Here and Now

Most famous psychics in New Orleans.

I just want to know. This has always been my fatal flaw. I just want to know what will be so I can know if it's all worth it. I write the Voltaire quote, "Life is a shipwreck, but don't forget to sing in the life boats" up on the board. The students freewrite to it. I sit. There's that stupid exercise, "What question do you ask the most?" Then you figure out how to make your (probably) negative question positive. I know many people ask, "What's next?" They should rather ask "What's happening now?" I used to ask "Will this fit?" At some point I tried to shift it to "How will this fit?" But I'm tired. And less naive. Maybe things don't fit. Maybe use is an abstract. Maybe it's nothing more than a slop pile.

Alice in Ship Land: The Ten-Day Cruise

During the NOLA Cemetery tour, I saw the voodoo queen’s tomb and the future burial place of Nic Cage. I also accomplished Bucket List Item See The Street the Streetcar Used to Ride Down Named Desire. I had to take a cab because it was a 45 minute walk to that part of town. No matter. Once I stood on the street Blanche had before me, I Yelped “pastry” like one does and walked around to various shops before I found something delightful: ginger fennel apple spinach pressed juice, blueberry pistachio pancakes, and a bowl of yogurt. It was a major hotspot with a million mustaches and that vaguely dirty vibe. When I looked at the receipt my eyes bugged out. Stinkin hipster brunch for one cost $21! Ah well, that’s part of the experience.

 New Port! I was overwhelmed with the possibilities of what do with my one golden day on Grand Cayman, and I chose right. ZPill, MB, and I went to a turtle sanctuary. The excursion was actually called “Turtles, Turtles, and More Turtles.” It was one of the best days of this whole dang enchilada. I saw giant 600-lb sea turtles, held baby turtles, snorkeled in a freshwater pond where a turtle swam right up to my face, fed a bunch of finches, and went down a slide that led to waterfall pool. I MEAN!? The day was over too soon. I forked some samples of rum cakes from a hut en route back to the ship so I could get ready for work. Major snaps for May 11, 2016—I made friends with a teeny turt in the morning and performed for two-thousand people at night. I ate double chocolate chip cookies in the middle.

 Guatemala is not an actual tourist port like all the other cities we go to. The gangway was in a literal train car graveyard. One concrete building a stone’s throw away full of card tables of trashy souvenirs. That was it. Our cast stuck together and exited the barbed wire fence area. Men with machine guns stood nearby. We asked for a cab to the nearest town to get lunch. Were we about to be mugged? Unclear. The car ride was hot and sad. The quality of life was low. But the cab driver came through! He dropped us off at a little seafood restaurant on the water. We ordered and took a stroll down the dock. I drank the best limeade I’ve ever had followed with a slice of pie and a coconut fritter from a guy walkin’ around with a tray of candied fruits.

Guat treatz.

I invited everyone over for Friday the 13^th festivities. Tail even wrote in our weekly calendar “Alice’s Birthday (Observed).”  We crammed into my cabin and each told a story—some made up, some true, some ghostly, others chilling. ZPill was the first to leave, but we sat around sharing creepy tales and munching Walgreens brand caramels for a while longer. I got up to brush my teeth in my teeny bathroom and ZPill popped out of the shower! I shrieked my face off and crumpled to the ground. As someone who loves to be scared, I could not have asked for a better present. Besides maybe the stuffed turtle MB gave me.

Early in the week, I finished a seventh draft of my screenplay, wrote some emails, read some friends’ scripts. By Thursday I was officially unable to be productive anymore. On Saturday instead of going to Belize I had breakfast at 11:30 and then napped all afternoon. I got up just in time for improv rehearsal and then ZPill and I, both not quite ready to go home, wandered around the ship. The arcade was empty, so we played air hockey. We discussed theatre on the helipad. I ate the only things that seemed edible (pizza and a ton of Pringles) and threw up.

I might miss Costa Maya most of all. I did all the things as a farewell tour. Swam in the ocean, took a beach walk, got a massage from a lil abuella, laid in the sun at Nacional Beach Club, and got henna tatts with MB. And still, I forgot to drink from a final coconut. It’s always something, isn’t it?

In our scriptless show, during Pillars MB played my gay aunt Karen who took me to an amusement park to tell me my parents were getting a divorce. Every time I got sad, she fed me candy. It was too real, and that’s some of the fun of improv—your real life friendship is up on stage, and the audience has no clue. We watched the juggler on board this week with some other crew pals. I am surprised by how many friends I have made here. It just happens like any other community in the world. See each other regularly enough, start saying “hi” in hallways--next thing you know you’re jumping into the ocean together and he’s telling you what growing up in Serbia is like.

Speaking of crew “friends,” this boat is thirsty. We’re headed into a dry dock period and everyone knows it. Guys who have been cordial in elevators are suddenly sniffing around like mad for something to appease their month alone in an empty port with very few women. “Wait, let’s make sure we hang out this week!” they say with not-so-hidden desperation. “How will I find you later?” A deckboy professed his affection for me and swore he’d never love again if I meant what I said when I told him, “I have a boyfriend.” Poor knuckleheads.

Final port felt surreal. Goodbye, Caribbean. I may never see you again. I started the day with a ridiculous journey to find a Mexican candy flavored McFlurry. I get it, I’m TRASH. I walked a mile and a half in the blistering sun getting a real blister from my flip flops. When I arrived I was told the ice cream machine wasn’t working. I walked back to the usual crew beach bar, promptly ordered an ice-cold smoothie, and sunk to the bottom of the pool, letting my hair fall out of it’s elastic band and float like algae.

I did my usual jump off a high wall into the ocean. About twenty feet. There’s a way to crawl up a narrow corner of the rock and jump from a thirty-foot spot, but it’s significantly scarier. Barely space to stand up. And Oh. So. High. I have started the crawl three times before. I usually get about two feet before I imagine slipping and decapitating myself on the brick. Then I abort the mission. “It’s okay not to do everything,” I think. I tell Folds this, who has done the big jump once and wants to again but says he won’t because his back has been bugging him. We have a great day. I splash, I do handstands, I finally get an amaretto ice cream cone from the mother/son shoppe down the way. Half an hour before we need to get back on the ship Folds marches over to me and points at me, then at the big wall. “We’re doing it.” And he’s so certain, I follow. I watch him crawl and jump. I follow and stop. I’m terrified. But a gal and two guys are below swimming. They cheer me on. A dude with red dreadlocks (of course) comes up behind me and gives me tips about focusing on my center of gravity. “You can do it,” this stranger I might be tempted to razz in another context says, and it really helps. “I’m scared,” I keep repeating. It is empowering to announce it. It’s rare we get to announce our fear. I do over and over, but then, I slowly stand, and I scream, and I fly. I can barely tell where one blue ends and one begins. Moments later Dreadlocks does a backflip, of course.

Saturday is a long day of signing papers and packing and trying to eat through the snacks I didn’t finish (lunch of buffalo wing Pringles, Mexican shortbread cookies, and a diet 7UP not recommended). After our final show, the entire entertainment department all had a toast in the theatre. It felt truly warm. Goodbye dancers, goodbye singers, goodbye aerialists. In these moments I think how differently I would feel if I had a Facebook. But I don’t need to know what the saucy Brit I befriended will be doing next year. I will only remember him as he was, in high tweed pants, drinking champagne from a plastic cup on the lip of the stage. ZPill asked if I had snacks, and when I told him the only option he decided he was not above the Cadberry egg I had already thrown in the trash. They’re covered in foil, ya know?

Debark was the longest morning of waiting in lines, lugging suitcases, and showing forms. But joy filled the air. Everyone fireworking out back into their lives. ZPill and I went to Frenchman Street and debriefed. We asked the cab driver to drive by a donut shop on our way out of town.

NOLA in the afterglow. Goodbye for now.

Alice in Shipland: Just Around the Riverbend

 Only one more cruise separates me from a stint on land, and oh, do we all feel it.

As I alluded to last post, at the end of last week I was riddled with anxiety about my future. Sunday morning the forecast was rain so I couldn’t even do my weekly early morning walk around the deck. I felt like a pony the stable boy had forgotten to let out. At 9 AM I practically exploded off the ship, rain jacket and baseball cap packed in my knapsack. Since I didn’t have much internet to do it was time to get some bucket list items taken care of. I sat by myself in Café Du Monde and felt immediately better listening to street corner jazz and inhaling puffs of powdered sugar. After finishing my café au lait I trotted down to the French Open Market where I spied all the knick knacks and bought myself a void-filling souvenir t-shirt. Peace filled by body toes up. Grey clouds camped above The Big Easy, but I was smiling. I bought the essentials at Walgreens. I smacked on a free sample of candied praline. And then, I went to a mystic shop that’s been in business since 1912 to get my tea leaves read.

My medium said some things—at times eerie and other times improbable, but the experience of sloshing the tea, sitting in the curtained creepy room, and holy cow, hearing thunder boom while a woman with frizzy hair and purple eyeliner said certainly what lay ahead? A priceless NOLA experience. I bustled along singing like Don Lockwood through voodoo doll gift shops and cobblestone. Right before embark I got a kale smoothie and some buttermilk drops to consume in my little dungeon. This would be a good week I decided. ZPill asked me later if he thought the physic could actually tell my fortune, and I said I don’t think so. I think she can just read pieces of what’s already inside me. How exciting that there is a universe in there. And I am not at the will of much besides what I choose.

Instead of my typical Cozumel day I took a ferry to Playa del Carmen—a ritzier Mexican tourist town. It was very clean and pretty and crystalline. I avoided everyone and listened to the playlist I made for the improv tournament my team traveled to in 2012. ZPill and I found a fancy as heck breakfast spot in a plaza. Donuts on pretty plates and tiny colanders of yogurt. Dudes at stands usually call out to those of us who are obvious tourists (white people) and usually I ignore them, but this particular guy was pointing at pictures of caves. And Adventure Alice was awakened. Next thing I know I’m alone in a cab headed to underwater caves.

They were incredible and all of my castmates who didn’t go because they thought $50 was much too much are idiots. When my little pod of eight people came to the first entrance I didn’t even see that we were about to step into water. Because the water was so glasslike it looked like it didn’t even exist. Oh but we did step in. In lifejackets we floated around the cavern. I spent most of my time shining my flashlight up to see the hoards of bats all snuggling with each other then periodically getting annoyed with my beam and fluttering about.

It was such a once in a lifetime experience to swim down a cool ancient pool and peer into an abyss of stalagmites. Sometimes we had to swim in very narrow little passages and our guide once asked us to sit perfectly still and turn off all our lights. It was the darkest dark. My favorite part was when our guide called us into a creepy crevice one at a time, had us put on our masks, and then he pushed our shoulders underwater so we could see the endless trail of underground cave. What was air and what was I swimming in and what was forming above? It was so hard to tell. The very last thing I did was take off my life jacket and swan dive into the deepest hole of the murky pool. Just another day at work!

I crossed West End off my Honduras bucket list. I got lost on my way to the beach and had to settle not to snorkel with friends but instead to journal alone with a frozen lemonade. I drank it out of pure desperation from wandering around in a near-hallucinatory heat state. Not all was lost. I found a sour cream chocolate donut. The chocolate was made in-house. I’m not mad. Things I am kind of over: laying too long in the sun, people having drunken conversations with me, not having the ability to text. Also, MB got 110 bug bites on the beach I was supposed to, so sometimes it ain’t bad to never arrive.

One thing I noticed this week is Twitter is too overwhelming for me. I barely look at it because I use precious online minutes to email pretty exclusively. Occasionally in a café with endless Internet powers I Instagram. But Twitter is so much so quickly. After twenty seconds of scrolling my brain is on fire. My attention span has increased significantly. I stand on the deck, facing forward with lips locked for forty minutes of crew drill. I get writer’s block on a deck chair, close my notebook, and have no other option but to watch waves. No commercials in pirated TV, no advertisements in my “commute.”

Three comedians is a treacherous number. Three creates an audience or a team, and it’s becoming something I actively avoid. In real life I can hack most anything because eventually I go home. But this is home. Person A jokes, Person B is annoyed, but Person C laughs. A and C never drop it. I have played all three parts and none are fun.

Instead of going to Belize I parked in the atrium next to the bar that also serves, like, four espresso drinks. This is the closest thing to having a café workday on the boat. I poked at my screenplays. I watched Thelma and Louise and was inspired to break some rules. So, my new thing is getting a plate of cheese cubes at lunch, shoving them in a mug, stuffing the mug in my backpack, and smuggling the cheese back to my mini fridge. Real outlaw.

During the 9 PM sketch show my brain exploded. I started a whisper as the show started and realized my mic was live and very hot. The top of our act began with a weird hiss. “Oh man, don’t screw up again,” I thought and twenty minutes later I missed a chair set. I just forget where we were in the running order and froze. “Okay, for real no more screw ups!” I lectured my own brain. And then at the top of a scene I said the flat wrong line. Everyone went off auto-pilot and navigated back to the meaning of the scene like tiny robots. It’s a bummer to finish a show for hundreds of clapping people, rip off your mic, and say, “I’m sorry everyone.” I went to the gym to run. I started thinking about my mistakes and realized they weren’t that bad. They only seemed bad because we’re all usually so polished. I do think I have entered a new phase of comedy since being here: the crisp professional, which does mean I will be harder on myself sometimes, but it also means I am doing better work.

Saturday night I like to have a lasagna roll at one of the sit-down restaurants before the “adult” improv show. It’s become a tradition. Entertainers are allowed to be seated between 8:30 and 9 PM. ZPill, MB, Folds, and I got flossy and arrived at 8:35. We were turned away. We walked to the opposite side of the ship and were told we should try the other place. Dejectedly, we went up to the buffet. A meat bonanza night. Ribs and pork chops and potatoes with bacon. I ate a lot of wilted lettuce smothered with balsamic and felt sorry for myself. EVEN THOUGH I still didn’t have to prepare or pay for my meal, I would have gladly done either to avoid the World’s Saddest Salad. But the four of us ate our grody little dinners in full performance attire while making jokes and truly enjoying each other’s company. Although it’s not possible to completely avoid annoyance with one another sometimes, we are a family.

My favorite part of the week is standing on the deck post-final show. The cool air refreshes me and the land in the distance tells me we’re close to port. Cell service. Freedom. Louisiana culture. We were in early this week, so my texts were sending around 11 PM. I was excited and promptly answered the bevy of SMS that flooded my phone. A dude with a mullet complimented me on the show and lingered a bit too long. I nicely ended the conversation and returned to The Internet. Ten minutes later he was back getting my drink order. No thanks, I said, and he sheepishly left. I hoped he didn’t feel too bad. But then he came back in ten minutes to ask if I wanted water. Nope. Ten minutes later he said I was stalking him. At this point I wanted to leave the public areas, but my phone would only work on the deck. Ten minutes later he said I shouldn’t be wearing my performance clothes if I don’t want people to notice me. Did I want to change in his room? I moved locations. He found me. He said we should do private improv for half an hour. I said no. He said he would bring Viagra. I told him firmly to leave me alone. He did.

But now I realized I was nearby a very interesting gang. The word “ghost” kept creeping in the air, so I asked, “Is this some kind of ghost conference?” Yeah, it actually was. 200 paranormal experts were onboard this week. I wish I had learned sooner! I asked a few questions. The clearly most famousy-like guy told a story about eating at a haunted diner that could never be found again and I was immediately grossed out by his ego. I honed in on a kind gal with blue hair who was happy to answer my questions and talk about her time as a spiritual investigator. MULLET GUY HAD THE NERVE TO CUT THROUGH A FLOCK OF PEOPLE TO TELL THEM WE WERE CLOSE AND WE’D BE LEAVING NOW. I publically told him I was uninterested in talking at all and the ladies gave him some Ew looks, so he slunk away. Blue hair and I exchanged info, but not before Mullet came back with his business card. I wanted to tear it up and throw it in the ocean, but I put it in my pocket because 1. Can’t litter in the ocean. 2. He’s still a passenger and I’m still an employee, and I can’t be rude to him despite his outright harassment. I’m just tired of being a woman for the moment.

Alice & Boyfriend in Shipland

 -I saw Puhg in the sunshine of the French Quarter with a duffel by his feet. I chose our brunch spot based on the name alone—Stanley—an honor to both me and Tennessee Williams. We hugged forever as street saxophonists tootled around us. The trip began with fried oysters and a long walk to the ship port.

-We went to the free Venetian restaurant and were seated at the very back, next to the windows! We watched the propellers spit up water and the sky go pink. I looked at my sweetie’s face in magic hour—golden.

-The sea day was rough for one of us who hadn’t yet grown accustom to the rocking. We read together on the deck—both books by Jon Krakauer. At night we dolled up for red bean wontons and snuck into the passenger-only hot tubs.

-I was woken by Puhg squealing “I’m up!” Finally we were in port! After a stroll around Cozumel, a stop for detergent, and an authentic Mexican feast, we bopped to the crew hangout. I bought Puhg a hipster tanktop and snorkel set for the occasion. We jumped off a cliff into the ocean and swam out to a plane crash site.

-We took a party catamaran out to sea and hopped off one at a time right over the second biggest coral reef in the world. The group looked like floating ants with their faces in the water and butts in the air. I saw so many fish! Pink and blue in schools and solo. The highlight was when we spotted a sea turtle zooming along the sand. We followed it together, holding hands.

-On the Olde Belize River we were guided to see manatees, dolphins, monkeys, cashews, pelicans, and my favorite, a collection of tiny bats! In the heat, we were passed bags of water that everyone rolled on their faces before stabbing and drinking. We ate rice and beans cooked in coconut water under a straw hut and our guide talked us through the bus ride to the Altun Ha ruins. I fell asleep like any good student in the front row.

-The ruins were incredible. “The world is so big,” Puhg had said the day before. Roatan on the map seems like a tiny island, and yet we could have explored it for a month—especially considering what’s below sea level. At the Mayan ruins I felt, “History is so big.” I walked where people made sacrifices. I did a cartwheel where a hundreds of men died. Puhg said he was going to steal a rock and immediately tripped. We both looked at the sky. Perhaps not smart to anger the Sun God. As we left, people manned card tables of plantain chips and fresh papaya. I bought a ton of snacks but only liked the coconut milkshake. Divine! The woman who worked at the stand had worked at the shop for a year and had been to see the ruins once. They are a ten-minute walk away.

-We played Marco Polo on a quiet empty Costa Maya beach and ate chillaquiles.

-The final sea day was needed. Sleep-ins, and gym, and watching OJ. We came upon MB and played a few rounds of Rummy. But I felt weird. I kept feeling weird. And then at 6 I threw up. And then I kept throwing up. The night was supposed to be where Puhg wore the one fancy outfit he brought, we took cheesy pictures on the staircases, we dined, we danced. But looks like I don’t have time to curl my hair—puke. There goes photos—out the other end. And finally, I knew I could not eat maybe ever again. My world was bile and shivering. I was really looking forward to having Puhg see me to the final improv show. It’s always such a fun night, and I was slated to play my favorite game. I waffled on calling Tail several times. Maybe it’s over? I slowly put on my pink dress and carefully crawled backstage. I did two warm-ups and said I wasn’t feeling up to it. I was green, everyone said. I missed the show. I was on, over, crying near the toilet for the next two hours instead. We ran out of water and the store was closed. I had a headache. At two AM I shuffled to the crew mess across the ship to drink two huge glasses of ice water and by the time I got back home I was chucking them up, bright yellow.

-I woke up weak but alive. I was determined to still squeeze some romance out of our last day together. NOLA City Park: Beautiful oak, historic diner, ponds of swans and ducklings. I was still not tip-top so we went slow and sat on a lot of benches. The best things: the outdoor sculpture garden—fascinating, finding a pond turtle scootin’ along that Puhg followed like a body guard until it plopped into water and swam away, and buying too-expensive but totally-worth-it tickets for the old carousel. It was almost 2 PM. I had a new cruise and he had a plane to catch. We took the kiddy train that circumnavigates all the green. My heart tore into little pieces.

-I felt choked walking to crew entrance, through security, past acquaintances in the halls with shopping bags and smiles. A cheap one was plastered on my face. I was hungry but disgusted by all food, and I opened the door to my single looking so empty. I lay down and cried, and when I couldn’t cry anymore I slept, not answering my ringing telephone or checking what messages were behind the blinking lights.

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.