dear brian, i still listen to .moneen.

I think part of the reason I haven't updated in so long is because I've comfortably fallen into the groove of HALCat sets, production shows, guest entertainers and drinking Pacificos on beaches. Not bad, but whenever I fall into a steady pace like this it takes about two weeks before comfort becomes complacency becomes boredom. Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but when I know almost exactly what to expect day in and day out I tend to let myself drag, something I know I should work on. Writing would completely annihilate this tendency, but I've taken to the idea of writing after the fact, after I've processed everything in my head, made rhyme and reason to playing with debauchery and "Brown Eyed Girl." I guess Lately I've just been processing/acting sloth-like more than ususal as of late.
So, what better way to mix things up then to leave(DAMN IT!)? In about a week I'm officially gone, flying back to Rochester for a two month, snow-capped pause before jumping on the Nordam for about two months, possibly longer. I'm happy to go home, and have a notion of work again, but I'm still a bit offset at leaving.
Conclusion? I need to kick my ass and write more.

Be back.

Late, I suppose...

(Written October 14th)
Living on a ship is sort of like living in Never-Never Land, except you wear a uniform and, itinerary permitting, you can get a tan. It strikes me as sort of ironic that, all throughout college, we’re being prepared for the real world, for responsibilities outside of dorm and scheduled classes, cafeteria lines and late night food, and, here I find myself, living in a tiny cabin, playing the same set times every week, eating in a buffet line restaurant every day with the possibility of room service at 2 in the morning.
But, hey, there’s a paycheck.
Not bad for a classical guitar major, no?

(Written October 16th)
Today the Ryndam became the first cruise ship to arrive at Guaymas, Mexico; in celebration, camera crews flooded the ship, the captain paraded well-attired “guests” around, and the locals gathered around the security check points to see the new arrivals and festivities to mark the occasion. It was undeniably surreal to suddenly have this odd significance(?) placed on our arrival. Passengers were given “Arriba Guaymas!” and the shore excursions left to applauding audiences.
If none of that sounds very interesting, maybe it’s because I’ve become a bit desensitized to the places we’ve hit so far. Tourist attractions are everywhere, signs are written in English with few bastardized Spanish phrases to hint at authenticity...it just never struck me as very real until Guaymas. Guaymas is real, and not afraid to show it. There’s dirt, cracked pavement, nearly no visible English, no souvenir shops or tourist-friendly locales. Other than an excursion kiosk right off the ship there’s really not much to see or do other than walk into the town itself and see something completely untouched (so far) and genuine.
Honestly, I dug it. No water taxi haggling, no one selling straw hats or sunglasses, just an actual, real, legitimate town. I got off the ship, walked around, and eventually ended up in a run down local bar with a few guys from the ship. We drank a few Pacificos, watched some kids play soccer, scoped out a lawn sale, then got back on the ship. Low key day, relatively uneventful, but nice. Calm. A completely welcome respite from seeing a damn Senior Frogs at every port (Senior Frogs=Mexico’s version of Hooters).
If you know me, you know I’m white. Very white. Unmistakably white. Therefore, I had “gringo” clearly stamped on my forehead. Still...I didn’t get any dirty looks. People smiled back at me, said “hola” or, if they spoke English, asked if I was from the ship. Everyone, literally everyone, at least acknowledged my presence in some friendly way. And, still, when I got back on the ship I heard passengers complaining about Guaymas, how there was nothing to do if you didn’t go on some shore excursion or find your way to the beach. I can’t lie, this pissed me off a little bit. Fine, there might not be attractions or big downtown areas, but at the very least you could just look around and enjoy the surroundings. Enjoy the fact that this part of Mexico is still Mexico, gritty, perhaps, but real, not modified for tourism. Maybe I’m being a bit of a punk writing that, but the thought struck me that day.

(Written October 17th)
Let me reiterate: I love my job.

Blues Cruise: good for the soul, bad for the liver.

Mexico is nice. Not nice in the sense of cleanliness or ease of navigation once you get away from the touristy part of town near the port, but nice in the sense of....y’know...nice. Pretty, even. Sort of what you’d expect to see in Mexico. This is all a good chance to work on my haggling skills with taxi drivers, find restaurants with menus entirely in Spanish and drink café con leche on street corners. Most of the places the Ryndam will visit the next two months, I hear, are mostly touristy and safe. Understandable; as relaxed as Holland America may be about most things, they do need to watch their backs once in a while. Still, I’m interested in seeing what kind of trouble I can get into, then safely get away from. I’ve heard some good stories from the other guys in the band about this certain café or that certain bar where no one speaks English but you can get a full meal and good drinks for obscenely cheap prices. The other day in Mazatlan the band’s new keyboard player and I got massages at this place called The Aroma Spa for $15. After spending an hour having someone beat the hell out of my back and wrap me in hot towels I was walking much slower and not caring about the mile-long trek back to the port.
This past week was the Legendary Rhythm and Blues Cruise, a charter cruise that brought on a long list of blues acts with head liners like Etta James, Los Lobos and Koko Taylor. Music started everyday by at least 5:30 and kept going, one way or another, until 5 or so in the morning. Almost every place set up for the bands was packed with amplifiers and speakers, sometimes with the soundboard set up dangerously close to the bar.
In short, I don’t really work this week, but I get paid anyway. Which is nice.
The first few days were just killer. Koko Taylor and her band tore everything up, and the Los Lobos show was one of the loudest things I’ve ever heard (according to one of the stage managers our speakers are now, officially, shot). However, after almost an entire week of hearing blues music, I long to hear a ii chord. The energy is still there, but I’m getting a bit run over by how things are starting to run together. There’s been a ton of great shows I’ve seen so far, but I was really tripped up by seeing Etta James. It was just....odd. She really played up the sexuality to her act to the point where it just wasn’t appealing. It’s been, like it is with a lot of festivals, more enjoyable to listen to the smaller-name groups get up there and tear it up. One of the best acts I saw this week was a singer-guitarist named David Jacobs-Strain who sang this deep-down Delta-style blues while looking like an accountant. I don’t know why, but there’s something about a dorky-looking white guy playing guitar that I can relate to.
Still, it’s the passengers who make this cruise totally worth sticking around. The vibe everywhere is awesome; everyone is here for the same reason, and damn if they don’t know how to party. I heard from the beverage manager that their plan was to sell $85,000 worth of liquor on this cruise, and after the first night alone they sold $45,000. Certain hallways completely reek of suntan lotion and weed. The cabin stewards are either thrilled because they’re being tipped very well, or horrified because they’re cleaning up things they just don’t understand.
This week has been unreal.
But I can deal.

"So, how was the party?" "What party?" "The one from last night." "Don't you remember?" "No, but I hurt all over for some reason."

Tonight (the 25th...who knows when I’ll find a good internet connection) was a curious night. The band had two sets at 7 and 8, which seemed pointless since most passengers would either be eating or seeing a show, but I’ve come to accept the (lack of) logic to the schedule. Normally this would have been a mellow two hours, mostly standards and maybe a few vocal tunes with a small scattering of passengers to offer scant applause.
That’s exactly how it would have been if the boat hadn’t been rocking. Non stop. Like a see-saw.
I’m not really one for sea-sickness. My first night was a bit rough, but other than that I’ve been fine with it; I think I’ll miss it when my contract ends, honestly. Tonight, however, Poseidon must have been pissed because the waves were relentless from about 5 until even now (midnight). When things first started to kick up I went outside and watched the ship smack into the water, casting out froth and water that looked like massive blue and white flowers. Mesmerizing stuff, really, once you get past the fact that you look like every other tourist, albeit a rather nicely attired tourist (it was formal night, after all).
Around 6:30 I got up to the Crow’s Nest, our designated spot most nights, got a drink and sat with the rest of the band, all of whom were surprised at how bad we were getting it. The place was dead, which is typical for the hour. 7 hit. 7:10. 7:15. Still completely dead, save for us and the bar staff. Sam, our piano player, went up to play solo for the first hour while the rest of us sat and waited for things to kick up enough for a group effort. Cameron left for a few minutes and came back with sheet music and the news that nearly a quarter of the passengers at the big production show left due to illness. Aside from the bad news that cast on the night, it dropped a big shadow over the prom-night gig we had to play at 10:30 that night.
The set at 7 ended with Sam having spent the entire time up there, essentially playing to no one. This was the most dead I’d ever seen the Crow’s Nest, even in the early afternoon when nothing is set to happen for hours. Since it’s pointless to get the entire band up there for an empty room, I split the second set with Sam–he played the first half while I grabbed my classical guitar and played the second half. It was nice getting to pay in semi-public for the first time in a while. At one point I got applause from an older couple sitting in some lounge chairs facing away from the staged–scared the hell out of me, but nice nonetheless. During my last song the couple got up to leave, but the husband stood around and listened to me play to my last note, leaving me with some very nice words afterwards. All in all, I left happy.
10:30 rolled around. Boat was still rocking pretty heavily. Band was on the stage, ready to play. Crow’s Next wasn’t even a third of what the prom-night gig typically gets. Still, maybe it was not really caring as much about the reception, but damn it all if it wasn’t one of the best fucking gigs we’ve played yet (sorry, mom). Everything just sounded so damn good and (shock) it was fun. Never mind how few there were in the crowd, everyone dug it. Honestly, they were just a fraction of what we typically get on this gig, but they were all so loud and danced the entire time. Aside from the fact that my music stand almost went toppling over a few times, this was easily one of the best gig nights I’ve had on the boat so far, looking over the unfortunate circumstances.
Lesson learned: Think things will sucks? Deal with it. You just might have fun.
Lesson for everyone else: If you like the musician/band playing, for the love of everything, please let he/she/them know. It’ll be much appreciated. Seriously.

in short....

-mexico in one week.
-the ryndam is chartering a blues cruise in a few weeks. i don't have to work, and i get to see etta james for free.

-damn right.

“I have a black belt in karate.” “Yeah, but do you have a black belt in 2x4?”

What I’ve been thinking about lately:

Pro: I get to play a solo in the Broadway stage show.
Con: I’ll be playing that show, and the Las Vegas show, three times each a week for the next two months.
Verdict: I want to dress up like Slash for my last Broadway show, then after the solo just walk right off the stage. Maybe break something for good measure.

Pro: I get to play guitar every night.
Con: I’m a traffic director for the general emergency drills. This means I have to wear a life jacket (a small one at that) with a blue cover that reads "traffic director" in bastard-ugly orange and supposedly direct people down to the life boats.
Verdict: If I have to look like Ralph Wiggum for half an hour a week to do this, I’ll do it.

Pro. It’s kind of funny that Palin was announced the day before I went to Alaska.
Con: I’ve had an endless amount of passengers ask me if they can get anything with Palin on it at the ports.
Verdict: It’s not funny anymore.

Pro: Mexico in two weeks.
Con: Mexico for two months.
Verdict: I’m going to Mexico in two weeks. For two months.

Nice.

“Here’s what it’s like working on a boat: you take your logical process of thinking, then you invert it”–Cameron

I think I’m starting to get the hang of this living on a boat thing. It’s been just over a week and I’ve (more or less) found my way around the ship between short cuts, places and times where I can dress casually, and where and when I can practice (maybe this is the only time I’ll ever be happy my instrument is naturally quiet). Nearly everyone I’ve met so far has been very nice and asking how I’ve been adjust to the boat so far. Apparently, three months is the perfect length for a starting contract. The food is good...too good...I’ve heard that it’s easy for guests to gain about seven pounds in one cruise. Needless to say, I’ve been forcing myself to get up and hit the gym in the morning. Trying to, anyway.
So far I’ve been playing the sets with the HalCats and two big production shows, one Broadway and one Vegas. The Vegas show actually has a pretty involved guitar part with constantly jumping chord changes and sections where I need to be completely sensitive to what’s going on and not just mindlessly hack out my part. The Broadway show is sort of a given, but I do get a small rock star moment, spotlight and all, during the “Annie” bit. Having to pull that out on my second day on the ship was a bit intimidating, but fun nonetheless. I’m still nervous about letting my guard down around the rest of the band; everyone’s been playing with each other for a good while and, being the new guy, I’m still working myself into a good groove with the band. No one’s complained so far, so I assume I’m doing something right.
I like Alaska much more than I thought I would. I’ve never been a big fan of camping or nature really, but Juneau and Skagway were so calm and unexpected. I’d like to see what everything looks like beyond the ports, but I can’t afford to miss the all aboard time. Apparently three members of a string quartet missed the boat in Vancouver last week and had to meet up with the Ryndam in Juneau. There’s even something calming about the days the ship is just at sea: the way the boat shifts in rough waters when you’re surrounded be ocean and the sky is sort of liberating in an odd way. I know this is probably just some sort of honeymoon phase, but I’m really starting to enjoy being so detached from land. I’m not exactly sure how to explain it, but I dig it.

Cheers.

Dam(n).

I have this problem where I try to romanticize big moments in my life. It’s not that those moments aren’t meaningful; I just purposely try to think of them cinematically, first-day-of-the-rest-of-my-life-style. Occasionally the events tend to unfold just as I hope they would: the moment I adapted to music school and first seeing the duomo in Milan being two at the forefront. I think it all has to do with stepping into unknown situations, how I perceive them and how I’ll fit in and adapt.
That said, I suppose it was comforting that the shuttle to the port was exciting as a bus ride on a rainy day. Everyone I rode with must have worked on cruises before; their conversation was casually quiet and centered around gossip about friends. I didn’t even notice the boat at first, the white and grey fitting in with the sky and the port itself. There was nothing notable or cinematic about it at all, and I’m hoping it’s a sign I’ll quickly and quietly adapt.
My room is tiny, as in the size of a single-person dorm room tiny, but intended to house two musicians, luggage, and instruments. Somehow, it’s working thus far. Sort of working, anyway. I’m living with Aaron, the bassist, a recent philosophy graduate who’s been on the boat a week so far. Aaron and I play in the HALCats, the band for cover songs and backing the dancers during production shows. Two days ago we played outside we left the port, and I’m still hung up how surreal it was watching the boat slowly drift off from land.
The rest of the band is made up of a percussionist (Corey), drummer (Joss), piano and director (David), woodwinds (Cameron, who’s from New Zealand), and our singer (Jody, from Australia). Most times we’ll have something to play at in the morning (leaving the port, arriving at a destination), but it seems like we’ll always have either three or four sets to play at night. The other night we played a prom night-type gig to the biggest crowd on the boat I’ve seen so far. I know there will probably come a point where I’ll grow tired of playing songs out of the same books, but damn it if it wasn’t fun as hell. Playing guitar for a few hours every night and getting payed for it is far too fun to be a job.
Yesterday we arrived at Juneau (oddly enough the day the Republican VP nod was named) and it officially hit me. Peaceful is really the only word I can think of to describe it. True, there were obvious tourist attractions around, but walk a few minutes from the port and it gets cozy. The entire area we docked at seemed like a small, quiet town, sidewalk space split between gift shops and local bars. I hope I’m not coming off as too wide-eyed to the musicians; I’m sure this has become routine for them, but I’m still completely fucking floored (sorry, mom.) I never thought I’d like Alaska this much, but...damn

Round one

Everything is going to be alright. I made it to Vancouver without any problems, as did my luggage and both of my guitars, despite having to check my electric last minute. I’ve checked into the hotel and I (apparently) have a shuttle leaving at 6:15/6:30 for the port. I feel a bit more assured about what I’m doing here, how I’m going to navigate things around the boat, and the fact that I’m separated from much of what I’ve become used to over the past four years now that I’m about to become gainfully employed. However, none of this is why I’m sitting comfortably right now. I know everything is going to be alright because I’m at an Irish-styled pub right now, and it was those first few sips of Guinness (perhaps my last proper pint for a while) that told me everything is going to be alright. It’s amazing what the simple things in life can do.
Ok, now that that’s out of the way...
My flight out or Rochester left around 10 this morning. I’m assuming the flight was reserved for businessmen considering a) how nearly everyone was wearing a suit and b) the dirty looks I got when I held things up as the official at the gate informed me my dear PRS was going to be checked (everyone behind me in line may have been pissed, but hell hath no fury like a boy separated from his guitar). Getting into and out of O’Hare was fine, getting past Canadian customs was fine, getting to the hotel was fine..rather boring I suppose, but preferable to drama and trouble.
My hotel is actually in Richmond, about 10 or so minutes out of Vancouver. Richmond, or at least the area I’m in, is nothing but auto shops and discount furniture stores. Once I was more or less settled I tossed on my hoodie and engaged in on of my favorite pastimes: wandering. I was hoping for at least a pawn shop or newsstand. There’s a great Chinese population around the area that’s well represented in the local businesses so at best I was hoping for the kind of decrepit, fascinating store Billy’s father bought Gizmo in Gremlins but, alas, no avail.
I can’t help but think about every other newbie who’s spent a night near a port, waiting for the next day to start their new job. I wonder if they were hoping to find one last great meal and drink before getting a sleepless night debating the next day. I wonder if they wrote a blog. I wonder if they wanted to choke an airport worker for checking their guitar.
I’d honestly like to write about something exciting happening, but my day has literally been airport terminals and hotel shuttles (took a damn half hour for mine to come...damn it). No adventures, not exciting development, just...well...it’s raining. That’s all. However, in the spirit of meeting interesting characters in travels:
1) The stewardess on my flight to Chicago looked and damn near sounded like Paula Dean. I wish they would have served butter cookies on the flight...
2) The guy who checked me into the hotel looked like he was 17 and sounded like a game show host.
3) I was actually about to leave the pub I ate dinner at until the waitress literally greeted me by saying “sup, dude?” She’s getting a good tip.

Cheers.