At Sea
The flight from the Key West to Nassau, Bahamas was comparable to a decent episode of “The Magic School Bus” in that there were only 20 of us, elated and childlike, ass to ankles on something less like a jet and more like a something that miraculously takes flight thanks to fairy dust or the invisible hand of God. Or Adam Smith? Never in my life have I seen anything as picturesque the Floridian sunset that night. (I took many photos and will post them at some point.) But the sky turned black and the turbulence begun. We plunged and everyone screamed. My reflexes locked arms with the guy next to me. I could taste 2 of the 20 oz of Samuel Adams I chugged at the Chili’s Margarita Bar 15 minutes before takeoff. Another man in front dropped his copy of the Times, with the Hudson River plane incident adorning the cover. I have never been afraid to fly; I actually enjoy airplanes. But during this flight, I was scared—for lack of a better term—shitless.
The Atlantis resort was another mind-trip. By the time Martha (the Lewis to my Clark) and I arrived, we had been traveling for 12 hours straight. Exploring the hotel for a bite, I realized that delirium is as cheap and dangerous as any other hallucinogen. We played the slots once. I kept thinking to myself, “Why are all these people playing poker when it’s gorgeous outside?” I was more fascinated with the aquarium and the yachts, a fleet reminiscent of Puff Daddy’s greatest hits. We collected shells on the beach and got buzzed on yo-ho-ho pina colada rum. When in Rome, right?
I’m at sea now. And yes, I am seasick. I eat ginger candy for breakfast and drink ginger ale and Dramamine for dessert. But other than the sick and the salty breeze, I am also sea-stoked. The ocean lulls me to sleep each night and wakes me up each morning.
My roommate and I have one of those large, mass-produced avant-garde prints hanging above my bed. We stick post-it notes on the frame whenever one of us deciphers it’s motif. Yesterday, I woke up with “itinerant hobo” attached to my face. It is a Semester at Sea tradition to write words of wisdom on the back of these paintings. Ours says, “Don’t be a SAS-hole.” The boys down the hall were told to take apart their refrigerator vent. In it, they discovered a pruned, coiled cobra in a bud vase.
I could watch the waves all day. There is no change in shape, size, color or rhythm. I’ve been getting headaches because I’m always squinting at the horizon. I don’t know what I’m looking for, though I’m always looking. I half expect a dolphin to surge from the blue and high-five the sun; I half expect Darwin’s H.M.S. Beagle to sail from the grave and introduce all one thousand voyagers to tortoises and rare fauna.
A marine biology student told me that hundreds of thousands of eels are currently spawning in the subterranean depths. I can’t believe it!
We loose an hour as we had east each night. I am in a trance, another dimension.
The Atlantis resort was another mind-trip. By the time Martha (the Lewis to my Clark) and I arrived, we had been traveling for 12 hours straight. Exploring the hotel for a bite, I realized that delirium is as cheap and dangerous as any other hallucinogen. We played the slots once. I kept thinking to myself, “Why are all these people playing poker when it’s gorgeous outside?” I was more fascinated with the aquarium and the yachts, a fleet reminiscent of Puff Daddy’s greatest hits. We collected shells on the beach and got buzzed on yo-ho-ho pina colada rum. When in Rome, right?
Puffy, King of the Castle
My roommate and I have one of those large, mass-produced avant-garde prints hanging above my bed. We stick post-it notes on the frame whenever one of us deciphers it’s motif. Yesterday, I woke up with “itinerant hobo” attached to my face. It is a Semester at Sea tradition to write words of wisdom on the back of these paintings. Ours says, “Don’t be a SAS-hole.” The boys down the hall were told to take apart their refrigerator vent. In it, they discovered a pruned, coiled cobra in a bud vase.
Man w/ a Plan
I could watch the waves all day. There is no change in shape, size, color or rhythm. I’ve been getting headaches because I’m always squinting at the horizon. I don’t know what I’m looking for, though I’m always looking. I half expect a dolphin to surge from the blue and high-five the sun; I half expect Darwin’s H.M.S. Beagle to sail from the grave and introduce all one thousand voyagers to tortoises and rare fauna.
A marine biology student told me that hundreds of thousands of eels are currently spawning in the subterranean depths. I can’t believe it!
We loose an hour as we had east each night. I am in a trance, another dimension.
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