Survivor 30: Worlds Apart. Season Premier: Recap and Ruminations

Somewhere in the great unknown, a top-secret federal agent in pink underwear has lifted his eyes to the heavens in silent gratitude. 

For the first time in Survivor history, the production crew has treated us to not 1 but 2 things we desperately wanted to see:

1)      A fifty year-old fat mailman and union steward traipsing around in a banana hammock.

And

2)      An uber-creepy, Fabio-esque coconut vendor who wears feathers in his hair and completely isolates women who he has just met from any other male contact after rubbing his armpits on their faces.

Welcome back my friends!

And a great welcome it is for the premier has gone a long way toward cleansing my palate of the bitter taste of failure still lingering from last season.

By selecting contestants based upon their knowledge of the game, personality, and viability rather than simply finding out who is shtooping John Rocker and casting them, the producers look to have stumbled upon something fun by tossing in a little class warfare.

The preponderance of the cast this year perpetuates the stereotype of their assigned tribes in such a way that the viewer can actually harness personal experience to forecast their behavior.

For example, who among us who has ever toiled for the man did not predict that the white-collar guys would screw over their teammates and take the clue instead of the food?

Anyone who has worked in a union shop has seen Dan the hammocked-up mailman (or some reasonable facsimile thereof) brusquely tell people their business and then pout like a 5 year old and storm off when someone who knows more than he does disagrees.

Who doesn't wanna see this guy in a speedo?  Seriously.

Those of us who attended liberal arts colleges shudder at the creepiness of Vince the coconut guy as he cloaks his stalker-like actions in a veneer of touchy-feely hippyisms. 

I cannot promise that these contestants will be likable, but I suspect they’ll at least be interesting. 

Considering that I cannot remember a single contestant from last year aside from “twinnie for the winnie”, it seems we are off to a much better start.

So without further ado, let’s discuss these tribes:

White Collar

From the outset (due to a combination of game footage and pre-show interviews) the White Collar tribe exuded every negative quality we've come to associate with the type-A executive type. 

2 players instantaneously jumped up my “arsehole-o-meter."

So, who was supposed to be on last season before her sister failed the physical, flippantly mentioned how she makes people cry at work, wearing this sad truth like some sort of sick badge of honor.  She exudes the deluded infallibility and superiority complex that seems reserved for corporate bullies who climbed the ladder through a mixture of competence and sociopathic behavior.

Joaquin is pretty much the personification of every meat-headed frat guy from a rich family that graduated college with a 2.1 GPA but whose daddy gets them a gig at some brokerage.  His quality as a human being is burned indelibly into our hearts when he professes his love of “loose women.”

Joaquin’s the shmo who wears his suit out to the sports pub even though he got off of work 4 hours before.  He’ll drink martinis even though he doesn’t like them, spends more money on his hair than he does his apartment, and spends the entire night telling everyone within earshot how awesome he is.

"Yeah, I tapped your mom."

My initial impression was bolstered by the fact that So and Joaquin decided to screw over their tribe and take the hidden immunity idol clue instead of the big bag of food. 

That same impression was then confirmed when they insulted the intelligence of every sentient being on the planet by coming up with a ridiculous lie to cover up for what they had done.

Many people have expressed their confusion at how anyone who purports to be intelligent and successful can lack any sort of artifice when it comes to misleading others.

The answer is easy my friends.  These guys are used to bullying subordinates and basking in the praise of lickspittles.  They don’t need their explanations to make sense to underlings at the office, they only require obedience.   Logical arguments are reserved for equals and superiors and not to be wasted on those who have to swallow what you say carte blanche.

With So gone and Joaquin next, perhaps these dudes can make some noise.

Blue Collar

The narrative emanating from this tribe is one of an entirely different flavor.

Mailman Dan is a walking recruiting poster for the local Soviet.  In a game that requires unlikely allies and strange bedfellows in order to survive, he seems to love fomenting class warfare.

“We are blue collar folk.  The salt of the earth and the custodians of ethical behavior, hard work, and endless virtues.  Jeff, these other tribes consist solely of small-minded autocrats and flakes.  Shame on them for not being us.”

Probably not a good idea to go off Bolshevik-ing on the first day on the island.  If Dan isn’t a union steward I am certain he once was or soon will be.

On the other hand, you have Rodney.  The self-proclaimed “filet mignon” of the island, Rodney made women across the United States swoon by vocalizing his belief that girls “…want to sit back and let a MAN take on the leader role.”

The scuttlebutt is that his social game will consist of telling the women on the island to “get your bitch-ass back to the fire and make me some beans.”

Everyone but Sir Dan of Hammockton looks to be in very good shape on this tribe and should acquit themselves well in physical challenges.  Initially, I was inclined to give my nod of approval to Mike the oil driller but then he ate a creature with an exo-skeleton and yacked everywhere.

Yep.  There’s your blue-collar…..

No Collar

It is a sad day when I scrutinize a tribe consisting of a surfing lawyer, a sailing instructor, a 25 year old man who is a jewelry designer, a world champion barrel racer, a guy who sings in gas stations, a hearing advocate with cochlear implants, and a coconut vendor and say to myself, “These guys will probably do the best as a tribe.”

They built fire right away without flint, did reasonably well on the shelter, toasted the other teams in the challenge, and then frolicked in the waves together singing songs of friendship.

I knew with absolute certainty that these guys would take the food and not the clue to the hidden idol simply because doing otherwise would harsh the island vibe.

The entire populations of Boulder and Berkeley thumped their chests, stoked by the performance of these free-spirited compatriots as their entire way of life had just been validated.

And then, feathered Vince showed up.

This guy is the least chill coconut vendor I have ever seen.

In one of the most uncomfortable moments I have ever witnessed on this show, Vince stared at Jenn the Sailboat Captain with narrowed jealous eyes and immediately pegged her as his woman despite having known her for all of 43 minutes.

You could see him seething inside when Joe (The Ozzie/Malcolm clone who shall, henceforth, be referred to as "Mozzie") made fire and when that unfaithful, untrustable tramp Jenn had the unmitigated gall to smile about being able to finally eat.

"I'll chop her up with this here machete if she talks to anyone.  I swear to God I will..."

In a scene reminiscent of that creepy "Andy-Andy" guy from Cheers who stalked Diane, he took her aside in the jungle and started peppering her with questions about her feelings for Mozzie measured against the powerful emotional connection they made over the previous hour.

Jenn was obviously a bit taken aback and stammered her way through protestations of loyalty before he grabbed her head, shoved it into his armpit, and walked solemnly back to camp.

I remember back in high school, there was this chick who sat behind me in English.  She was nice enough I guess and wasn't horrifying or anything but she was apparently unaccustomed to male attention.

I took it upon myself to be nice to her as I was bound to be sitting in front of her for a couple weeks at least and it seemed like the cool thing to do.

The next day in class she was behaving very coquettishly toward me to the point where I began to question the wisdom of my decision.  Still, I wasn't going to be a jackwagon and start being nasty so I played along halfheartedly and hoped the hint was taken.

The following Monday during a film she started running her hands through my once glorious mullet as we sat watching Othello and said that she and her friends would "make sure other girls didn't bother me anymore."

The feeling I had at that moment mimicked the look on Jenn's face when Vince went all stalker on her and started rubbing her face with pit.

Who is gonna win?  My current leaders in the clubhouse are, in no particular order, as follows:

1) Max--He actually taught a class on the sociology of Survivor at Northwestern.

2) Tyler -- This guy is not only a keen observer of people by kicking butts as a talent scout but understands the meaning of teamwork having been an NFL and arena league placekicker.

3)  Mozzie-- Come on man!  A hybrid of Ozzie and Malcolm whose experience in the jewelry industry makes him a knot untying machine?  The other players need to get scared.  Now.