A Farewell To TV That Heals: The Celebrity Rehab Retrospective

Written by  //  January 26, 2011  //  Televised Entertainment in Review  //  1 Comment

As much as I know you’re all clamoring to hear my thoughts on last week’s Top Chef, I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you as I was rudely interrupted by Mumsy.  I began my weekly Top Chef viewing party – which I painstakingly prepare for, even going so far as putting on my most comfortable pair of TB Reva’s and getting each member of the kitchen staff out of their rooms -myself!- so that we can all gather in front of the television and I can shout “Mira! Mira!” at them in between little Fauntleroy’s barking. He hates any volume above a whisper.

There we are as always, Consuela and the dishwashers furiously nodding as I point and yell, when who walks in to spoil all the fun but my mother. I specifically moved to the west wing of the grounds to eliminate her constant need to badger me about when I’m going to give her a grandchild so she can “do it right this time.” Once again she barges into my kitchen unannounced and threatens me with another intervention. “I’ll call your father and coordinate schedules to get us both in the country this INSTANT!” It was so stressful we both had to take Xanax to calm down about it.

I shuffled little Mumsy off to bed with the last bottle of Russian Standard I’d stolen from the jet only to find out that I’d missed the episode entirely. I was so angry I knew there was only one way to snap myself out of it. I quickly got into my jammies and snuggled into bed with the rest of the pot and the h’ordeuvres Consuela slaved over for the party and put on my favorite pick me up, Celebrity Rehab. There is nothing that can make me feel better about myself now that the police won’t allow me to arrange bum fights.

I’ve been a follower of this particular train wreck caught on camera since Season 1 – need to get my Pinsky fix somehow now that the protective order prevents me from coming more than 500 feet near Dr. Drew or the Pasadena Recovery Center (but I have it on good authority that room 3 is still referred to as “Arabella Manor”) – and now that this season is over and we have to content ourselves with next week’s reunion show, we can all pause and reflect on the lesson that this past lackluster season has taught us. Because it’s not about being a celebrity anymore, it’s perfectly okay to be a “celebrity.” This season saw pretty much nothing but Nobody’s clamoring for camera time with starfuckers and people only in the tabloids because they’re standing next to their famous relatives. Seriously, what the hell was Jason Davis doing there? He’s not even famous for being related to someone famous he’s related to someone who hangs out with celebutwats. And furthermore he’s unpleasant to look at. I watch TV for a very specific reason – to convince myself that there’s nothing but beautiful, tan, healthy people like me and I never have to see an ugly person again. It’s not that hard VH1. There’s just no excuse to subject me to this:

But even he doesn’t compare to the fright night that is Frankie Lons. Just when I was about to throw my hands up watching the season premiere searching in vain for the celebrity part of rehab to start, she appeared like a tiny crack-addled angel, a beacon of dysfunction and entertainment flashing right in the middle of Dullsville. Like Jason Davis, she’s famous for being related to someone, although in her case she’s actually related to R&B singer Keyshia Cole, not some pasty greasy heiress-dingleberry. It’s not just her winning personality that pulls me in, no; the real joy comes from seeing a woman that used to look like this:

Become this:

And we all know where this is headed:

She is frightening on a fundamental level. Much the same way I feel about clowns. She ruled this season with an iron fist – no amount of abuse revelations from Janice Dickinson was going to deter Frankie from her camera time. Now that the season’s over I find an empty hole where my day used to be taken up staring at the television in shock that such a creature like this exists to haunt my dreams. I just can’t seem to be able to look away. I can only thank the powers that be that the internet is here so that I may find gems like this to tide me over:

About the Author

Alistair Blake Arabella

“Alistair Blake Arabella” is the brainchild of entertainment writer and managing editor Vanessa “2 Fingers” Berben . If you’re missing the latest refill of your Dexedrine prescription, there’s a good a chance Alistair’s in your bathroom and has already crushed it up and snorted it. Now be a good little kitten and fetch her drink. If you’d like to receive the hallowed word of Alistair drop a line to AskAlistair@gmail.com – you just may be in the next episode of “Ask Alistar” if you’re very, very lucky.

View all posts by

One Comment on "A Farewell To TV That Heals: The Celebrity Rehab Retrospective"

  1. Dopy Dave June 15, 2014 at 7:20 am · Reply

    Thanks you for the blog. best place to buy Eriacta online and Benoquin Cream

Leave a Comment

Notify me of followup comments via e-mail. You can also subscribe without commenting.

comm comm comm