Every dog has his day. And Guatemala's skittish master of disaster, Jamie, had his on Night 27 of his madcap adventure (and spiraling descent) into neurotic paranoia, borderline insanity, and — one would think — corroded, lacerating stomach ulcers. After his torch-snuffing, Jamie gaped back at his ex-tribe and hollered, "Blindsided! Nice! Now that's how you vote somebody out!..." And then he turned to go, snorting, "Later..." with a disgusted, smirking huff thrown in for good measure. At least now with a hot shower, some hot food and a decent bed, provided in his plum Jury quarters, Jamie's frantic struggle to hold his head above Xhakum's always threatening swamp-like quicksand — and his own personal demons — will ease somewhat. He may relish a few wet burps, a shave, enjoy a good night's sleep, and hopefully wake up almost normal. I pray. Whatever that may be. At least, maybe, until he stumbles upon Bobby Jon.

By David W. Taylor (Email The Author)
Reality Reel Media
11.20.05

But this dog had his day in another respect. One can say what one will about Jamie and his ultra-controlling "head-gaming" phobias but he was nothing if not intensely loyal to the original "magical six." So, it was interesting and oddly touching that in Jamie's post-Tribal Council confessional his harried thoughts drew him back to the runty fishmonger, Lydia, this seemingly inconsequential Xhakum appendage... that this was the person whom he felt most slighted by; the person he perhaps trusted most and, so, ironically, tormented the least at camp. "It really hurts that Lydia voted against me because I took her so far," moaned Jamie, hunched over. "As much as I warned Lydia about times she was in trouble, she couldn't tell me I was in trouble... It hurts when you see good people go bad..." Moaning and hunched-over. He wondered whether he could ever forgive her... and you are left with a mild unease in the simplicity of his words and his outlook... and the final portrait coming to bear of scruffy, cranky Jamie arm-in-arm with his rock, Lydia. It almost makes you love the guy. And a little sad.

I couldn't help but think back to Rupert in the Pearl Islands. Soon after washing ashore, in Panama, Rupert managed to build such a stoic reputation for himself in the Drake tribe that it soon ballooned to almost folkloric proportions. He was a tireless worker at camp, an excellent provider of freshly caught fish and the resident benevolent philosopher-king. Rupert would in some ways reign as the antithesis to the soulless cutthroat Survivor paradigm created and exemplified by Richard Hatch. With the Pearl Islands season barely half over, Rupert was already seen in many eyes as the ultimate sole survivor. (This might not be Jamie, but in Jamie's eyes...)

Yet when the Drake and Morgan tribes finally merged into the one Balboa, Rupert made some curious alignments which quickly figured into his shocking and melancholy departure. Instead of making pacts with people who were most in tune with his more zen-like tribal parlance — people like Morgan's Andrew Savage and Ryno — Rupert tied himself around irksome opportunists like Jonny Fairplay and the whining nincompoop, Lillian (a Boy Scout Troop Leader!). And this is where I start thinking about Guatemala's Mr. Paranoid — Jamie.