PETER BUFFA -- Comments & Curiosities

OK, it’s Tina. Yippee. For those of you who have been away in another

solar system, Tina Wesson is the $1-million winner on “Survivor” -- the

most successful of the now-legion “reality-based” television shows.

To be exact, this year’s edition was called “Survivor: The Australian

Outback.” The name tells you everything you need to know. Back in

January, 16 hardy souls were gingerly dropped into the outback in the

depth of the Australian summer and had to, well, survive, you might say.

The last man or woman standing gets the one million clams, to say

nothing of fame, fortune, blah, blah, blah. You have to deal with

physical and mental challenges, Machiavellian plotting and skulduggery

from your co-survivors, and the “tribal council” ritual, wherein everyone

sits in a circle and votes one player off the island, the desert,

whatever.

It’s all very dramatic, with spooky jungle music and crackling

campfires and things in the brush making thing noises. As the weeks go

by, millions of viewers cheer their favorites and hiss their villains,

and the media, of course, whips everyone into a frenzy about who will

survive. I pity the poor soul who walked into work on Friday morning and

didn’t say “Tina” when asked.

I’ve never really bonded with “Survivor” -- either last year’s

original or this year’s sequel in the great land down under. Last year’s

contestants were some of the most unpleasant, unlikable people you would

ever have the misfortune of meeting. I watched exactly one half of one

show before deciding that they were all way too cranky to survive and

should be fed to the things in the brush as quickly as possible.

I made it through almost three-quarters of one of this year’s shows.

The people were much nicer, especially Tina, who is very warm and

genuine, but not enough to get the year-old image of Richard Hatch in his

underwear out of my mind, by which I am still traumatized.

Frankly, I think we should do our own “Survivor.” These things are not

that hard to produce, and I know the local cable outlets will carry it.

“Survivor: Newport-Mesa.”

The details are still sketchy, but here’s what I have so far. This

thing could get legs, I’m telling you. We drop 16 people on Balboa

Island. They have four days to get to the Nordstrom Rack in Metro Pointe.

They each get a Power Bar, some water (Crystal Geyser or Arrowhead

Springs, no Evian) and a bus pass. That’s only 96 hours to figure out

where to find a bus, where it goes and how to get on it.

Every six hours, they have to get back to Fairview Park to convene the

tribal council. They all sit in a circle while someone plays spooky

jungle music on a Walkman. They argue, cry and trade insults while they

decide who gets the boot. The person who gets booted turns in his or her

bus pass and unused water, and skulks off into the night, except

sometimes it’s day because we have to do this nonsense every six hours.

It’s a low-budget show, OK? Cut me some slack here.

There are a number of challenges in which everyone must compete. The

winner of a challenge earns a pass against being booted in the next

tribal council. The challenges are tests of strength, agility, patience

and stupidity. In the first challenge, contestants are dropped off at a

Vons in Irvine and have 15 minutes to ask as many people as they can, “Is

it hot in here, or could we use another airport?”

In the second, they have to find a parking space at Triangle Square at

the stroke of 7 p.m. on Saturday, stand in it and tell everyone who pulls

in, “Sorry, this one’s saved.”

In the final challenge -- a test of agility -- they have to spend 11

minutes standing in the middle of the TeWinkle Bark Park with a large cat

under one arm and a box of Milk Bones tucked under their chin.

But dumb challenges are only a part of what makes “Survivor:

Newport-Mesa” such a compelling show. What we need is the inside story of

their lives, their loves and their dreams -- the desperate struggle to

the top from the mean streets of Newport Beach.

Do you see what I’m saying? Watching the complex interaction between

shallow, uninteresting people is what real drama is all about. Then

there’s the question of prizes, always a delicate issue. A million bucks

is a little ambitious for a new show. But money isn’t everything.

Wait. I got it. The winner gets the full-on star treatment in this

column. That alone should be worth, I don’t know, maybe, OK, forget that.

We’ll figure out prizes later. Let me know what you think. If you have a

better idea -- and it would be impossible not to -- don’t be shy.

Remember, we only go around once in this life. It’s important to grab

for all the mediocrity we can. I gotta go.

* PETER BUFFA is a former Costa Mesa mayor. His column runs Sundays.

He may be reached via e-mail at PtrB4@aol.com.