Recently returned from a trip to Kauai and still feeling the Aloha Spirit, I decided to watch"Survivor" the other night.
If you haven't seen the Wednesday night program that has displaced "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire" at the top of the television ratings, it's about a bunch of Average Joes trying to win a million bucks without having to know the capital of North Dakota, or Beaver Clever's locker combination.
Each week America holds its breath as the real-life Gilligan's Island gang decides who gets kicked off. The program is filled with juicy back-stabbing, bickering and images of filthy, bug-ridden, toilet-deprived life in a tropical paradise.
The two "tribes" stuck on the island are pitted against one another in contests of endurance and greed, as members try to be the last "Survivor" and newest Prime Time millionaire.
Last week, for example, the first tribe to swim through shark infested waters, paddle back on a canoe, run through the jungle to a rope ladder, crush a coconut with their foreheads, bite the head off a fruit bat and dig up a treasure chest got some toilet paper.
Sounds like a small reward for all of that work until you consider what they had been using for toilet paper for the previous 12 days.
In order to really appreciate the Survivors, you need to appreciate island life.
Now there are islands and then there are islands. Saipan, for example, seems to be a lot like the island the Survivors are inhabiting. I lived in Saipan for a bit and can safely say it's not a bad island to be kicked off. I had no running water, few days with any electricity, it rained every half hour and the humidity was roughly 10,000 percent, crippling deodorant and rendering showers as practical as jumping jacks on death row.
Fortunately, I didn't have to build a hut from grass, leaves or coconut shells. Nor did I need to use a banana peel as a substitute for toilet paper. And if I wanted fish I went to a fish store or restaurant, precluding the need to spear something that might eat me before I could eat it.
I wasn't a Boy Scout, so I never learned to make a fire with two sticks. Nor have I ever had any luck running down wild boar with something sharp. Wild boars are faster than I am and, even if I caught one, he'd probably chew my foot off before I could poke him well enough to cause him any real distress.
So I suppose I wouldn't survive the first round of Survivors.
In assessing my possible contributions to the tribe, I'd be a big help if they needed someone to write a message in the sand, or send one in a bottle. I can also swim fairly well, especially in shark-infested waters, so I could be the one they'd send out to raid a neighbor island, or fetch a runaway raft or Frisbee.
I can also run a long way without throwing up. At least on most days. If the tribe really needed to get a message to the other side of the island without getting it stained, I'd be good at that.
I also work well with others. At least that's what it says on my resume. So while I can't light a fire with sticks, build a hut, catch a fish, cook a fish, or kill a pig, I'd be more than happy to wash the coconut shells after dinner.
It doesn't seem, however, that survival skills, or the lack of them, have been a factor in determining who's been kicked off the island to date. One woman was booted because she was simply a pain in the butt. It's one thing to be dirty and without toilet paper, but worse to be dirty, without toilet paper and subjected to someone who just will not shut up.
So it seems possible that someone with no real survival skills can survive just by being fun to hang out with.
"Hey, Jeff. Can you help us build a hut?"
"Sorry. Don't know how. But I just love those shorts you're wearing."
"Hey, Jeff. Can you go catch a wild boar for supper?"
"Sorry. I'm afraid of wild boar. But your hair really holds up well in the tropics."
"Hey, Jeff. Run out and spear us an eel, will ya?"
"Sorry. Don't have a spear license and eels bite. But your tan really stands out against the white sand."
I don't think I'd need to survive to the final round and million bucks. The key is to keep your face on television long enough to sign a contract for a daytime soap or tabloid interview. "Jeff Tells All In Survivors Exclusive: We Never Actually Ate The Rats And We Filmed In Malibu."
Or, I could convince NBC to come up with a Real People show to challenge CBS. How about we follow 12 people locked inside a Vegas casino with no money and no credit line. They're forced to sneak into the buffet line, hustle tourists out of coupons and drink tokes and try to con their way into comped rooms.
The last one standing (no broken kneecaps) gets a million dollars in nickels and a Wayne Newton poster.
Jeff Ackerman is publisher and editor of the Nevada Appeal.
