Flavor Flav…?

Last night, Ben Folds performed at the end of Conan O’Brien’s nightly show, playing his most radio-friendly duet with Regina Spektor, “You Don’t Know Me.”  I should have waited until the very end.  O’Brien’s first guest was Mr. Tom Arnold, who was tolerable.  But then, oh THEN, O’Brien and his audience were ushered into that ignominious realm of confusion known as “Proximity to Flavor Flav.”  Mr. Flav showed up wearing a Larry Bird Celtics jersey the size of a mumu, and, of course, his clock.  I understand that he is to be credited (if not thanked) for his contributions to rap and hip-hop through Public Enemy, but I found myself baffled by his every word and mannerism.  This situation rarely bodes well for my patience.  How does one have a conversation with a man who commands the audience to shout your name?  “Flavor Flav!” he commands.  And upon receiving their contrived adulation, he blows kisses at them.  Mwah mwah mwah.  How, um, affectionate. This behavior, however, shouldn’t be viewed as irregular.  Wikipedia informs us, “His visual trademark is an oversized clock hanging from his neck and repeatedly yelling his own name.”    O’Brien even looked baffled, and probably wondered why he hadn’t interviewed BEN FOLDS instead.  Still trying to play the professional, gracious host, he tried to change the subject asking Mr. Flav about his new dance.  Apparently, you can’t be a “real” rap artist these days unless you have a new dance to go with your new song.  We can thank (condemn) Soulja Boy for this phenomenon.  Mr. Flav got O’Brien to join him on the floor.  The dance was about as energetic as a a yoga class in a retirement home, and as inspiring as luke-warm beer.  He’s got more money than New Jersey (which isn’t Texas, but it’s enough); he should develop some common sense and disappear until he has something else to say but his name.