by the fire while men fight for me," she says when it's proposed that girls should be trained to fight in the war to come. "I might be small and I might be a girl, but I am every bit as much a Northerner as you. And I don't need your permission to defend the North." Yes, my tiny queen! I don't know if they heard you in the back, but at this point in time, just about every major house in the realm is run by a woman And speaking of…

Jon and Dany Said Each Other's Names and Hopefully That Will All Be Fine

That's it, that's all I needed. Now they can either become best friends or fall in incestuous Targaryen love, there is no other option.

I know I've missed a lot here. The last time I checked in with The Bachelorette, Rachel was dating the entire "Hoodies" section of the Urban Outfitters in Times Square, and now her boyfriends couldn’t even make up an intramural basketball team without recruiting someone off of the elliptical machines. I know it doesn’t make any sense to come back in with commentary on what is notoriously the most boring episode of any Bachelorette season—the one right before Hometowns where Rachel cuts every guy she knew she was going to cut from the very moment she met them but kept around because they gave good hugs and always had gum—instead of any single other upcoming episode.

Ahead of us we'll be meeting the families who inspired these bros to seek love and/or protein gummies Instagram sponsorships on television; dropping in on date specifically designed for sex at Chris B. Harrison's invitation; and Rachel wearing a truly bomb ass silver dress in which she will be proposed to shortly before making the much more important decision of either going back to being an attorney and retaining the public's respect and adoration, or becoming the next host of Do You Want to Build a Tiny House Filled With Poltergeists: Weekend Edition? in which case we will turn on her in the swiftest of fashions, despite all the good she's done for our dear, awful, corrupt ABC franchise of choice.

With all that tantalizing drama waiting ahead of us, perhaps I should also briefly glance back at the carnage in the rearview mirror. I nervously avoided the Lee/Kenny drama for weeks, and now that I've watched, it simply must be said…

You guys. The Bachelor isn't racist! We've all been so wrong all along! The Bachelor's contestants may be racist, and the world around it may be racist, but The Bachelor isn't racist. No, no, no. It's just Lee. Lee is the problem! Lee is racist and since The Bachelor chose him and put him on the show, and were aware that his blatant, dangerous, toxic racism was, indeed, racism, they're totally in on it. It's meta!

Not buying it? Okay, watch this—name all the times Lee was racist on this season of The Bachelorette: That time he kept telling Eric he "loved him to death" while demeaning him every chance he got; that time he called Kenny aggressive for (initially) fussing at him calmly about interrupting him with Rachel twice; that time he kept calling Kenny aggressive while openly explaining to the cameras that his main hobby is riling people up and then smiling at them or saying sociopathic shit like "Jesus loves you" or "I'll pray for you"; telling Rachel that he was scared of Kenny; lying to Rachel about Kenny throwing him out of a van or whatever while actively sporting Cameron Diaz's jizz-hair from Something About Mary.

Okay, now name all the times The Bachelor WASN'T racist: that time it picked Rachel, a black woman, as The Bachelorette after 30 seasons of not doing that!

But for real, screw The Bachelorette for giving Lee a platform and putting Kenny in that situation which was, by the way, a storyline they pilfered directly from Unreal season 2—not even the good season! And let it be known that any goodness that comes from this season is a direct result of Rachel and any badness seeps from the pores of this franchise which was one step away from having Lee wear a Confederate flag swimsuit and be all, Whaaaa I'm just proud of my heritage?!

But Rachel, whose only human flaw seems to be that she has absolutely no self-control when it comes to large, statement rings—even when wearing winter gloves!—has somehow managed to live up to our absurdly high expectations. Heading into Hometowns, she has four dudes and what I imagine is a world of emotional trauma that is utterly not worth it lying ahead of her. Let's briefly assess their odds before they take us into their childhood homes and adult male psyches.

Matt (Who?) is only worth noting because of the sobs that overtook Rachel when she told Matt (Who?) she had to send him home. Every season the Bacheor(ette) sends home some man or woman that I while professing them their rock, their best friend, their damn Jiminy Cricket that I have literally never heard of before in my life. [Ed. note: The Bachelorette—the one place in the world the friend zone DOES exist, men. Because this woman IS contractually obligated to date you!] For JoJo, I seem to recall it was Vinny the Barber, who went on to a prosperous life in Paradise where he acquired a much more reasonable hairline. I can only hope the exact same for Matt.

I would wager that Dean is as cute (and tear-inducing) as the kid in the kid in Lion, while simultaneously making me want to put my face on his face as much as the grown-up kid in Lion: my boyfriend Dev Patel. Dean looks like the 26-year-old actor they'd cast to play the high school sophomore having an affair with his AP English teacher on The CW. Indeed, we've got a real Hot Archie on our hands here, and he is going to get his precious, fragile, surprisingly woke heart shattered into a million pieces by our resident Veronica-meets-Josie.

Rachel knows Dean is too young for her. Rachel knows she's not going to marry Dean—how else do you explain his first date being a blimp ride and his second date being…going to Catholic mass? But I think Rachel would be quite pleased to make a man out of Dean in the Fantasy Suite, and also, probably just wants to see if she can make him grow up a little in their time together. Yes, it will be awfully traumatic for him when she breaks up with him very soon after meeting the family that he's so self-conscious about. But one day, he'll look back fondly on Ms. Lindsay and all that she taught him about Fahrenheit 451 and the importance of clitoral stimulation.

Eric's weird. Aside from the initial challenges he faced with Lee and Lee's general dickish-ness, I was pretty bored by him. That probably comes from the fact that he's always seems like he's falling asleep in his interviews and his fashion sense rests somewhere between Season 1 Michael Scott and Blake Shelton on The Voice. But when he's with Rachel, all the sudden he appears to be quite a fun person. Eric has never been in love or brought a girlfriend home, so this all seems very, very real for him—and he will probably be very, very scarred when it all ends.

Peter is highly handsome and seems highly normal; he apparently has access to a unending supply of nice sport coats, and he is really easing into the salt-and-pepper thing nicely. If Rachel chose Peter and married him, I think they would be very happy together and have a lot of beautiful, athletic, well-dressed children who would one day compete on The Bachelor(ette) and talk about how their parents have been married for 35 years. So it's too bad…

Rachel's going to pick Byan because Rachel is absolutely in love with Bryan. I mean, maybe it's not too bad? Maybe Bryan is fine. But this relationship just feels so Andi-and-Josh circa 2014…and we all know how that ended up circa 2016. It could just be that Bryan resembles a cross between Aaron Murray's brother and Aaron Rodgers' brother, but something about Bryan's constant charm and dedication to telling Rachel exactly what she needs to hear feels a little off. Perhaps Bryan is exactly what Rachel needs…or perhaps he has a half-brother named Aaron somewhere and this will all be yet another strike against the good name of chiropractors.

See you in Hometowns—hope everyone was telling the truth about being sure their parents would be cool with them bringing home a black woman even though they've never done it before and that is actual dialog pulled from the year's most acclaimed and terrifying movie about race!

"Let me tell you something. I'm not here to be played. I'm not here to be made a joke of … So I'm really going to need you to get the fuck out." – Rachel Lindsay of the House Bachelorette, First of Her Name, the Un-to-be-trifled-with, Queen of the Fuckbois, Ruler of the Mansion that Venereal Diseases Built, Breaker of Bullshit, and Mother of Reads

Can you all hear Rachel's perfect Texas drawl in your head as keenly as I can while reading the quote of the century? Has any Bachelorette ever held. that. shit. down. as deftly as this one? No. Because this isn't any Bachelorette. This is the Rachelorette 2K17 and if you are not a man who is ready to hold it down just as tight…than she is going to need you to get the fuck out.

I did not expect myself to be very interested in this DeMario storyline. I liked DeMario and his hollering out of wedding plus-ones in the premiere; so I wasn't rooting for him to be the creep [ed. note: hey, stay tuned on that creep front, 'cuz it's a big ol' YIKES] with a girlfriend. Plus, his girlfriend seemed a little too eager to be delivering her gotcha-moment on national television, and a little too unabashed about wearing a stone-cold waffle-weave scrunchie on her wrist while doing it...

But who cares about DeMario and how many man-rompers he left over at Lexi's house — this storyline is all about Rachel and how she managed to take the drama-covered receipts from Lexi, the slimy "new phone, who dis" excuses from DeMario, run them through her logic-o-meter (a brain, as it's called outside of this franchise), and calmly inform these people that she has 25 boyfriends, a dog who can currently only use three of his legs for unknown reasons, and a rented house in what appears to be an upper middle class retirement community to take care of...so she doesn't really have time to be running on some bullshit. 

As Rachel has stated multiple times throughout her three-episode tenure, she keeps it 100. And if any of these knuckleheads keeps it any less than 100, then they better have a background in computer sciences to make their own sub-100 emoji, and some fresh New Balances to — let’s haveRachel reiterate this one last time — GTFO of here.

Never could I have imagined what it would be like to have a Bachelorette so fully in command of her own experience. Rachel doesn’t accept excuses from anyone, including herself. She seems completely aware of the Hellmouth she has willingly entered herself into, and the only way to make that Hellmouth work for her is to take it seriously and flush out one of these vampires to marry. [Ed. note: Is this metaphor falling apart? Who's Angel? Who's Spike?! Obviously Dean is Willow and, yes, he will develop a complex and moving witchcraft/lesbian storyline in season 4.] And speaking of the dumb-dumbs Rachel is dating, I want to take it all the way back to the premiere for a minute when there were 30 contesticles still hoping to woo Rachel. 

It seemed like all anyone could say about Rachel—and the character that the editors seemed to be carving out for her—was that she was so beautiful and smart. Indeed, they had never a woman like her. I quickly ran through a list of all of the women that I know well and couldn't think of a single one who I would not describe as smart and beautiful. Which is fantastic for me and concerning for these donuts. 

So, I'd now like to turn it over to my girl Hailee Steinfeld — who is quietly an Academy Award nominee, a budding pop princes, and definitive queen of the teenage eyebrow Hunger Games — and her song of the summer:

Yes, Princess Hailee. Most girls are smart and strong and beautiful. If these dudes don't know any other women that they deem to be both smart and beautiful, then they are not good enough for Rachel. Also, heads up — these dudes aren't good enough for Rachel! 

Rachel's only flaw seems to be that she’s not aware when a dude isn’t good enough for her. Rachel can be as smart and funny, and hand as many asses to as many duplicitous dummies as many times as she wants to, but the fact of the matter is, we have this wonderful Bachelorette…because she once truly wanted to be engaged to Nick Viall.

And that is as good of a reality check as any to remind us that this is still the Bachelorette, and two bros will still play a game of homoerotic "I'm not touching you" in the driveway when they get kicked out. Because a peacock cannot change its feathers (which would be a much better reference if this came on NBC!). Yes, of course, I wish that Rachel, Queen of the Fuckbois, Ruler of STD Mansion, Breaker of Bullshit, and Mother of Reads could be a little more like Hailee Steinfeld's breakout song of summer 2015, “Love Myself.” That’s right, the one where she boldly declares that she maybe, definitely screams her own name while she masturbates. I'm not talking about that declaration, though; I’m talking about the other, less intriguing, but altogether more important: Gonna love myself, no I don’t need anybody else (Hey!).

Alas, us women of a certain age weren't raised with the raging independence of the SnapChat generation. We must marry, and we must do it quickly — before our wombs rot and there are no Tickle Monsters or sociopathic amateur drummers left for us. We can scream our own name during orgasm, sure. But society and ABC contracts dictate that it would be much better if there were a Peter or Kenny beside us while we do it. Let’s get to know them, shall we...

DeMario's Return

Y'all. After being told to "get the fuck out," this dude thinks it's a good idea to Uber back over to the mansion for a little more screen time. But all it really does is give Rachel another chance to show off her PhD in rhetoric. I mean—the woman can talk, and I think anyone who watched Farmer Chris or Des with Bangs' season could reiterate the importance of that one simple skill to you.

However, there's nothing simple about the way Rachel pummels what's left of DeMario into the ground. DeMario tries to tell Rachel that Lexi assassinated his character and he was just caught off guard. Rachel kindly responds that all that can be true (in a tone that says it's very much not true), "But I need a man, that when confronted with a difficult situation, does not lie about it." Similarly, I need a Rachel that will speak for me every time I'm confronted with a difficult man. DeMario says that he had a little chat with his Uber driver on the way over, and that Uber driver — who was, without a doubt, a male— encouraged him to not take no for an answer. Bad advice, brother! Always, always, ALWAYS take no for an answer.

Once DeMario starts spouting "in order to experience joy, you need pain" quotes to Rachel (who literally has 20 other guys waiting inside for her, 18 of them hotter than DeMario) she's had it. "I'm glad you realized that you need to move forward," says Rachel, gearing up for something good. "But what I need you to understand is that forward isn't that way toward the mansion. Forward is outside of it." Do you understand that, DeMario? Do you smell what the Rachel is cooking? The other bros shuffle their feet behind her hoping they can somehow spin her hate of another man into a love for them. They ask if DeMario is coming back. "Fuck no," says Rachel. 

The Frontrunners

Going back a few episodes, it must be noted that a few frontrunners have already emerged. And they are tall, strapping, brunette white men, because Rachel has a type.  

Bryan is a 37-year-old chiropractor who doesn’t look like his name is really Bryan, like he's really a chiropractor, or like he's really 37-years-old. All of that is a compliment. 

I really liked Bryan because Bryan is hot and speaks Spanish; I could even get past his Dementor-like kissing style…right up until some of the fellas went on a group date to Ellen and it was revealed during a game of Never Have I Ever—always a cool thing to play with eight guys, one gal, and a live studio audience—that half of the guys on the group date had already kissed Rachel. To the half that had not kissed her, this comes as a surprise. Because, I guess, they've never met a human woman and cannot imagine how Rachel might meet 30 dudes, which probably adds up to, like, 150 different abdominal muscles, and want to kiss some of them. To Bryan, this serves as an opportunity for him to showcase that he was the first guy to kiss her, which he unfortunately does by saying to another fella, "You got my sloppy seconds." It is proof that Rachel likes Bryan that she did not whip off her lace-front and cut him with words right there.

The other guy that had already gotten his kiss? Peter, who got the first one-on-one: a romantic day with Copper the Dog. I don’t care if Peter is boring. I would climb that man like a tree—and I would ask him to keep all of his fashionable suits on while I did it.

Of note: Anthony, who Rachel goes on a one-on-one with, riding horses down Rodeo Drive (not a thing, girl, no matter how many times you say it's a thing), might actually be good enough for Rachel…but he seems far too mentally and emotionally intelligent to be long for this world.

Do We Have To?

Honestly, if it weren't for the one incredible conversation regarding a banana during the saga of Lukas and Blake, I wouldn't even get into this because these two are The Worst. Lukas is the guy who nearly gives himself an aneurysm every 10 minutes trying to be funny. His idea of humor is just to scream a word: Whaboom. My idea of humor is listening to all of the other men genuinely not be able to remember what the stupid word he keeps saying is: Whabam? Kabloom? Ska-douche? Who cares!

Blake is the guy who talked about his dick for a full five minutes in his intro package, but thinks Lukas is in this for the wrong reasons. These two somehow know each other from the outside world, because Lukas used to date Blake's roommate, who Blake says is now being evicted from his apartment for calling him a maniac…ladies, try to keep your panties on, okay?

This all comes to a boil when Rachel tells Lukas that Blake has been questioning his reasons for being on the show, and Lukas responds calmly and not at all like a drunken, unhinged person, saying that he recently caught Blake standing over his bed eating a banana while he was sleeping. Blake's response to the claim of a moron: "Heh, impossible. I don't even eat carbs." Blake, you fucking tool.

Let's Detox with a Little…

The Pretty Boy Pitbull, Kenny King. If you had told me my favorite man in this group would be a pro-wrestler who goes by the name of the Pretty Boy Pitbull Kenny King, I would have said…Yeah, Jodi, that sounds exactly like you—nothing has ever sounded more like you. 

But still, I did not expect Kenny, the pro-wrestler with a 10-year-old daughter to be quite so cuddly. He has endeared himself to me if for this quote alone: "Being a wrestler, I know all about white dudes acting crazy. And these white dudes are buggin'." These white dudes are buggin', Kenny, and you are not. Please stay this pure, and continue not to bug. Also, at some point you have to stop leading every conversation with your adorable love for your daughter. Because I don't know if Rachel is ready to be the step-mother to a teen. Mentioning that you used to be a Chippendales dancer, however, is a good start.

Lee Is a Sociopath Who Must Be Stopped and Since I Just Saw Wonder Woman, I Wouldn't Mind If Rachel Donned Leather Armor and Lasso-of-Truth'd His Ass

Ugh, another annoying storyline, but a complex one, at least. Actually…it's not that complex. 

Eric is a young man with Steve Buscemi eyes who has clearly never seen this show, otherwise he would know that if you speak a word about the Bachelor(ette) that sounds like anything less than the complimentary rantings of a stalker, you will be taken to task by some dude named Iggy. See, Eric really likes Rachel, and he's getting frustrated that he can't tell if Rachel likes him back. He wonders aloud to a few friends if Rachel might be keeping her emotions in check since she's dating so many men at once.

And men quite literally come out of the woodwork to tell Eric that he is the devil and he'll never know love.

Listen, I don't really even like Eric that much. He doesn’t seem particularly interesting, and definitely isn't mature enough for Rachel, who could legitimately be the President of the United States right now. But there is no doubt that Lee's sociopathic behavior toward him is fueled by the fact that he thinks Eric is inferior to him. This is obvious because since this season has aired, sleuths have uncovered many a racist tweet from Lee, but also because Lee is a walking microagression with cold, dead shark eyes.

 After Eric naively tries to float the idea that Rachel might be playing this gameshow like a game, some dude named Iggy that you don't need to retain to memory comes out of nowhere to confront him about it. Eric raises his voice because Iggy was out of line, and because sometimes people raise their voices when they're upset and consisting on a diet of protein powder and Belvita breakfast bars.

Lee latches onto the fact that he heard Eric yelling and will not let it go. He tells Rachel that Eric’s aggression made him “uncomfortable” (you code, bro?) and he does’t think Eric is right for her. Rachel asks Eric about it and Eric explains that he just wants some validation; Rachel validates him with the group date rose; Lee demeans and condescends to Eric by repeatedly saying creepy shit like he thinks he's "an amazing person" and he “loves him to death,” but he heard him get "aggressive," and that scared him. Then to the cameras: "I don't care if Eric disrespects me, okay? He means nothing … this is one kid with a bad issue."

Hey Lee, real quick: Fuck. You. You are transparent, and you are dangerous, and this season pretty much rides or dies on how soon Rachel gets rid of you. No pressure, Rach. 

There comes a time in every 20-something's life…when they must take a season off from The Bachelor franchise. For me, that season was Nick. Not because I don't like Nick—I find him no better or worse than any Bachelor(ette) who has come before him. (Actually I find him better because, uh, I'm pretty sure Prince Farming recently killed a guy).

I just needed a break. Yes I know about Corrinne. Yes, I stand in awe and fear of her. Yes, she has a perfectly round head-shape like a peanut M&M when they forget to put the peanut in that I don't trust, but do tend to admire, a la Stassi from Vanderpump Rules. Though it left a gaping hole in my heart—as if I was forgetting to eat breakfast every single day, and that missing breakfast was made of thigh gaps and man-tears—it was good for me. I return refreshed, and more importantly, completely clueless about what to expect from Rachel, or as I have taken to calling her: the Rachelorette (pronounced R8chelorette).

The only thing I can remember about Rachel from the brief glimpses I caught of Nick's season is that she got the First Impression Rose of Doom and I once saw her in a full-out sprint and not a single part of her body jiggled. From what I understand, she remained charming throughout and some issues of race were (not awfully) addressed in her hometown visit. I have to imagine that conversation went something like this:

Rachel's parents, in unison:  Nick, we can't help but notice that you're white. And also, that our daughter is way out of your league.

Nick: But—

Rachel's parents, alternating back and forth every other word: Yes, even now that you're two percent body fat and there's something different about your face that we can't quite put our finger on.

Rachel: Ha, you right, fam. See ya, Nick, I'm about to be the first black Bachelorette!

Nick: And I…I will take my last titular stand in Dancing With the Stars where I will wear more sequins and bronzer than any Bachelorette could ever dream of.

Since I clearly know very little about Rachel, I also expect very little out of her, which is kind of nice. Rachel can be a robot and it won't really matter—in fact, since she's from Dallas, a place solely populated by gallerias that smell like fancy fountains and hot young women that also smell like fancy fountains (lookin’ at you, JoJo), it will make perfect sense if she's just an average, smart, attractive woman. But she's also the first black lead in the Bachelor franchise, so y’know, the producers will probably run this entire freight train into the ground trying to be cool about that.

Unfortunately, unlike the contestant bios which are full of enlightening questions like "What fruit would you be if you could be any fruit?" and "What brand of high-end blender would you be I you could be any brand of high-end blender?" the Bachelorette's bio is just four paragraphs of excruciating prose. And since Rachel is an attorney, hers is 80 percent lawyer puns, 15 percent conjunctions, 5 percent her own name, and exactly 0 percent concentrated power of will. What I learned is that. 1.) Rachel went to the University of Texas, which checks out because it's almost easier to imagine her with a tiny temporary tattoo of a burnt orange longhorn on her cheek than without, and 2.) "Winning in court has never been a problem, but finding love is a case that unfortunately remains open." Yeesh.

So, let's, uh, call this court to order by meeting all 31 of the, uh, romantic prosecutors who have been, uh, subpoenaed in this case of, uh, LOVE IN THE FIRST DEGREE. Nailed it.

This isn’t necessarily the all-around hottest group of suitors we've ever had. But it is the most diverse. And that's because Rachel is a minority, so ABC will let her date another minority: a black guy, an Asian guy, a Latino guy…hell, she could even choose a white guy if she wants (but they will withhold her daily allotment of Snackwells if she tries to pull any of that shit). They're so open-minded this season, you guys. Honestly! They're very cool with what Caitlyn Jenner is up to; they retweet DeRay sometimes; some of their best friends went to the Women's March.

And while they may have curiously kept Rachel a blank slate in the marketing leading up to her season, all the jacked dudes trying to woo her come pre-packaged with a whole slew of questions by which to judge them. Pretty much every single one of them says they're 6'2 or taller, they're all obsessed with the Rock, Denzel Washington and Matthew McConaughey, like, six of them have inner-lip tattoos, and I don't know if Rachel requested that they all be sexual deviants, or if this is just the Freak House that Kaitlyn Bristowe Built, but everyone has gotten up to some real weird shit in the bedroom. So without further ado…

Rachel's Top 12 Most Interesting Men (according to a questionnaire completed under a distorting blanket of warm Jägermeister served in a plastic cup by producers who lured you out of a food court Sbarro with promises of love and more deli meat than one could ever imagine, plus, if you mention Elon Musk in your questionnaire, everyone will think you're smart, and also, if you say no to doing this, you're probably at least a little subconsciously racist, just something to think about—alright, see ya in Calabasas, buddy!) in no particular order:

"These are my boyfriends. All of them!"  –Joelle Fletcher

If JoJo were even one eyelash less attractive than she is, this season of The Bachelorette would be toast. Because season 11's biggest strength is also its greatest weakness: one Jordan Rodgers and his gravity-defying hair.

Jordan became JoJo's number one pick from the moment he stepped out of the limo, and she started dreaming about their future together as soon as she got a hold of that last name. He's somehow the hottest bro (even though Luke is hotter than him), the most Texan bro (even though James Taylor is actually from Texas), and the overall perfect man for JoJo (even though he is inevitably going to break her baby bird heart). She straight up told him in this episode that she's thinking about what their life will be like together. Do you think JoJo is thinking about taking Alex back to Dallas to flip houses or whatever with her?

I don't think so. Ben's season had all the romance of CBS Sunday Morning, and Kaitlyn's carried out with the integrity of a particularly feisty episode of Maury, but at least we had the element of surprise in those final proposals (both of which, notably, are still going strong). There is exactly no suspense to this season; it's simply a slow march toward Jordan, riddled with sweaty Wells carcasses (R.I.P. Wells) and doll-size pageant dresses.

But to be fair, the story of Jordan and JoJo is kind of fascinating. Because the fact that Aaron Rodgers' brother is on The Bachelorette is legitimately insane. It's like if the next Bachelor was just…Ryan Reynolds’ brother. No, Aaron Rodgers, top NFL quarterback, is not as A-list as, say, Ben Affleck—I guess that would make Casey Affleck the Bachelor in this scenario—but he is as famous as Ryan Reynolds (and Jordan, as noteworthy as Ryan Reynold's hypothetical younger brother). And what if you were given the chance to marry into a family that contains Blake Lively who can literally survive a shark attack [ed. Note: my review of the best movie of the year—The Shallows—to come] on ABC's most notoriously ridiculous reality show. THAT'S WHAT THIS IS LIKE!!! Eat your fucking heart out Charlie O'Connell, brother of Jerry O'Connell. 

The real shame in the fact that JoJo is going to pick Jordan then, is that we don't get to see Jordan Rodgers as the next Bachelor. Unless, of course, he plays his cards right...

And as we learned in this episode: Jordan Rodgers knows how to play cards.

It's been two weeks since many of us watched Chad nearly eat Lil'est Marine Alex like a khaki-flavored paleo muffin on The Bachelorette's dreaded two-on-one date, and I'll be honest — I can hardly remember any of it. I definitely remember that they talked about milk quite a bit. I'm certain that I saw the reflection of a producer in JoJo's beautiful mocha-brown irises telling her that if she didn't stop flinching away from Chad she wasn't going to get her two daily-alotted belVita breakfast biscuits. Basically, I have no time to write this, and you'll have no time to read it before…

...but it would be an actual reality TV sin, punishable by Andy Cohen, the-Old-Gods-and-the-New not to cover what transpired over the course of four hours two weeks ago regarding one Chad Johnson. The worst thing about writing something two weeks after you should have is that it's 100 percent useless [ed. note: MORE useless]; the best part is that you have lots of new information like that Chad's first name is actually Brian — Chad is his middle name — meaning either his parents decided he would go by Chad or he decided later in life to go by Chad, bringing about an interesting Nature vs. Nurture question: do Chads end up the way they are because they are named Chad, or are they merely born that way and name themselves Chad once they’ve grown into the name (#yesallchads)? In other news, Chad is real-life going to be a guest on Jimmy Kimmel Live following Monday night’s episode, which is terrifying. I enjoy Jimmy Kimmel — I very much hope that Chad doesn’t eat his whole face before he can put out Mean Tweets XXXVII.

Anyway, I'm doing this as fast and dirty as possible: maximum Chad, maximum screengrabs, absolutely every single ludicrous line from Alex and Chad’s two-on-one conversation:

The last two-hour episode picked up right where the two-hour episode before it left off: with the other men sitting patiently, waiting to start their porno until Chris Harrison was done kicking Chad out of the house.

But no! Not only was asking host Chris Harrison to do something about Chad's presence on the show basically like asking your substitute Theater teacher if she could score you a "5" on the AP Calculus exam, but CH would have exactly no interest in eliminating such an entertaining aspect of this season. He attempts to tell Chad that they don't tolerate violence 'round the Bachelor mansion while fully tolerating violence, and then just tells Chad to apologize. Which he totally does…

Evan tells Chad he owes him an apology and a new shirt. And that totally goes well…

Wells tries to be the voice of reason…

...in these shorts.  I fall deeper in love.

JoJo decides to cancel the cocktail party and have a pool party instead, and all of the men act like they've never seen a woman in a bikini before. Suddenly, I realize that my thoughts are starting to sound like Chad's. Are his comments actually reasonable, and at times, even funny? Is it just that they're also coupled with his psychological inability to discern between right and wrong, likely signifying a childhood spent doing weird stuff to cats and potentially a basement full of refrigerators that his guests think are full of extra sodas protein shakes? To his credit, Evan is obsessed with him, and does get a nosebleed literally the minute he touches the pool.

Of Chad, JoJo says, "Chad is calm, Chad is friendly, he's minding his own business," which is how you know that she's kept him around this long because she truly thinks she could potentially have a future with him. I know when people ask me my type, I often say: calm, friendly, mind his own business, only punches walls once a day. [Ed. Note: For the record, in case you're trying to set me up with your second cousin that lives in New York, my type is: "Wells-but-sturdier."]

JoJo asks Derek specifically why there's security walking around. Derek tells her it's because of Chad. Chad steps to Derek…

But JoJo has a Rose Ceremony to get to, and even though she surely realizes…

…JoJo gives him a rose. Because she really like him. She likes him so much. She's not at all scared of him or scared for her safety. This is 100 percent JoJo's decision. Something that is Jojo’s decision: getting in a hot tub in the middle of the woods with Luke.

 Luke has so much fun on his one-on-one date with JoJo, he almost smiles with both corners of his mouth.

He opens up about his time in commanding a military unit in Afghanistan and how one of his friends was killed in action, so JoJo asks him:

Yeah, JoJo — it was probably mainly the friend-dying thing. But JoJo can’t help it, she’s just distracted by how hot Luke is. Because she may be a terrible conversationalist, but you can say this about JoJo: she has eyeballs and they work.

There's a group date where Evan gets—I kid you not—another nose bleed, but all you really need to know is that JoJo takes Alex and Chad on the two-on-one date because what she lacks in body fat, she makes up for in doing exactly anything and everything the producers ask her to. Before they leave, Chad screams at Jordan (his only [perceived] threat), "JORDAN! You think this is a show and you'ew safe for now. But one day this ends. And when this ends, you go home—and when you go home, you think I can't find you? You think I won't go out of my way to come to your house?" It's very, very chill. As is the two-on-one date…

JoJo clearly doesn't even want to look at Chad's face, so she immediately takes Lil' Alex into the woods and asks him what's the deal with Chad. Alex briefly attempts to not talk about Chad, but as far as I can tell, that is about as possible for Alex as not wearing olive green dress shirts and weird pants that are somehow simultaneously harem pants and cargo pants, so he soon caves. Which is unfortunate because Chad has plainly stated, "Best advice I can give him is to mind his business and not bring my name up — if not, I'll be taking his teeth home." Alex has such nice teeth.

I now present this conversation between JoJo and Chad to you unedited after Chad explains that he has not physically harmed anyone since JoJo politely asked him not to:

JoJo: Yeah, but you threatened to beat people.

Chad: So that they would be quiet. So that they would leave me alone.

JoJo: That’s not the way to handle it.

Chad: If you have a better way, I would love to hear it.

This man is a certified insane reality TV pot of gold. I will miss him so. But alas, Chad was never going to make it out of this two-on-one, just like a charcuterie board was never going to make it out of that Bachelor mansion alive. But before JoJo dismisses him, let's just quickly run down the conversation that Alex and Chad have when they're contractually forced to sit together after Chad knows that Alex tattled on him for threatening to kill other bros after the show.

That sounds foreboding. Any follow-up?

CAN WE???? Chad says that it's just unfortunate that he can't hurt Alex right now without getting in trouble. Which mean that Chad seemingly takes the laws of The Bachelorette more seriously than the laws of the United States of America.

Differing opinions on milk? It must be time to squash this like men:

After that impromptu Shel Silverstein slam poetry sesh, JoJo dismisses Chad and gives Alex the rose. They head onto two roads diverged (by a very small tree) in the yellow wood.

And Chad…Chad took the road less traveled…