I find my way to the office, get settled in, and have a productive day. Part of the reason it's so productive is there's nobody to procrastinate with; there's always a new email to read or somebody's blog to check, but when my normal section of life is asleep, I'm on my own.

After work I start walking up thru Covent Garden, passing thru a covered market area housing teenytiny shops with discreetly placed price tags. As I wander up to Tottenham, I realize that I need some food before I kill somebody. I snag a piece of fantastic pizza from a woman handing out samples for her restaurant (that's some tastee pizza with brick-oven crusty goodness) and I try to decide which cuisine would taste best. A little French place near Oxford Circus wins out and I am shown apologetically to a huge 4-top table in a place that has 12 tables. It's a bit much for me, but once I order and the bread & butter arrive, I forget everything. The crusty baguette and fresh butter are better than any I've ever had, and I almost forgo my actual meal to solely eat this for the next hour. Embarrassed when the server asks if I want more bread, I bravely hold off until my dinner arrives. I don't know who decided to make this dish, but I bless them forever. Paprika-rubbed chicken in a cinnamon sauce over a bed of haricot verts and aubergines. I don't even like the latter, yet I eat every bite I can fit inside. I need to be rolled out of the restaurant, it's sooooo good. I attempt to find my way to the stop and take the long way around by accident. I wander into the Apple store but *everybody* is emailing so I head home. It's not like I need to talk/email with anybody, but it'd be nice. I settle into bed with a book and flip thru the shows--a heartbreaking tale of a girl with a fatal disease catches my eye and I watch six-year-old Haley with a body hyper-aging due to wonky genetics. It's horribly sad, and there are these ads for The Farm on Five, which confuse and yet attract me with their fancy graphics.

Of course I tune in...and immediately reach to call J, my partner in all tv-things wrong. Here I am, watching the mutated spawn of Survivor and The Surreal Life, and I have NO ONE to discuss this with! So I present you with my reactions, written down for this moment when I can share it with all of you. This was the first ep, so it's the gratuitous 'introduction of characters/members' strung out over an hour. People are intro'd to the world at large, then put into a farmhouse to get to know each other. I have no idea who cast this, but they either know a lot of desperate publicists or the Brits have kept better tabs on the US reality market than is healthy.

--The Farm: surreal. Emma Noble--actress? model? and FLAVA-FLAV. And a puppet. A singing, green-haired duck called Orville (and his handler). It will have its own bed. OWN BED. Green neon hair, Howard The Duck face, and a diaper. It can't get worse.

--Flav is in shock or high or both. No one knows what to do with him, and vice versa. I think the duck has put him over the edge.

--There's an ad for Akon's single Lonely, and he's singing counterpoint/harmony to 2 Chipmunks. I'd ask, but I'm sure I don't want to know specifics. That grey frog that haunts Yahoo! Mail has an entire ad here! He also has the same mouth as the evil dictator from The Interpreter. My brain is broken.

--(back on the show) Flav says that it would be great to get the King of England on the show. I'm pretty sure he's high AND drunk.

--(The host) on the left is Graham Norton's younger brother--accent, attitude and all.

--Farmer Ryan (and brother Jason)--quite hunky. I see why he was cast. Everybody wants to know when/if he's taking his kit off. "Only the top!" Um...right.

--Some heartthrob/boy-band member who's a bit of a cross between all of N*Sync and Josh Duhamel. Gravity-defying hair--he's a defensive hedgehog with a bleach job. Mikey is wearing a Celtics jersey and confusing the hell out of Flav.

--Lucy Ewing from Dallas? Who killed JR? She's sucking up to the hosts after entering from a dry-ice-laden wooden horse trailer. I...at a loss for words. Again.

--Square-head fireman Dave, coming off some tabloids thing that I don't get since I'm from America. He looks confused as to why he's here. Ex-wife? Girlfriend? Children? So confused.

--I can't do it! Can't take any more of this insanity, even tho I love the little animal segments/interludes. Flavs talking desperately with Lucy about LA and is wearing a sheared blond...something with bell sleeves, and it sets off his ginormous clock necklace that seems to freak everyone out. Dude, put the clock down and back away slowly. You peaked 20 years ago. Let it go.

--Jolina? Chillcheena? (Cicciolina) Pornstar. Italian, dressed in pink sparkly shadow and a weird forehead band/strap that goes under her bangs. She's carrying a blue-white Care Bear/teddy bear. Flav is VERY excited. It's either the poofy-stiff shoulder action on her dress or the saggy cleve.

--The milk cow is named Raquel.

--Some old Canadian entertainer from 1931. Sir Lionel Blair? Mickey Rooney-esque. Short man, George Hamilton perma-tan and Siegfied hair.

--Another busty babe--Emma Bean, referenced Flav & Brigette. Can you refer to another reality show like that? Flav's got a big drink and wanders drunkenly while the others try to be friendly to each other.

--Where the hell is #10?

--oh. no. It's Ron Jeremy.
RON JEREMY.
NO FRICKIN' WAY.

Who's next, Vern Troyer?
They've compiled beautiful women and hideous men. They all have to sleep in a communal dormer on twin beds.

Heh.

~~~~~

So there you have the train wreck of The Farm. It's over 18 days, but it looks like it's got new eps daily. God help us all. Check out the website. These people are insane, and I was pretty good at guessing/sizing up the celebs without prior knowledge. My favorite parts--the Lucy's just coming from another reality show, Flav's supposedly just off tour in Germany, Orville is...well, Orville, and Cicciola is in her 50s and has become an Italian politiciana after her pornstar days have passed.