Don’t get me wrong, I love the Beekman Boys. (If you don’t know what I’m talking about, watch Planet Green Tuesday night at 10 p.m. or visit http://beekman1802.com.) But I’m growing a little hateful of them. Like I hate my best friend or favorite Teen Mom. They’re creating a show about something they don’t do. Farming?! More like CEO – the overseers of a soon-to-be empire. They’re idol is Martha…and they’re becoming her. With the outsourcing and all.
Do the boys take care of the goats? No. They have a farmer who does that for them. And I love how that llama now blogs for Henri Bendel. If only the Beekman Boys actually knew the vaccination and feed requirements for her. And the goats. And the chickens. I don’t wanna hate. I just want to call a farmer what a farmer is. And I don’t think the boys are farmers. They’re like Scarlett O’Hara’s father…or her mother.
And the drama with the product sales. Jesus. I bought the soap in the Granville. They’re doing just fine. They’re bickering is part of the drama that makes them watchable. Heck, Donnie and I bicker non-stop. It’s our own personal drama. No camera crews involved. They have connections that any farmer would dream to have. Rosie doesn’t just decide to show up in a small town in New York and buy cheese.
But don’t worry, I’ll keep watching you Beekman Boys. Please just be real. You have connections. You’re doing well. Gay farmers everywhere ask you to drop the fabricated drama and talk about your successes and your failures. I can get arguments elsewhere. And your constant bickering about money when you are better off that 99% of people in this country is starting to ache a bit. If you’re really a farmer, do a show about your garden and amazing things you’ve learned. Don’t show me a ridiculous photo-shoot for Food & Wine that just highlights glamour shots of Josh in his garden.
Bitter? Perhaps. I’ve been strangled by a llama. My barn floods non-stop. I have Amish enemies. This all would make great T.V. And I wouldn’t need to fight about money or discuss poor planning for a festival to make it dramatic. Gays in the countryside naturally breed drama. No need to pepper it with an overly negative attitude when you’re lucky enough to be delivering lambs to Martha’s estate. It’s like saying you need food stamps because your heritage zucchini were attacked by a heinous mold. Embrace all that you have been blessed with and leave the Debbie Downer drama on the production room floor. It’s annoying. It’s fake. And you’re better than it.