We'll end this week long love fest with an affirmation that anyone can find love. I'm making reference to our present day minstrel show. Flavor of Love. Isn't reality TV great?
This is one of those shows that I watch and talk about in whispers with a select few co-workers on Monday mornings. After a new episode of Lost, I'll engage in a lively discussion with anyone that cares to. But, I'm actually embarrassed by this show. I watch it because I'm afraid not to. I need to know first hand how many years Flav is setting us back each week. What if I miss the week he takes us back to Jim Crow? That's not something you want to find out from your white colleague at the water cooler.
Oh, I forgot this post is about Love. So, I'll end with this… If a Flavor Flav, a man near 50 with 6 children by two women, whose claim to fame is cooning on stage while wearing a clock bigger than his head, can hope to find love, then surely we all can. You know what time it is!?