Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Carnival my Ass...

When did you ever go to a carnival and not see a few clowns...man I want to see some spooky baloon hawking painted morons jumping through the hallways, and what do I get - Indonesians who I have to explain what a Cape Cod is, and take the smirky smile they give back to me when they bring me another fucking monkey head filled with some sort of elephant piss libation that makes my nipples invert and the hair on my head turn green...maybe they call it Carnival because, much like the modern day carnival, after a few of those, I start asking folks if I can guess their weight for another fucking monkey head filled with magic juice...

As if guessing their weight would be difficult - Jesus H. Christ - I am beginning to wonder if cruise operators need to start charging by the meal - I watched a guy tonight shovel down 4 (no less, no more) all beef hot dog smothered with everything except the jism from a silver back gorilla - and the only reason he did not have that was that you have to pay extra for jism from an endangered species - he did however spring for a nine dollar diet coke, which should make it much easier for him to squeeze into his sixe 48 pants and not have to fart to make them fit...

Now don't get me wrong, I am by no means the answer to health - I smoke like a stack, drink way too much to be the next Lance Armstrong, and certainly don't carry the card that says "Meat is Murder" - but c'mon folks - put down the fucking fork - will you - I mean we are on a ship filled with skinny starving Eastern Europeans and Indonesians who make the equivalent of eight dollars per day in bone carvings and shells - but yet you want a third helping of lobster? The funny thing is that the quietest and most peaceful place on the ship is the gym - I was there today (and will be there in another 4 hours sweating Monkey Drinks and vomitting on the attendant) - the hardest appointment to get is the "weight loss wrap" - the spa sells them like hookers at a truck stop - but why do these people think that wrapping yourself in seaweed for 3 hours, having a tube of diaretic shoved up your ass, and then being bathed in caustic mud will save you from the extra helping of bacon fat that you had? Trust me - if you want to get skinny, you really need to stick with the sticky rice, and not the "fat free yogurt" machine -

Speaking of the fat free yogurt machine - this appears to be the best place on a Carnival cruise ship to check out really big tits in really small bathing suits - I guess that is why they place it next to the bar - I have never seen more women dressed in clothes that say "In ten beers, you will find me beautiful" than I have in the past three days. The pools are salt water, but you would have to be pretty fucking delerious, not to mention the ten beers, to even take a bite out of the forbidden fruit that I have witnessed...

This may sound terribly sexist and somewhat shitty for a guy to say - but trust me, I don't wear a speedo because my package can't support that kind of pressure - I wear clothes that are a little too baggy to hide my 36 year old stomach, and I make sure that my bathing suits are somewhat appropriate attire - how would you feel if I started wearing a gold sparkly speedo with holes in the ass, positioned just perfectly so that you could see not only the stretch marks, but a few strands of ass hair hanging out...you probably would feel like you do right now - a little disgusted. The feeling is mutual. I guess the point is - you are not sexier because the clothes are sexy - in fact, it would be best if you found something that fit (or was a little too big) and just tell everyone you lost 50 pounds because Uncle Freddy died, and you were really, really close to Uncle Freddy...

Well, I now officially will get 4 hours of sleep - I want hari coverts. Green beans my friends - simple, plain, green beans. That's what I want. Sometimes, even saying green beans in French makes me feel better - I mean, a man could live off of green beans - you can do much like Bubba in Forrest Gump did - there are a million things that you can do with green beans, and never get tired of them. I have found that simplistic and youthful vigor in finding things to do with green beans - they are soft, they are warm, and sometimes, they are the best taste around - they can be cold, somewhat canned, and you know what, they can even be helpful and wonderful at times. Their pure honesty (after all they are green beans for pete sake) can make you wonder if you are really eating green beans - I guess it is the simple fact that they are what they are that makes them so wonderful - when you are a green bean (or a fat middle aged man somewhere in the midst of his 4th mid life crisis) you find the simple things ring true - you never have to do laundry or wash dishes with green beans, you never have to balance a check book with green beans, you never have to decide who should come to holiday dinners - but the funny thing is - green beans are so ready to be a part of your life - they grow and grow and grow - and just want you to include them, and want you to be included with them...simple. George rule number one - the rest of my life should have the maxim - no meal is complete without sitting down with hari coverts - or at least thinking of them once or twice before taking a bite...

Considering I spent $100 for 250 minutes of air time, I better sign off now - I don't want to miss my opportunity to walk through the halls of the cruise ship tomorrow morning as I see the walk of shame taking place for the girls who know they will never get another phone call, or the guys who realize that they were terribly inadequate - it is a great time in the morning - even the room stewards parade the halls with smiles, as if to say, "I know you just did (fill in the blank here) and I see it every week with different folks - just remember, I make eight dollars a day in bone carvings and shells, and you deserve every ounce of (fill in the blank here) that you have coming to you." Unfortunatly, it usually comes out in a shit eating smile and "Meester, you needa more creen Trowels in jor staterum" - pardon the obvious dialetic and slant - but hell, I know those guys are busting their ass for their living, and I think they deserve all the little things they can get out of us lazy, fat Americans -

Carnival my Ass, I want rythm, rythm, rythm, and to wake up and feel the hope of having green beans. Time to go get another monkey head....

G

Monday, April 21, 2008

Cruise Refugee...

Reading Tucker Max is not necessarily the best book for a cruise, but it does put things in context...I mean, the guy is an asshole- but at least he is an honest asshole who does not really give a shit about what people think - he is just smart enough and good looking enough that people forgive him for his transgressions - he surrounds himself with smart funny people, and they sheild him - none the less, sitting on the balcony today, I was reading his stories, and decided that I would count the number of waves that rolled by the ship - this may sound boring, but givenb a chilled bottle of vodka, five hours to kill, and QUIET, it is a wonderful thing to do. I made it through the bottle of vodka and counted exactly 2,138 waves rolling in the ocean - no more, no less, so if you detect some drunken bitterness in this blog you are probably right -

You can go look at the ship my family and I are on at www.carnival.com - it is the Carnival Legend - it is a nice ship, but it is dumbed down by the Eastern Europeans with cameras every fifteen feet who refuse to not take your picture in front of a fake image of Tuscany - note to the cruise operators - if I wanted a picture in Tuscany, I would have fucking cruised to Tuscany - the real picture I am looking for (as we sail by the tip of Cuba) is a picture of me on a Coast Gaurd Cutter rounding up cuban refugees who are trying to float 60 miles to Miami on fourteen inner tubes secured with their hair (which they have been saving since the revolution to make rope)....now that would be more fitting.

Things are actually very nice - tonight is the "formal night" which for some of these folks apparently means "wear your favorite bridesmaid outfit" - for me - it means fuck you, I am wearing a blue blazer and tan slacks, and if a tie is required, well kiss my ass. I don't think the captain should get too upset by George wearing a blue blazer after dropping $4,500 on the vacation - if he does, well he can kiss my ass too.

Speaking of refugees, I am a refugee these days - I was walking through the Casino (yes - occassionally I have the ability to walk through one) and noticed an octagenarian sitting a penny slot - and he obviuosly had pulled a number in his Depends undergarments - but he was happy in his own filth - the machine must have been kicking back some of his hard saved social security checks, thirty cents at a time - is that what I have to look forward to? God, I hope not. I travel from town to town, and want to be in one simple small place - and can't even get there from here, hell I can't call there unless I am willing to drop $100 on a ten minute phone call - the captain can kiss my ass for that too.

I am into the whole getting my ass kissed on this blog - I needed this break - it has been great swimming with the kids in the pool, watching them grow into young adults at their "fancy dinners" and spending every minute possible with them - in fact, it is funny, dad is not as cool as the image is - so they run off to their respective cruise camps, but make sure to let me know when my time is permissable and allowed - Gray is in her fancy clothes tonight, and her beautiful blue eyes and pink cheeks are just enough to make me sit through another 100 photo settings - Gabe opted out of the fancy dinner - I wanted to go with him to cruise camp and make pizzas and do sand art - but for some reason, I was told that I had to dress (and hear "you did not even pack a tie?") and go eat in the main dining room with the other folks (who all are apparently from Boston or Maine) who made sure to change out of their "God Bless the Red Sox" t-shirts long enough to head to the tuxedo rental place on the Lido deck.

I am happy today - I can make phone calls to the mainland tomorrow, and I want to call now, but I can't - I am excited about the excursion, but I get to use the phone - and after two days without a telephone, I really would prefer that my scrotum be stretched and dried into a tamborine cover...

None the less, tomorrow we have hell, the turtle farm (i broke it to my daughter today that the turtle farm is for soup turtles, not sea turtles) and the Stingray encounter - and not to mention the sweet sound of a dial tone...

Ah, one misses the simple things in life - a song, a dial tone, and the ability to not have to drink vodka out of a monkey head carved into a coconut shell...

Until next time...

Sunday, April 13, 2008

Silence and Text Messages...

I have turned into a text message guru - which is certainly odd for a 36 year old man- I mean, the younger folks have much more nimble fingers than I, and I have always preferred the sound of a phone call to the inhuman bling of a new message. I traditionally immediatly delete the text messages, most of them are short and simple hellos or good mornings or where are you type messages, but I save a few, just to make sure they are still there, and then re-read them when I get the chance.

Last night (and this morning) I received a couple of text messages that really made me think - the first, not so cryptic as the second "I hear things are going well - it is hard to find what you have" - interesting concept - finding what we have - I think we all should take some time in our lives to "find what we have" - and find out if it was what we had before - take for instance that pair of favorite slacks - they used to fit, but now they are too small, or have been replaced by a new favorite pair, or you lost them at the dry cleaners - not hard to replace, not hard to rationalize through, not really that much of a loss. It is difficult to find out what one really has in life - I mean it is apparent, through thousands of years of human nature, that honesty and simplicity are much easier to circumvent for the sake of other things - the bigger house, the better job, the whatevers that seem to distract us long enough to make us forget what it was we had (and still may, if we were able to wade through the distractions) there is some simplicity in accepting the situation, moving forward, and making a decision. Life does go to those who choose, and who are willing to accept those consequences - and any human being with a heartbeat can understand that concept - and if not understand it, at least use it. Take for instance the smallest child - they cry when they are wet or hungry or tired, and we reward them with food, or clean clothes, or just holding them - to what degree does an adult lose that feeling - adults get unstable when they are lonely, tired, scared, frustrated, and generally they find affirmation - they circle the wagons with their most agreeable friends, seek advice from that circle, and are comfortable that they have done the right thing. There is not much to find when one builds lives around acceptance and surrender to the group think - it is there, and unfortunately, that mentality sometimes makes us forget what was important at one time - our independence, our ability to make decisions as an individual - and when the group begins to think for the individual, well Jim Jones seems to come to mind.

Enough of that -

The worst text messages are those that are never responded to, those are the hanging chads of the text message world - you do't know what was meant by the first one, don't know what to do about the second one, and just have to wait for the next response, or pick up the phone and enter an entire new realm of communication - I don't like the messages that never get responses - that means the chat is one way, and begins a control issue loaded with unanswered concern, but hell, as long as we are reflecting on what we have, it is probably not a bad thing to have a few unanswered questions every now and again...

Good morning.

George

Vanilla Swiss Almond...

I would like to think that the only thing I left this past week in Austin was a pint of Vanilla Swiss Almond Haagen Das, in my opinion, one of the last comforts for a traveller besides an occassional rental car with XM stereo, and actually being able to make a Delta flight in the spring.

There were a large number of things left in Austin, a little bit of pain, a little bit of pride, some happiness, and a few tears shed along the way. I think a sock or two was lost, I believe that a pair of underwear are still tucked deep in the closet, and perhaps some workout clothes that did not make it into the suitcase.

Austin is my favorite two day city - out of all others, I mean, and I have written about it before, that there are cities that are made for long term assignments, places I could see myself living, but Austin is the kind of city, that, much like the music, changes but remains a constant beat - and it is nice to just go there and see the changes, and maybe wake up to a good dream or a beautiful rythm.

What did I leave in Austin besides ice cream? I feel like I left just about everything behind - unloaded some negatives, grabbed a few positives, but I think the exhaustion, the questions, the uncertainty - these were pretty much left behind in Austin, and much like my first trip to that city this year, I picked up some answers, some pride, some new health in the cold swimming pool, some sweet rythm to hum and to hold - no matter how many times I am able to visit, I still have that song - and if I feel like I am forgetting it, well there will always be Vanilla Swiss Almond to remind me that tune -

The Rythm in Austin will never go away, it is there forever, and I grab that memory when I need it, which lately, seems to be a little bit more than every five minutes...

Until next time,

George

Saturday, April 5, 2008

Misunderstanding...



I never really paid any attention to how sensitive we become when we become insensitive! (Now let's preface this with insensitive to those things that are going on around us - not necessarily insensitive to one another - )

The picture is the actual toilet at Fort Clinch (kept in real period for those crazy folks who like to live like civil war soldiers....no misunderstanding here, I was sitting on a civil war toilet)

I have never written in double meanings, mostly allegory or irony or satire, or just plain bitching and moaning -

Puns are not my strong suit. Hell, if I could get a few simple answers every once in a while for some of the complicated questions that I have, it would be great. A straightforward yes or no is probably all that it would take 90% of the time to get a smile and a nod, and I would open another beer, scratch myself, and finish watching the baseball game - that's not insensitive - that's just the way we are wired. Computers work really well when the zero's and one's are lined up perfectly - one line of code at a time - I suspect the human brain goes through the same simple stuff...

I can't run today - the rain comes every 45 minutes, so I think the idea of dynamic sitting (meaning I get up every thirty minutes or so to see if there are really no more fudge bars in the freezer) is about the limit I have for today. I think I may actually break out the Billy Blanks Tae-Bo cd's - I am losing my shittin' mind, and I need to do something that will either give me a heart attack, or make me want to go buy more fudge bars.

A demain, A demain, A demain...

G

Just Plain Tired and Wore the Hell Out...

I am just tired now. Just tired and worn out. I feel like I have not showered in days, eaten in days, worked out in days, loved in days, worked for years without a break, and am growing extremely less patient with the entire deal. I get on a plane in 45 minutes after 7 hours of sleeping on a dirty floor, and I am sure I resemble summer road kill in the deep south.

There are times that I honestly wish I chose a different course in life - and this is one of them - managing a convenience store close to the house, I could make a few baseball practices, maybe even spend more the 48 hours at home, and make a good simple living. Maybe become a framer or a roofer or a carpet installer - work from six am until four pm, go home, take a shower, have a meal with my family, and sleep. Not worry about the weekends unless I really need the extra hours for an upcoming birthday or celebration that would require a few extra dollars.

I am just tired, but I know I will not be able to sleep today, the kids are ready to see Dad, and Dad is ready to see the kids. I am whining and bitching and moaning, but I just want to be awake enough to have a snow cone from the Snoopy snow cone machine with my daughter and play catch or paddle ball with my son. Somethings are not completely fair - and I am beginning to think (or at least getting to some stage of coherent thought) that I am the person that I never wanted to be, the absent father, the missing husband, the lost friend...

You know what I need - I need 10 hours of quality time to sleep, a hot shower, a warm meal, and the smiles of my loves...that's what I need right now, unfortunately that's a 12 hour plan, and that's 25% of the time I have for the weekend...

Another Night in Hartsfield, and Crushing Tomatoes

Ahh, nothing like another Friday night sleeping in Hartsfield, this is the second week in a row, and one would think I would get more intelligent and not fly Delta this time of year, but hell, it is just the way things happen for me and for the other five or six thousand stranded travellers during the spring storms. I still can't understand why there is a big hub-bub about the drought conditions in Georgia - everytime I am in Hartsfield, it is fucking raining, and the flights are always delayed due to weather...

I guess I will scroll down and read my top ten things to do in Hartsfield before I find a place to fall asleep and try and catch three hours of sleep so that I am not a walking zombie for my wonderful children tomorrow...

Crushing Tomatoes - I have never been to one of those tomato festivals where they dump loads of the juicy overripe things in the street and people start out congenially and with some courtesy pelting each other and crushing the fruit underneath their bare feet - but this week, it had to be the closest emotional feeling to what those festivals turn into - an all out throwing and bashing of tomatoes that leaves the willing participant wondering what happened, stained, and a little more wary about going back next year. I had a few tomatoes thrown my way, I threw a few tomatoes, and inevitably ended up messy, tired, and needing to feel a little cleaner, a little less naive, a little less open to new things. It was a good lesson this week - taking things at face value becomes a difficult thing to do - you just don't have any idea what those other folks who are chunking things at you are thinking - sure it is all in good fun, but what if they get some sense of accomplishment out of the act of pelting you, or are just at the festival because they know it is a temporary lapse of reason, it will end in a few hours, and could care less what their actions (or their lack of action) will have on the guy who gets sideswiped by a really big juicy hothouse 'mater (as we call them in the south). Tit for tat is not very fair, I don't think I would be one of those folks who would retaliate by throwing harder, throwing more often, and being vicious about things, but I can imagine that it can happen -

A Farewell to Arms is the worst book in the world for a traveller to read - there is nothing more depressing than getting to the end of the book mid-way through a five hour flight and getting to the last page to find out about a dead child and lover - I can say this with some authority, I flipped to the last page tonight, and there it was - I guess it is good that I re-reading the classics - and Hemingway does a hell of a job throwing the heavy shit out there when you least expect it - they are travel books with a little bit of lesson in them, and the lessons are profound, and then more exploration of Spain or Italy. I switched gears and started East of Eden after A Farewell to Arms and The Sun Also Rises - that book was a little more uplifting - a lifetime of running away and then an ending of being together - somewhat practically romantic, and genuine - I just finished the first part of East of Eden - I can sympathize with Adam's naive love and Charles's jealousy - but in the end Charles ends up with the emotional side - so who is luckier Adam or Charles - what one does not know, one does not know, but Adam can remain happily and blissfully ignorant (maybe that changes later in the book), but for now Charles is getting the reward that Cathy has to offer - they understand each other, and well Adam the wanderer, the sucker, the brain full of wanderlust and dreams, he makes the commitment - but it appears (at least now) that he has been duped...Another great thing to think about for the traveller - what happens when you wander - I guess it is better to be blissfully ignorant than to be educated and devisive (sp) -

Well, there is a stranded British traveller next to me - unfortunately he has two 75 year old companions and two children (poor guy) I am going to see if there are any hotel rooms....

Until the next wonderful night in Hartsfield...

G