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