sea change

Before everything went to shit due to the global COVID-19 pandemic, Mrs. Pincus and I had a cruise booked for the final week of October 2020. I had scheduled for the time off from work (a new job I had started full-time in February). At the end of the work day on March 13, my employer informed everyone to take home their desk computers and instructions on how to log on to the company network were distributed via email. After six weeks of "working from home," my entire department (as well as others) was dissolved and every employee — save for a skeleton crew — was let go. 

Industries across the country were shutting down, having employees work from home where applicable. Businesses that operated with patrons in close proximity — amusement parks, movie theaters, concert and sports venues — were shuttered. And all cruise lines discontinued all scheduled cruises for a few months. Our October cruise was nearly paid-in-full. With no regular income — except for my meager unemployment insurance payment — the price of a cruise is money that we could use for other, more essential needs. The problem is, if we canceled the trip, we would be penalized. We would stand to lose a portion of our deposit that we could not afford to lose. So, we would have to wait.... patiently. When you are stuck in your house for eleventy thousand weeks with no job, patience is not very easy to come by.

As the weeks of quarantine turned into months of quarantine, cruise lines were regularly assessing the safety and logistics of re-starting business. Mrs. Pincus and I closely followed the proposed scenarios and alternate procedures being suggested by cruise lines. We weren't too pleased with the solutions and how temporary or permanent they'd need to be.

Well, in a cavalcade of mixed feelings, our October cruise was canceled by Carnival. We, of course, were disappointed that we would not be going on a cruise. We were relieved, however, that we would not have to make what could possibly be a life-or-death decision about taking a cruise. Carnival made that decision for us. And we were offered a full refund of everything we had paid to date... which was, indeed, everything.

My wife and I began to assess the future of cruising. Since our first cruise seven years ago, my wife and I have become very enthusiastic about going on cruises. We like what we like about cruising. I assume that everyone who takes a cruise likes it for specific activities, even if they are different from the ones we like. We have a great time, which, based on my feelings before my first cruise, is very surprising to me. Sure, nearly every cruise we have taken was identical, but that's the experience we enjoy. We like to play trivia games. We like to go to the buffet. (I really like to go to the buffet!) We like the kitschy entertainment. We like meeting new people that we probably will never see again — but, thanks to the magic of the internet, can maintain a friendship as though they lived right next door. But, under the current circumstances as defined by the malevolent coronavirus, all the things we love about cruising will have to change. And that's the part we are wrestling with. Do we really want to take a cruise that is a completely different experience than our previous cruises? 

Well, the buffets would have to be eliminated to cut down on so many different people handling plates and serving utensils... not to mention those travelers who just handle the actual food with their hands.

Showrooms would have to reconfigure seating to allow for social distancing. Heck, the entire ship would have difficulty maintaining social distancing, from the narrow corridors, to the cramped, but mandatory muster drills, to the closeness of seating in the main dining rooms, sometimes with total strangers.

Our beloved trivia games would need to keep participants six feet apart, leading to players taking up huge areas of lounges and forcing the activity's host to speak even louder, repeating questions and stretching play time way past the time allotted for the event. Multiply that by every on-board activity for the entire week and I see a lot of disappointed passengers. Plus, there is the intimacy of bars and discos and swimming and water slides and sports.... ecchhh! it's a mess. Then there's the issue of other people not following the rules. And people on cruises love to not follow the rules. I don't think I want to spend the money for a cruise and not get the cruise I am used to. Until I am sure the cruise industry will go back to the way it was — the way I'm used to — Mrs. Pincus and I will have to pass, albeit reluctantly.

When this is all over (when ever that is), will we define our life timeline as BC (Before COVID-19) and AC (After COVID-19)? 

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

try a little kindness

I have been accused of being a curmudgeon, a pessimist, grumpy, a crank, a griper, a complainer, a sorehead.... well, you get the idea. Yeah, I know. I find fault with my fellow human, recurrently pointing out things they do that — shall we say — "rub me the wrong way." And, if you are a regular reader of my blog, or, God forbid, know me in real life, you know that I don't often acknowledge when someone does something kind, something genuinely thoughtful and unselfish. Well, that's about to change. And please forgive me if I begin to choke up while I type.

My wife and I met Richard on our sixth cruise. A few moths prior to our departure, Mrs. Pincus joined a Facebook group whose membership was comprised of folks who had booked the same late October sailing aboard the grand Norwegian Breakaway. Mrs. P was very active in this group and interacted daily with a core group of folks who were soon-to-be our fellow cruisers. This made for a very interesting cruise once we set sail, because it was as though we were vacationing with a bunch of our friends. A pre-arranged "meet-and-greet" on our first full day at sea created friendships that were strong during our week on the ocean and remain strong (thanks to social media) to this day. One of these people was Richard.

Richard is a fun-loving guy in the truest sense. He loves fun. He attracts fun. He exudes fun. He's a fun guy. (Keep your "mushroom" jokes to yourself.) In addition to being an avid and very experienced cruiser, Richard is a writer, an editor, a foodie and an amateur filmmaker. He's the kind of guy you sit next to at a bar and — after several hours — you think, "Wow! This is a great guy!" And if you've ever had the opportunity to be on a cruise with Richard, you could easily find yourself in that very situation. During our cruise in 2017, every time I looked up or passed one of the many bars aboard the ship, there was Richard, umbrella-sporting drink in hand, head back and laughing among a group of people who were also laughing. (This is not to imply that Richard spends seven days on a ship drinking and laughing 24 hours a day. He might, but I don't want to be the one to make such an implication.) I actually wrote about an incident involving Richard just after our 2017 cruise. You can read it here.

At the end of our cruise, Mrs. Pincus and I exchanged email addresses and social media contacts with all of our new found best friends and went off to live the rest of our lives. Now, we regularly see, correspond and "like" each others posts, making it feel like we are all still connected. We comment on Richard's Facebook status and his quirky Instagram pictures and he gives ours the ol' "thumbs up" in return.

At the end of 2019, Mrs. Pincus and I returned from our ninth cruise. It was our second one of the year. We had two more planned and the idea of additional cruises in our future. Mrs. P wisely purchased a gift card from Carnival Cruises for a pretty significant amount. 

Then, the world was hit with a devastating global pandemic. In addition to taking lives, COVID-19 wiped out businesses, social gatherings, travel and commerce of all types. All manners of places where large numbers of people congregated — movie theaters, concert venues, sports stadiums, theme parks and, yes, cruise ships — ceased operation. After a few weeks of working from home, I found myself among those filing for unemployment insurance. Thankfully, Mrs. Pincus's eBay business was active, providing us with one source of a steady income. However, we had placed a pretty sizable deposit on a cruise booked for October 2020. A deposit that, given our current financial situation, we could not afford to lose. The cruise lines were all being very cautious. They were indeed canceling scheduled sailings, but they were doing it on a slow, month-by month basis. You see, if you cancel your cruise, you only receive a partial refund of any funds already paid. If the cruise line cancels, then all payments are refunded... and cruise lines aren't real keen on giving refunds. So, in April, we anxiously waited for a cancelation announcement from Carnival. 

Albatross.

Then there was that gift card. We had a lot of money locked up in it. There was an overhanging possibility that cruise companies would not survive a lengthy shutdown. A gift card would be worthless if there was no company to redeem it. We were in no position to lose a considerable amount of money. So, Mrs. Pincus attempted to offer the card for sale in her eBay store. She did a little research and discovered that listed gift cards were still selling. However, she soon found that she was not permitted to sell a gift card, based on the type of account she had. We began to feel trapped and desperate. Mrs. Pincus toyed with offering it for sale on Facebook, specifically one of the many available marketplaces. Then she remembered Richard.

Richard maintains a Facebook group for people who love cruising. She contacted Richard, via a private message, asking permission to post the gift card for sale in his cruise group. Richard instantly gave his approval. Then, he added something totally unexpected. Totally unprovoked. And totally unselfish. Richard offered to buy the card from us outright. Mrs. P read and reread the offer several times to make sure she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. Mrs. Pincus asked for an amount that was less than face value, hoping that a "split the difference" offer would be more enticing. Richard would hear nothing of the sort. He insisted on the full amount. We were speechless. That's not just a "figure of speech." We were unable to produced a sound. Mrs. Pincus began to cry as she typed out a simple "thank you" to Richard. Honestly, we spent only a few fleeting minutes with Richard on a huge ship over three years ago. We didn't get to know him as well as we had liked... which makes Richard's act of kindness all the more special and touching.

Bonus.

Within minutes, Richard send a payment through an online payment service. Mrs. P securely sealed the card in an envelope and set out to baking a batch of her famous kamish broit (sometimes called mandel bread) to accompany the card in shipment, as an extra added gesture of sanity-saving and relief-inducing gratitude. She packed everything up nice and safe and took it to the post office the next day with her daily eBay shipments. She kept a watchful eye of the delivery, carefully monitoring the tracking, keeping tabs on its journey to northern New Jersey where Richard lives. Mrs. Pincus finally received confirmation of delivery. She waited for a message from Richard, because the US Postal Service isn't always accurate. 

She waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Unable to contain her anxiety, Mrs. Pincus contacted Richard to make sure he had, indeed, received the package and the precious gift card within. He laughed, explaining that a box has been sitting on his dining room table all day. He didn't open it because he assumed it was for his partner Gary. While he texted, Richard opened the box and assured Mrs. Pincus that the gift card was in his possession. He also explained that he would be keeping the kamish broit away from Gary.

See, there are still nice, kind, thoughtful, generous people in the world. Richard is at the very top of that list.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

sit down, you're rocking the boat

In the summer of 2012, Mrs. Pincus went on a cruise with her extended family. It was made very clear, by my brother-in-law, that I was not included in this trip. Just as well. The thought of going on a cruise, despite being an avid fan of The Love Boat, did not have the least bit of appeal for me. Upon my wife's return, however, I heard all about the endless food, planned activities and kitschy entertainment. I have to admit, I was slightly intrigued. So, based on Mrs. P's casino "activity" (at the time), the good folks at Harrah's Atlantic City offered us a free cruise. With a little bit of convincing, we took the offer. (The "free" part was the clincher.)

Flash forward to today, I am the veteran of eight cruises. I never imagined that we would become the people that I made fun of on our first cruise... and in such a short period of time! I still maintain that all of the cruises have basically been identical. Sure, they have been on different ships with different people and at different times of the year, the overall experience has been the same. They've all featured buffets with endless amounts of food, planned activities (like trivia contents, where on our most recent cruise, we were accused of cheating) and hokey entertainment presented by troupes of fresh-faced performers giving their all as though they were on a Broadway stage, not one rocking back and forth in the middle of the ocean.

Mrs. Pincus and I have had conversations with a number of crew members, something — believe it or not — not many passengers do. A lot cruisers treat the crew like servants, foisting angry demands upon them with a tone of of contempt. Others ignore the crew, except for waiters and bartenders. But my wife and I have had really interesting interaction with crew members while we were waiting for a trivia game to start. Most cruise ship staff hail from outside of the United States, so we have heard fascinating tales of sneaking stealthily through farmland in the Philippines to steal watermelons. We were told about tiny villages in the Middle East, where a crew member's family is the recipient of wired funds and get to see their loved one in person every six months. We learned how employment on cruise ships works (six month "contracts" with the option to renew). These stories have all brought me to the conclusion that most cruise ship staff are akin to carnies. Some of them — not all of them, but a lot of them — lean towards the transient and unseemly side of society. I can only imagine what goes on below the "passenger" decks and I imagine that it's not unlike the "steerage party" scene from Titanic. I picture crew members crammed into tiny, closet-sized rooms — drunk, dirty and sleeping with each other. Just my opinion.

On our third or fourth cruise (I honestly forget which), Mrs. P and I encountered a particular member of the entertainment staff. He stood out from the rest of the young men and women, in that he was wild and rambunctious and overly animated. On our first evening aboard, we met him in the showroom, prior to showtime. He was dancing wildly to the piped-in music. He was hugging guests and acting silly. He came over to where we were seated and made exaggerated "flirty eyes" at Mrs. P. (All in fun, of course.) He introduced himself as "Oston," explaining it was like "Boston" without the "B." Then, he turned his head as an attractive young lady walked by. He loudly remarked: "There goes my future ex-wife." (We would hear that joke countless more times thoroughout the week.) Oston was a native of Turkey and regularly reminded everyone of that fact. When hosting activities,  he would regularly mock his difficultly with non-Turkish phrasing by announcing: "Press 1 for English." We ran into Oston nearly everywhere we went on the ship — hosting trivia games, wandering around near the pool, at the buffet, in the showroom, everywhere. He walked a thin line between fun and annoying. 

At the end of the week, we thanked Oston for enhancing our vacation. However, Mrs. P and I secretly agreed that he would most likely be fired at the end of this trip. He just didn't fit in with the "Norwegian Cruises" persona. We couldn't put our finger on what exactly was the problem, but it was something.

My wife and I went on another cruise this past October. This time, we sailed on the Carnival Pride, out of the Port of Baltimore, just a two-hour drive from our suburban Philadelphia home. The Pride is a smaller ship than any of the others on which we previously sailed, and it made for a more intimate and enjoyable trip. On our first evening aboard, we spotted a familiar figure dancing wildly in the aisles of the Pride's main showroom. It was Oston and he was up to his old unmistakable tricks. We got his attention (which was tough, considering his short attention span) and he came over to us. We jogged his memory until he "sort-of" remembered us from that Norwegian cruise several years earlier. Mrs. P asked him how long he has been with Carnival. He smiled a crooked smile and proudly told us that this was his first cruise with the line. He also told us that he had briefly been employed by Royal Caribbean after leaving Norwegian.

On this same cruise, we met a quiet woman who was traveling with Flossie, her eight-year-old daughter. Flossie revealed herself to be a natural performer, as we saw her participating in a number of karaoke sessions as well as showing off her dancing skills in other audience-participation activities. And during the course of the week aboard the Pride, Flossie became enamored with Oston. She followed him from activity to activity, silently observing him with big, puppy-dog eyes. Flossie even bought a plush teddy bear, which she named "Oston," in homage to her favorite crew member. Oston seemed flattered by the youngster's extra attention, but it was hard to tell since his behavior could only be described as "off the rails." At the end of the cruise, Flossie was in tears and parting with Oston was borderline traumatic.

My wife connected on Facebook with Flossie's mother. She told Mrs. P that the ride back home (they drove back to Toronto from Baltimore) was rough, as poor Flossie cried most of the time. When she wasn't crying, she was talking about Oston. Mrs. P remained in regular contact with Flossie's mom and one day, just a week or so after our cruise, she told my wife that they booked another cruise aboard the Pride for November — just so Flossie could see Oston again.

Just prior to their November sailing, Oston emailed Flossie's mom, asking her to pick up some personal items for him. (He knew that they would be sailing.) He asked for toiletries, as well as socks, underwear and sneakers. Flossie's mother complied with all of his requests. When the date of the cruise arrived, she met up with Oston and handed over the items he asked for. He expressed his gratitude. Flossie was ecstatic at seeing Oston. The week aboard the Pride was magical for her. Oston (and all of the entertainment staff) paid special attention to the girl, sometimes affording her "co-hosting" duties at certain activities. Flossie's mom sent Mrs. P photos and videos of little Flossie dancing and singing with Oston. Her smile was huge in every shot. At the end of the week, Flossie and her mom had another tearful departure and headed back to Canada.

Then things got..... strange. 

Flossie's mom received a barrage of texts from Oston saying that he quit his job with Carnival. He was at the airport with Turkey as his destination. A lot of what Oston was saying was incoherent, either due to a language barrier or his erratic behavior. He told Flossie's mom that he has misplaced his passport and left his bags at the airport. He was staying with friends in Maryland... or Pennsylvania. He kept changing his story. In one text, he sounded "desperate" (as Flossie's mom described it) and said he felt "worthless."

Then he asked Flossie's mom for money.

Flossie's mom had, evidently, made connections with other crew aboard the Pride. They warned her to steer clear of Oston. They pegged him as a conman. They explained that he had a pattern of this behavior and he should be avoided. One of his former coworkers told Flossie's mom it would be best to end all contact with Oston right now.

Flossie's mom was confused. She saw no signs of any deceit from Oston... on either of their cruise encounters. He was enthusiastic and appeared sincere with Flossie. Sure he was a bit wild, but he interacted with Flossie like a protective older brother. But these accusations of being a con man sure seemed to be feasible. Flossie's mom was diplomatic and, most importantly, realistic. She explained to Oston that, while she would like to help, she was in no position to offer the financial support he requested.

Flossie's mom hasn't received a text from Oston since.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

baby what a big surprise

My wife and I just returned from a seven-day cruise to the Caribbean aboard the Carnival Breeze. But this story isn't about that cruise. It's about the events that led up to the cruise. If you want to read about a cruise, go here. If you want a story about deceit and intrigue and messing with family, then here we go.

A little over a year ago, Mrs. P's cousin Liv planned a family cruise to celebrate her 45th year of wedded bliss to her husband Peter. My wife is very close with Liv and her three children, Scoop, Veronica and Juniper. The children are grown, some with children of their own. Mrs P is close with that entire branch of the family, even though they live in Virginia Beach. Mrs. P often takes the six-hour drive to spend a weekend with them. I have made the trip, as well, when I could, but, honestly, they want to see Mrs. P, not me. When Mrs. Pincus found out about their cruise plans, she secretly booked a trip on the same ship, as a surprise. At the time, I was limited to vacation days from my job, so Mrs. P would be taking this trip solo. She planned to drive — alone — to the Port Canaveral launch destination, staying — alone — overnight along the I-95 corridor. Then she planned to board the ship as stealthily as possible and surprise the whole clan. Mrs. Pincus regularly speaks with Liv and Juniper, even visiting them over the past year, but she never breathed a word about her secret plans. Actually, she didn't tell anyone about her plans for fear of someone spilling the beans.... and in her family, there is an awful lot of bean spilling.

Well, a year is a long time and, as they say, the best laid plans of mice and men...

Everything was planned perfectly. Mrs. P arranged for a hotel near Port Canaveral, Florida that included parking and shuttle service to the cruise terminal. She would leave on Thursday morning, leaving plenty of time for a Friday arrival. She would keep the trip on the down-low, so as not to arouse any suspicion. With these plans in place, Mrs. P visited Virginia Beach a few months ago for the first birthday of Scoop's son. She steered the conversation away from "cruise talk," only briefly and casually asking about their plans. Meanwhile, Mrs. P was gathering gifts and novelties to share with Veronica's pre-teen children who, most likely, would be the most surprised and thrilled to have the magical Mrs. Pincus along on their vacation.

With all the details and plans taken care of, all that was left was waiting for the date to roll around and the surprise to get underway. Then, a monkey wrench was thrown into the works. Without any warning, I was laid off from my job at the beginning of July, just five weeks before the cruise departed. Past experience had revealed that the job market was not exactly a welcoming place for a 58-year old graphic designer. Mrs. Pincus, however, was stuck with a laundry list of non-refundable charges and payments that had already been made. She felt horrible about taking a fairly pricey trip  — alone — while I stayed home and looked for a job. She suggested that, as long as I had the time, I should come along. She would check to see if I could be added to her cabin booking. She would also check for an open spot on the terminal shuttle. Calls were made and reservations were amended. This contradicted everything I stood for. I hated the idea of taking a vacation when I should be out looking for a job. I continued on the job search and, luckily, secured a new position just a few weeks after losing my job. At the interview, I explained that I had a previous obligation and I would not be able to start until the third week of August. My new employer was fine with that and I felt a whole lot better. With my conscience clear, we continued with our plans. Mrs. Pincus was actually relieved that she would not be taking the journey alone... although we were not convinced that our surprise presence would be welcomed by Liv and her family.

Mrs. Pincus chatted often with Juniper and Liv, answering their many questions based on our previous cruise experiences, but careful not to appear too enthusiastic. On Wednesday, the day before we (collectively) planned to leave, Mrs. Pincus told Juniper that we were going to take a road trip to celebrate my new job and to give our new car (purchased in September 2018) a chance on the open road. Juniper remarked "you should just come on our cruise with us" and Mrs. P nervously giggled and brushed the invitation off.

We left before sunrise on Thursday morning with a full car and no set destination for our first night. I joked to Mrs. P that this time tomorrow, not one member of her family would be speaking to us. We stayed in phone contact with our Virginia contingency who would be starting out later but picking up I-95 near Emporia, Virginia and, most likely, wind up ahead of us. We arrived at South of the Border, the infamous tourist trap in Dillon, South Carolina, just missing the Virginia convoy by a few minutes. They drove through the night, arriving in a pre-booked air B&B in Kissimmee, Florida with plans to hit Walt Disney World for a single day. We made it to a Hampton Inn in Walterboro, South Carolina, just under 80 miles from the Georgia state border. The next morning we would get to our Titusville, Florida accommodations in the afternoon and make innocent plans with Juniper and her parents for dinner at Disney Springs, the revamped shopping and dining area at Walt Disney World. Mrs. Pincus spoke with Juniper, who wondered what we were doing headed to Florida. Everyone knows how much my family loves Disney, so it really wasn't that out of the ordinary. Without revealing that we already had a hotel room, we met at Disney Springs and had a quick dinner at the Earl of Sandwich sandwich shop, then checked out the new stores and layout of the refurbished and reimagined entertainment district. We parted ways around 9:30 and wished them a great cruise, never alluding to where we were off to next.

The next morning, we drove our car to the Cocoa Beach shuttle and parked in a space near where the shuttle bus was loading. Twenty minutes later, we found ourselves in the Port Canaveral cruise terminal, waiting for our boarding time to be announced and hoping that Liv, Juniper and the family wouldn't arrive and spot us. Finally, we were able to board without incident. We entered the three-story lobby on the Carnival Breeze, marveling at the decor and excited by the thought of the week ahead. We also tried to gauge the reaction we would receive once our cover was blown. Would we be embraced or would we be reviled for muscling in on their cruise? We were baffled.

Almost an hour had passed as we stood conspicuously by the door through which all arriving passengers boarded. Suddenly, our Virginia cousins arrived.... and they were all smiles and bursting with laughter. It seemed that they booked the exact same shuttle service and parked their car in the same row in the parking lot. In addition, Veronica had a bag of trash to discard and she spotted my wife's Grateful Dead inspired license plate, as we were parked next to the trash can. She snapped a picture and exclaimed, "I knew it! I knew it!"

As they say, the best laid plans of mice and men...

We had a great week that ended with everyone still on speaking terms. But next time, we'll try to better cover our tracks.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

promises something for everyone

Boy, do I miss going on a cruise. Actually, my wife really misses going on a cruise, but she begins her lamenting as soon as our current cruise pulls into home port. As much as I love cruising, I at least wait until there is a worldwide pandemic to begin thinking of how much I miss cruising.

I remember when Mrs. Pincus booked our first cruise way back in 2013. I was not really happy with the thought of spending a week floating in the middle of the ocean with a bunch of strangers — playing shuffleboard, participating in some sort of dance class by the pool and wearing a tuxedo to dine at the Captain's Table. You see, my only frame of reference for going on a cruise came from The Love Boat.

From 1977 until 1986, I relished in the exotic locales, cheesy plotlines and familiar crewmembers that flashed across my television screen on a weekly basis — sometimes taking twice its allotted hour-long time slot to tell a tale filled with more intrigue than normal. I knew the Pacific Princess inside and out — from the split-level dining room, to the Acapulco Lounge to the secluded Pirates Cove where one could find a sympathetic ear from Isaac, apparently the sole bartender aboard. The staterooms depicted on The Love Boat were spacious and luxurious, decked out with full curtain-and-valance ensembles, wall-sized paintings and king-size beds (or twins with two feet of maneuvering space between). There was a large dresser and a bureau (those are two separate pieces of furniture) and a full bathroom with a door that doesn't hit anything when opened. Guests would regularly invite other guests into their cabin for drinks, hors d'oeuvres, hanky-panky or climbing into a two-piece horse costume to fool a couple of kids. 

On my first cruise, I mistook the corridor to access our room for a "staff-only" passageway, due to its narrow span and the tiny doors that lined its walls. The actual room — once I wedged our suitcases through the door — was closet-like in size with just a few inches of buffer between the bed and the adjacent walls. The bathroom was bisected by a thin curtain that served (unsuccessfully, we would later discover) to contain the shower water from entering the rest of the room. The streamlined toilet jutted out awkwardly from a wall, its jet-engine flushing mechanism activated by a small button an inch above the unit, alongside an ominous sign warning that flushing should only be attempted with the lid closed. I am doing my best not to say the room was so small that you had to step into the hallway to change your mind... but I fear I'm going to fail.

The dining room on The Love Boat was huge and the showroom was tiny with a small stage jammed with musicians, barely leaving enough room for Charo to shake her cuchi-cuchis. There appeared to be just three bars on the ship — one at the pool, one in the Acapulco Lounge and the aforementioned Pirates Cove. The always jovial and accommodating Isaac Washington  seemed to man all three, even donning an eyepatch and striped tunic to match the buccaneer theming. I can tell you for a fact that if ships only had three bars, they would invariably tip over from the lopsided distribution of patron weight. The showrooms, on the other hand, are multi-deck affairs, some with stadium seating in the upper tiers and intimate booth and theater seating on the main floor. The stages are pretty elaborate, employing trap doors, hydraulic risers, props and lighting and more than enough room to contain a dozen Charos and all the cuchi-cuchi energy they could muster.

Which brings me to the other crew members. There was Burl "Gopher" Smith, the ship's yeoman purser — a position so vital that the chief purser was never seen, leaving Gopher to fumble through the cruise, chasing after Doc Bricker's cast-offs, hiding from the captain and tripping over his own feet. Doc Bricker was a baffling character. He greeted arriving passengers, assisting in checking them in and providing directions to their accommodations. He also surveyed the group for those who displayed symptoms of illness as well as those female passengers on whom he could perform a "skirt-ectomy" by the time they dock in Puerto Vallarta. I have been on eight cruises and I have never seen the ship's doctor.

Cruise director Julie McCoy — with her cockeyed smile and look of constant bewilderment — is the antithesis of every cruise director I have ever encountered. Most real-life cruise directors are pulsating balls of pure energy, injecting a feeling of fun and excitement where ever they go. They are on 24 hours a day! Some are more on than others, but all subscribe to the same basic philosophy: "The passengers must have a good time all the time!" Cruise directors are in show business and the entire ship is their stage. There is no time to have a quiet, candlelit dinner with Tony Roberts when you got a ship full drunk and uncoordinated Baby Boomers who came to dance and sing along to the best of Motown. I swear I've seen some cruise directors in two places at the same time — leading a lesson in dancing like Michael Jackson and, minutes later in another part of the ship, reading "Green Eggs and Ham" to a bunch of over-stimulated children. Besides, cruise staff are not permitted to, shall we say, "interact romantically" with the passengers. I'm pretty sure that, when you're asleep, they are below deck, fucking each other any way. The only thing that real cruise directors have in common with TV's Julie McCoy is the cocaine usage. How else can they keep up that energy?

Then there is the captain — stern but lovable Merrill Stubing. I have only seen the actual ship's captain of any ship we've sailed on when he showed up on "Pose with the Ship's Captain" picture night and during an informal question and answer session, finally debunking the theory that there are shirtless guys below deck shoveling coal into boilers like in Titanic. Otherwise, the captain is sequestered on the bridge, driving the goddamn ship! He isn't mingling with the passengers, showing them where Promenade 215 is or joking with his college professor who said he'd never amount to anything. His look-alike brother isn't boarding and he isn't laughing off "bald jokes" from his barely-competent crew. He's navigating storm-affected waters for the quickest possible route to get your pasty white ass on a beach by 10 AM tomorrow morning... of course, that's after you've downed a stack of fifteen pancakes and a couple of Sea Day Brunch Bloody Marys. See? No time to court Marion Ross or help his ship-bound daughter with her algebra homework.

According to The Love Boat, the entire ship is effortlessly managed by five crew members, a couple of whom don't really seem to do anything. Sure, Al Molinaro was an ill-tempered chef in one episode and Abe Vigoda was a beleaguered steward in another, but Isaac and Gopher seemed to be pulling double duty waiting tables. In reality, the buffet alone has hundreds of workers silently putting out more food for the perpetually-famished diners. Others are stealthily clearing tables and sweeping up the messes left by finicky and frustrated children. Still others are behind the scenes whipping up familiar and gourmet fare on a scale that rivals a summer camp, an army base or a federal prison. The formal dining rooms are run like clockwork and never have I witnessed a waiter lose his footing and slam a multilayer cake into the captain's lap — a mishap that occurs at least once an episode.

And never have I seen someone fall into the pool fully clothed.

I miss cruising. But at least I have Love Boat as an unrelatable distraction while I'm waiting to cruise again.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

I can't get next to you

My wife and I just returned from our sixth — count 'em sixth — cruise. Now, there's a sentence I never thought I'd see myself type. Don't get me wrong. I have enjoyed each and every one, but, honestly, they all have been very similar experiences. First of all, we are on vacation, so the level of energy we exert is minimal... as it should be. Sure, there are people aboard the ship who jog or exercise or swim or workout in the large gym. Not me. I don't do those things at home, so I am certainly not doing them on vacation. What I do most often is eat, as does the majority of the passengers. After all, cruise lines are famous for their sumptuous and abundant buffets, most available 24 hours a day.

First prize

Our typical day on the ship would be to wake up around 8 a.m. We dress and head out the the first session of trivia of the day. That's what we like to do: play trivia games. It's fun. It's silly and requires little to no energy... except for thinking. Considering that the prizes are usually some sort of cruise line branded tchotchke, we don't try to be especially competitive. Well, hardly ever. After winning trivia (yeah, we usually win. Either we are really smart or the other passengers are hungover), my wife and I find our way to the breakfast buffet. Our days are leisurely, relaxing and effortless. They are punctuated by mindless activities and eating. That may not sound like much of a vacation, but to paraphrase ol' Doc Brown from Back to the Future III: "Your cruise is whatever you make it, so make it a good one."

Some folks, however, spend a ton of money on a trip such as a cruise and have no idea how to relax. Or even how to interact with other people. Over the years, Mrs. P and I met many fellow passengers who were travelling as a single. Even on this most recent cruise, we met several people who were vacationing by themselves. But, they were friendly, personable and outgoing. Richard, one of the members of a Facebook group my wife joined prior to our trip, was a great guy. Funny, interesting — a real character. He even wrote a book that he allowed his cruise comrades to download to their Kindle for free. Mrs. Pincus, a supporter of the arts... I guess, purchased an actual copy. Richard was flattered, adding there's a possibility she may have purchased the only copy. George was a hoot. Tall and quite noticeable, George bore a striking resemblance to beloved teacher-turned-meth-dealer Walter White from TV's Breaking Bad. He stuck to his story that it was merely a costume (as we sailed over Hallowe'en), but I was leery. Again, George was traveling alone, but every time we saw him, he was in the center of a crowd — smiling and laughing and making the most of his cruise. There are people, though, that board the ship with luggage in their hand and a chip on their shoulder. We met one.

Single copy

A few days into our cruise, after mingling with the fun group of people at a pre-arranged gathering of the aforementioned Facebook group, Mrs. P and I spotted Richard sitting at a small table in O'Sheehan's, the signature Irish pub that is featured on nine Norwegian Cruise Line ships. I quickly made my way back to our cabin — just three decks up — to grab our copy of Richard's book and a black Sharpie with which he could inscribe the title page. In a flash, I returned and handed the book over to my wife. She took over the charade from there. We strode up to Richard, seated at his small table-for-one (as the opposing chair had been removed) and, as we feigned excitement,  Mrs. P announced, "Oh my gosh! Richard! Richard is on this ship!" Richard laughed and tried, unsuccessfully, to hide under his baseball cap. A few patrons craned their necks in our direction, trying to figure out if Richard was someone they should know. Mrs. P laid it on thick. "I have your book, Richard. Could you please sign it for me?," she implored with faux adoration. Richard, who, of course, we had met earlier, played along, dramatically signing the book with an exaggerated flourish. We stood by Richard's table chatting briefly while he waited for his lunch order to arrive. We flanked Richard's table as we talked. A few minutes later, a waitress led a gentleman to the table across the narrow aisle from Richard. I could see, in my peripheral vision, the man was not sitting. Instead, he stood at attention alongside his chair. We continued our talk with Richard, but I could see that the man at the next table, still standing, was shifting his weight from one foot to the other. From his body language, he seemed to be quite annoyed. The waitress returned and asked if everything was okay. "I'm just waiting for someone.," he replied. He remained standing, when suddenly, he tapped my wife on the shoulder. Mrs. P turned to him. Through clenched teeth, he seethed, "You are making me very uncomfortable by hovering near my table! Could you move?" Mrs. P apologized. "I'm so sorry," she said, "I'm glad you said something." We sort of scooted over to the other side of Richard's table. By this time, his lunch had arrived. We told him we'd catch up with him later. As we left O'Sheehan's, my wife, once again, apologized to the "hover table" guy. He grumbled under his breath at Mrs. P's parting atonement.

Too close...

At first, we felt bad. But, the more we thought about it, the more we realized the absurdity of that guy's reaction and behavior. Here he is, on a ship by himself, with 4000 passengers — and he's angry because someone was standing near him?!? Hey dude, if you don't like people standing near you, a cruise ship is the last place you should be. At some point during the week, someone is gonna be near you.

The next morning, Mrs. Pincus and I were in the Garden Cafe, the ship's buffet, finishing up breakfast. Suddenly, I saw the "hover table" guy place a plate filled with breakfast foods at a table just a few feet from where we were sitting. He turned and headed toward the self-serve beverage area and grabbed a coffee mug from the rack. I jokingly said that I was going to stand next to his table when he returned. I watched the "hover table guy" reach to dispense himself some coffee by jutting his hand right in front of another passenger who was also getting coffee. Again, he reached right across this poor man's personal space to grab a few sugar packets. Then, he lumbered back to his table, a scowl across his face, and seated himself at his breakfast plate. Then, he bowed his head and crossed himself. My wife frowned and commented, loud enough for me to hear, but not so loud that the "hover table" guy could hear: "Did Jesus teach you how to be rude to your fellow man?"

... for comfort.

Now, I'm not one to knock anybody's religious beliefs.... well, actually, I am..... but I cannot be alone in the feeling of blatant contradiction between multiple instances of rude behavior and the pious act of bowing one's head in prayer and (I assume) gratitude towards a "higher being." Didn't I once hear something about: "Do not seek revenge or bear a grudge against anyone among your people, but love your neighbor as yourself" (that one is right from Leviticus.... that's the Bible). I think that includes telling someone to move and reaching your arm across someone's personal space to get a cup of coffee for yourself.

I'll bet this guy's neighbor probably lives too close for his liking.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

no time for losers

My wife and I went our first cruise together almost ten years ago. Mrs. Pincus had been on a cruise with her family the year before and, when she returned, she did a whole lot of convincing to get me on board (pun fully intended) with the idea.

Once our trip was booked, I really didn't know what to expect. My only frame of reference for going on a cruise was the nine seasons of The Love Boat I had watched and maybe the seven minute excursion into the faux wilderness that is the Jungle Cruise in Disneyland.

In the final week of May 2013, my wife, our luggage and I left New York City's Pier 88 for 7 days of fun aboard the Norwegian Gem. Sure, I knew about the the endless buffets, the spectacular ocean views, the endless buffets, the poolside relaxation, the lavish nighttime staged entertainment and the endless buffets, but I was still unclear about what else there was do occupy my time over the course of a week... you know, besides eating. Well, on Day One we were presented with a full itinerary of activities tailor-made to fit any and all interests. There were sports related activities like basketball and ping pong (not interested). There were seminars about investments (not interested). There were demonstrations of ice carving, cooking and the age-old art of towel folding (somewhat interested). But, my wife and I had a keen interest in the silly game competitions that offered throughout the day. 

At the time, there was a show on television called Minute To Win It inexplicably hosted by TV chef Guy Fieri. On the show, guests would compete against each other in silly little games with the hopes of winning money or prizes. The contests weren't on the level of the Olympics or any professional sports. They were more like the games one would play at a children's birthday party., like carrying an egg on a spoon from Point A to Point B or removing the shaving cream from an inflated balloon with a real, sharp razor. The enthusiastic staff of the Norwegian Gem created their own version of the TV game show, with similar stunts. The prizes, however were not nearly as desirable as those rewarded by a network television show. There were no big screen TVs or diamond bracelets or large stacks of cash. Instead, victors were given a deck of cards or a t-shirt, each emblazoned with the logo of the Norwegian Cruise Lines. Look, we were all there to have fun. We were in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, away from our everyday lives and surrounded by obscene amounts of food twenty-four hours a day. We weren't physically-fit athletes competing for the honor of representing our respective countries on the world stage. The fact that we were being judged on our ability to stack plastic cups the fastest drove that message home.

For most of us, anyway.

There is something about a cruise that creates human bonding. As the days of a cruise progress, one-time strangers quickly become inseparable friends. I have likened this sea-worthy phenomenon to summer camp for adults. By the end of a cruise, close friendships are formed with folks that have only spent a short time together. These friendships sometimes extend beyond the confining rails of the port and starboard sides of a cruise ship. So, when the time came to choose sides for an hour of frivolous fun, "ship friends" paired up immediately as though these bonds had been in place for decades. Of course, there are a few introverts here and there, but the more gregarious would always welcome the few stragglers into the fray. On one particular session of Norwegian Minute to Win It, a young lady who was sailing alone, expressed a desire to participate in the fun. She was happily welcomed onto a team and the "competition" commenced.

The first round of play involved something with balloons or cotton balls or plastic horseshoes either being tossed or passed or balanced on top of each other. Whatever the object of the game was, everyone was laughing and goofing around and having all the fun they could possibly muster. Some participants were already drunk, which made for an even livelier time. Balls were dropped. Balloons were popped and laughter filled the air. The young lady who was sailing alone began to seethe. She frowned and glared at her teammates. When time was called for this round, her team had placed last. The winning team members were each honored with a cloth drink koozie printed with the NCL logo. The young lady who was sailing alone was furious. Visibly furious. The next game began and, again it was some sort of ridiculous endeavor using spongy balls or an assortment of plastic discs or maybe it employed balloons again. Whatever it was, everyone was having giddy fun. After all, that's what we were here for...
fun! 

Well, most of us, anyway.

The young lady who was sailing alone stomped her feet at the lack of concentration exhibited by her teammates. She saw that the other teams were making higher stacks of discs or popping more balloons or whatever they had to do. Her furrowed brow and clenched fists were strikingly out of place among the insanity that was prevalent among the other competitors. When Round Two concluded and each member of the winning team was presented with a reusable drink cup displaying the familiar NCL logo, the young lady who was sailing alone had had just about enough. Before the next feat was announced, the young lady who was sailing alone raised her voice and announced, "I quit! I will not play any game where I don't win!" She glared with a squinted accusatory eye at everyone before storming off to.... who knows where. We were still in the middle of the ocean, so there weren't too many places to go to avoid your former teammates. Every one was silent for a few seconds, until the air was split with a round of collective nervous laughter. Then we all readied our balloons or mini Frisbees for round number three.

Over the course of the next few days, one couldn't help but run into the young lady who was sailing alone. We saw her at the buffet. We saw her by the pool. We saw her queuing up at the ship's showroom for that evening's performance. 

Everyone saw her, but no one said a word. Almost ten years later, someone wrote about her.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

questions 67 and 68

Mrs. Pincus and I are the veterans of many a cruise. As I write this, we have just returned from one a few weeks ago and are currently planning to depart on another a few weeks from now. Yes, it seems that we have become the people that I made fun of on our first cruise. I originally balked at the thought of taking a cruise, but now, after seven (soon to be eight), I actually look forward to a week at sea. Not so much the "sea" part, but the week itself.

Cruises offer many things to many people and you can do as much or as little as you like. Each day, a list of activities arrives at your cabin, making it easy to plan the day ahead. There is literally something for everyone — from physical activities like table tennis and wall climbing to seminars about aging or pain management to art auctions and jewelry shows. Of course there are workout rooms and swimming pools and several hot tubs available. We, however, participate in none of those. Hell, I have never brought a bathing suit with me. I don't even own a bathing suit. We lean towards the activities that exercise the ol' noggin — trivia quizzes. Every day, in an informal setting, there are organized trivia contests that test passengers' knowledge of useless subjects like "One Hit Wonders" or the finer details of various television shows or just obscure general knowledge. A host from the ship's "entertainment" staff reads a list of twenty questions on a particular, pre-determined subject and participants scribble down the answers on a sheet of paper. After the last question is read, the answers are revealed and the correct answers are tallied — usually on the honor system — and a winner is crowned. Carnival Cruise Lines award winners with the coveted "Ship on a Stick," a plastic, gold-toned replica of a Carnival ship resting upon a pair of laurel branches affixed to a base emblazoned with the ship's name. These "trophies" are inexplicably, yet highly, sought after. When Mrs. Pincus and I sailed on the Carnival Sunshine in 2016, we played a lot of trivia and took home eleven of the little trinkets. We answered questions about Seinfeld and Star Trek and James Bond — pulling out answers we didn't know we knew. We showed up late to a session of General Knowledge, missing the first five questions... and we still won a trophy. On Day Three of our trip, my wife and I were getting ice cream from the 24-hour-a-day soft serve machine (yes, you read that right), when we were approached by a couple that we did not know. The fellow asked us if we were going to the "Harry Potter" trivia the following day. We smiled and said we would, but admitted that we knew absolutely nothing about the young wizard and his adventures. He exhaled in relief, adding that maybe now he'd have a chance at winning a trophy.

On our most recent cruise, we garnered eight "Ships on a Stick" (or is it "Ship on a Sticks?") by week's conclusion. We totally blanked on quizzes about The Office, The Big Bang Theory and Game of Thrones — three very popular series of which we have never seen a single episode. Even with some assistance from two generations of younger cousins (who were also sailing with us), we did terribly on Full House and Friends trivia. The questions were too "episode specific," although the eventual winners scored in the high double digits. And for the ubiquitous Harry Potter trivia quiz, I answered "Hogwarts" for every question, expecting to get at least one correct. I scored zero.

On our penultimate evening, Mrs. P and I carefully packed up our faux gold spoils along with our clothing and toiletries. We were congratulated by a few of our fellow passengers, some of whom we even remembered from various trivia sessions throughout the week. We arrived home, unpacked and our glory faded away.

Mrs. Pincus is active in a few cruise groups on Facebook, including a group for our upcoming cruise. The discussion in the group turned to the elusive "Ship on a Stick." Some folks express their disappointment at not being able to secure one of their own. Others lamented that some people won more than their fair share. Accusation of cheating began to be bandied about. There were claims that participants who paid for the pricey shipboard internet package were covertly "Googling" the answers, thus unjustly acquiring their plastic ship. Mrs. P and I were offended by this notion. We do not cheat. We just know a lot of stupid, useless stuff that comes in handy as conversation starters — or enders, as the case may be. We watch Jeopardy! every night and regularly have in-depth discussions about the intricacies of television programs that have been off the air for decades. (yeah... that's our life and we've been married for thirty-five years, so go pound sand!) We just know stuff. Besides, why on earth would we cheat? To win a piece of plastic and bask in the glory and admiration of a bunch of people we will never ever see again.... in the middle of the goddamn ocean?!? Someone else in the group suggested that the cruise lines should offer cash prizes for winners, instead of a worthless trophy. I can tell you that will never happen. It appears that some people don't know how to relax and enjoy the absurdity of the whole thing. If we don't win (and there are plenty of activities that we don't win), we still had fun. Whether it was silly fun or friendly competitive fun, fun is fun. Everyone is on vacation. Leave worries and concerns and real life behind. That's what a vacation is for.

On one of our first cruises, we were playing a silly stunt game with a bunch of passengers that we did not know. Based on the recent game show Minute to Win It, teams were chosen and a series of timed games were played for points. After the third or fourth round of play involving the stacking of empty soda bottles on plastic rings (or some such nonsense), a frustrated young lady on one team loudly announced that she was quitting. Realizing that her team was behind in points, she growled, "I will not be on a team that isn't going to win! I have to win or I won't play!" and she stormed off. The other participants were dumbfounded. The games continued. A team won and the other team offered congratulations. We saw the young lady several times throughout the course of the cruise and pointed her out, relating her actions in hushed tones to other cruisers who had become our "cruise friends." We have brought up her story on subsequent cruises, as well.

In a few weeks, we'll be boarding another ship for another cruise filled with consecutive days of trivia, perhaps more trophies, and, of course, fun.. 

Oh, and there's a buffet, too. I can't forget the real draw.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

tell it like it is

Mrs. Pincus and I recently returned from our fifth cruise together. It was a relaxing, work-free week of kitchy shows, fun activities, forgettable excursions and stuffing our faces with food as though we were prisoners offered our final meal before lethal injections were administered.

The glorious buffet aboard the Norwegian Gem.

As I said, this is my fifth cruise. I admit that I balked at cruising for many years until I finally gave in and — much to my surprise — I enjoyed the experience. Honestly, what's not to enjoy? Well, you'd be surprised by how many people do not enjoy themselves. In between numerous visits to the endless buffet and reclining on one of hundreds of chaise lounges, my wife and I met a couple who told us that this particular cruise was their sixty-first. That's correct! They are veterans of sixty-one cruises — with no signs of stopping any time soon. (They have another already planned for the latter part of this year.) The wife, Lil, told us about a website called Cruise Critic, sort of a yelp.com exclusively for cruises. So, after a week of self-imposed cellphone deprivation (Internet rates on a cruise ship are ridiculously expensive, besides, it would've seriously cut into my buffet time.), I logged on to the Cruise Critic website to see what other people thought of the Norwegian Gem, the ship on which we sailed.

Look at this selection!

Now, I am well aware of how cruel the internet can be. People have no problem voicing their most vicious opinions in a public forum under the protective guise of internet anonymity. (As an example and a barometer, may I direct your attention to the one-star reviews of The Diary of Anne Frank on Amazon.com.) As I perused the reviews of recent cruises posted by vacationers whom, I assume, experienced a similar cruise to the one from which Mrs. P and I just returned, I was stunned. There were complaints about every single thing. The beds were too hard. The beds were too soft. The pillows were too hard. The pillows were too soft. There wasn't enough food available for my strict specialized lactose-intolerant, gluten-free, tree nut-sensitive dietary restrictions. The food was horrible. They ran out of food. They didn't have the right kind of Cheerios. The staff was rude. The other passengers were rude. The bartenders didn't know how to mix cocktails. The bartenders were rude. The bartenders were rude when they were trying to mix cocktails. The casino was too smoky. The casino wasn't smoky enough, The hot tubs were closed at 4 o'clock in the morning. The bitching went on and on. The more I read, the more absurd the complaints got. One, in particular, spun a tale about an abusive relationship that played out in the cabin next to the reviewer. Despite several complaints to security, nothing was immediately done to quiet the loud threats emanating from the paper-thin walls of his neighbor's cabin. Eventually, the reviewer related, the couple were separated and the husband was thrown into the ship's jail for the remainder of the cruise. (I seriously doubt that there is a "ship's jail.")

Look, I complain about plenty of things. Some things I complain about, I'll admit, are stupid. For instance, I marvel at how people lined up at the breakfast buffet give you the "look of death" for taking the last waffle from the serving tray, as though there aren't going to be ten more tons of waffles coming in about three seconds... and all week! But, I digress.

I've been on five cruises and, unless you've been forced to walk the plank or ordered to swab the poopdeck (heh! heh! poopdeck!), there is literally nothing to complain about. You're on vacation! You're relaxed! You're waited on hand and foot!  There are endless supplies of food! Endless! And many people (not me, but many people) are drunk for the entire week. What on earth (or sea) is there to complain about?

But, humans do what humans do best. And humans do love to complain.

And complain they shall.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

the camp with the difference

Remember summer camp when you were a kid? The anticipation as the school year came to a close. The agonizing, yet exciting, ritual of deciding what to pack. Eight weeks worth of activities (both fun and strenuous), meals and new friends. Small, cramped sleeping quarters with all of your belongings neatly crammed into bedside shelves — t-shirts and underwear unnaturally co-mingling. But you were a kid and that's what you did.

Well, that's essentially what a cruise is — summer camp for adults. And because we are adults, we don't have a spare eight weeks to set aside for such frivolity. We have to get back to our jobs, our families, our lives. One week will do just fine. Give me one week to gorge like a pig, soak up some sun, see a foreign country and meet some new people that I will develop a close bond with, then probably never see again. Yep, one week should do it.

My wife and I just returned from our second cruise. Last year, at the end of our first cruise, I was surprised by the good time I had, but I expressed to Mrs. P that any subsequent cruise would be exactly the same. And, with very few exceptions, I was right. Of course, there was food — and a whole lot of it. The most noticeable difference between this cruise and the last one food-wise, was the presence of self-serve soft ice cream machines in our recent ship's buffet. I took full advantage of this, having consumed somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty cones in one week's time.

"Is that a pole right outside
your cabin door? It sure is!"

Our ship, the enormous Norwegian Breakaway, followed the same itinerary as last year's Norwegian Gem. The Breakaway is the fifth largest cruise ship in the world, and it boasts a passenger count of 4000. That's right - four thousand people. The puny Gem was about half the size and made for a more intimate trip. Although we latched onto several "ship buddies," we found ourselves marveling at the hordes of unfamiliar faces on-board on Days Five and Six. "Were these people here all week?." we thought. "Did they just board this morning, in the middle of the ocean?"

The activities aboard range from wall-climbing and zip lines to trivia contests and towel-folding demonstrations. Mrs. P and I, however, grit our teeth and dove headfirst into the most adventurous activity we have ever participated in — karaoke. I am a show-off, by nature, but I am very aware of the fact that I cannot carry a tune in a bucket. Mrs. P, on the other hand, can sing, but shuns the spotlight like a mole. We are the last people who should be having the karaoke experience. But, we figured, what the hell!, we're never gonna see these people again. Our new pal Chris, a young man from Sheffield, England who was the same age as our son, was a karaoke aficionado. We watched him perform several times, cheering him on with wild applause. He was no Pavarotti, but he had a pleasant voice, that obviously got better with every beer he (and the audience) downed. And he was a bit self-conscious, asking, as a participant warbled out a horribly strained and off-key rendition of Bon Jovi's "Livin' On a Prayer," "Am I that bad?" We assured Chris that he was not. That no one was.

"Offer me solutions, offer me
alternatives and I decline."

As Chris presented his version of "Bohemian Rhapsody" in his charming British accent, I perused the song list and selected REM's anthemic "It's The End of The World (As We Know It)," with which to serenade the crowd — or clear the room. Before my name was called to perform, we watched a man playfully belt out "Mrs. Brown, You've Got a Lovely Daughter." We sang along in our best/worst mock British accent, innocently dissing poor Chris.

The DJ announced my name and I took the stage, grabbed the mic and stumbled my way through the onslaught of Michael Stipe's lyrics, as they quickly flashed across the screen. Some incorrect words tripped me up a few times, and I lost track of the tune, but, no one ran out screaming, so I considered it a success. After some real singers (including a lovely, yet totally hammered, young woman offering a heartfelt rendition of "At Last" to her expressionless husband), Mrs. P. joined me again onstage for a drawn-out take on Marty Robbins' cowboy ballad, "El Paso." We were terrible and we didn't care. We capped the evening with an abbreviated version of the epic "American Pie," even forcing poor Chris to make us a trio.

Did we have fun? Sure, we did. Will I cruise again? I suppose, but, again, I can't see the experience being any different than the last two.

What's that? Mrs. P is already making plans.....? (Mrs. P went to summer camp. I didn't.)

www.joshpincusiscrying.com