As if you needed any more Les Stroud Lovefest inspiration, here are three reasons why I have been experiencing a major upswing in my affections for him this week. MAJOR upswing. In fact, my adoration for Les Stroud right now is so intense it feels like, at any moment, actual FLAMES might shoot out of my chest.
Or else, maybe that’s the spicy Thai food I just had for dinner. . . Actually, yeah, that might be a little more likely than adoration so intense it *poofs* into spontaneous combustion, right? But hey, they don’t call it HEARTburn for nothing, people.
Reasons I Love Les Stroud, Part Two (for part one, read the old write-up)
1. He’s the host of Shark Week this week on the Discovery Channel! How cool is that? Man, I LOVE Shark Week! While I’m on the subject, though, I confess to major disappointment regarding the much-hyped USS Indianapolis special that aired Sunday night (“Ocean of Fear”). I had been telling people to tune in for weeks because I was expecting it to be the mother of all episodes of I Shouldn’t Be Alive. How they managed to take an incredible story like that one and turn it into two hours of tedium so dry that both me AND my mother nodded off DURING A SHARK ATTACK SCENE, I have no idea. But they did. Gah. If you missed it and want to see just how amazingly they botched it up, “Ocean of Fear” reruns this coming Saturday (check your local TV guide for times).
2. His show, Survivorman, returns August 10th at 9pm on Discovery. YES!
3. According to The Times of London, Bear Grylls is a fake (note: this article refers to Bear’s show Born Survivor, which I gather is just the name Man vs. Wild takes when airing in England)! Here’s the scoop: You know how, at the beginning of every episode of Man vs. Wild, Bear has himself dropped into the middle of nowhere, telling us his plan is to spend the next several days making his way back to civilization with nothing but the clothes and minimal equipment on his back? Well, guess what! After he roasts that snake over his flint-sparked fire, he sometimes turns the cameras off and hightails it to the nearest Motel 6 (or its local equivalent, I suppose). There, he soaks in the hot tub, checks his email, raids the mini-bar, snoozes off to the soothing background sounds of free HBO, and, I suppose, snickers at his cleverness in managing to dupe his entire audience into thinking he’s actually spending the night in a hammock made out of dirty water reeds and buggy leaves, strung up between two soggy trees in a man-eating-reptile-infested swamp.
You know who would never do that? Les Stroud. And that’s why I love him sooooo much this week. The End.