Heroin Golf

Survivor is an addiction.

You're not proud of it, it's not something you proactively share with strangers, and it frequently results in some nasty bouts of the shakes and dry heaves.

But you can't kick it. And, even more importantly, you don't want to. If it's got you, it's in your blood. It's infected your core. Poisoned your thoughts.

The unexpected tantrums. The delicious backstabs. The constant scheming. The exposed buttcracks and vulvas.

Reminds one of being a parent.

Just last week our 8 year old daughter, McKenna, was having a weekend to remember. The moment she woke up she "greeted" us with a scowl and bitter grunt.

"Hi babe! Good morning!" we'd lovingly say to her.

"I ALREADY KNOW THAT!" she'd spew back as she took the next couple hours to allow the concept of having an awareness of other human beings coexisting in her space to soften her hardened exterior.

Throughout the day we were faced with zero patience, constant whining, unprovoked fights, disobedience - purely for spite, not to mention spite: purely for spite. It was agonizing, annoying and extremely tiring.

On Sunday night Paige and I were sitting in the back yard trying to decompress after such a tough weekend as McKenna's seemingly unending tirade continued unabated. The yelling, the screaming, the crying...always on the offense... Our ends were frayed.

Suddenly, she appeared in between us and stopped. Without thinking she walked over to me, put her arms around my neck, kissed me on the lips and whispered, "I love you, Daddy," then skipped off and disappeared inside.

Paige and I looked at each other - My mind was struggling to process this unexpected turn of events. But Paige summarized it perfectly, "It's like heroin. Or that one good golf shot in 18 holes that keeps you coming back again and again."

Yes. Heroin. And golf. Raising kids was like combining heroin and golf.

And so is Survivor.

You think you're on the wagon during the offseason, only to find yourself drawn to all things Probst against your better judgement. Suddenly you leap off that wagon with ever fiber of your being, freefalling into an gigantic abyss the size of his dimples, secure in the knowledge that your fall will be softly broken by fluffy tantrums, silky backstabs, pillowy schemings, and cuddly vulvas.

The vein is exposed my friend, and you're next up on the tee box.

So yes: I've already come to peace with my addiction. Some seasons it takes half a dozen episodes to get centered, but not this year. It's already happened only two episodes in. Young vs. old: idiots vs...well, slightly lesser idiots. Still, it was all much of the same that we've seen in the past until tribal council last night when overly-testosteroned Shannon absolutely lost his mind and began spewing insane, crazy, tremendously wonderful nuggets of pure idiocracy to the delight of...well, me. It was one for the books with a blunt accusation of another tribe mate's sexuality (which - incredibly - led into an insane teenage argument about who has gotten the hottest chicks), AND a tirade against the number of gays in New York. Can anyone remember a more satisfying elimination this early in a season before?

It reminded me of something that happened when I was 20, working at the Wherehouse music store in Westwood one bright Saturday morning near UCLA. We had just opened up, the village was clean and empty around us, and the sun was literally beaming through the windows in an incredible display of a perfect summer morning.

I put on the Beatles Revolver album as we went about the business of getting the cash registers set up and the floor swept, and a couple customers lolled in the aisles sipping from their morning coffee cups. Soon, "Good Day Sunshine" came on the overhead stereo system and the saccharine horns blasted into the room, brilliantly commingling with the sparkling shafts of sunlight.

It seemed that everyone there was happy, content, satisfied...until suddenly, this large unkempt man - who had been quietly sifting through the cd's in a middle aisle - stood straight up, turned his face to the vaulted ceiling, and screamed at the top of his lungs in alignment with the lyrics, "GOOD DAY SUNSHINE! GOOD DAY SUNSHINE! FUUUUUUUUCK YOOOOOOOOOU!!!" ...then immediately stormed out of the store and disappeared into the morning.

Shocked? Yes.

In absolute awe? Yes.

Loving his unbridled emotional outburst? A thousand times YES.

Survivor IS this man. Don't be afraid. He won't hurt you. You're only on the sidelines here. Watch, and enjoy.

Expose that vein: you're next up on the tee box.