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.