Twenty Maniacs—er, Men—Loooove New York…if that’s a Good Thing

Twenty Maniacs—er, Men—Loooove New York…if that’s a Good Thing by Roxanne McDonald

Mealy-mouthed and mentally questionable, 20 men vie for New York’s love, making for fun and funny reality TV entertainment.

As much as we may not want to admit it, “I Love New York” is going to be a much-watched show. A spawn of “Flavor of Love” (which is a take-off of “The Bachelor”), and in the best traditions of Jerry Springer, “I Love New York” avenges New York’s getting twice-dumped on national television. But does it not also get revenge on New York…for, for, for wanting to continue the charades?

The men are, surprisingly, a mixed bunch of auditioners:

the suave talkers and the slick salesmen are joined by the dorkiest of white bread accountants and mindless muscle men, too.
There’s Rico, a sexy contender who almost ruins his courtship opportunities when he wants to nickname her something like poquito negro (my Spanish sucks, and I didn’t hear exactly)…which translates, he says innocently, to “little black one.”

Next there’s Pootie, who has named himself (and whom New York tells is named that because he is in need of some…).

Then there’s Tango, who impresses—sort of—the mother/daughter pair with his talk of his love for his mom.

There’s Wood, who makes mom and New York think they know him from somewhere. (Turns out he has done reality gigs before. Uh-oh, here we go.)

There’s the one they decide to call Whiteboy, who is a mix of ethnicities and who seems to be one of the more sincere of the bunch.

There’s the one Mom cannot stop calling the “undercover gay lover” (which is to me the funniest and sharpest thing she has said, ever)—he is built beautifully and therefore gets the extreme nickname, 12-Pack

There’s another whom New York is attracted enough to that she calls him Heat.

There’s a guy who is called T-Bone, which fits with New York’s assessment of his being “greasy”.

Jersey (yes, from New Jersey) is a money man—a financial advisor.

A very anal retentive type who stammers and agrees wholeheartedly with everything New York and Mom say is Boston, or Mr. Boston.

A sleek Onyx speaks in low tones and wins favor with both mother and daughter.

There’s the one who yammers about being a Tumbleweed, which, as she is skilled at doing, has New York making short shrift of and turning into T-Weed.

Ace is a self-proclaimed tennis pro.

Trendz is another low-talker but turns on the Moms.

Jesus-praising, roof-raising Bonez impresses with his rappreaching schtick.

Another white financial wizard of sorts, T-Money is a corporate recruiter who makes the women’s eyes pop with glee.

A star in the making is a must for any reality/dating TV programming, so Real is standing in front of the women, making his case for loving New York
When he is in fact a music biznessman.

Then, then…there’s Chance. He lays a lot of smack on the already convinced New York—for, after all, not only is he unattractive, he wears his pants around his balls, has a big mouth, and “drinks a lot,” which New York loooves, but her mother cannot stand him.

Having used the “token” metaphor (for what, I have no clue), Token is in the line-up.

And with a dead teacup pup named Princess in his recent history (his pet died, like, sob, last week), another very white boy who cries as he presents himself (and a picture of himself and his pet) is named Romance. Despite how he literally breaks down crying and how he wants to name New York as his next Princess, New York keeps him (for ratings?).

Who else does she keep for kicks—or kicking about? (In alphabetical order…) Bonez, Boston, Chance, Heat, Onyx, Pootie, Real, Rico, Romance, Tango, Token, Trendz, T-Weed, 12-Pack, and Whiteboy. This was easy to guess, as the ones who got the most air time, who had the most “entertaining” miens, were obviously the ones New York would have the most fun playing with over the next how many weeks? The dull and dimwitted do not necessarily make for the worst TV, obviously….

Highlighting the ho-hum moments, however, are Chamo, the swishing assistant; New York’s mom, screaming uncontrollably one moment and telling the men to have more class the next; and the still undeniably funny (I mean, cruel) New York—who finally has enough of coddling the

crybaby Romance and tells him she thinks he must be good with trees, out in nature and all, sensitive as he is. She pokes fun at the wall-eyed one who thinks he has beautiful eyes; calls another guy a pansy; and tells all the soon-to-be dumped fellows that, well, they just aren’t “good enough” for her. As much as New York drives us bonkers with her histrionics, she also makes us laugh (out of shock, maybe, but laugh nonetheless) when she gets all mock serious and lets a zinger fly…right over their oh-so-devotedly serious heads.

And while New York is anything but a tragic heroine, she gives us enough material to foreshadow her coming fall—again—showing the most fondness for Chance: the candidate whom she says she loves because he wears loose clothes and drinks a lot and is therefore the coolest and most appealing—though he is also the most volatile, the least educated, and the least mannered of the bunch. Ick.
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