Daily Archives: February 28, 2009
Pdawg’s thoughts on Survivor: Tocantins Episode III
Survivor: Tocantins continues to plod along as Episode III didn’t deliver much drama or intrigue. Still, as alliances begin to take shape, I think we’re getting closer to seeing some real fireworks between the castaways. Right now, there are simply too many players in the game and in an hour long show the viewer just can’t get close enough to any individual player. This isn’t uncommon and my experience is that usually around Episode V or VI it starts to get interesting so stay tuned.
This week was really about the inner workings of the Timbira tribe as they seemed to get the majority of the screen time. Here’s what we learned…
My pre-season pick, Erinn, is not very well liked by her tribe-mates. Apparently she linked herself too closely to Candace (we know what happened to her) and she is on the chopping block should the group go back to Tribal Council any time soon. This makes me instantly comfortable as the person they highlight early in an episode as a possible outcast never goes home.
We also learn that Army Sergeant Jerry isn’t doing well on a steady diet of baked beans. Who would? Jerry appears to be fighting a losing battle with the legume throughout the episode and by the time his tribe loses both the reward and immunity challenges, Jerry is the obvious weak link in the tribe.
The highlight of Episode III was the comical interplay between Benjamin, the 37-year-old soccer coach who simply goes by the handle “Coach”, and Timbira tribe-mate Tyson, the 29-year old professional cyclist and easily the most entertaining player in the game. In a private moment, Coach (think Steven Segal meets Mr. Miyagi) appoints Tyson his “assistant coach”. Tyson takes the title, but laughs it off behind Coach’s back saying someday he hopes to get promoted to co-coach or have a team of his own.
Later in the show, Coach catches Erinn smiling with delight at the news that Jerry is weakening. This sends Coach in a tizzy and he and Tyson seem ready to send Erinn home.
Another key development in Episode III was the discovery of a hidden immunity idol by Timbira member Brendan. Once again he and Taj found themselves at Exile Island and clue #2 was more than enough to lead Brendan to the Idol…stay tuned to see how this development changes the game.
At the end of the day, Erinn survived to play another day and Jerry was sent packing and hopefully sent a bottle of Beano to help with his stomach ailments.
Looking ahead to Episode IV, look for Coach to continue to put his foot in his mouth and Brendan to start building his alliance now that an immunity idol is in play. Sandy remains the weakest link on Jalapao and while Sierra has endeared herself to her tribe-mates, Erinn still has a huge target on her back.
The Scribe has spoken…
Japer Spins A Yarn About Death, Heroes, Comics, Comic Book Formats And Friends – Part 2
There’s something to be said about mall comic shops – and those words aren’t necessarily good ones.
Still holding an important niche in the world of “collectors,” the mall comic shops, generally, are the poor cousin to the local neighbourhood comic shops. They are filled with high school mallrats drinking biggie-sized Cokes through whistling straws, pawing and pulling at Warhammer game boxes, their heavy, textbook-filled backpacks thrown roughly over unsold back issue bins of horrible X-Force and Youngblood comics, an acrid scent of dust and decay in the air. Now, I don’t have anything against Warhammer or backpacks. I’ve had a hand in both of those items in the past and at one time, I too was in high school. If you look through my collection of comics, you may even find a copy of X-Force #1, buried in a litany of miscellaneous rubbish. The problem I have is that mall comic shops cater to kids with twenty dollar weekly allowances. To stay in business, they require sales in volume. They are forced to stock their shelves with affordable packs of magic cards, hero-click figurines and manga magazines. They have gumball machines at their entrance to entice children and they’re cramped spaces with books and boxes falling over themselves, as they utilizes every bit of square footage to maximize display space.
Like I mentioned earlier, I’m a fan of the bookshelf display. At any comic book shop I frequent, I need to see hardcover books in numeric and alphabetical order. I need to see them separated by publisher. In this way, I know that I’m in a store managed by someone who knows their comics and cares about them.
On this particular day, at this particular hour of the evening, the mall comic book shop presented its one important attraction: it was open and it was close and that was all that mattered to me.
A heavy foot on the pedal found me at my destination in no time. It had been a while since I had last been to this particular mall in suburban Toronto. In my haste, I parked at the first free space I could find – just wanting to race in, pick up Batman #681 and then race home.
Of course, I parked at the wrong end of the lot. I couldn’t have been any further away.
I made my way through the twisting tunnels of the mall at a near gallop, racing down an escalator, meandering through wayward shoppers, a lost audience to a number of “60% off” advertisements. Me? I was focused. I was as determined as a hawk swooping down on a field mouse. Left and right hand turns were made seemingly automatic. Finally, one last turn and I made my way into the store, ushering my way through a crew of after-school kids fawning over something manga-related just to find myself staring at an empty shelf.
“We sold the last copy hours ago,” the clerk said. “The school kids were here at lunch and picked them all up.” Somewhere behind me, someone sipped the last bit of their biggie-sized Coke through a straw.
“So…does he die?” I asked.
“Do you really want to know?” The reply was one last siren of temptation, mischievously imploring me to steer my ship towards rocks. It was my second death this day. What did it matter now?
Still, something shook my desire for surprise. No. No dashing upon craggy cliffs for me. I’d waited too long to find out the answers of Batman R.I.P.’s epilogue. Perhaps I wasn’t meant to read the comic today. Instead, I’d pick it up tomorrow. I’d wait, but I’d be surprised. I’d be satisfied with an eccentric sense of dignity.
Temporarily defeated, I walked back through the hallways of the mall, back into the cold November night. The long walk seemed fitting in some Greek-tragic way. I texted Andy B on my cell phone to share my defeat and my disappointment. Halfway home I received his reply.
“That sucks” his message read, as I slightly swerved the car, one eye on the blue-glow screen of my phone and the other on the road in front of me. “Why don’t you try the shop downtown? They’re sure to have it.”
Yes! The shop downtown! They would have ordered a whole boat-load of copies. The clock on my dash flashed the time. It was only 8:20 pm. Toronto traffic is notorious. No matter what direction you’re headed, you never know what you’re going to get but I thought that if there were no accidents on the highway and I made all the right turns and found a quick parking spot, I’d be able to make it in and out of the comic store before they closed at nine.
A wave of adrenaline hit me. “I’m gonna do it!” I wrote back to my friend. “Tonight, it is my mission!”
My sails unfurled again and a strong wind filled them, pushing me at (nearly) 120 km an hour, steering me downtown, directing me towards a deserved comic book triumph.
To be continued. Tomorrow.
