Alice in Ship Land Six: All Aboard the Fussy Boat

-I only had two weeks on my library digital download loan for Americanah, which is a longer book. This meant lingering at the gym for a few extra reclining bike miles and early bedtimes with a side of my iPad. I finished one day early, and I felt accomplished. I had forgotten what deadlines felt like. Don’t get me wrong—not having them is nice. But having them is nice too.

-In Cozumel at the crew bar Say told us that you can jump off a large rock wall into the ocean twenty feet below. When I stood on the chalky ledge and looked down, my knees wobbled. I was assured me it was plenty deep. Folds did it first. He swam around, and we jumped together. I surprised myself by screaming. I hit the water with a salt splash to my nose.

-Because I didn’t go to Roatan this week I had Wednesday lunch and found my new favorite ship food—veggie BBQ fitters. Divine.

-Gratitude comes so easily. This is the best job I’ve ever had. This is a beautiful place. I am even grateful for the challenges—gently pushing me to become thicker skinned. I find myself whispering “thank you” like some whacked out Julia Eat Pray Love Roberts. The water is too teal, and sometimes “Where Have All the Cowboys Gone” playing over the café loudspeaker starts up right as I take the first sip of weak coffee.

-Apparently Doritos taste different in Mexico. I tell SAY I’ve never tried a Mexican Dorito. He brings me a bag Tuesday afternoon. I open it to accompany my viewing of two new episodes of Girls with MB. They taste more…garden-y? Maybe more green pepper? Yes, different. I chomp through half the bag. MB says, “Put those away.” And I say no. And then I skip dinner, sitting in the library outlining my next show.

-We play Hearts in the atrium. Folds accidentally shoots the moon and then tries to do it again. I talk a big game about how it’s fun even though we’re all losing. Like, a real underdog story. He has no idea I’m about to sweep the glory right out from under him with the kind of hearts in the final round. I do. I feel victorious and evil—things we shouldn’t strive to feel maybe, but things that are fun to feel once in a great while.

-Friday I woke up a little bit sick of the ship. So sick I opted to skip my workout, throw on my bikini, and head, alone, into Costa Maya. I imagined slurping the free wifi to download Instagram photos at a tortoise pace and the sun. The glorious sun as I sat in the saltwater pool. But when I left my cabin and walked up to the gangway…there was no gangway. I went back to my room, turned on the TV to the bowcam channel and saw open water. It was too wavy. We would not be porting. My heart sank into the ocean. I pulled back my hair and went to the gym. I listened to Kelly Clarkson not ironically. I tried. I really tried.

-At the start of the cruise I spied the tiny plush ship in the gift shop window. I told myself it was for a tough day. I am now the owner of a small stuffed boat.

-At night it was my turn to participate in the evening game show—a hack version of Dancing with the Stars (I am considered a star here). Audience members put their names in buckets, and “cruise celebs” partner with them in five rounds of dancing (with eliminations) to ultimately find a crowd favorite. It. Was. So. Fun. My partner was a 9^th grade teacher from Louisiana here on his honeymoon. His wife sat awkwardly in the front row as we pranced and danced and jived inappropriately to Sir Mix-A-Lot and “Footloose.” I really thought he was going to barf during “Cotton Eye Joe” but he swallowed it down. In the final round, the DJ spun “Time of Your Life” from Dirty Dancing. We decided we should try to execute the lift, but he told me he definitely wouldn’t be able to support my weight (thanks, bro). So he ran off the dance floor and leapt full on into my arms. I dropped him. We won. And, actually, I got a little of my groove back while holding that cheap plastic trophy.

-Saturday was grumpfest USA. Our cast was destroyed by the monotony of living inside a fun box, feet not touching land since Tuesday. I started the day in high spirits but slowly osmosised all the negativity until I was a puddle of woe by midnight. I felt asleep clutching my new friend (aforementioned plush novelty item) grateful Sunday brings the respite of a day in New Orleans.

-In my dream I was a time traveler who fell in love with another time traveler. He decided it wouldn’t work, so when we both had to go back to our respective eras, he refused to tell me his. I would never be able to find him. I woke up at 5:45.

-After a brisk powerwalk, I waited for the Coast Guard Drill. It didn’t happen. And it didn’t happen. And it still didn’t happen. And then it happened, at 10:15. Already two hours past when we usually are set free. I stood in the sun quietly with a lifejacket on until at last it was over. Two hours left of New Orleans day. Not enough. I practically ran to a restaurant I have been eyeing, promptly ate two brunch entrees, zipped over to the café with the best wifi, sent a couple professional emails while this week’s episodes of TV downloaded, and I was back on the big white manmade whale.

Think About Moves Only

Saturday in aerobic step, I fell off my platform. I guess it's a right of passage, and allegedly every one has done it, but it's still a total shock. One minute I was doing a kick ball-change, and then I hesitated, and then I was on the ground.

I was so shaken that I was determined to get the rest of the hour right. I went full-out on each leg lift, arms high on knee steps, big spins. At one point the instructor forgot to call the next routine, and I alone was so focused that I chugged right through the class confusion. When everyone was back on track I thought, "I did great just then." And then I jumbled up the beginning of the next combo. As long as I was focused on the moves, I was killin' it. As soon as I thought about how I was doing the moves, I biffed.

Back There, In the Place We Used to Start

Third Eye Blind is on my work-out mix right now. The first time I heard the doot doot doot dootdodootdoot it was squeaking out of a boombox in the multi-purpose room of my middle school. I was 10 and attending a summer pom camp. The eighth grade girl leading my dance class jumped onto the radiator to turn up the radio. "This reminds me of camp!" she pouted to her co-counselor before kicking off with her white cheer shoes.

We had just stopped for pizza puffs. We were halfway to the state school for cheer and pom camp. It was 2001, and there was little better than traveling in a mini-van stuffed with my friends. I think Peppermint's mom drove us. Third Eye Blind came on the radio, and I realized that I was that girl on the radiator now.

Poms camp was so special. We screamed out school fight song every time we entered the gym with all the other teams. We learned dances to Aaron Carter on the corner of the soccer field. The grass was yellowed and dry. The watter bottles were piled high. It was a week, but what did we do every night? We practiced I remember. We imagined how cool it would be to live in the old olive dorm rooms. There were mini-fridges and I took a strawberry from the cafeteria to see what would happen to it in the freezer box.

Spring Awakening

Saw Spring Awakening Friday night. I've had the soundtrack for years, but had never seen it staged. While I love much of it: the concept, the rockin' 90s jamz (Duncan Shiek what UP), there are some things I knew I wouldn't love about it. Mainly, MAINLY have been trying to avoid the line, "Oh, I'm gonna bruise you/Oh, I'm gonna be your bruise" since I first heard it in my earbuds on a Christmas road trip 2008. Woof. But, Ru was in a local production, so I went. Extremely satisfying. (And he was phenomenal. It's very exciting to see one of my artistic friends really making it.)

Thoughts Inspired By the Production:

-In modern times, people must understand their bodies, their urges--sometimes the two in conjunction, sometimes not. Either way, understanding leads to health. Physical and communal.
-Dancing is underrated. I am someone who does not think watching dancing is interesting. But, every time I see great choreography, I am quite pleased. If I as a "theatre person" attach this stigma to dance, consider the layman.
-I applaud Sater and Shiek for exploding out things that we all want to see. Things that are so obvious we didn't even know we all wanted to see! A poppy bunch of adolescents throwing up middle fingers to teachers? Yup. We all want to see that on such a base level no one knew to ask for it.
-I raise my eyebrows at Sater and Shiek for ultra-simplifying the relationship between children and adults in this show. If the point is that we must listen to one another, presenting a completely one-sided argument that adults are unfair and kids are the wise torch-carrier of the future is counter-productive. That's how generations end up feeling superior to the next in the first place.
-No one should want to be seen as unhealthy. And yet, some people do.
-If you play a snappy curtain call song, even if the audience was just subjected to an abortion-caused death, they leave bobbing their heads and smiling. Humans are horrifyingly simple to control.
-I don't care how much game gets talked about the non-linear narrative. Not having an ending to subplots is unacceptable.
-Overall, I've always been a huge fan of this model of theatre. Taking lasting source material and adapting it to current times in a unique and fresh way while maintaining some of the original oak. It's the perfect balance between respecting what has come before and respecting the need for progress in culture.
-We must go on to create a better world.

We walked into the night. Breezy and warm. It's been spring for months in the desert. But, it's official now.

The stars too, they tell of spring returning.

Barenaked Ladies

Say what you will, there's a lightness. A sunny cheer.
And while I mentally made fun of the boy in college with his binder sharpeed
"TryToScreamButItOnlyComesOutAsAYawn"
he was nice.

Boulder had me over for stuffed green peppers to celebrate his last first day of school.
And he performed a little dance,
the guy's done with rewrites. What a blessing.
It's the perfect time of year
when you're done with rewrites.

I could walk, but I'll just drive
It's colder than it looks outside.