BB: The Rainbow Flag

-crying- Lol

Siblings are meant to be rivals and challenge each other – but to not be close to your parents, close to one parent or close to each parent, in a different way – is truly something and is quite sad.

“Beggars can’t be choosers” – so the saying goes. I talked about this, about a week ago. Why didn’t Brett and JC rally all the misfit toys and pull together a minuteman militia?? I get it, Rockstar is a pretty unique individual. But, each person is a vote and each person can row together, with the team. You had a ragtag Dumbledore’s Army, to lead, right there, JC!

There are bisexuals, but the two big groups of people are people who like men and people who like women. Gay males and straight females tend to be friends and gay females and straight males tend to be friends.

Sometimes, outside of the realm of social justice, it’s hard for most gay males and gay females to have a ton of things in common. So, I get it, if JC didn’t immediately gravitate to Kaycee. But Angela? It’s odd that the both of them had so very little to say to each other (??). No one is going to throw JC a lifesaver, as he floats, in the wake of the downed Titanic.

Bitterness Level? JC is a 9 out of 10, as of now – especially if the Three sit him down and tell him that he really didn’t know what was going on, in the game and that a mega-alliance was running the show, for almost the entire season.

I am never a fan of dropping hints to people, that they’re going home. Rob is very much against this idea and says as much, in The Evolution of Strategy series – detailing all of the Survivor seasons – several times.

The emotional approach makes the victor want to feel sorry for the vanquished and put them out of their mercy. But this depends on how you define ‘mercy.’

Telling someone he or she is going home – that the house or the tribe is going to execute them – only draws out the pain and makes the mark suffer more. The HG or the tribe member, sitting on Death Row, may become despondent or desperate and do something crazy, like the oft-quoted ‘dumping the rice.’

The death-throe thrashing of the defeated hurts the group, as a whole. A swift blindside is more merciful, for everyone involved, even if he or she is initially more bitter. For JC and Sam, the silence of the lambs is preferred to the reverse.

Speaking of Sam, she talks a big game, but never does anything. If Sam was so upset, she should have taken out Tyler and won the half-million. Don’t talk about doing it; do it.

Sam should have channeled all this talk, about lead pipes and curb stomping, into altering her fate, in the game. Now, it’s too late and she’s going home. Should-have, could-have; could-a, would-a. “A day late and a dollar short,” as Angela would say.

let go

Thrown-Away Ship


Dan stood by the window of Hod’s study, watching the storm outside. The fire cracked and popped in the hearth. Hod sat on a huge, scarlet armchair, patterned with subtle, yellow flowers, in his magenta smoking jacket, – with the black, velvet trim – the paragon of fine sensibility and sophistication.

“I wouldn’t have taken you for such a dandy,” Dan remarked, still looking out the window, holding his familiar snifter of whiskey.

Hod also had a snifter on the table, at his side. In his delicate fingers, he held a cigar, Honduran tobacco. As he took a drag, the butt burned crimson. “Do you know why you’re here?” he said.

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Dan answered, finally turning around. He was in a black blazer, no tie, no socks, burnt sienna loafers. A Persian rug lay between them.

“Do you know why serial killers act the way they do?” Hod asked, taking a sip of whiskey.

Dan came closer, into the light of the flames. He could see a bleached skull and a golden Solar System ellipse on Hod’s desk, “Again, I haven’t the foggiest clue.”

He chewed slightly on the end of his cigar, even though he wasn’t supposed to do that, “The first step, is that serial killers – or unsubs, as we call them – won’t, or can’t, communicate with the entity that’s really bothering them.”

“Like their mothers or ‘the system,’ right?” Dan guessed.

Hod nodded, “Their own lives are chaotic, confused, frustrating. They won’t, or can’t, establish control, in what we consider to be ‘normal’ life.”

“For whatever reason, they don’t feel like they’re getting their due,” Dan added again.

A degree from Yale, lay behind glass, glittering in the darkness beyond, near the bookcase, “People break up; people get rejected. These are things that happen to everyone – but to the unsub, they are stressors. Why?”

Dan put out a hand and leaned on the mantelpiece, “The problem lies in the way the unsub thinks…”

“Yes,” Hod answered, looking at Dan directly for the first time, “Rob Ressler thought so, too.”

“You know,” Hod said, getting up and topping off his whiskey, “unsubs crave power and control; they just wall it off into one area of their lives. This process of reasserting power and control, though, eliminates the one witness to their great exhibit of dominance – the victim.”

“The nature of their crime thus becomes serial!” Dan realized, slapping his hand on the mantel.

“Correct,” Hod said, as he turned back around. Where his head had been, when he was seated in the chair, was a photo on Hod’s desk, of himself, Sebastian and a sandy-haired teenager.

“Your son?” Dan indicated the direction, with a slight movement of his head.

“Yes!” Hod raised his heavy eyebrows and looked behind him, picking up the frame, “Jon’s visiting his aunt this weekend.” He smiled for the first time that evening.

Dan looked wistful, “It’s a hard job, isn’t it?”

“Indeed,” Hod replied, solemn, setting the picture back down.

“Why did Cai bring me into this?” Dan wondered aloud.

Hod laughed, “That lothario with the curls, wearing coats redolent of Lord Dracula’s cape? The anti-avatars we’ll be hunting, are like the unsubs I mentioned, if not worse…”

The blood in Dan’s veins dried up. “Really?” he rasped.

“Of course,” Hod spread his arms wide, glass in one hand, cigar in another, “You didn’t think the spirit world was some sort of heaven, did you?”

Rain beat a staccato on the windowpane. Dan set his snifter down on the mantel and looked at his shoes on the 18th century rug. “He really pulled the rug out from under me, eh?” Dan said, glancing up, with a painful, rueful grin.

“The earth is shaky beneath everyone’s feet,” Hod intoned, as he reclined in the armchair once more.



“In the Light” – Led Zeppelin

“Hold my Hand” – UNKLE

“Sweet Child O’ Mine” – Guns N’ Roses

“Diamonds are Forever” – Shirley Bassey