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.