Hantz Down, Best Survivor Ever

Even though I'm having the family over for a big dinner tonight and should be doing actual work, I have to weigh in about last night's ep of Survivor.

For those of you who don't watch the show and are still reading this, last night saw the long-expected emotional breakdown of Brandon Hantz.  This was Brandon's second outing on Survivor and part of a family tradition started by one of the most polarizing players ever, the notorious Russel Hantz.  Both men are famous for being big personalities with dubious ethical boundaries and a talent for creating drama.

Naturally, the producers of Survivor love the Hantz family, they are ratings gold.  Survivor is a business, it exists to make money, which is why the show is always set in tropical locations.  All that random skin being flashed during a typical episode is akin to a peep show and the producers love to freeze those action shots with generous cleavage on display.

This is a very old reality show, ancient by reality standards and desperate to stay relevant, so the stunt casting began a while ago.  I'm not naive, I know how TV works, so while I loathe most of their 'colorful' characters, I do understand their value.  Borderline personalities are unpredictable by nature and Survivor needs unpredictable, it's what makes the show.  It's the reason I still watch, all the fights, the challenges, the meltdowns a-plenty and the surprises; that's the reality in the TV.

So the producers keep pushing the boundaries and last night one of them pushed back.  Hard.  Brandon snapped, but not all at once.  No, he slowly collapsed from the inside over a period of days and everyone saw it.  They saw his mood swing from aggressive anger to repentant melancholy and right back to anger over and over.  Brandon should have been taken out of the game well before the situation came to a roiling boil at the immunity challenge, Brandon should not have been on that island in the first place.

We the viewers all knew that he was at the very least bi-polar during his first appearance on Survivor, we the viewers openly questioned the producers of Survivor when they brought him back.  And now we the viewers are saying "We told you so!", because we were shouting it at them and like arrogant fools, they didn't listen to the bankroll.

When Brandon Hantz finally exploded at the immunity challenge, the potential for physical violence was well beyond tolerable limits for any responsible person.  Jeff Probst handled the situation admirably, doing his level best to keep Brandon calm, to keep Brandon from putting his hands on Philip.  Probst literally massaged Brandon in an effort to both calm and restrain him.  So good on Probst for that, but...

Probst is a producer of the show, he helped to create the situation so it's only fair that he should be the one to defuse the time bomb.  Putting a visibly emotionally unstable person in a high pressure situation with limited food was a violent situation waiting for an arena.  Deliberately putting innocent people into the situation without their knowledge or consent has to be a crime of some kind, at the very least it's indecent.

The producers of Survivor are happy campers today, everyone is talking about them, everyone wants to know what REALLY happened.  They are making money today, but are most likely not thinking about the long term repercussions of Brandon Hantz et al.  Perhaps the producers are feeling encouraged to push that envelope a little bit further, just to see what happens.

Apparently, they can't see what we see.

Retweet If You'd Like To Share A Comment

The following is a nakedly self serving blog post, I'm admitting it right up front.  But it will serve thousands, perhaps millions, of others as well so this could be viewed as a charitable act with the right kind of eye wear.

In case you couldn't tell, I've been a little obsessed with social media lately, but that's how I roll.  Obsessions large and small have governed my life, it's how I learn and lately when asked what I've been up to, I say that I'm back in school.

It's a self study program, but any education is valuable.

Today we're talking about all the different kinds of share buttons found on virtually every post out in the Cyberverse.  We've all seen them, but prior to my becoming a blogger, I rarely used them because of ignorance.  I did not understand the point of randomly saying, "Hey, I like that."

But in the Cyberverse, every single button click has a deep meaning for the clickee because it's a system driven by numbers.  Every 'Like', 'Plus', 'Tweet' and 'Share' gives us a tiny bit more exposure and moves us incrementally up the search engine food chain.

There aren't any rules dictating what should be shared or liked, it's purely a personal choice and there are no right or wrong shares.  If you see an especially humorous picture of a kitten, the chances are very good that others will want to see it too.  So what if it's silly or has no relevance?  If you like it, share it.

Remember this is SOCIAL media, be social, it's why you have all those Facebook friends in the first place.

Your vote of support can be just a simple click on the Facebook 'Like' button, or that little G+ on all the Blogspot blogs and WordPress also has a button.  If you really like something, share it to your wall by clicking the Facebook icon that is generally near the post - it does not take a technical genius by any means because most of the work is done for you.

Those buttons are designed to be easy to use, to make it simple for someone like my mother in law to share recipes, photos and inspirational words with her friends.  If my wonderful MIL can do it, so can you.  Is your lasagne as good as hers, probably not :)

You are not expected to have an opinion about every site you visit, but if a site does move you in some way, please don't hesitate to say so.  It is only the click of a button, it doesn't cost you anything and you will not be held up for public ridicule when you claim to like Carrot Top.

I generally have my TweetDeck open while I'm online, even if I'm not in the mood to tweet all that much.  I check in from time to time and retweet other people in my network because it's just a button click.  It only takes me a second to send my friend's information about a book, website or show out a little farther, to get them a little more publicity, because that is what friends do.

Would you hold a door for a stranger?  Do you sometimes put your pennies into the cup by the register for the next unfortunate soul who's a couple cents short of a Big Gulp?  It's the same thing, a small kindness on your part translates to tremendous good fortune for someone else.

Ok, comments.  Yes, I'm with you on comments, every site has a different system and they can be touchy, can't they?  All you wanted to say was "Hey, good job!", but nooooooo, now you have to squint, try and figure out what those hideous captchas are spelling out.  Many times it's not worth the trouble, I feel you.

I have no wise words to universally deal with comment sections.  Many times I will just subvert the comment system and go right to the source, I'll find the author's email address and tell them directly.  But you can always find them on Facebook or Twitter, so comment there, it's perfectly fine.  All they want, all WE want, is to know that you're out there, that you're listening and if we have impacted you in any way.

In closing, let's have a Doctor Who quote:

Well I've spent enough time with the Doctor to know whenever you enter somewhere new, press buttons.

Thanks for your time and please LIKE me!

Closed Doors

As a child, I saw my eldest sister walk through a sliding glass door like it wasn't there

She didn't intend to, but the glass shattered all the same into a shower of prisms

I remember the bright bits of glass glittering in the sunlight and the plethora of tiny bleeding cuts all over her body

They were just scratches though, she survived

It’s a moment frozen in my memory, those glittering bits

Opening doors is not much fun, it’s just too ordinary

Bursting through doors, obliterating them into little bits, kicking them down

Asking “Door? What’s a door?” 

That’s fun

The Equilibrium of Squirrels

It's not one of those trick titles this time, it's really a tribute to squirrels :)

There might be a handful of people out there who don't like them, think of them as vermin, but most people love to watch squirrels.  All those grunty little chittering noises and the way they freeze up like statues for no apparent reason (Did I leave the kettle on?).  And they scamper, scampering is just the cutest thing ever.

Squirrels are aerial masters and natural born show folk, performing gravity defying feats with the greatest of ease, the greatest of confidence.  I admire squirrels for those reasons, but lately there's a new lesson learned from Little Chunk, Flicky and all the rest.

We've tried out many different types of bird feeders in the last few months, this type of sock is common these days, but they're no good.  I put them out and the next day, they have been ripped to shreds by the squirrels; those were abandoned early on.  I looked at squirrel proof feeders at the store, but my goal was never to deny the squirrels, rather to discourage vandalizing.

After some trial and error, Clyde and I have settled on a system of one gallon milk jugs, we go through about one a week, so that's the most convenient.  We make a new feeder by carving out two of the side panels, sliding a wooden skewer diagonally across the bottom and threading wire through the top for a handle.  Keeping feeders clean is a priority, hence the revolving jug method.

As you can see, there is plenty of easy access for all.  Initially, we thought the squirrels to be greedy, that they would empty the feeders every day, but that was not true.  Just like people, those squirrels only wanted what they thought they couldn't have, those socks were forbidden fruit.

Little Chunk visits the feeder everyday, several squirrels do along with a great quantity of birds.  Now that it's just sitting there free for the taking, the squirrels are not being greedy.  They take what they need and leave the rest.

If a squirrel can find that balance so easily, why can't I?

#TwitizenCairn

I have mentioned before that I am Twittering more, perhaps even with a modicum of ease these days.  Not without help though, Holly Jahangiri being the most notable contributor to my curriculum in that regard.  Someone on BBT Cafe posted this link recently by Kristen Lamb, author of We Are Not Alone, about Twitter etiquette and protocol that was extremely useful to me as well.

We are back at this well because it is time for me to begin a re-edit of The Last Prospector, a more informed edit this time.  Sadly, this is still a DIY project because we just can't afford a professional, if I could, I would.  I do not think that I can do it better than they, but do it I must.

This time I have resources though, not flying as blindly as usual, and some concrete general instructions about the process of editing a book.  A generous man named Bob Sanchez, author of When Pigs Fly, looked over the first chapter and gave me notes; the first page alone was a revelation.   Many of the folks in the cafe contribute to Blood Red Pencil, and this site is a trove of practical editorial advice for any kind of writing.

And I have friends now, authors who have been here before who can pat me on the back in a comforting way when I sigh unhappily.  That alone is pretty great.

So what does this have to do with Twitter?  I have decided to tweet my editing experience, If Wil Wheaton can tweet himself watching A Christmas Story, so can I.

My TweetDeck (yes, this girl knows what TweetDeck is, so there) will be open whenever I'm working on the book.  It's my social media experiment; if I commit to it, engage in it and fling myself out into the Twitterverse, perhaps I will find the audience that Prospector deserves.

Perhaps not, I've been wrong a lot, in case you haven't noticed.  But even a failed experiment yields valuable wisdom, usually more than a successful one - I'm still hoping for success, it would be a nice change of pace.

So, here goes nothing once again!  Let's have some fun, let's start a conversation #TwitizenCairn.

Dear Bruce Jenner

Dear Bruce,

I intended to write about the other Bruce today, the one I like, Springsteen.  But you have been on my mind Bruce Jenner, so this one is for you.

May I just ask where your testicles are buried?  The three of you must have parted ways after your stunning appearance in the  '76 Olympics because the IOC would have noticed their absence.

This open letter is a gift to you, a glimpse into your future.  I am the ghost of Christmas future because I have lived what you are putting your children through right now.

Oh and, by the way, you disgust me.  You are spineless and weak willed sir, there is a word I keep thinking whenever I think of you, I shan't say it in this tasteful blog, but it is synonymous with 'cat'.

Have you noticed that your wife has ruined your relationships with all of your children? I don't watch you or your soulless family's programs, but I am neither blind nor deaf so I have seen with my own eyes how your grown sons have already left you.  Now there are two young girls, girls who still have a chance to be emotionally happy people - if you ever find the courage to fight for them that is.

Yep, Kris Jenner is a monster, I've known this all along, some things you can tell just by looking Bruce.  But you are a much worse variety of monster, the kind that everyone thinks is such a nice guy and it's a helluva an act.  I'm not buying it though.

As I've said, I lived this.  I watched my biological father allow his wives who weren't my mother to separate him from his children.  It hurts like hell Bruce, to know that your own father won't fight for you, doesn't care enough about you to take a stand about your welfare.

Here's the thing Bruce, Kris couldn't have done that without your permission and assistance.  You allowed her to get between you and your sons and now you allow her to turn your youngest girls into the newest Khardashian commodities.

Someone once said that the only thing required for evil to flourish was for good men to stand aside and do nothing.  Which kind of makes those men not 'good', eh?  You are evil too Bruce Jenner, evilly standing aside because you're too much of a (cat).

What are you afraid of?  That Kris will yell at you with words?  That is terrifying, WORDS!  There's just no defense from people who yell with words.  Oh wait, yes there is.  Be a man for once, use your words to tell her to shut it and take your children away from her.  BE A MAN BRUCE JENNER.

Let me tell you what happens if you continue to walk down the path of least resistance.  You will die old, broken and alone because you taught your children that it was easier to walk away.  So they walked away from you, that's what I did.

I've got news for all you half assed fathers out there, you who think that a sperm donation was the limit of your obligations to your children.  You are not entitled to the respect and affection of your progeny, those are earned.  You cannot spend your life making your children feel second best and expect those humans to forget all of you hurtful actions.

It's not too late Bruce, not at all.  It's never too late to stand up and be a man.  It's not too late to be a real father to all of your children, to not die alone.

This all very raw and blunt, but kind words don't work on the spineless, only a stinging slaps.  I want all the Khardashians to please go away and stop making America look so bad.  You can start by stopping Kris from prostituting your underage daughters and giving those children a normal, private life.

This is California Bruce Jenner, you have rights.  Especially you Bruce Jenner!  If you just stop being so weak.

Daddy is supposed to be strong, supposed to protect you.  When do you start being Daddy?

Start right now Bruce.

British Invasion

I am not an Anglophile, just so you know.  The word is defined as someone who is fond of or greatly admires England, which is broadly true of me.  And yet I'm still not an Anglophile.

But I do love the Brits, I love their sensibilities and their accents.  Those residents of the British Isles hit the accent jackpot, in my view, every street corner seems to have its own unique way of speaking and they all sound so melodic to me.

From a Pop culture standpoint, the U.K. has been a huge influence on me, from the Clash to Doctor Who, my tastes are very much informed by British imports.  But it is their television that I adore the most, that I am envious of, because it is far more interesting than what they give us over here.

I love that English actors look like real people; fat, bad teeth, old and hairless.  Not all of them of course, but you would be hard pressed to find one of those over-processed starlets with hair extensions and implants that proliferate on our screens.

Let's face it, if Doctor Who and Torchwood had been American creations, neither Billie Piper or Eve Myles would have made it past the audition.  Most likely, they would have been snickered at and given the number of a Beverly Hills dentist.

I don't feel that way, I love Eve Myles and her delightful gap, although I'm not as taken with Billie Piper's bum as the producers of Doctor Who think I should be.  It looks like a perfectly normal ass to me, but whatever.

Until the last few months, the BBC America has been my refuge from from the bland and over-puffed offerings of network programming.  The Beeb has given me so many wonderful things; Black Adder, Cracker, Luther, The Catherine Tate Show and the holiest of holies.

If any of my British readers know Philip Glenister, could you please tell him that I follow him on Twitter even though he has NEVER ONCE Twittered?  I'm still waiting, just in case :)

While I still watch more programs regularly on the BBCA than all four major American networks combined, it has been slipping.  The nature programs are still the finest to be found anywhere, but those dramas are really getting bad.  Copper was a disgusting thing, if you remember my kiddie porn rant about Shameless, just know that fury was born out of revulsion for Copper. Now it is just a slippery slope of increasing Americanization of their products, they are now embracing precisely what made me flee from homegrown products.

So I'm watching it less and much less likely to try something new they have to offer, the BBCA is no longer an entity deserving of trust, very sad.

Fortunately, the U.K. has many other things of interest, such as its citizens.  My British Facebook friends are a delight, sending me little slices of life via posts and pictures that make me feel like I could be right at home there.  My two favorite Brits happen to be bloggers (surprise!), I did a guest blog for one of them about local winter produce and the other recently wrote something very lovely about yours truly on her blog.

Caro and Anita-Clare are just two of the many fine British accents speaking on my wall these days, so it is becoming better than the Beeb in many ways.  See?  If you don't give me proper entertainment, I will go out and make my own.

Remember, I'm the one who got so irritated that I couldn't find a good story to read that I wrote my own.

There is one other very significant thing about Great Britain that needs mentioning, a thing I think about often although I really have about 10,000 things of more importance.  Living in California all my life, I am somewhat blase about all the iconic and well known sights here.  I have seen all of them many times; crossed over the Golden Gate Bridge, hiked Yosemite and even frolicked at the edge of the San Andreas fault.

But they've got something over there that tops all of those in my view, the most well known icon in human history and it's just sitting by the side of the road.

Can you imagine the daily commute to your job as an insurance adjuster, zipping past Stonehenge every day and grousing about the traffic??  How AWESOME would that be?

Naturally, I have a complaint.  Oh you guys are not getting off quite that easily, oh no.

As much as I love their speech, there has been a change, an un-melodic change.  More and more, I hear them replacing the 'th' sound in words with either a 'v' or 'f' sound.  With becomes wif, gather becomes gaver  and so on.

You know how it is when you're talking very fast and an unexpected glob of saliva has formed, threatening to spill out of your mouth in an indelicate way so you hurry up and try to slurp it back before anyone notices?

Yep, that's what it sounds like.  They sound like drooling idiots, literally drooling.

Let's make a deal, I will keep trying to get the idiot boys on this end to wear pants that fit properly and you guys get your kids to stop drooling in public.  Visualize world peace people, we can make this happen!

I do love you Britain, not your Paul McCartney worship though, feel free to keep the Beatles.  I'm from California, Brian Wilson and the Beach Boys forever.  But you gave us Vivienne Westwood and Winston Churchill too, for that I salute you.