Sometimes I wonder what I've gotten myself into. Isolated and alone, save for a group of people I barely know, some of whom are twice my age. As the usual complaints and bickering echo around me, I retreat to the comforts of the iPod Atto prototype I smuggled in to the game. With my Bluetooth cochlear implants, I can while away the hours in musical bliss. To the outside observer, it may appear I'm staring blankly into space, barely interacting with those around me. In reality, I'm in touch with my tunes. Attaboy on the Atto, Apple! As it turns out, the um, "internalization process" I used to get the Atto past Survivor's gatekeepers has made it such that it now skips ahead in random places, but it's still better than listening to these strangers argue.

 

As I lie in the shelter, the music fills my head. I wonder what the people on the other tribe, some of whom I've actually seen on Survivor before, are doing right now. With all our losing, they'll probably be edited out of whole episodes, while I'll be shown listening to these guys arguing. Ha! That will be a tough break for some of the more ebullient personalities on the tribe, like Russell Hantz's nephew, and that other guy, Phillip. The last time he was on, he invented some cockamamie "spy organization" codenames for his alliance. It was cute, of course. At first, anyway. I wonder what he'll do this time around? If I know one thing about this Survivor show, it's that they don't do sequels. Well... except, I guess, Jeff Probst keeps calling this "Fans vs. Favorites 2," al though that's not what it says on our Buff things. Even so, the producers of this show are pros. They wouldn't stoop to cheap repetition. I should relax.

 

 

One activity that renews our spirits, alleviating the tedium of our ongoing slog against the rain and the rats, is the challenges. They've been fairly sparse thus far, with only one challenge every other day. Not unlike the quiet verse/ loud chorus arrangements of '90s alternative rock. But this morning, we received notice that there would be another reward challenge today, even though we had an immunity yesterday. This could be our chance to finally win some food, or superior camping/survival supplies. Winning something, anything, would be a tremendous boost for our morale. This definitely needs a soundtrack. And nothing screams winning quite like twee-pop.

 

 

Well... that didn't work.

 

But to pick myself up, I tell myself: How useful could a "local bushman" really be, anyway? Our shelter seems to be working out just fine, at least for Shamar. And it's not as if we're overflowing in comestible options. Do we really need someone to show us how to boil water or cook rice? What is a "local bushman," anyway? Is he supposed to be some kind of magical creature? We'll be fine, thanks. I doubt we're missing anything.

 

 

Wait, do "local bushmen" have mystical healing powers? If so, maybe we could have used one, after all. Instead, we're now the lucky recipients of yet another Shamar-related crisis.

 

This time, he's at death's door from a scratched eye. The last time medical came out, it was for... what? Dehydration? It's becoming increasingly difficult to keep track. This time, it looks like medical will finally evacuate him, to save him from this latest affliction. I'll see if I can locate the appropriate departure serenade.

 

 

And from there, we're whisked away, straight into another challenge. This one is for immunity. As a competitor, I live for the thrill of the competition. I breathe in deep the sporting life. But even so, there's no experience that can't be amplified with the right musical accompaniment. Since the twee failed the last time around, I'll opt for something a bit more uptempo this time. Victory is all but assured.

 

 

From here, the cast of our fates seems pre-determined. Without the buffer of Shamar to shield us from the vote, Laura, Sherri and I are vulnerable to the whims of the men, who feel themselves to be indispensible to our challenge performance. Even though two of them cost us valuable time, requiring multiple attempts to break tiles in the challenge (as did Sherri, as I explained in my sparkling confessional interview, which was so filled with wit and wisdom that I can't wait to see it on TV). Still, we may be able to swing some other outcome. Sherri is working on it. Laura is trying. I could probably contribute, but I feel if I did, my ability to observe might somehow be compromised. I'll let the music speak for me, instead. And for Laura.

 

 

So that's that, I guess. Still, I wonder what the future holds. And as the music swells, and images of the future appear before me, I'm deciding that, if this is what growing up means, I don't want to grow up: