Done with 'Southern Charm,' at least until Season 2

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I promise this is the last column I’ll write about “Southern Charm,” a terrible, entertaining, embarrassing, enjoyable train wreck of a docudrama that aired on the Bravo network and involved a semi-interesting collection of moneyed Charleston idiots. Probably the last column, unless I come up with a new way to describe the obvious ground-up restorations Whitney and his mother’s faces have undergone, or a new way to make fun of people who have a lot of money and spend a lot of time doing nothing except wearing sunglasses and drinking wine, the lucky fools. If I had a lot of money, I would probably get really good at fishing. Or just being on boats. I would also get much better at taking naps. Anyhoo, this may be confusing, but this is about the outtakes episode that aired May 5. Sure this is about two weeks late, but hey, I’ve had other things to do. Because of our deadline and the show ending at 11 p.m. on a Monday, I’m a week behind, but it doesn’t matter because I’m writing about a TV show. And it’s kind of like arguing about politics on Facebook, or trying to understand the popularity of Coldplay – all pointless endeavors. So on the out-takes show, alleged former Sumterite Jenna takes her mother and the gang on a private jet plane to meet her boyfriend in New York City. They all wear sunglasses, but Jenna’s sunglasses cover her entire face, so she wins that contest. Also, she’s wearing a sleeveless hoodie and wins the “Hey look at me, don’t look at me” contest. Jenna’s boyfriend, Lou, is a diminutive hipster Mr. Clean who probably takes free-range, vegan steroids. We learn that Jenna was attending College of Charleston with ... Lou’s daughter. So that’s how they met. Definitely a normal relationship right there. Jenna’s mother seems like Suzanne Somers, if you take away the Thighmaster and add some Kenny Rogers rotisserie chicken. With Chardonnay and valium for dessert. I bet she’s good at taking naps. So Jenna is 29 and Lou is 55 and Shep cracks that “sounds like someone we know,” referring to Thomas Ravenel, 51, and his 22-year-old paramour Kathryn Dennis, who is now his baby matriarch. (I think that’s how you say it in certain Charleston circles.) So the next out-takes involve Whitney renting the Honey Fitz, which was JFK’s yacht. Because jetting to New York City and renting a presidential yacht definitely aren’t contrived scenarios dreamed up by reality TV “producers.” But there apparently isn’t enough alcohol for the cruise, and you can tell the cast members realize a selfie on the Honey Fitz without a wineglass is not worthy of Instagram. So there’s a scramble for booze and ... you know what? Who cares? They’re dumb. The funniest part was Thomas Ravenel and Whitney both trying to figure out if they wanted to use the word “commensurate” or “commiserate.” They didn’t know. My wife and I were equally confused. (Senator Ravenel, by the way, are two words that will never be put together in a serious context.) Ravenel calls Whitney a “rigid, conservative, negative dude,” which is ironically how our former state treasurer labeled his prison warden after his Wayfarers were confiscated. We also see, briefly, someone named Ned Brown, who is a society blogger, which is something that apparently exists. I felt sorry for how he must introduce himself at dinner parties. “Hi there. I’m Ned. I blog about dinner parties.” He’s probably hoping to get poisoned soon, the poor bugger, but then who would blog about it? Back on shore, Whitney’s mother summons him for a scolding. Brown, she said, is a “correspondent” for a New York “social diary” who angered her with descriptions of the Honey Fitz cruise as a floating “Animal House,” which frankly sullies the name of the 1978 classic movie. It did force me to immediately try to figure out a pledge name for Whitney. Pinto and Flounder are taken ... so maybe ... Botoxer? Whitney said he wanted to have an “elegant day.” (No one talks like that in actual real life, I should point out.) Whitney’s mother is concerned with his “social standing,” which prompts Whitney to make veiled threats about Brown. Now, we all know violence is wrong. But if those two got in a fight, it would be hilarious. The next secret revealed? Whitney’s mother’s cat passes on to the great litter box in the sky despite daily visits from a vet that surely doesn’t charge a lot of money. For cat dialysis. I bet the cat’s dish was usually brimming with Riesling. (Nothing worse than a cat with a drinking problem, BTW.) Whitney reveals that his mother will probably need martinis, Xanax and Turner Classic Movies non-stop to make it through this ordeal. Then a fellow that Whitney describes as the “greatest interior decorator” visits, so I guess such a title exists, but I doubt he has the plaque to prove it. Whitney’s mother wants to put the kitty’s ashes above her bed, and her son thinks that might be “a bit macabre.” That is true. But I had a hard time not laughing when she tried to cry and summon emotion but her face didn’t move. It was like a statue almost coming to life. Almost. Jenna has a real Gullah voodoo priestess visit the house her boyfriend bought her because it has a creepy vibe. Jenna says she hears creaky noises and her fan turns on and off, but we, the viewer, know that Jenna is dumb, so it’s OK. Shep says he doesn’t believe in ghosts or aliens but does believe in Bigfoot. The priestess says Shep drinks too much and he actually seems surprised by this revelation. Maybe the priestess was getting spirits confused with spirits. A few other things happened but I was getting sleepy. Hopefully a second season of “Southern Charm” will happen. Like sands through the hourglass, these people are dumb.