Whatever happened to aging gracefully? Elsa Patton (left), Velia Martinez (middle) and Estelle Getty, (right). Real Housewives of Miami, Que Pasa, USA? and The Golden Girls, respectively.
Remember when Bravo TV used to be cultural and not a flatulent, bloated channel devoted to rich bitches with hair extensions? You know, when you would actually flip through the channels and watch something on that network that didn't make you say: "Please, God, can I have that hour of my life back?"
Well, such are the emotions I experience when I watch segments of The Real Housewives of Miami, yet another show that epitomizes every ridiculous stereotype about the Magic City, but perhaps a notch better than the broadcast diarrhea that was Miami Social. And I emphasize "segments," because I would rather skin a live alligator in the Everglades during a category five hurricane than put up with a full hour of this crap.
And you know I have to watch it in order to keep up with all the bullshit people say about my hometown. I can't not blog about it. Keep your enemies closer than your friends, right?
Seriously, housewives, if all you have to worry about is where to find a good nanny, or packing for your trip to Disney with a walk-in closet that's bigger than the average South Beach studio, or getting annoyed at some ornery artist at your gallery opening, I think you should be serving crack to the homeless sleeping on North Miami Avenue at night just to teach you a lesson. Worst yet, I want to give you a $100 Amex gift card and force you to shop at Valsan for punishment, just for kvetching about stupid shit.
Good lord, rich people are so abominably boring.
At least, fortunately, the homeless are real people with real problems. You, on the other hand, are a blight to our city, bringing fluff and puff to the table in so-called reality TV. If you want to be a real housewife of Miami, go to La Carreta on 8th street and stuff your face with a bistec palomilla. Then at least I might respect you.
Bitches, you are not real housewives of Miami. For that, you need to go to Hialeah and interview some factory worker. Your white-woman-first-world-problems get no sympathy from me. You make all hard working Latinas look like bimbos. You bring shame to the estrogen brigade. And please stop plumping up your lips. Your mouths look like irritated vulvas after a gang bang.
That being said, I am impressed with the whacko Cuban grandmother, Elsa Patton, in this show. She is such an unabashed caricature of herself, she comes off as completely sincere. No one can fake trying to look like the Cat Woman or Mickey Rourke. Elsa claims to be a "witch" (pronounced "gweeeesh") and a "seer" ... yeah, Elsa, after a few glasses of Pinot Noir I can see into everyone's future, too. At least you own it. I think you should start your own talk show with Charytin ... or at the very least, you should consult with her plastic surgeon.
THE BEST MIAMI TV SHOW EVER ...
But all this gives me the opportunity to praise Adela, the world famous Cuban grandmother played brilliantly by the Velia Martinez in the only actual authentic and fabulous TV show this city has ever produced: Que Pasa, USA?, which just celebrated its 40th anniversary last month at the Miami-Dade Public Library downtown. Sorry, Sofia Petrillo of The Golden Girls, I madly love you too, but Adela was the real Miami Cubanasa thing.
If I could weave magic and do a TV show, I would put Adela and Elsa in the same room. And you know what Adela would say: "Coño, que le pasa a esta mujer? She has so much plastic surgery, parece un adefecio."