Hobbies and Teens

Upon leaving the 24-hour restaurant, we passed a table of 4 teenagers. One kid looked like a terrified drawing of a teenager, blond, shaved hair and worried eyebrows and a button down black clubbing shirt that was kinda too big for him. He had his hands folded and was leaning into the table. The kid across from him leaned back in his chair—ratty t-shirt and long curly hair—giving a speech like he ran the universe. His speech was this:

Really blasé: “Okay, so you’re what? 13 and a half? Yeah. Okay, so one year for you is like…that’s like a long time. I mean that’s like a third of your life. Or wait—like 6.5% or—well, it is a really long time. Now see, me,” incredibly pompous “I’m 15. So one year for me is like…one fifteenth. So it’s like, less.”

 

I have discovered that many southerners from some kind of a specific region say “[sentence subject] was just sittin’ there sayin’” As in “I walk into the elevator and this New Yorker’s just sittin’ there sayin’ ‘where you goin’?’ and I’m sittin’ there sayin’ ‘why’re you askin’ me?’” Which is delightful to think of people walking somewhere to sit and ask a question. We have a Texan from Corpus Christie that says it.

Last night, we had a crew party. This means the ship can get rid of its beer that is almost expired and people walk around going “I think this Red Stripe is expired.” It also means everyone that we know (the entertainers) gets hammered (typical). The crew party featured the dancers and singers doing what they consider fun and a hobby. My current hobby is a diorama kit purchased from Michael’s for $16. I am making a miniature field. I just put in the road and some ground cover. I am excited to put things in this field for jokes. Haha, what would it be like with a Rubic’s cube that I am excited to learn the tricks about from YouTube. People are different!

The dancers and singers, for fun, say…have a party with a theme that will support them choreographing, rehearsing and singing the “Cell Block [something]” from Chicago. This entails wearing underwear and standing up and throwing your leg behind your head and basically doing sex moves while the male crew spazzes out and films it. Our castmate said “if there was ever a good time to know Tagalog, it was in the bathroom after the show” because everyone was losing their mind. Also, these people are professional singers and dancers, so it was terrific.

If you are a gymnast, and you have freetime, you do things like this:

Another odd story: apparently people very frequently ask the crew if they go home at night. As in…back to the Philippines or Canada or Indonesia. For a while, there was a standard answer: “Yes, a helicopter comes to get us at night and then brings us all back in the morning.” And usually there is “hahaha” and it’s over because that is clearly a crazy lie. The crew is now forbidden to use this comeback. This is because a passenger wrote a comment card and said “I loved the cruise, except the helicopter kept waking us up in the mornings.” Delight!

Random fact I learned:

When you have been on a submarine, you are not allowed to drive a car for 2 weeks, because your depth perception is such a mess. ON A SUBMARINE. IN A TUBE WITH PEOPLE. I cannot imagine this. 

Oh...did you say you wanted more Diorama? By the Porthole? Okay.

Christmas Asea

Christmas Eve!

We went to Le Bistro for dinner, the very nice French place on the ship. Our musical director kept asking if anyone wanted to share the beef with him, because there is an option of a 32 oz. steak for 2 that will be cut tableside. No one responded, so he went ahead and got the whole thing for himself, which made all of us laugh very hard. Especially since a photographer came over and said “pictures pictures” and then “why are you chewing! You are still chewing!” to Rodney. Rodney got upset and said “Because I’m eating! You came and bothered me in the middle of my meal! Of course I’m still chewing!” and we all laughed very hard, while the photographer gave him an annoyed and scolding look until his chewing was taken care of.

Today is Christmas, which means, of course, they are still having both the art auction and Bingo.

I went to the midnight service in the giant theater. They kept the door open, so we could hear a game of craps that was going very well for one guy through most of the service. Our preacher was a gentleman who used to be a linebacker for the NFL and is now a chaplain for the NFL amongst other things (advisor for foreign dignitaries? And Africa?), which he told us about in his service. He was joined by an Augustine monk in robes. The preacher was also joined by his wife, who lead the a cappella singing of the Christmas carols, which were spelled out in a PowerPoint presentation.  He spoke with delightful and hilarious bombast, heavy on the catchphrases and football metaphors and joke book jokes. He had a nice suit on and started sweating heavily mid-sermon, which covered as many Christian subjects as he could cram in there, including a bunch of latin and greek roots for words. Also, the prodigal son, the Good Samaritan, John 3:16 and Easter and the four types of love. He had quite a few bald jokes, because he is a large, bald African-American gentleman: “God doesn’t put MARBLE TOPSSsss on CHEAP…FURNITURE.”  We sang the First Noel, my favorite part being the second chorus which goes: “Noel, Noel, (breathe) NO-O-EEL, NOOOO-OOOO-EEEE-EEEL!” and was spelled on screen like this: “Noel, Noel, Noel, Nooooooooooooeeeeeeeelll” and the woman leading the songs sang the last chorus like the first one so everyone got confused.

The congregation was about 50-60% crew and a few passengers. The monk finally got to talk during the benediction, and he tried for some of the first guy’s bombast, which came out hilariously. He gave a very nice benediction, although he had a hard edge to his voice about “we got this present that we DIDN’T. EARN. And we don’t know WHY.”

Then, on the way out, a very drunk Indian man holding a cocktail patted me on the back and told me “it is so great to see you come to this, because you do comedy!” and then I felt weird and like I should make fun of it, so instead I said “hahaha” and “I’m normal sometimes” or something weird. Then he said “it’s all spreading the love, isn’t it!” and he got the elevator and I ran up the stairs.

We had no gift exchange secret santa, because our Canadians didn’t want to do it for lefty facist reasons (well, one because he is Jewish, which is fair), so I gave my roommate a carved coconut frog anyway that she can hate and complain about. Also I gave my cast those sponge things that you store in a capsule and expand in hot water. They are non-toxic. This means I convinced two of them to put them in their mouth and let it expand with tea. This was completely hilarious.

So it was an okay Christmas. Our room steward said “I’m staying happy this Christmas! I’m staying drunk!” I took the high road and did not stay drunk. I did, however, have approximately 6 meals, probably 8, that consisted entirely of candy. Did I mention no one got any of the 2.2 lb. bag of Reese’s? Because I ate all of it? With a teeny bit of help from my roommate? But how nice is a Reese’s breakfast? Pretty nice? Yes. COPING!

Further Photo Parade

Did you know there is a specific brand of clothing in Mexico that will delight you? To, as they say, no end? If you are the kind of person who loves robot related content?:

Dan, being dramatic:

CLOUD PORN!:

Did you not think those choral things were creepy?:

Jokes. Endless jokes.:

We are spending the day at a delightful bar in Cozamel with free internet, swimming, and drinks that are lethal jet fuel bathtubs. Ashley is trolling around saying "WE ARE NOT WITH OUR FAMILIES" and demanding a bunch of hugs, but hates the idea of secret santa. I can discuss this because I can point out to her that this is a deep flaw in her character, which I will accept, provided I can make jokes about how she is spiritually empty. Also, I got her something anyway, so I win. Unfortunately, I got everyone else Reese's items in Miami, which was 3 days ago, which means I ate them.

We are all telling family stories and having a kind of random and bizarre emotional time together. Ashley just got a balloon hat from someone that has two balloon poodles...doing it. Obviously. From where I am sitting, I can see a guy who works in the store and has a pencil thin mustache, and I do not think it is a joke. He also keeps his head totally bald. I need to start pretending I am doing a documentary so I can get these people in a digital medium.

I am downloading Emmett Otter's Jug Band Christmas, and everything will make sense.

Cozamel Photos

Today is being spent tooling around in Cozamel. Here are the Canadians. My roommate Ashley is on the left, Dan is on the right:

Here is a joke the Mexicans missed. Or someone protested about, so they changed it. Or the person who built it eats via a shovel in the side of his/her stomach:

I want to laugh but I feel guilty, Mr. Poot of the Poots:

The Internet, Mexico Style:

A Mexican cemetary, because that's what happens when you can't resist your curiosity, even if it is Christmas Eve and it is morbid:

Cloud Photo Parade

It's Christmas Eve! As a gift, I give you Porn for people who work on boats.

First, our officer cabins. You are witnessing a double bed, a porthole, and sunshine:

Here is a closeup of the porthole, with a sunset and clouds. This is crack for someone who is me. Clouds and portholes?????:

It gets hotter: A sunset with clouds through a porthole????:

NOW JUST SUNSET!!! AND CLOUDS!!!:

JUST CLOUDS! JUST CLOUDS!!!:

Oh Caribbean.

Johnny Walker Debacle

I have learned my roommate loves: flossing her teeth. As in sometimes, she is sitting around and thinks “I’d love to floss my teeth” and does it. This is hilarious and I would tell me it is a lie, except I have witnessed it.

Today is my brother’s birthday, hurrah! We are close to Christmas. I think we will sing carols tomorrow at 5 p.m. and 10 p.m. and go to an Interdenominational church service at midnight. The crew bar is decorated with tinsel, which I love, and there are proper, very decorated trees all over the place. My roommate got a free weight reducing treatment from the spa (they wrap you in mud and zap you with weird electrodes and say ‘you lost 12 inches!’ which is, I think, water weight). She and I had to get our keys fixed from Personnel, and a Filipino HR woman told us how she…shhh…has a real tree in her room. “With lights. Shhhh.” And it is the best thing in the world to go home to after work. Did I mention how tiny our rooms are?

Our room steward Noel, a 5’4” mustachioed gentleman from Nicaragua, asked us to get him some Nicaraguan rum in port. He had some kind of a hookup (Nicaraguan mafia?) that would pull any booze meant for 10161, our cabin number. We said “no no, it is a gift from us to you. Merry Christmas.” Then we insisted we get something for Marcos, his friendly, mustachioed 5’6” Filipino partner who loves to tell both of us we are beautiful, and propose to my roommate. We kept saying “what does Marcos like to drink? What does he like?” and I decided he likes Johnny Walker, since I have heard stories of Filipinos and Johnny Walker. Noel said “uh…” and we figured he was helping us be sly. Well, we got Marcos a liter of Johnny Walker Red. It took some back and forth, so Noel ended up giving it to Marcos behind closed doors. Marcos was very happy. The teeny tiny problem, as Noel told us in a crew hallway, is that Marcos has already had 2 warnings for booze and that he is “definitely a party person.” As in, once he passed out in the crew mess and when security tried to wake him up, he shooed them away like an annoying auntie. Meaning, he shooed away Nepalese special forces who are trained to kill. If he gets a third, they will fire him, and he'll be left at a port and have to figure out how to get home. So, Marcos said to my roommate, after picking up a case of Heinekin “I have two questions. One: can I keep my whiskey in your room, and two: can I kiss you.” So. I have no idea what we did. Possibly something terrible. Although, now that his whiskey will be in here, maybe they will come in a bunch more and it will be incredibly clean, until the booze hits.

I got delightful packages in the mail. Delightful! From Michelle (hi Michelle) and my mom (yes!) and a random pair of underwear I left at Heather’s. Approximately 2 lbs. of candy were consumed in 2 days.

Showgirls and treadmills

A couple didn’t want to go on a boring shore excursion with a bunch of people, so they tracked down someone from our cast and said “where is fun to visit.” So, off they went to the Boatyard in Barbados. The Boatyard is a Spring Break type place that is very friendly to crew and especially friendly to girls who want to stand on the bar in their bikini. This couple is great apparently and here is their short love story:

Once upon a time, a children’s illustrator went on vacation in Key West. He met a girl down there and they had a delightful vacation for 2 days, randomly hooking up. Then he came to visit her in Pennsylvania or somewhere and she thought “uh, is this guy a psycho?” Then they had fun and they are married and she’s 6 months pregnant. You knever knowwww.

VISUAL PRESENT!
OR: Another time I wish I had a secret spy camera in my hair!

Picture a 5’ olive skinned happily rounded woman, with dyed blond-ish hair and a lot of roots. Imagine her about 55-ish, with a gold link bracelet, nice tan leather flip flops. Imagine her in a nice polka dot mini-dress and big sunglasses that say either “I’m Russian” or “I’m Italian.” Now put her on the treadmill, running, for exactly 27 minutes and 33 seconds, always holding on to the bars of the treadmill and at the end, holding on to the console. The whole time in flip flops. This is what I saw at the gym.

WEIRD!:
We have two people who worked at the Jubilee show in Las Vegas. Wherever this is. They were showgirls. They are going to teach us the showgirl walk, which was passed down from 4 people, none of which meant anything to me, except the one person named “Fluff,” which made me laugh and say “who’s named FLUFF??” This is apparently very serious and NOT funny. I think one’s name is Ruby. Fascinating. When you do this walk without a showgirl costume on, and just in the middle of a bar, you look very, very crazy, like you have trick hips. If you try to imitate this walk, you look like a windup robot spaz crone. Hence: we shall have lessons.

Sea Daaaay

Today is another sea day. It is the day when yapping is born anew, resurging with new commitment. Where you go to the library to yell. Or, if you are a large gentleman, to sit, read and every 3 seconds, cough or clear your throat.

I am currently sitting in Mama’s Italian Kitchen, a deserted restaurant, because it is the quietest place on the ship. The place where there is the least amount of noise if you can tune out the following:
Italian instrumental music with occasional singing.
People randomly entering.
People running back and forth, like a tripping hippopotamus, on the metal floor above this room. So: constant booming.
People pouring hundreds of pieces of silverware from one container to another.
Now there is an upset baby and two parents who sound German. The baby is probably like “WHY CAN’T I GET SOME QUIET”

I used to get very extremely angry about working alone in a silent gray office with gray gray gray. This is karma.

Other notations:
I ran yesterday on the treadmill next to a square, middle aged gray haired guy. Each treadmill has a tv. You are supposed to put headphones in to use the tv, there is a sign that says “headphone jack is in the back.” Well, usually people just turn up the volume and watch tv. The guy next to me watched a football game for a second, then turned it to the Kate Winslet, Cameron Diaz “The Holiday,” a terrible, sappy romantic comedy. He watched it for the rest of his workout, on full volume. His expression never changed from "I am watching the news."

I took the tender boat back from St. Lucia and sat next to an old couple. The woman had a Casio calculator watch in a pearlescent gray. I did not know that existed, and I did not ask her when she bought it. But I wanted to. Her husband was a giant person with a plaid flannel shirt, suspenders, and a straw hat. Immediately after going through security, he came to the first ship person he saw, which was a Nepalese security guard and said: “what restaurant’s open now?”

My favorite viewing from St. Lucia was a guy in a shirt that had those iron-on homemade-ish letters from the 70’s that said “ARMANI EXCHANGE.” Also, a lone guy randomly swimming in his black underwear with a white elastic band.

Bethany is crazy and overreacts to everything. This is a secret belief I always had and never told anyone. HI BETHANY.

GI stories

We are getting closer and closer to the holidays. Today we are in St. Lucia.

Random hilarious things:
Our magician, who is a delightful French Canadian, said with complete, earnest honesty: “I love pad thai.”

There is a standup on another ship that always eats 5 almonds a day, and gets things in his brain, like “I’m going to do more pushups than anyone has ever done” or tells people that he can throw a football 300 yards. This man is in his 40s.

We have GI on our ship, which means we have to sanitize constantly and other people have to serve us at the buffet. The cleaning people and crew are having their lives ruined. The interesting thing about GI is that it sneaks up on you. You go from not having it, to having it 100% over the course of about a second. This means, things happen, like a passenger was at reception, explaining “my tour came late, we are really unhappy about this because we paid a very--!!!!!” and his eyes went wide because the guy, to be poetic: suddenly shat his pants.

There is a ballroom couple in every showroom show. They are a male and female pair. Frequently, the male lifts the female and she does dramatic things with her arms and smiles. Apparently, he lifted her so he was holding her thighs around the level of his shoulder, and the end of the move is that she would slide down the front of him and then they would proceed into the tango, or whatever. Something dramatic happened in her intestines, which also went all down the front of him. The only saving grace is that when GI hits, apparently, it is clear.

LESS INTERESTING:
I now have a roommate again. This means another adult sleeps 6 feet from me in a metal room that conducts sound. We will shortly know more about each other than either of us ever wanted to know. Like: some people like to floss in bed. I am not used to it yet, so every time she moves, I wake up.

Holiday Parties

We are approaching holiday time on the ship. Last night was the first of what is going to be an endless cavalcade of December parties. We will be in the weird situation of our bosses delivering us wine and beer. Once upon a time in the Chicago of my youth, friends of mine and I would go out to freebie or almost freebie happy hours and work a specific system that went “go to the bar and get as many drinks as you can carry” and then we’d stand around a table which looked like a lemonade stand or a cafeteria. Last night I got a glass of wine. The YC behind the counter gave me two because “we’re gonna run out!” and “THIS is how IIII have a crew party!!” The small problem is that when you’re like “I’m being so sensible. I had a mere two glasses of wine. I am so sensible.” you may also be yelling your private negative opinions of someone important to someone you met 3 seconds earlier because “YOU’RE WEARING GLITTER THAT’S FUN!!!!” This is because a crew bar glass of wine is a plastic, disposable juice glass filled up to a half inch below the top, sometimes less. So I think, based on personal behavior (“HE’S CUTE BUT HIS PANTS ARE WEIRD BUT THAT’S PROBABLY BECAUSE HE’S PORTUGUESE”) and the degree we all started yelling at each other, two glasses=2/3 bottle.

I heard more Moulin Rouge stories last night, including the fact that nothing is conducted in French within the theater. Everyone who works there is English, Australian or Russian. Also, they only do new shows once every 10 years because they sell out every night (and tickets are like 125 Euros), so management thinks why bother changing it. There are places all over Paris reserved for Moulin dancers, places that are always VIP and mean you pay for nothing. Also, Moulin dancers come in two flavors: “pah-ty girls” who are crazy and have personalities, and “girls from the ballet world” who are stuck up and serious and won’t let you see their boobs when they’re off stage. My very gay male dancer friend found this absurd “oh come on, what about when you were naked on stage right next to me? Remember that?”

I learned more about surveillance. They are supposed to be very SS Gestapo KGB CIA and not let anyone know they are surveillance. Except that the head guy’s name is posted on a wall. Delight.

Tonight? An open mic night for the crew. We have 2 shows, so I may have to miss it. Or rather: this will be hilarious.

There is also a possee of about 6 middle aged white women from New York who got wasted with one woman on a Rascal, went to the atrium and started singing the old 1989 rap song "Supersonic" into a microphone. The old "the S is for stupendous [I think] the U is for unique. The P is for perfection, the E is for Erotic and the R is for RRRRAP!" etc. The ended it with "SUPER SISTERRRRSSSSS!!!!!" They were all sisters, with their silent mom taking pictures from her Rascal. They then said "WHERE IS DESSERT!!!"

Gymnasts. Olympiads. Okay.

We went to see Cirque Bijou last night, which I would like to say is filled with a bunch of lies. I could really insist that it was lies and real life animation if I didn’t talk to the people afterwards who oh, flung themselves around on silks and did crazy I-will-hold-myself-parallel-to-the-floor-with-just-my-arms-and-stomach-muscles. I also did laundry with the woman from Belarus who speaks English and Italian and was in the Atlanta Olympics for the ribbon and ball business. She is very friendly and married to the Italian who tans standing up. Then she gets on stage and does things like, oh dislocate her hip and rip her knee tendons while her husband is holding her above his head via his pointer finger. So they are probably drawings, clay, or stop motion aliens.

After that insane show, we waited to leave and a chatty American man who we found out was 50, sitting in the row below us, stood up to leave. He turned to the couple next to me, separated by one empty chair and said “Where are you from!” They said “ehm?” and he said “Where you from!” Then the wife said very quietly, “France.” Which made the guy lose his mind and start a tirade. “Oh France! Where in France!” She quietly said, “ehm, est?” Which I know means East, and also “I barely speak English.” Unfortunately the American guy said “Oh yeah! You guys hate Americans, right! You don’t like Americans!” and the people didn’t respond that I could hear, and he leaned in and said “You know I’ve never seen Europe, can you believe it, 50 years old and I’ve never seen it, I gotta get over there. You think France would be good to see, huh?” And they must have said “uh…” and he said “Cause I hear Paris is beautiful, but they sure don’t like Americans there, that’s what I hear. But you like ‘em, right? You think they’re okay.” And they must have said “uh…” a little more and he said “yeah, ‘cause you’re young. It’s the old ones that don’t like us, but you guys’re young” and then thankfully his row started moving. Then he spanked his wife’s ample bottom and got a little further along and said to a cast mate “where’re you from!” and someone said “Michigan” or something and he said “Thank God, Americans!” The French couple next to me talked quietly and then jumped a row to get out of there as fast as possible.

We then went to the bar and had some drinks on the cruise director. In the genius of cruise ships, mixed drinks are almost always doubles, so soon 2 cast mates were dancing via bumping butts and the couple behind them at the bar was laughing and we all met. This couple was Bob and Shirley, both from Florida. Since it is a cruise, I immediately assume everyone has been married for 30+ years, although Bob and Shirley seemed a little stiff and like they had way too much plastic surgery for someone who isn’t a talk show host or on tv or something. Bob lives in Daytona Beach and has been racing Nascar for 35 years and Shirley is originally from Terre Haute. Bob bragged that her opening line to him was “Do you do windows?” and they’ve been together ever since. Conversation waned a little bit and he said “I’ll let you get back to your friends” which I found slightly embarrassing, especially since I wanted to talk more about Nascar. That’s when a castmate who was drinking an apple martini purchased by Bob informed me that Bob and Shirley met a week ago and we were interrupting a date. Heh.

I talked to another gymnast/dancer I know from a different ship. He was a dancer for a year at the Moulin Rouge in Paris. He did the can-can, “126 kicks per show” six days a week, two performances a night. My mind exploded and I wanted him to tell all the stories possible, although I mainly got “there was a lot of cocaine” and “it’s very social there, cocaine, and cheap! So cheap.” Apparently they would do the show, go to a party, go to an after party that would start at 6 a.m. and then an after-after party that would start at noon, then sleep for 3 hours at 5 p.m. and get up and do another show. I prefer stories about costumes and dance steps.

We ended the night in a cabin party around 2 a.m. A cabin party is basically college, but with a bunch of foreigners. We went to the 2nd Engineer’s room, a guy from Romania (? Ukraine?) named Bolag or something. Bolav? We have been taught about the engineers, that the chief makes upwards of $40,000 a month and typically does a great deal of female engineering. It felt like 40 people were crammed in a closet, all going “BLAH BLAH BLAH HAHAHA” at once. Borav djed on his computer and an Eastern European guy in white gave a Filipino girl a weird lap dance and a dancer said “I’M GOING TO MAKE HIS TOWELS SMELL AND I DON’T CARE” and smoked in the tiny bathroom. I had to think about how it was boring and strange and how delicious room service is. Then we went back to a castmate’s room and yapped about who are decent musicians and who are crap and who are incredible, which is a good way to start an arguement.

Dirty Eggs and Rice, Tan Standing

We got our shows up and then had our standard Secoond Ciity Celebration dinner at Teppenyaki. This is the Japanese-ish restaurant where they cut things up in front of you and throw things around like Benihana. I have now eaten at 3 different versions of these on the ships. The first one was insane and 2 cast members got double entrees (so a steak, a lobster, scallops, and shrimp). The second one was on the dull side, featuring a chef who spelled out “NCL” in oil before cooking the vegetable appetizer, which made me feel like he was brainwashed. This last one was pornographic. Maybe because we were all one big group? And he knew it? He did some slight of hand with one egg and said “where’s the egg! Where’s the egg!” and we were supposed to discover it in front of his crotch.

He had an oblong mound of rice for 8 people. He said “this is Mt. Fugi!” because they relate everything to Japan. He made a delicious combination of garlic and garlic butter and soy sauce (“coca-cola!”) and then poured it about midway from the center of the rice mound, in a line. He then, after a series of jokes, split the rice down this line and opened it up—I don’t remember any jokes about this. Then he made a bunch of jokes and made the egg/omelette thing you need for fried rice. Then he made this into a cylinder of egg and scallions and said “look at this!” or something and put two empty eggshells on either side of the egg cylinder. He then scooted the egg slowly into the split rice mound. I’m sure there were jokes but I was very, very amazed and didn’t hear any of them. He then said “hahaha” or something and diced that omelette genital with no mercy and then slaughtered the rice genital and we were all amazed and had to talk about it every 10 minutes or so after the meal.

His other high points were asking me if I liked brown bananas and referring to his brown banana and turning a 4” strip of steak into an inch worm and had it walk onto the plate of a cast mate. The worm was my favorite, especially when he had it be indecisive and look from plate to plate.

Then we saw a huge production show which features people with huge Vegas smiles from cultures that dictate it is wrong to have a huge smile. Like Belarus and Ukraine and Italy. My favorite story so far is about one of the Italians—this human being looks like a drawing of the ideal man or like he should be standing wet in crashing waves and selling perfume or Versace cologne. He tans standing up and as the sun moves, he moves. This is obviously fascinating. Off stage, he is frowning and fighting. On stage: the smiiiiiiiile.