The Challenge: An Unofficial Yet Thorough Record

It takes a lot for me to get motivated to post on my blog. For instance, I kept meaning to write about Tonya Cooley, a longtime veteran of The Challenge (the reality fiasco formerly known as Real World/Road Rules Challenge) and her allegation that she was raped with a toothbrush during filming of The Ruins. While she is a hot mess of a human being, I put the odds of her either lying or being wrong at around twenty percent. Then I found out that the two alleged rapists in the lawsuit were Kenny Santucci and Evan Starkman . . . and the odds dropped to five percent. To say that I consider those two scumbags before this revelation would be an understatement. But like I said, I keep losing interest in posting here.

Instead, I want to share with you something I was working on near the end of Rivals. In an effort to figure out who were the best Challengers, I took down the records of all competitors who competed in four or more seasons through last season. I admit that I need a life. This kind of thinking was why my recaps used to take so long to compile . . . I needed to get every statistic I could. The website that "employed" me for four seasons didn't appreciate the attention to detail, but maybe you will.

Before I copy and paste the table here, I want to set up the categories:

Team: This includes all missions where the player was with a team. Also, it includes the final missions from Battle Of The Seasons, Battle Of The Sexes and The Island, where the competitors were competing as teams instead of by themselves.

Solo/Duel: This includes all missions where the player was competing by themselves or partnered with another. This includes Battle Of The Sexes; while the men and women got prizes, it depended on which player performed the best.

Endgame: This is my word for any and all challenges where the winner stays in the game, while the loser is booted off the show. This does not include the Face-Offs from The Island; the winner of the one-on-one-on-one challenge stayed, while the losers were subjected to a vote from the rest of the players.

I didn't combine the team and solo/duel records for the players. My reasoning was that team records would be akin to standings of a sports league, while solo/duel would be more akin to a batting average in baseball (hits divided by at-bats). I did combine endgame results, just to see who keeps heading back into jeopardy. For instance, while Aneesa isn't anywhere near the best player I've seen, I was surprised that her endgame record is 7-3. Yes, I'm counting the time she was supposed to face Bad Beth & Beyond in Gauntlet 2, only to have that waste of genetic material quit giving Aneesa the win by forfeit.

The table is complied alphabetically, by the number of seasons participated. These statistics are unofficial; I would have to recheck the figures, and I don't know if I have the patience to do it all over again. Any and all feedback would be appreciated.

					Team		Endgame		Solo/Dual			Endgame		Total
S	C	W	Name	Original Season	W	L	W	L	M	W	L	W	L	W	L
9	4	3	Derrick Kosinski	RR13: X-Treme	39	33	6	3	26	5	21	1	2	7	5
9	2	1	Katie Doyle	RR11: The Quest	36	31	5	4	14	0	14	0	2	5	6
8	4	1	Brad Fiorenza	RW14: San Diego	35	35	0	2	26	1	25	4	0	4	2
8	7	3	Kenny Santucci	Fresh Meat	30	13	0	0	41	8	33	5	1	5	1
8	4	1	Paula Meronek	RW17: Key West	18	24	2	1	25	3	19	1	3	3	4
8	3	0	Robin Hibbard	RW14: San Diego	19	31	0	1	14	2	14	1	3	1	4
8	2	1	Tonya Cooley	RW11: Chicago	23	28	3	1	10	0	10	0	1	3	2
8	4	3	Veronica Portillo	RR8: Semester at Sea	39	23	1	1	11	0	11	0	0	1	1
7	4	2	Abram Boise	RR12: South Pacific	46	28	2	1	2	1	1	0	0	2	1
7	2	0	Aneesa Ferreira	RW11: Chicago	16	24	1	1	33	0	33	6	2	7	3
7	1	0	Beth Stolarczyk	RW2: Los Angeles	15	15	2	2	11	1	10	0	1	2	3
7	4	2	Evelyn Smith	Fresh Meat	23	12	1	1	21	7	14	3	2	4	3
7	5	4	Johnny Devenanzio	RW17: Key West	23	18	1	2	12	5	7	1	1	2	3
6	4	1	Coral Smith	RW10: Back to New York	24	37	2	1	21	6	15	0	0	2	1
6	4	4	Darrell Taylor	RR11: Campus Crawl	36	18	2	0	17	3	14	1	1	3	1
6	3	2	Evan Starkman	Fresh Meat	19	7	1	0	39	14	25	3	2	4	2
6	4	0	Jenn Grijalva	RW18: Denver	8	15	2	1	28	2	23	3	1	5	2
6	3	2	Rachel Robinson	RR11: Campus Crawl	17	21	0	0	17	5	12	0	0	0	0
5	1	0	Adam King	RW13: Paris	16	11	1	2	8	2	6	1	1	2	3
5	3	0	Chris "CT" Tamburello	RW13: Paris	21	27	1	0	23	5	18	2	2	3	2
5	0	0	Danny Jamieson	RW16: Austin	14	11	0	3	7	0	7	0	2	0	5
5	1	0	Diem Brown	Fresh Meat	10	7	0	1	38	6	32	1	3	1	4
5	1	0	Eric Banks	Fresh Meat	11	9	1	1	27	1	26	1	3	2	4
5	2	1	Julie Stoffer	RW9: New Orleans	22	30	0	2	1	0	1	0	0	0	2
5	4	2	Mark Long	RR1: First Season	24	14	0	0	15	1	14	0	0	0	0
5	4	2	Mike Mizanin	RW10: Back to New York	26	29	2	0	15	1	14	0	0	2	0
5	1	0	Ryan Kehoe	Fresh Meat	3	11	1	1	16	1	15	1	3	2	4
5	2	1	Syrus Yarbrough	RW6: Boston	23	25	1	2	10	0	10	0	0	1	2
5	2	0	Tina Barta	RR12: South Pacific	14	22	1	1	18	1	17	2	0	3	1
5	3	1	Wes Bergmann	RW16: Austin	4	1	2	1	47	4	43	8	1	10	2
4	1	0	Clyde “Ace” Amerson	RW13: Paris	12	15	0	2	0	0	0	0	0	0	2
4	1	0	Casey Cooper	Fresh Meat	10	11	0	2	22	0	22	5	1	5	3
4	1	1	Dunbarr Flinn	RW19: Sydney	4	14	1	1	7	0	7	0	1	1	2
4	1	1	Johanna Botta	RW16: Austin	12	11	0	1	4	0	4	0	1	0	2
4	3	3	Landon Lueck	RW15: Philadelphia	19	13	2	0	19	8	11	3	1	5	1
4	1	1	Nehemiah Clark	RW16: Austin	6	10	2	0	17	0	17	1	3	3	3
4	1	0	Ruthie Alcaide	RW8: Hawaii	5	16	1	1	22	3	19	0	1	1	1
4	2	0	Sarah Rice	RW21: Brooklyn	6	14	2	0	7	0	7	0	2	2	2
4	0	0	Shane Landrum	RR11: Campus Crawl	18	5	0	1	26	3	23	0	1	0	2
4	4	2	Susie Meister	RR6: Down Under	27	16	4	0	0	0	0	0	0	4	0
4	3	2	Theo Vonkurnatowski	RR9: Maximum Velocity Tour	21	12	0	0	25	5	20	0	1	0	1
4	3	1	Timmy Beggy	RR2: USA	22	21	1	1	15	2	13	0	0	1	1
4	2	2	Tyler Duckworth	RW17: Key West	3	10	0	1	12	4	8	2	1	4	2
4	0	0	Tyrie Ballard	RW18: Denver	0	5	0	1	5	0	5	0	1	0	2

S: Seasons Participated

C: Seasons Completed

W: Seasons Won

Boldface indicates participation in Battle of the Exes.

Reality Reviewed: The Amazing Race

It's tough to be a fan of The Amazing Race.

Actually, it's tough being a fan of anything, really. For example, while I would consider myself a Mets fan, I have to add "lapsed" to that. I haven't been to Citi Field since 2009, and I don't really follow the team anymore. A lot of it has to do with the chaos in the front office, what with Fred Wilpon losing gobs of money in a Ponzi scheme. He could've had Shea Stadium renovated, but he had a major hard-on for a new version of Ebbets Field. Today, the Mets don't have the near-infinite funds the Yankees do, and they look to be stuck out of contention for years to come. Add that to lots of injuries, traditional wonky luck (especially fifty years without a pitcher earning a no-hitter) and looking like chumps compared to the Yankees, it's tough to support the Mets. Yet I can't see myself being a Yankees fan. For one thing, most of them are bandwagon-hopping jerks. Seeing people donning Yankees t-shirts with the number and name on the back is annoying to me, since the team doesn't put names on the backs of their jerseys. Besides, I don't want to be a sports bigamist.

I can cite other examples, but I want to talk about The Amazing Race. To me, it's the CBS reality show whose fans never get respect. Take the 8 p.m. time slot on Sundays, for instance. TAR got moved around a lot in the early days. After the painful ending of the third season in fall 2002 (where freakin' Flo Pesenti quit, like, a million times, and she wound up winning  $1,000,000 with her too-good-for-her partner Zach Behr), fans needed relief. Instead, we had to wait five months until the new season in late May 2003. It happened again after the debacle of TAR: All-Stars . . . the show wasn't put on CBS's fall schedule for 2006. The network decided to wait until a time slot opened up. Meanwhile, they invested tons into Viva Laughlin, an American version of Viva Blackpool from the UK. Everybody and their mother knew the show was going to suck except for CBS. It lasted a grand total of two episodes. I don't understand why the network even bothered. Tax reasons, maybe? Anyway, the TAR faithful had to wait until November for the start of the twelfth season . . . and once that edition ended, eight months until the thirteenth season aired in fall 2007.

As for the slot itself . . . it kinda sucks, to be honest, especially in the fall months. It follows 60 Minutes, the venerable mainstay of CBS's Sunday nights. The problem is that it's too important. When NFL games run past 7 p.m. on Fox, the 7-8 p.m. slot is kept open. When the same thing happens on CBS, 60 Minutes doesn't get preempted. Instead, it gets bumped back until the games are over. And when I say "games," that means that you could be watching one game game, then get told that due to FCC regulations, CBS has to switch over to another game. And it doesn't matter if these are two 4-12 AFC teams you couldn't care less about. If that game goes into overtime, there's not a damn thing you can do about it. Meanwhile, CBS placed Survivor in a cushy slot on Thursday nights at 8 p.m., moving it to Wednesdays last fall, and Big Brother gets times that don't get mixed up that often. There's also the matter of what kind of self-hating viewer would watch a show that never respects its viewers, but that's a matter for Big Brother fans with their own blogs.

And then there was this past May, where CBS found a new way to screw the show's loyalest fans. Since the first season, folks who post on Television Without Pity have gone to New York for TARCon, a finale party where Racers past and present drop by. This time, CBS and Snapple teamed up to hold a party for all Racers in Miami Beach to commemorate the show's ten years on the air.. On the day before the season finale. You know how many Racers came to TARCon? Two . .  . gay couple Tom Rock and Terry Cosentino from the tenth season. That was it. Nobody from Unfinished Business dropped by, because they were (presumably) sleeping it off in Florida. CBS could have held the party in September, ten years after the show first aired. But they cut into one of the coolest traditions I know, and I was pissed off . . . especially since I didn't get to meet Zev Glassenberg again. I first met him and buddy Justin Kanew at TARCon 15. While I don't have Asperger's Syndrome like Zev, I do feel that I got enough loose wiring in my head to emphasize with him. After the duo wound up getting eliminated on account of Zev losing his passport (dropping them from first place), I told them that I hoped they would come back to the show one day. Well, they did, winning four legs before their elimination on Unfinished Business. Even though Zev wasn't the one doing the heavier lifting, I wanted to congratulate him for coming so far, as well as surviving a Detour where the duo ate too much cheese fondue. Justin threw up, while Zev made a face that indicated he was going to die in seconds. But I didn't get to see them again, thanks to CBS..


There's other stuff to bitch about . . . like how the show's eight Emmys in nine years have been devalued by Jeff Probst's four wins as Best Host, giving weight to the theory that the voters would rather be locked in a room where Cop Rock is played 24/7 than even think about reality television. There's the lack of DVDs, . . . with CBS pouring the salt in the wounds by offering the second season on Amazon with no extras whatsoever. Then there's the lack of media attention . . . Rosie O'Donnell and Bonnie Franklin invited Racers on their talk shows, but the most we can get these days is a winning team getting interviewed by Regis Philbin and Kelly Ripa, neither of whom can be bothered to actually watch the damn show. The last interview they gave to a pair of winners could have been done from a moving car. Beyond all that, I can see that The Amazing Race has problems without CBS hurting it.


Imagine a square, with sides of equal sizes. Now, imagine that at the center of the square, there's a hole that starts getting deeper and deeper. As the hole grows in depth, it also grows outwards, consuming more of the square's area. This is how I see reality television these days. The hole gets deeper thanks to crap like Jersey Shore, Mob Wives, Toddlers & Tiaras, etc. When the hole grows, shows that were once credible start sinking . . . including TAR, sad to say.


It's hard to say when the show started letting people down. In its prime, it was the greatest show on Earth, Ringling Brothers be damned.The rushed format was an adrenaline rush for viewers, making the endless  machinations of Survivor look slow by comparison. We got to see far-flung locations that most of us would never get to see in our lifetimes. And we had a great host in Phil Keoghan, whose raised eyebrow Jeff Probst could never lift. So what went wrong? What factors have soured fans on TAR, as well as cause Andy Dehnart of Reality Blurred to endlessly whinge about how much the show blows in comparison to its past?


The Downgrading Of The Fast Forward: The Fast Forward was once a task offered to all teams. If a team were to go off the race course and complete it, they could go to the Pit Stop without telling with all of the routh Route Markers. Teams could only do it once, and only one team per leg could complete it, so they would have to figure out when it was most advantageous to go for it. After the fifth season, the Fast Forward was downgraded to popping up twice. With a limited number, only the lead teams go for it these days, making the show's once-great equalizer irrelevent.


Lack Of Mingling: In the old days, episodes began with Phil going on about how teams checking in at the Pit Stop would have twelve hours to "eat, sleep, and mingle with the other teams" before starting the race again. Around the fourteenth season, the producers thought that the teams were getting along too well . . . so they eliminated the "mingling" bit by separating the teams from each other. in order to inject drama into the mix. That seems like something Survivor creator Mark Burnett would do . . . or Bunim-Murray Productions for that matter. Actually, BMP would probably go one further and insist teams drink alcohol while shit-talking during interviews.


Stuntcasting: I know what you're thinking: "Rob & Amber." Yes, it felt like CBS sent fellas named "Rocko" and "Mugsy" to see the producers about putting the Survivor couple on the seventh season and the "all-star" season. There's also the casting of three Big Brother "stars": Allison Irwin (along with her idiot on-again/off-again boyfriend Donny Patrick) in TAR5, and Jordan Lloyd & Jeff Schroeder in the sixteenth season. The worst case had to be Caite Upton, who was best known for mangling the living bejeezus out of a response during the Miss Teen USA pageant. She wound up on TAR16, where she bickered endlessly with her boyfriend, Brett Horne. Fans also had to deal with Brandy Snow and her endless mad-on for Caite, even at the finish line, where she chewed out Catie. As big a bitch as Brandy was (enough for her partner, Carol Rosenfeld, to soon break up with her), I had to give her this: Catie was indeed a huge twit.


Crappy Tasks: This mainly pops up during the Speed Bump. This was introduced as a way to penalize teams that had finished in last place in non-elimination legs, as opposed to taking their money and/or bags. The problem is that the Speed Bump doesn't take enough time to be a huge deterrent. One Speed Bump consisted of merely throwing coins into a fountain's slot. Then there are the tasks that don't make sense or seem like filler, like teams getting fifteen minutes worth of waxing in Rio de Janeiro last season. For three teams, there was minimal discomfort. For the hirsute Zev & Justin, however, it was a quarter-hour of hell, courtesy of a devil that watched The 40-Year-Old Virgin one time too many.

Nobody Reads The Damn Clues Anymore: I know that if you've been running almost non-stop for 10,000 miles, little things slip your mind. But that doesn't excuse loads of teams failing to comprehend the given instructions. Then the teams arrive at the Pit Stop, where Phil informs them on their transgressions, then makes them sit down on the side during their penalty time, an adult version of a "time out." Most recently, "dating goths" Kent Cothron and Vyxsin Fiala failed to realize that they were not supposed to take a taxi to the Pit Stop two legs before the finale. And as they stewed away from the mat, Zev & Justin finished the leg, eliminating the bickering goths.

But for all of the gripes people have about TAR, I still watch every episode. And I'm trying to keep a positive attitude going into the nineteenth season, which premieres tonight. Here are some pluses:

Travel Porn Is Awesome: Admit it . . . when TAR went to Burkina Faso in its twelfth season, you didn't know there was a Burkina Faso, let alone where it was located. I didn't know the place existed. Every week, you learn about the world. While Survivor recycles locations under new names, TAR keeps finding new places, even if there are lots of places out there that scream "red flag." Also, the show manages to incorporate the traditions of the area into the game . . . as opposed to Survivor, where you don't get challenges indigenous to the location . .  .unless you count the season in China, where a Reward Challenge involved six-foot-long chopsticks and setting off fireworks.

Phil Keoghan Is Still Phil Keoghan: For the record, I'm more upset that Probst has been winning Best Host Emmys than Phil has lost them. Even if you consider him to be more of a narrator and greeter than an actual host, he still excels at his job. Thankfully, his role doesn't allow him to interfere with the game, as opposed to Probst's blatant brownnosing. By comparison, Phil has only pissed me off twice in eighteen seasons: letting Brandy go off on Caite, and letting Eric Sanchez call his buddy Jeremy Ryan to let him know that he and "girlfriend" Danielle Turner won TAR: All-Stars. For me, that ending was like getting punched in the face, and the call was a kick to the nuts. Yet I can't stay at Phil.

Ethan & Jenna Aren't Necessarily Overt Stuntcasting: In case you're just coming in, one team is dating couple Ethan Zohn & Jenna Morasca. Both have won Survivor (Africa for Ethan, Amazon for Jenna) and a million bucks apiece. Ethan lost a lot of luster during Survivor: All-Stars. Jenna lucked into her win, then bailed out of All-Stars to be with her dying mother. In the run-up to Survivor: Heroes Vs. Villains, CBS aired a special that included a feature on the couple. It turns out that Ethan suffered from Hodgkin's lynphoma, and he wound up going through chemotherapy. Through all of that time, Jenna stuck by him, and I actually softened my view on her. If you figure these two are ringers, know that they haven't been on a competitive reality show in seven years, so they're not exactly Rob & Amber. Even as I try to forget about Kill Reality and The Scorned (don't ask) and hearing rumors that Ethan proposed to Jenna during the race, I'm willing to give these two a clean slate heading into this edition.

No Hantzes! In my preview of Survivor: South Pacific, I completely forgot to mention the casting of Brandon Hantz, the nephew of notorious asshole Russell Hantz. That means we've had Hantzes in four of the last five seasons of Survivor. After two episodes, viewers have been squicked by Brandon, particularly his obsession for voting off Mikayla Wingle, whom he fears might lead him astray from his wife. Did I mention the guy in nineteen years old? Right now, I'm thinking that the next season of TAR will feature "all stars," given that it'll be the twentieth edition. My big fear was that CBS would send Rocko & Mugsy back to lean on the producers to bring "Ramber" back. Now it's seeing Russell & Brandon race. Right now, though, we should be thankful none of the Hantz family is on TAR.

Lack Of "Fuck You" Endings: I will admit that seeing sisters Kisha & Jenn Hoffman winning Unfinished Business was disappointing, but only because their "story" wasn't really told until the final episode. Not enough was made about how every other team from their initial season (TAR14) went out before any other team, or that Kisha would become the fourth openly gay person to win on the show. I felt the focus was mostly on Zev & Justin and father/daughter pair Gary & Mallory Ervin, but they finished fourth and third, respectively. But it wasn't what I considered to be a "fuck you" finish. In the show's eighteen seasons, there have been only three: Flo & Zach winning TAR3, the odious Freddy Holiday & even more odious Kendra Bentley lucking into a TAR6 win, and Eric & Danielle's All Stars triumph, even though they weren't really a "dating couple," on account of Eric being a major closet case. In comparison to other reality shows, having a crap ending in one out of six seasons is pretty good.

That's all I got. I hope you'll give The Amazing Race a shot this season. I still think it's the best reality show on television today, and unlike most of the Emmy voters, I actually mean that.

Reality Reviewed: Survivor

If you want the status quo for Survivor these days, you need to look back to May 4, 2011, with the twelfth season of Redemption Island. Specifically, the immunity challenge. The deal: fit ladder rungs onto slots and climb to the top. The catch: each rung can only fit in specific slots. Also, it's 110 degrees in Nicaragua.

The guy busting ass up and down the steps is Rob Mariano, best known as "Boston Rob." He first played the game in Marquesas, the show's fourth season, which aired back in 2002. To give you some perspective, eventual second runner-up Natalie Tenerelli was about ten years old at that time. He failed to make the jury, what with being a pain in the ass to damn near everybody unfortunate enough to be on the same tribe as him. He was an entertaining pain in the ass, so he was invited back two years later on All-Stars. He wound up running the game, since most of the people he was surrounded by weren't intelligent at all. He also found true love with Amber Brkich, who was cast mostly because former "America's Sweethearts" Colleen Haskell and Elisabeth Filarski passed. Amber wound up winning the $1 million grand prize riding on Rob's broad back, while nobody challenged them. Rob had to "settle" for the $100,000 second place dough, as well as Amber's hand in marriage. I'll stop here before I dive into "Ramber" and their two appearances on The Amazing Race, as well as their televised marriage.

The man in the khakis doing commentary is Jeff Probst. Show creator Mark Burnett plucked him from VH1 obscurity and made him a household name. While Probst has earned a place on the Mount Rushmore for reality show hosts (along with Ryan Seacrest, Phil Keoghan and Anderson Cooper), he tends to get too involved in the show. Like, "interfering with the game" involved . . . like the time in Palau, when he pushed Janu Tornell (who probably wasn't fit to play going in) into quitting in order to keep Stephenie LaGrossa in the game. Or how about the time he shamed a tribe into picking a leader after Tribal Council? How about all the alpha males he's crushed on season after season? Right now, he is yelling about how Rob is "literally carrying his family on his back!" Literally, mind you. In actuality, Rob has a picture of his family (Amber and his little bambina) taped to his back. What's galling is that Jeff Probst just won his fourth Emmy as Best Host of a reality program. The fact that he's won more than once proves that Emmy voters take all of five minutes making up their minds before making a half-hearted decision, and this invalidates all Emmys awarded in the genre in the past, including the six that The Amazing Race picked up prior to 2010.

Anyway, Rob wins the immunity challenge, and he is wiped out. Probst gives him the immunity necklace, pausing to put his pom poms down first. Probst asks if he wants the medical staff to look at him, but Rob waves him off. Probst and a few of the other players do help him to his feet. As I watch this, I give props to Rob's efforts . . . but there's a small part of me that wants him to fall down the steps. I don't want him to die or break something. I want him to get just the right amount of hurt to get taken out of the game . . . because if that happens, the others have a shot to win the game. Granted, none of them deserve to win, but it would be a nice change of pace. The players go back to camp, and we don't hear Probst cheer, "TWO, FOUR, SIX, EIGHT! WHO DO WE APPRECIATE?!? BOSTON ROB! BOSTON ROB! GOOOOOOOOOOOO, ROB!!!"

What ended up happening was that Rob won the $1 million on his fourth try, and it was so easy for him. I kept hoping that Burnett would just stop the game and give him the money. The last episode wasn't a conclusion so much as a coronation. In the hearts of Burnett and Probst, Rob would run 26 miles and change, symbolizing the time he ran the Boston Marathon without offically entering it. He would then run up 117 steps, one for each day he played Survivor. On steps 22-60, Amber would ride on his back, much the way she did in All-Stars.At the end of the journey would be Probst, who would crowd him Sole Survivor, Ultimate Survivor, King of All Survivors. And then the blowjob would begin in earnest.

The last several seasons of Survivor haven't been that fun to watch, particularly the last four. To wit:

Samoa: From the depths of the lackluster cast comes Russell Hantz, a small man with a major set of balls. He became the definition of Chaotic Evil, dumping out water and burning a teammate's socks. Only two things kept him from getting voted off: he was seen as an easy opponent to face on Day 39, and he sniffed out hidden immunity idols like a pig seeking truffles. Seriously, aside from Russell and Shannon "Shambo" Waters the mulleted mental case, can you name anybody from this season? Well, there was the other Russell -- Russell Swan -- but he wound up passing out during a challenge and wound up getting booted out by the medical staff. There were also rumors of somebody named "Brett" on the show, but those were never proven. In the end, Russell got two votes, while Natalie White won the big prize.

Heroes Vs. Villains: Having carved a niche as perhaps the biggest asshole in reality television, Russell wound up earning a berth on the latest "all-star" season. He was put on the Villains tribe, along with Rob, who apparently doesn't have a day job. The two wound up butting heads, but Russell's alliance managed to get the upper hand, and Rob got jettisoned. Lots of other stuff happened, but the reunion basically was reduced to both "legends" dropping trou to compare sizes. Back in his undisclosed lair, Mark Burnett had a brainstorm: what if those two were on the show again? On opposite sides facing off each other? Brilliant!

Nicaragua: Since "Russell Vs. Rob" needed time to develop, Burnett's casting people threw twenty people into the mix, most of whom probably never watched the show. The breakaway "star" was Naonka Dixon, who surpassed Omarosa Manigault-Stallworth as the Worst Black Woman On Reality Television, EVER. Whether picking fights with Kelly Bruno (an athlete who had one leg and a prosthetic), playing the race card or breaking down, Naonka represented the shittiest tastes of the casting department. The kicker was that she wound up quitting the game along with Kelly Shinn (nicknamed "Purple Kelly" by Probst for reasons that make sense in his little mind) . . . and both of them wound up making the jury. Worse, their two votes made the difference for Jud Birza (aka "Fabio" for being an airhead) to win the big prize, and CBS never disclosed the final votes of the jury, since they thought fans would be too stupid to put two and two together.

Redemption Island: The "Russell Vs. Rob" angle got jettisoned quickly when the Zapatera tribe wound up voted off Russell after somebody else -- Ralph Kiser, a backwoods Yeti -- lucked into the hidden immunity idol. However, Russell had a safety net, since those voted off wound up on Redemption Island, where players had to fight to stay in the game, making Tribal Council -- and Probst's main line, "The tribe has spoken" -- meaningless. Sadly, Russell got beat in the do-or-die challenge, making him cry like a little girl before vowing never to come back.

With the Russhole gone, the asshole slot had to be filled. Enter Phillip Sheppard, a one-time "special agent" who proved that the casting department had no qualms with making black people look bad. He fucked up pronouncing one player's name (Francesca . . . how can that be hard?!?), played the race card during a fight over rice, and generally getting on everybody's nerves. I felt he needed Cee-Lo Green following him around singing "Crazy." Or hell, make up a song:

Here's the one who's worse than you and me
An ugly person as you can see
He's the guy you gotta hate
A certified Section Eight
He roomed with Teddy's dad in Stand By Me

Special Agent Phil
Special Agent Phil
His attitude really sucks
And Rob's gonna win the million bucks

[Note: I only had the fourth and fifth lines worked out and the chorus, and I'm sorry if the parody was too lame]

In the end, Rob got his precious million bucks. Phillip got second place and $100,000 thanks to a sole dissenting vote from Ralph. Natalie got third place and torn apart by the jury. And a guy named Matt Elrod wound up staying on Redemption Island for 29 days broken up into two trips, showing that the "twist" was an abject failure. So, naturally, it's popping up again on the upcoming season, Survivor: South Pacific.

In addition to Redemption Island, South Pacific will bring back two past contestants. Before the rumors were confirmed, I was thinking that Naonka and "Purple Kelly" would get the call. That's how little I think of the casting department these days. Probst and Burnett have sworn up and down that anybody who had quit the show would never be invited back, but with the show spiraling into the abyss created by genre shows airing on MTV and VH1, I wouldn't have put it past them. Fortunately, we wound up with Ozzy Lusth and Benjamin "Coach" Wade . . . the former having come within one vote from winning the $1 million on his first try (losing to Yul Kwon on Cook Islands), the latter's insanity now seeming quaint compared to that of Phillip.

Will Redemption Island be tweaked to actually work? Can Ozzy and Coach not take up all of the spotlight? Will the other sixteen contestants have enough brain cells between them to at least look intelligent? We'll start finding out this Wednesday on CBS. I'm not hoping for the best, though . . . I'm estimating that production staff will have to pry Probst off Ozzy's leg by the fourth episode.

Jason Vs. The Supplemental, SkyDome & Showers

Last Wednesday, I was in the middle of writing about my experiences at Rogers Centre in Toronto, when my laptop went through the Blue Cycle of Death (Blue Screen of Death, reset, Blue Screen, reset, etc.) Since I had an interesting night, I figured that I should complete my thoughts now.

As I sat in the first row along the right field line, I was struck by how many empty seats there were. When Rogers Centre opened in 1989 (as SkyDome), it drew huge crowds. Turns out that the team hasn't been in the top five of American League teams in attendance since 1996. Also, after their last championship season in 1993, they've averaged roughly 80 wins per season, making them mediocre in a division (American League East) where mediocre just doesn't cut it (Rays, Red Sox, Yankees). To add to Blue Jays fans' woes, the team is only one of four that have not made the playoffs since 1993. My mother figures Canadians don't go for baseball, citing the late Montreal Expos and their ridiculous Olympic Stadium as proof. I'm thinking Torontonians do like baseball . . . good baseball. By the way, this paragraph was brought to you by Wikipedia and Google.

That night's opponents were the Kansas City Royals, perhaps a franchise even more woeful than the Blue Jays. They haven't been to the postseason since they won the World Series in 1985, let alone after 1993 (the other teams being the Expos/Nationals and Pirates). They're not thought of as a real calamity club like the Orioles or Pirates, but their season is usually wrapped up by June. Really, aside from their dramatic comeback from 3-1 down against the Cardinals in 1985 and George Brett's home run in the "Pine Tar Game" in 1983 (and his batshit reaction upon being called out to initially end the game), does anybody outside Kansas City know about the Royals? The only person I can remember from that team in recent years is Zach Greinke, but that was mostly because he made the cover of Sports Illustrated for battling depression during his Cy Young Award-winning season in 2009 . . . and he wound up heading for Milwaukee after the following season.

The game itself was interesting, starting with pitcher Ricky Romero plunking Alex Gordon on the first pitch. He would steal second base and score on a double by Billy Butler. Two innings later, the same thing happened, with Gordon walking, advancing to second on a ground ball, and coming home on a Butler single, giving the Royals a 2-0 advantage. By comparison, the Blue Jays weren't awake against Luke Hochevar, mustering one walk in the first three innings. In the bottom of the fourth, shortstop Yunel Escobar (not to be confused with Royals shortshop Alcides Escobar . . . and apparently, they're not related) got hit by a pitch, and then slugger Jose Bautista homered to left field to tie the game. The crowd starting getting into things, as the massive scoreboard put up his name. Incidentally, I was disappointed that the stadium's dome was closed. It had been a nice day in my time in Toronto so far. If only I knew what was happening outside.

The Blue Jays wound up taking a 3-2 lead, as Brett Lawrie hit a triple to drive in Edwin Encarnacion. But in the following inning, Gordon scored his third run of the game, and he didn't need Butler to do it, as he homered over Bautista's head in right field to tie things at 3-3. I don't really remember what was going on between innings. I know they had a power surge race (one of those deals where animated stuff happens on the screen), and the grounds crew was called the fastest in the majors as they cleaned up the infield. Also, the fans did the wave. I was a little mortified. That still happens? In the majors?!? And after the Royals bowed out in the seventh, the team played some weird song, while ladies and girls led the cheers on the foul lines. Is that a Canadian thing, or is that de rigeur in baseball these days? After that, Lawrie welcomed reliever Louis Coleman into the game with a homer to left, giving the Jays a 4-3 lead. They wound up getting two men on base thanks to a pair of errors by third baseman Mike Moustakas, but Yunel Escobar hit into an inning-ending double play.

After the seventh, I had to get up. Because I took my sweet time getting to the stadium, I barely made it to my seat before the game started. The Blue Jays are pretty good helping their fans . . . they give out pocket-sized maps of the stadium. It isn't for seat prices, but rather where the food and souvenir stands are located. I would've tried out more grub, but I have this disease where I have to keep score in my seat. So I spent the last two innings watching the game, keeping score, and trying to find dessert. I wound up settling for a soft serve ice cream cone, and I got my mother a keychain. That's what she wants . . . it used to be stuffed animals, but she's running out of room for those. As for the game . . . the Royals managed to get at least one runner on base in all nine innings, but they stranded eleven men on base altogether. After Jesse Litsch threw a scoreless seventh inning, Casey Janssen preserved the lead, and then Frank Francisco sealed the win in the ninth. It was a good game, and I had fun. But as I started out of the stadium, some stuff happened.

1. It was raining. Hard. Apparently, the dome did not retract because of the storm. Good call.

2. There was thunder and lightning, which was very, very frightening. I don't mean flashes of light in the clouds . . . I'm talking actual lightning bolts hitting the the tops of buildings, including the CN Tower, which sent the departing crowd into oohs and aahs.

3. The SkyWalk that I took to get to Rogers Centre was closed, meaning I had to walk back to the Fairmont Royal York. But that was okay, since I had an umbrella in my backpack. I always had it there. Not like I unpacked it in my hotel room and forgot to take it with me, right?

4. Oh, shit.

So there I was, my first day in town, trying to figure out how the hell to get back to the hotel, as my sneakers and socks started getting squishy. The lightning bolts reminded me that I had to hustle. I know that the odds of getting hit are remote, but I didn't want my mother to get a call about how her son defied the odds. Finally, I made it back, passing people who were underneath an awning, taking pictures of the CN Tower getting hit. But I had to get water, and I would be damned it I was going to pay $5.50 to open a bottle in my room. I was directed to Union Station across the street, but in my semi-delirious state, I settled for getting four bottles of bottle from a stand outside the station. I wound up waiting near a bunch of young guys, one of whom might have been smoking weed. I don't know what it smells like, but his friend was urging him to "hit that motherfucker like it owes you money!" You don't get that kind of talk over a Marlboro, you know?

After coming back to my room and drying myself off, I got online in my room and started to write about the day. I'd go into dramatics over the Blue Cycle of Death, but if you read my other blog entries already, you're probably sick of it. Needless to say, I wasn't taking it well. I wound up going to sleep, probably hoping that a messed-up laptop would be the least of my problems on my trip. If only I knew what was in store.

And now you know the rest of the story. To give you some idea of what I was facing as I left Rogers Centre, here's a YouTube clip of the lightning that struck Toronto, with photo stills and video . . .

Jason Gets It Together (Sort Of)

It’s 12:53 a.m. as I type this. Apparently, I made it home in one piece. Upon unpacking, I can’t say the same about a few of the toys I picked up. In other news, there’s a lot I’ll need to tackle in the coming days. For one thing, I got a laptop that might be on its last legs. Being home doesn’t help, so I can’t get online until I hit the libraries, meaning I still have to write this out in Safe Mode, save it to the flash drive, then upload it when I can get the chance. That means I’ll have to see a repair guy to figure out my next move . . . either get my laptop fixed, or pick up a slightly-used model, which is what the guy suggested the last time I got grief from the laptop.

My big adventure has been fraught with mishaps, and today wasn’t much different. I cleared out the hotel room (or I think I did . . . once again, I might be missing toy parts), took the bus to the airport, and had trouble finding the right gate. Apparently, I got off the bus too early, so I needed to take the monorail to the right terminal. I found the line for Continental, and I waited. And waited. And waited. I figured out that I was running late, and my leg started to shake. I started making the “what the fucking fuck?!?” gestures towards the few people working the lines. I know it was a shitty move, but I had this image of being told that I missed the cutoff point, that my luggage couldn’t make it on the plane, and that I’d have to stay in Toronto for one more night. I did not want that. Dear Lord, I could not take being away from home for this long. By my memory, this had been my longest trip since going to Chicago for six nights some ten years ago. Thanks to the extra night’s stay, the Internet fees (including failing to get to my favorite sites . . . no clue why that happened) and the exchange rate, this was probably my most expensive solo trip. I needed to get the hell home.

Thankfully, I got guided through the procedure and I made it to customs. The bad news? I thought that I was running out of time, so I spent about two minutes in a duty-free shop before legging it towards the long corridor. At Newark Liberty, the gates aren’t isolated from the shops and the restaurants. Pearson is another story . . . because I was convinced that the plane would start boarding soon, and because I didn’t check the damn departure board, I wound up having to pay $10 for a turkey sandwich with Doritos and soda. Also, not only I couldn’t pick up a t-shirt for myself, I failed to buy a cap for my grandfather. In my defense, when I was at the duty-free shop, I couldn’t find anything with “Toronto” on it. “Canada,” sure, but not “Toronto.” The only bright side is that Grandpa probably won’t remember that I told him I’d pick up something.

The plane ride was a little nerve-racking. I know it sounds silly, but I was thinking something bad would happen between the airport and home. Not like I kept seeing a pale man arguing with a security guard about checking in a scythe, but I was on guard. It was weird to go between paranoia and napping. I kept seeing a light in the reflection of the window across from me, and I was convinced something was in the overheard compartment. Turns out that it was on the wing outside, and I couldn’t tell the difference. I wound up landing later than I had figured, but I wasn’t ready to rest yet. I almost went out of my way to exchange my currency, until I found out that the booth was near the baggage claim area, which means the guy I asked was probably full of crap.

And now I’m home. I got a laptop to get examined. I got a temp agency guy to call and let know that I’m home. I got recorded stuff to watch. I checked out the Rivals finale, and I was right . . . nice guys don’t win on The Challenge. The douchebag team of Johnny & Tyler beat the douchebag team of Kenny & Wes. Also, Paula finally won a Challenge, but she needed to hook her wagon to a fug athlete like Evelyn to pull it off, so you gotta put an asterisk on that. I forgot to set up for a few programs at home, but they’re no big loss. I also missed the premiere of Ridiculousness, the new video clip show featuring MTV personality Rob Dyrdek. On the bright side, I can record it while I’m out tomorrow. Rob is better than any Guido, teen mother or any other idiot on MTV’s primetime, so I need to see it ASAP.

To sum up: I had fun. I got slammed around by petty misfortune, and my sanity got a little shredded, but I managed to get through it. There’s a lot of stuff I didn’t get to see, so I have incentive to go back in the future. For anybody who’s put off by the ever-expanding Comic-Con International in San Diego or can’t fly out there for any reason, Fan Expo Canada is probably the way to go. As for me, I gotta get my ass in gear and look for a life of my own . . . at least until October, when New York Comic Con invades the Javits Center in Manhattan. It’ll be good to have home-field advantage this time.

Jason Vs. The Crappy Hotline

I didn’t know what I was doing wrong.

Had I committed some sort of heinous wrong to be punished? If I had sinned, it was probably just a recreational sin. All I knew was that anytime I thought my trip to Toronto was going well, something would punch me in the teeth and kick my ass. I started thinking maybe it’s the CN Tower. In 2005, I stayed with Stephen way out in Scarborough, and things went well enough. Two years later, I stayed at a hotel. I don’t remember where I went, but I’m thinking it was closer to Toronto proper, and that’s when I lost my camcorder and sketchbook. Now, my laptop went bust, I missed out on attractions, and then there was this morning.

I woke up around 9:30, watched the news, and then slipped back into sleep. Such is the life of a person who does not have a convention to visit anymore. I talked to my mother, and she dropped another bomb on me. The flight that I was supposed to take today . . . the one I had assumed would be canceled due to the damage Irene dished out . . . the one that an employee at Pearson Airport told me would probably dump me off in parts unknown should I take it . . . the flight was on as scheduled.

To say that I did not take it well was an understatement. I kept calling Continental, but thanks to high call volume, I wasn’t going to get any information from them. I went online in the business center. First of all, there was a confirmation e-mail that was sent to me last night. Why didn’t I know about it? Because my laptop went bust at the worst possible time, and the fucking business center shut down last night at 6 p.m. I tried to see what a one-way trip to Newark would cost. The answer: a lot. Over $500, in fact. I went with a new plan . . . hitting Expedia for their rates. Expedia wouldn’t fuck me, right? Yes, they would . . . over a grand for one-way service, AND I’d have to make at least one stop along the way. Honestly, I’m lucky my head didn’t explode from the rage. Some of the misfortunes could be tracked back to me, but the rest was out of my control. Unfortunately, I wasn’t handling it very well at all. I didn’t even get to have breakfast until after noon . . .and they wound up being Munchkins from Dunkin Donuts sold as “Timbits” from Tim Horton’s. So much for getting something unusual, though I did like the apple fritter flavor.

My mother’s plan for me to get home: go to the airport early tomorrow morning and fly standby. The front desk guy’s plan: take a 12-hour bus ride back to the New York area. I went with my own plan, the only plan that made any sense in my slowly boiling brain: go to the airport, talk to a human being. Simple. I got a round-trip bus ticket and silently hoped for the best. It took me a while to find the counter . . . at one point, I saw a bunch of machines, and I thought that talking to anybody was never going to happen. But I went further and told my story in detail, sparing her the four-part harmony. I walked away with a ticket to fly out tomorrow after 5 p.m. It was a victory. As I type this, I’m not about to exhale just yet. Between Toronto and Staten Island, there are still so many misfortunes that could happen to me, in all sorts of degrees. Most of the time, I can’t blame one person for my woes and smash their car with a hammer, yelling about the dangers of fucking a stranger in the ass. Okay, I’m not that rabid, but I do feel like John Goodman’s character in The Big Lebowski, minus the delusions of Vietnam.

The bad news was that thanks to all the time I wasted brooding, raging and settling, Casa Loma was out of the question. I had a few alternative plans, but I wound up going to the CN Tower. It had been six years since I last gone up there, but I figured that it was nearby, and that I should go. My brain conjured up a bizarre theory that it was the source of my misfortune, that as I stayed closer and closer to it in my trips up north, it was broadcasting bad luck that I could receive. It’s the same stupid superstitious crap that prevents me from putting on Pearl Jam in my car, because I skidded on a wet road once and messed my car up as “Jeremy” was playing. I know A and B aren’t related, and I should know better, but my brain is stuck.

I don’t think the CN Tower has changed much. The new thing is that you can pay $175 to take a trip on top of the pod, way the hell in the air. I’m not squeamish about stepping on the reinforced-to-hell glass-bottom floors, but I’m not that brave. Should The Amazing Race return to the Tower in the future (three teams in Family Edition went up there in the final leg), I’m betting dangling on harnesses will be involved, as the contestants search for a part of the city with the show’s traditional colors. I got the full value ticket, good for all of the main attractions.

The first two experiences were kinda meh, to be honest. The first one revolved about the creation of “supertrees” in the year 2020, hybrids of flora from the Himalayas and the Amazon. Hence the title: “Himalamazon.” After the somewhat boring infodump, I wound up going on a simulated ride, as a log got transported between the two locations. I have to say that while I’m not the least bit into roller coasters, I do like the notion of a simulation, especially since the danger was more than minimized. The water splashing us was a nice touch. Sadly, the trip to the Maple Leaf Cinema wasn’t as fun. It was based on surfer Kelly Slater, and I was fighting the urge to nod off. It was in 3D. I hate 3D. I think that since my eyes are different kinds of messed up, the glasses needed for the experience seldom work for me. On the bright side, I save about $5 a shot anytime I go to a “regular” movie.

Next stop: the Look Out. They say you can see Niagara Falls on a clear day. It would’ve been nice if I knew where to look. A lot of my time was peering down on Rogers Centre, where the Rays/Jays game was getting started. I had thought of going there, but I had spent too much time online before I left the hotel for the Tower. With the roof retracted, I could see the field . . . and the vast emptiness several sections of the stadium. When the laptop fucked me, I had been looking up attendance stats, because I noticed a lot of empty seats the night that I went there. I actually called the ticket office to find out when the game was being played, thinking maybe I was looking down about a half-hour before game time. Nope . . . it was on schedule. This is what happens when you build a state-of-the-art stadium before the boom in retro ballparks, and your team is in the same division as the Rays, Red Sox and Yankees.

I also went to Sky Pod, which was 100 meters above the observation deck. I didn’t see much of a difference, to be honest. The cars looked like toys from 1,815 feet in the air (yes, I have the brochure in front of me), and the players on the field in Rogers Centre looked so tiny, even as I could make them out in their designated positions. The outdoor observation deck took out the view of nearby structures, but it did provide a feel for the wind that far up. And yes, they were lots of people on the glass floors, posing and styling for cameras. I swear, there was one guy dressed in monk garb, in a traditional meditation pose on the glass. “Trippy” would be my best word for it. Sylvia told me that she could never stand there. I could . . . even though I’m not into heights, I felt safe on the glass, as I took pictures of the base. I think the Tower could make a few bucks if they took a few of the $2 and $4 viewers from the observation decks, and put them on ground level, giving a good view of the people above the glass.

With time waning, I wound up having dinner on the observation deck. It’s kinda weird to walk through a restaurant and look out the windows as others are eating. I had a small pasta dish, and I paid a little too much for it. Afterward, I hit Dairy Queen in Union Station, and I got my second Oreo Blizzard of my trip. Hey, why mess with what works?

To call my trip to Toronto “eventful” would be an understatement. There are places I should have visited, but I ran out of time. Once again, I’m not going to feel safe from problems until I get home. And I was feeling blah when I got back to my room. But I found out that I can check out late, some of the bad vibes left my body, and I just discovered a show called Pick a Puppy that had to be imported into the U.S. Who the hell doesn’t love puppies? Even better, the opening credits end with a wrinkly English Bulldog puppy sliding into a spread-eagle position. So. Fucking. Adorable.

Right now, all I want to do is get home, relax, and then I can deal with my laptop on Wednesday and see whether it can be salvaged, or if I need a new one. I can call the temp agency to see if I can interview for the gig at Long Island City. I can see all the crap I recorded at home, happy that I got ready in case I couldn’t see it in Toronto. I can get on for my life. Right now, though, I can take the good with the bad, remember the fun I’ve had, and be happy that I was able to have so many new and unique experiences. All I have to remember is this: even at my lowest ebb, I still have it better than so many people in this world. As long as I can keep perspective, I should be fine.

Jason Vs. The Unruly ATM

It’s Sunday, 11:22 p.m. as I type this. I just emerged from a mild coma. I knew it was coming . . . most of the time I’m away from home going to a con, the energy drains from me. I just missed most of the VMA’s. Then again, aside from the tribute to poor, poor Amy Winehouse, I probably didn’t miss anything. Did I see Lady Gaga pose as a guy, performing “You & I” with gusto? Check . . . and damn, who would’ve predicted she’d wear a t-shirt and jeans to open the show? Did that make “Joe Calderon” Lord Gaga for a few minutes? Also, I saw Katy Perry win Best Video honors for “Firework,” which was as predictable as Gaga winning last year for “Bad Romance.” She wore a yellow cube on her head, because she needs to be quirky 24/7, and damn it, being married to Russell Brand isn’t enough evidence of that. I still feel the VMA’s are long past their prime, and the voting is probably dodgy. For instance, I suggested to Sylvia that Britney Spears won Best Video honors a few years back on account that the voters thought she was going to die soon, and they awarded to reward her while she was still breathing. Sylvia thought that was hysterical. And there’s the logic that Beyonce can have the best overall video of the year, and yet she gets beat by Taylor Swift can beat her in the “Best Female Video” category. I should stop, lest I get derailed or worse . . . turn into friggin’ Kanye West.

In other major news, I am officially staying in Toronto for one more night. I tried calling Continental, but I didn’t get anywhere. I called Toronto Pearson . . . turns out flights are being redirected to other places, on account of the volume of people trying to get to Newark. Basically, the choice was either fly out to Cleveland (one of several cities) and possibly stay in a hotel on the airline’s dime, or stay in Toronto? No offense to Cleveland, but the latter option is less complicated, even if I might suffer post-con letdown in the process.

I kept rolling with the punches. I managed to wake up later than I had wanted, since either my phone’s alarm didn’t go off, or I slept through it. I dawdled as usual, watching coverage of Tropical Storm Irene hit the Northeast. Thankfully, my mother was okay in the end, though I wouldn’t know that until I got back to the hotel. The stores under the hotel were closed, so I had to trudge to Union Station. I was going there anyway, but I could’ve saved myself about five minutes. The good news was that my feet did not leave my body while I slept last night. The bad news was that my left foot decided it was far better vengeance to stay on and produce great pain. For half of the con, I had to go at half speed. With my body, that’s pretty damn slow. The only panel I wound up hitting was a sketch duel between Francis Manapul (whom I got a nice Barry Allen-as-Flash sketch from) and David Finch. Most of the day is a blur, as I was buying stuff and getting sketches. I wound up with seventeen sketches. It’s three short of my four-day record, but it’s impressive. It was one of the last ones that started my latest complication.

I get to Sara Richard’s table. She does kickass sketches, and I wanted her to do a color head sketch of Sarah Jane Smith, played by the late Elisabeth Sladen on Doctoe Who. Thanks to a miscommunication, she thought I wanted it on a separate page, independent from my book. We laugh about it, both of us figuring I should get glue dots and paste it into my book (this has come up twice before for me). The fee was $40. I had $15. Bad enough I was spending gobs of colored dough, but I lost track on how much I had. Oops.

I go for Plan A: use an ATM at the convention center. I figure that I can wait on line and get back into the action. So I wait for some time, and when I finally get up there . . . nothing. The machine couldn’t access my records. I try my credit card. Nothing. I’ve had bad luck in the past Up North with ATMs in the past, but I thought that I could press my luck. I ask for help, and I’m told that the machines are the worse. Super.

Plan B: get out and find a bank ATM. I wind up partnering with another con-goer on this quest. Her name was Raquel. She’s from Niagara Falls (Ontario, not New York), this is her one big convention trip for the year, and she’s carrying a picture of Bishop from Alien signed by Lance Hendriken. I want to try Simcoe Place again and hope the ATM where I got money yesterday is still working. She wants to go in the opposite direction. Because I am an idiot, and I’m still thinking about the lack of dancing and hobnobbing from the previous night, I decide to tag along with her. On the up side, I don’t think I came off as too annoying to her, and I wound up having my first experience with Orange Julius. On the down side, I waste more time, and I miss a panel for anime voice actor Vic Mignogna. This especially sucks, because I had to miss him at AnimeNEXT a few months ago.

In the end, the Canadian National Expo was a fun experience, even with the flaws that smacked me in the face. One example: at the bigger cons, I saw that there were places where you could get a massage. When I went to Wizard’s show in Philadelphia, there were girls in costume doing that. I would’ve killed for relief to my feet, but I wasn’t that lucky. I didn’t find too many deals, and I spent $15 on my third One Piece “Logbox,” only to find that it was something I got at AnimeNEXT. I spent $60 on four Logboxes, and only two worked out for me (remember, I dropped the first one). In other news, I’m grateful my digital camera was working for me, because I am the sort that needs a few thousand shots that I can delete due to any imperfection. I don’t whip it out for every cosplayer, but damn, I find a shitload of them interesting. I think the highlight of the day was seeing a guy who was obvious a huge Pokemon fan. He built a Team Rocket getaway balloon around himself, with the visage of an inflated Meowth above him. On his hands: little puppets of James and Jesse. I should have hugged the dude, because that shit was inspired. That’s what you have to love about conventions: just when you think that you’ve seen everything, somebody comes up dressed up as a character you never would have guessed.

After trudging around Rogers Centre and having dinner at Wayne Gretzky’s (hey, it was in the official Toronto guide), I managed to crash and burn in my room. With no convention to hit anymore, I can wake up sometime after 9 a.m. this time (on purpose, I mean) and figure out my plan of attack. Casa Loma and Sneaky Dee’s are on the table, as is Rogers Centre, since the Blue Jays will still be there tomorrow night. When I get back home, I’ll probably either check my laptop checked out right away, or I’ll plop on the couch and stay there for at least twelve hours. As fun as Toronto has been, and as nice as it has been to have kept my wits as I kept getting smacked in the face, it will be good to get home.

Update: Monday, 1:08 p.m.

Guess what? The flight that I thought would be cancelled or rerouted? IT WAS STILL SCHEDULED TO LEAVE ON TIME, TOWARDS NEWARK. Even better, I can't fucking get through to the airline to reschedule my flight, or to find out far up the ass I'm going to pay for doing that. If I don't assault somebody by the time I get home, I'm calling it a victory.