Farewell to Orlando

Random notes on the conference that will wrap up tomorrow:

- The keynote speaker on Sunday was Sidney Poitier. I've seen a lot of speakers at a lot of conferences in the past four years, and if not the best, Poitier was right up there. From the time he walked onto the stage to the completion of his address, Poitier was the picture of class and dignity. His speech was a simple one - talking about his mother, father, and growing up under difficult circumstances. The lessons he learned from them, the way that they prepared him for a life that would come to define the term "meaningful." Throughout, he spoke quietly but forcefully, and in a manner that could almost be described as hypnotic. At 81 years old, he is a generous soul - and a man who has a profound understanding about what his life has meant - and the messages that it holds for other people.

- Today, I saw a presentation by a guy who I have to admit I'd never heard of before: Daniel Pink. In short, I thought he was great. His presentation was very interesting, and he is an engaging, well-spoken, amusing guy who fields questions well and even came up with a good joke when the inevitable cell phone rang during his speech. His presentation centered on the new abilities that students will need to have to succeed (and for the U.S. to succeed) in the 21st Century, and how at the present time our public education system - particularly the accountability mechanism - is not structured to deliver that content.

He also has a new book coming out tomorrow - called "The Adventures of Johnny Bunko: The Last Career Guide You'll Ever Need." It is a career guide in the guise of a graphic novel. He showed a sneak preview of it (just like a film preview) at the lunch which was absolutely hysterical. It looks like it could something that could become a huge hit.

- And finally, I got to see the Parade of the Ducks at the Peabody Hotel. On the one hand, it was corny beyond belief. On the other, it was pretty damn funny. I may never return to this hotel in my lifetime, and I'm glad I had the chance to witness this strange but strangely endearing tradition.

Conference Etiquette, Chapter I

Working for a statewide membership association, I suspect that I attend more conferences than the average person, and at those conferences I attend a lot of workshop presentations.

Almost without fail, the workshop presenter(s) begin his/her presentation with a request that the audience turn their cell phones off, or put them "on stun," or some other variation of "turn the damn ringer off, please."

And without fail, at some point during the workshop, a cell phone rings, and it is usually one with a particularly annoying ringtone.

I have a question for these people: what is your problem? Can it be possible that you really don't know that your cellphone ringer is on? Do you not care? Do you not understand the English language?

And another thing...what's with people who leave before a workshop session is over? OK, I get it...I understand that some are not as good as advertised or expected, but come on...we're talking about 75 minutes out of your life here. You can't suck it up? And where, exactly, do you have to go that's so important?

It's just rude, people...think about it.

The Peabody Hotel

So, in Orlando I'm staying at The Peabody Hotel, which is very nice but has an unusual tradition - ducks. Everywhere you look, you see ducks. Paintings of ducks on the roof of the hotel. Ducks at the end of the swizzle sticks in the bar. At lunch, butter shaped like a duck. In the bathroom, one bar of soap shaped like a duck. A duck carved into the other bar of soap. One restaurant called "Papa Duck's Pizzeria." Another called "Dux."

So what's with all the ducks?

Well, the hotel is also nice enough to supply, in several places (on the back of cocktail napkins, for one) "The Legend of the Ducks." To wit...

Back in the 1930s, the General Manager of the Peabody and a friend returned from a weekend hunting trip, and after a bit too much Tennessee sippin' whiskey, thought it would be a dandy idea to put their live duck decoys into the fountain in the hotel lobby.

After more than 65 years, the marble fountain is still graced with ducks, which are raised by a local farmer. The ducks relax and play in the fountain from 11:00 a.m. until 5:00 p.m., when they parade down a red carpet and return to their "Royal Duck Palace" for the evening.

So this afternoon, I had a little time after a meeting, and was sitting in the lobby when I hear one of the cocktail servers tell the bartender, "better call the duck guys." One of the ducks had gotten out of the fountain, which apparently is frowned upon and probably a sign that this particular duck's employ as a Peabody duck is about to end. And let me tell you, a duck is not easy to catch; three people were unable to do it. Finally, satisfied that its efforts were not in vain, the duck climbed back into the fountain, all by itself.

So...you can add Duck Entertainment to the hotel menu.

Maybe I'll Stop Complaining After All

For years I've griped that the West Coast has gotten the short shrift when it comes to the scheduling of major sports events. But right now I'm in Orlando, Florida for a conference, it's almost 10:00 p.m., and the second set of NCAA tournament games hasn't even started. That's just insane! I'll trade missing the first half of the first set of games for getting to sleep at a decent hour any day of the week.

Of course, I'm still on West Coast time, so I'm sure I'll be up until the last buzzer sounds. And will pay for it when I have to get up tomorrow morning, at 6:00 a.m. East Coast time.

Oh well...it is the NCAA tournament, after all.

Chris Webber Calls It Quits

(Doug Christie, Mike Bibby, and Chris Webber in happier times)

As a loyal Sacramento Kings fan, I feel compelled to write something about the retirement of Chris Webber, but I'm having trouble coming up with much to say.

Webber may very well have been the best player Sacramento ever had, and while you can have a legitimate debate about which player deserves the most credit for the Kings' "glory years" (some might say Peja, others Vlade, or even Bibby), it would be foolish to think that the Kings could have gone as far as they did without Webber. He didn't want to come to Sacramento, but once he was here he played great, and in 2002 he was one of the best two or three players in the entire league.

Everything began to go downhill when Webber suffered a terrible knee injury in the 2003 playoffs against the Dallas Mavericks. He was never the same player, and the Kings were never the same team. Less than two years later he was gone, and his contributions to the teams he played for after that (Philadelphia, Detroit, Golden State) weren't terribly memorable.

He wasn't a bad guy when he was in Sacramento, but neither was he a fan favorite, aside from the fact that all fans like whoever their best player happens to be. Though unfair, in the end he will probably be best remembered for his gaffe in the 1993 NCAA Championship game, the "phantom time-out" (on top of the uncalled travel) which cost his Michigan team - the famous "Fab Five" - a their best chance at winning a title. And that's how it always seemed to turn out for Webber - close, but no cigar.

The Greatest Masters Ever

Starting in 1964, when I was four years old and too young to care one way or another, every 11 years there has been an historic Masters.

That year, Arnold Palmer won his fourth green jacket in dominating fashion, with a six-stroke victory over Jack Nicklaus and Dave Marr. Though seemingly at the top of his game, it would prove to be the final major tournament ever won by Palmer.

In 1986, Jack Nicklaus stunned the world by capturing his sixth green jacket, with a miraculous back nine on the final day which lifted him above such international superstars as Greg Norman and Seve Ballesteros. As commentator Ben Wright put it when Ballesteros put his third shot into the water on 15, "The foreign legion is reeling under the onslaught of the Bear." (That may not be an exact quote, but it's close).

And in 1997, a young skinny guy named Tiger Woods did whatever is beyond stunning the world by obliterating the field, capturing his first green jacket and major tournament with a victory so dominant that it essentially led to the demise of Augusta National as we once knew it, as the inevitable (and fruitless) process of annual "Tiger-proofing" began. But it's still a wonderful course, and the greatest tournament in the game, in large part because of familiarity with the course. If there is a golf fan out there who can't sum up a visual picture of each hole on the back nine, then I would question whether that person is really a golf fan.

But my favorite Masters, and the one I would still nominate as the greatest ever, took place in 1975. That year, Nicklaus captured his fifth green jacket, in a breathless duel on the final day with Tom Weiskopf and Johnny Miller, both of whom were at the top of their game. At the time, I was one of the biggest Nicklaus fans in the world. Not only did I want him to win every week, but I wanted everyone else to fail, and miserably. Guys like Palmer, Player, and Weiskopf I could stand, but there was a special strand of hatred that I saved for Johnny Miller and Tom Watson. I've long since gotten over it, but back then, I just wanted to see those two suffer on the course. The more balls in the rough or the water, the better.

And so now we arrive at 2008, which means that something special should be coming up in a couple of weeks. I've got a long streak going here, and I'll be disappointed if it comes to an end. I'm thinking maybe a Woods-Mickelson playoff, after both have shot 64 on the final day? That would just about do it.

Way Beyond Lame

After less than a week of freedom, Sara Jane Olson is on her way back to prison, her release explained as a clerical error:

State corrections officials said they released Olson early because of a "clerical error." They said she must now return to a women's prison in Chowchilla to serve as many as two more years for her role in crimes including the 1975 murder of a Carmichael woman during a bank robbery.

"We understand how sensitive the impact of such an error has on all involved in this case and regret the mistake," said Scott Kernan, chief of adult operations for the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation, at an afternoon news conference in Sacramento.

I don't believe it for a minute, but let's set that aside for a moment. The choice here is simple - either the Department caved in to the increasing level of political pressure, in which case the re-arrest represents cowardice on a vast scale. Or, Mr. Kernan is actually telling the truth, and Olson's release represents gross incompetence on scale that is breathtaking to behold, in which case Mr. Kernan probably deserves to lose his job.

So which is it, Mr. Kernan? Are you and your department incompetent beyond belief, or are you simply a coward? And by the way, is that incomprehensible quote for real?

Catch A Wave And See Your Life Flash In Front Of Your Eyes

I've never been on a surfboard, and based on my embarrassing attempts at skateboarding, doubt that I'd be much more than amusing entertainment for anyone who happened to be in the vicinity. But I find the phenomenon of big-wave surfing fascinating, and that fascination was fueled by the excellent documentary Riding Giants. The movie covers the history of big-wave surfing, from the days when the first rowdy Californians headed to Hawaii to see what all the fuss was about, to the day when Laird Hamilton and his buds figured out that, armed with a jet-ski, a helicopter, and cojones the size of boulders, you could surf just about any damn place you wanted to, regardless of how far it was off shore.

Waiting to get my hair cut today, I was perusing the most recent edition of Men's Journal (I have to admit I had no idea that Jann Wenner was publishing that sucker these days), and stumbled across a great article about the big-wave surfers, an account of the freak storm conditions last December which resulted in record waves, from Hawaii all the way to the legendary Mavericks wave off the coast of California. It's not a happy story - it focuses on the death of Peter Davi, who lost his life on a wave at Ghost Tree, and the near death of Hamilton's close friend Brett Lickle, after the two bought it in a big way on a wave off of Maui:

Laird Hamilton had guessed right. The farther offshore from Maui he and Lickle got, the clearer it became that the storms' big swells were setting up hills of water 50 feet high, hills that were crashing over the reef and offering rides three quarters of a mile long. "It was absolute perfection," Lickle says. "Not a drop of water out of place." As the waves grew, the pair found it nearly impossible to control their skittering boards, so they returned to shore to pick up Hamilton's favorite: a six-foot-seven wood missile shaped by Hawaiian Dick Brewer, thin as a water ski, heavy, and fast. By the time they returned, Outer Sprecks had gone mutant.

Helicopter pilot Don Shearer, who's flown film and rescue missions during Maui's hairiest swells, flew in under the low ceiling and was completely awestruck by waves 12 to 15 stories tall. "I've seen every big swell that's come in since 1986," he says. "This was far and away the biggest I've seen in my life."
"They were sucking the water off the reef, breaking top to bottom," Hamilton says. "We could barely get into them, even at full speed."

The aluminum fin on Lickle's board had bent, so Hamilton lent him his Brewer. The foot straps were too wide, but Lickle couldn't resist the opportunity to chase down "the two biggest waves of my life." But as he blasted down his third the entire wall reared up in front of him. With no chance to outrun it, Lickle swung to the top, narrowly flying over the back. He was done. Then the horizon went dark: It was a rogue wave, straight out of The Poseidon Adventure. Hamilton wanted it. Lickle pegged the throttle.

After letting go of the rope, Hamilton felt as if he were flying. Plunging down the wall, he had to make split-second adjustments to deal with the warbles and ripples in his path while also focusing far ahead in case the wave lurched up into a closeout. Then he realized that was exactly what was happening. Tearing along at 40 knots, Hamilton's only hope was to dive into the wall, kick like hell, and pray he didn't get sucked downward as the wave thundered shut.

Lickle, tracking behind, was horrified when the wave closed out. Then his buddy popped up unharmed, but waving frantically: The next one was even bigger. Hamilton grabbed the sled and Lickle nailed the throttle, shooting toward land at 50 mph. It wasn't fast enough.

Neither was killed, though Lickle survived injuries which easily could have killed him had Hamilton not had the presence of mind to act quickly and fashion a tourniquet out of part of his wet suit (for all the gory details, you'll have to go buy the magazine).

When you think about what guys like Laird Hamilton are doing these days, it's clear that they're wired differently than the rest of us. But this story makes me wonder whether the limit has finally been reached - because if Laird Hamilton and Peter Davi have found waves that they can't handle, then maybe it's time to pack it in and call it a day. But something tells me that's not in Hamilton's nature.

Top Ten Jackson Browne Songs

He probably didn’t event it himself, but I’m borrowing this concept from Tosy and Cosh. I promise, to all four of my faithful readers, that this will be the last Jackson Browne post for a while.

10. “The Pretender.” There was a part of me that wanted to leave this song off the list. From time to time, I think that it’s almost too perfect, that it’s more like a perfect pastiche of a great Jackson Browne song than it is a great Jackson Browne song. But every time I hear it, I want to turn up the stereo, especially when he gets to the lines “I’m going to find myself a girl/Who can show me what laughter means/And we’ll fill in the missing colors/In each other’s paint by number dreams.” And as Dave Marsh wrote in the liner notes to The Very Best of Jackson Browne, “it’s arguably not the greatest song he’s ever written, but it probably gets closer to the core of his vision than any other.” It seems silly to leave it off.

9. “Alive in the World.” Browne’s post-1993 albums of original material (I’m Alive, Looking East, The Naked Ride Home) are all somewhat underrated; it’s almost if a significant part of his audience (both popular and critical) turned away from him after his political side became the dominant factor in his work of the previous decade. With some notable exceptions, I find his “songs of the heart” more effective and moving than his political work. In a way, “Alive in the World” is both, and it succeeds on all levels. I’m surprised it hasn’t shown up on someone’s campaign trail:

With its beauty and its cruelty
With its heartbreak and its joy
With it constantly giving birth to life and to forces that destroy
And the infinite power of change
Alive in the world

8. “The Load Out/Stay.” Along with Bob Seger’s “Turn the Page,” “The Load-Out” is one of the great songs about life on the road:

But the band’s on the bus and they’re waiting to go
We’ve got to drive all night and do a show in Chicago
Or Detroit, I don’t know
We do so many shows in a row
And these towns all look the same
We just pass the time in our hotel rooms
And wander ‘round backstage
Till those lights come up and we hear that crowd
And we remember why we came

Coupling the song with Maurice Williams’ “Stay” was pure genius, and together the two songs comprise what may be the all-time greatest show-closer.



7. “For Everyman.” In her Rolling Stone review of For Everyman, Janet Maslin wrote that Browne’s work was “a unique fusion of West Coast casualness and East Coast paranoia, easygoing slang and painstaking precision, child’s eye romanticizing and adult’s eye acceptance.” Lyrically, Browne arrived on the scene as a complete artist; the main weakness of his first two albums is their relatively dull musical landscape. On this song, Browne began to stretch out a bit.

6. “Redneck Friend.” OK, there may be a bit of guilty pleasure which drives this one so far into the Top Ten. But hey, I never get tired of it, and it’s a great rocker.

5. “Sky Blue and Black.” This is not a song Browne could have written in the early 1970s; partly because of his advanced emotional maturity, but primarily because the musical chops he had in his back pocket in 1993 simply weren’t there in 1972. It’s a complex song, both lyrically and musically, and it plumbs the depths of Browne’s emotions like no song before it.

4. “Your Bright Baby Blues.” This is the classic example of a song that I wasn’t able to appreciate on release, but came to love later. My favorite sets of lines:

No matter where I am I can’t help feeling
I’m just a day away from where I want to be

and:

You watch yourself from the sidelines
Like your life is a game you don’t mind playing
To keep yourself amused
I don’t mean to be cruel, baby
But you’re looking confused

3. “Late for the Sky.” See post below.

2. “In the Shape of a Heart.” Simply magnificent, and perhaps the best song ever written about the vagaries of human relationships, and how hard people try to make those relationships work. A lyrical and musical powerhouse, from beginning to end.

People speak of love
Don’t know what they’re thinking of
Wait around for the one who fits just like a glove
Speak in terms of a life and the living
And try to find the word for forgiving

You keep it up, you try so hard
To keep a life from coming apart
And never know the shallows and the unseen reefs
That are there from the start
In the shape of a heart

1. “Running on Empty.” Without question, one of the greatest songs in the history of rock and roll, and one that has as much in common with Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run” as it does with any of the other songs on this list. As Dave Marsh wrote:

It’s hard to think of another record that speaks so forthrightly to and about a world that was disintegrating before its own eyes in a cycle of denial and repression that took the shape of rampant hedonism…I think of a roster of Browne’s friends that might include Lowell George, who overdosed and died, Warren Zevon, rehabbed and rehabbed and held together with main human strength and raw talent, and David Crosby, surviving massive cocaine addiction through a period of imprisonment but ballooned to three hundred pounds in compensation. In that crowd, “Running on Empty” was less a metaphor than a prophesy, a post-Woodstock “Dead Man’s Curve.”

And behind it all, the classic lines:

Looking out at the road rushing under my wheels
I just don’t know how to tell you all
Just how crazy this life feels
I look around for the friends that I used to turn to
To pull me through
Looking into their eyes I seem them running too

Getting Old, Chapter XXVII

The task today was to accompany #1 son while he rented a tuxedo for the upcoming Junior Prom. Left to his own devices, I'm confident he still would have done better than I did for my first Prom, which can be summed up by the words "powder blue tux with white ruffled shirt." It was definitely a sight to see, I can tell you that. The thing is, back in 1977 that sort of thing was all the rage. And we all thought we looked really cool.

So, #1 son will look something like this, although you have to use your imagination a bit - grey herringbone vest, tuxedo shirt, bow tie.

"Late for the Sky"

OK, so I'm on a bit of a Jackson Browne kick right now. An album I was eagerly looking forward to, Kathleen Edwards' Asking For Flowers, remains sitting on the stereo cabinet, despite having been bought 4 days ago.

But I do this sort of thing every now and then, to the dismay of my family. I hear some variation of "for crying out loud, when are you going to listen to something other than ______ [fill in the blank]?" Soon, soon...be patient, I answer.

I don't know that I would argue that it's his best album, but forced to choose one, I'd probably say that Late for the Sky is my favorite Jackson Browne album. It wasn't the first Browne album I'd bought (that was The Pretender), but for some reason it spoke to me, and it dominated my turntable for much of the spring of 1977. That was my junior year of high school, which without question was the toughest year I ever had in school. It was also the spring I had my first serious girlfriend, which in the end turned out to be a terrible mistake, but seemed at the time the right thing to do. I was working 30 hours a week at McDonalds, which was good in the sense that I had more money than I knew what to do with, even after setting aside much of it for the good old college fund. But it was also bad, in the sense that 30 hours is a long time for a high school junior to be working, especially when you're taking Trigonometry and Chemistry - two subjects for which I had great distaste and no particular affinity. In short, I was a nervous wreck much of the time, and for some reason Late for the Sky seemed the perfect expression of that nervousness, as well as the perfect antidote.

For the most part, it's not a happy album, and that much you can tell from the song titles - "Before the Deluge," "Fountain of Sorrow"...and that was probably the key to why I liked it so much. In his Rolling Stone review, Stephen Holden said it best:

No contemporary male singer/songwriter has dealt so honestly with the vulnerability of romantic idealism and the pain of adjustment from youthful narcissism to adult survival as Browne has in this album. Late for the Sky is the autobiography of his young manhood.

Back in March 1977, youthful survival was enough for me. And the title track was played quite a lot in my room, and my brothers and parents probably thought much the same thing as do my wife and kids today...when are you going to start listening to something else?

Jackson Browne Nails It

After just a handful of listens, I’d have to call Jackson Browne’s Solo Acoustic, Vol. 2 an unqualified success - if not an outright masterpiece.

Browne has come up with a great concept with this set of albums, and at this point I just wish that he’d release them more frequently (Vol. 1 was three years ago). They’re probably for fans only, as each features previously released songs, in (per the title) solo acoustic format – either guitar, or piano. And at this late date, it’s highly unlikely that acoustic versions of old songs is going to sway someone over to Jackson’s side.

But they expose a side of Browne that heretofore was unknown (at least to me), or at least little known – the guy has a great sense of humor, and knows how to apply exactly the right amount of self-deprecation. On Vol. 1, Browne told a hilarious story about the time he sang “Peaceful Easy Feeling,” and realized halfway through that he didn’t exactly agree with what the lyrics were saying about relationships (you’ve got to hear it to appreciate it). On Vol. 2, he makes some amusing comments about the fact that the bulk of his work could be viewed as somewhat depressing (at one point he comments, “I could sing you a tender song filled with despair, or a weary song laced with hope…what’s your pleasure?), and throughout the show achieves an easy back-and-forth banter with the audience.

What Vol. 2 really demonstrates is that Browne’s later work – which I’ve always thought was underrated – is just as good, if not better, than the songs which made him famous in the first place. With a handful of exceptions, the songs on Vol. 2 are from albums released well past his high-water mark of popularity, the Running on Empty era. Songs like “The Night Inside Me,” “Enough of the Night,” and “My Stunning Mystery Companion” all gain something in the translation from full-band recording to solo performance, almost as if the songs can finally take a deep breath, no longer constrained by the borders of an arranged performance.

The highlight of the album is the spectacular triple crown of “Sky Blue and Black,” “In the Shape Of A Heart,” and “Alive in the World.” I’ve always thought those songs were among his very best, and if anything, they sound more powerful here than ever before. A close second is “Redneck Friend,” which proves that you don’t need a band to be a rockin’ fool.

The great critic Paul Nelson once referred to Jackson Browne as “our finest practicing romantic.” On this album, Browne is that and more. A romantic, a little world weary perhaps; but completely at ease with himself and more astute than ever about what constitutes his strengths. I just hope I don’t have to wait three years for Vol. 3.

Obama For the Real World

Michael Reynolds makes the case for Obama-as-pragmatist, and does it quite effectively, I think.

The conclusion, and my favorite part:

Vote for Obama. Hope he's for real. (Hope won't kill you, though it will encourage you to drink.) But man, if you are somehow under the impression that Mr. Obama just came from a conversation with a burning bush and next week will begin curing lepers, (yeah, I know: I'm mixing testaments,) then you need to remind yourself that fulfillment does not come from politicians; it comes from fast cars, good booze, and women who can manage to tolerate you.

Morning Drive Thought of the Day

So on the mix-tape I listened to this morning, the song "Call Me" by Petula Clark came on.

For some reason, it made me think of Eliot Spitzer.

If you're feeling sad and lonely
There's a service I can render
Tell the one who loves you only
I can be so warm and tender

Call me
Don't be afraid, you can call me
Maybe it's late, but just call me
Tell me, and I'll be around

It goes on in that vein, but that's probably sufficient.

"The Moby Grapes" on Mike Douglas

I have to admit that Mike Douglas was a staple of our household when I was growing up. His show aired in the afternoon - I want to say sometime around 4:00 p.m. - and I remember watching him from about the time I was 8 years old, through 14 or 15.

No one ever accused Mike of being particularly hip, but he did feature a lot of rock bands on his show. I'm not sure what's funniest about this appearance of Moby Grape - Mike's introduction of the band as "The Moby Grapes," or the decidedly tepid response from the crowd. But in any event, this is the kind of stuff YouTube was invented for.

Idol Thoughts

I never watched a single episode of American Idol until the fifth season, and even then I only started watching when they were down to three contestants. And I'm afraid that's all it took for me to get hooked, even though it's fair to say that I find much of the "American Idol" style of singing detestable. I've never bought an album by any of the Idol winners, and the only song from an Idol winner that I've really actively enjoyed was Kelly Clarkson's "Since U Been Gone," which is just a great song, plain and simple. Much of what one hears on the show is dreck, and most of the rest of it is entirely disposable.

So it may not be great music, but it is great television. Not the audition shows, which are little more than a freak show - but once the competition actually gets started, there's just something about the damn thing that's irresistible. There's plenty of opportunity to make fun of the singers, or make fun of Paula, Randy, Simon, Ryan...whoever happens to act the strangest in any particular week, and you just never know who that's going to be (but Paula is always a safe bet). There are a handful of great performances from week to week, and even the occasional surprise (like last night, when Chikezie turned in the performance of the night, and prohibitive favorite David Archuleta stunk up the joint). I can't quite explain it, but it's just fun.

So this year, to add to the viewing enjoyment of a crew at work who watches every week, I came up with an American Idol contest. The rules appear below, and anyone wandering through this site is welcome to steal them for their own use.

The Rules

Each participant predicts the order in which the 12 finalists will be eliminated.

Points

For exact picks (for example, you predict Carly Smithson will be eliminated in 3rd place, and that's where she finishes) you receive points, as follows:

12th place 2 points
11th place 2 points
10th place 3 points
9th place 3 points
8th place 4 points
7th place 4 points
6th place 6 points
5th place 8 points
4th place 10 points
3rd place 12 points
2nd place 15 points
Champion 25 points

Consolation points

If you don’t get the exact position of elimination correct, you can still gain points, as follows:

• If you correctly predict a finalist will finish in the 10-12th place block, but don’t get it exactly correct, you receive 1 point. Example: You predict Chikezie will finish in 12th place, but he finishes 10th – you get 1 point.

• If you correctly predict a finalist will finish in the 6-9th place block, but don’t get it exactly correct, you receive 2 points. Example: You predict Amanda will finish 9th, but she finishes 6th- you receive 2 points.

• If you correctly predict a finalist will finish in the 3rd-5th place block, but don’t get it exactly correct, you receive 4 points.

• If you correctly predict a finalist will finish in the top 2, but get the order wrong, you receive 8 points.

The person with the most points wins (nothing like stating the obvious, eh?).

And so...now I can win some money while I enjoy a guilty pleasure.