Week 7: Livewire

"Music is like water," says James - this longhaired mustachioed blond musician with a Carolina drawl. I look at him and I know what "washed up" means.

Music is like water. James tries to teach me the guitar, but I'm not sure he knows how to teach it, and after years of not practicing, I am doubting my capacity to learn. I pick up the guitar every other day or so and practice a little, but to be honest, it's become more pain than pleasure.

Music is like water. James said that to me a couple of weeks ago, but it has stayed in my head. This calm gentle man, he plays lounge music in the lobby, and the music, maybe, sounds washed up too. They go together. I think that James really understands the guitar and he plays it like a part of himself. He's waiting for retirement.

Life is like water too. Always flowing. Inevitable. I imagine my hairline is receding and the lines of my face are coming in clear. As if I can feel my youth slipping away and looking over at James's face, feeling his spirit drifting idly at sea, I can understand that. Too well. If life went in different directions James and I could stand up and switch chairs. I'd be him and he'd be me. I would twirl back my long hair and say "Come on James it's easy. You tell me anyone can do it." And James would pluck a few ungodly sounding chords and pronounce, "Damn you Dave! Damn you to hell!" Then we would laugh deeply about how silly the whole life thing is.

But we can't do that. Life is too simple to work that way. There's a synapse in my brain that is firing wildly "Now David, Now. You don't get a second chance." It doesn't fire all the time, but when it does it jolts the hell out of me. I feel a profound sense of place and a sense of purpose – a taste of dreams. It's just a little electrical connection between a couple of neurons in my brain that, truth be told, I have had all my life. I remember instances. This synapse cannot go on firing at such a heavy rate forever. Its already quite painful and I know that if this, well if anything for that matter, goes on unrequited too long, the pain becomes greater than the diminishing returns.

I imagine the life of a washed up filmmaker is comparable to the life of a washed up musician. It's not so silly then.

Gayla sings at the piano bar every night except Wednesday. She's asked me to help her make a demo video so I'm filming her. When I finish it's late, but I hang around and throw a few back. She sings all of the best of them: Piano Man, Fire and Rain – during my request, Tiny Dancer, (she didn't know "I guess that's why they call it the blues", but she's going to learn if for me). She throws me this knowing look and my eyes start to water and I look away. It's such a beautiful song, but I'll blame it on the alcohol.

That look that she gave me, the one that got to me, I won't believe it wasn't authentic, but that's her work. That's what we try to capture on video, the way she works the crowd. "I don't like that one shot," she tells me when she views my cut. "The close up? Why? What's wrong with it?" "Oh, I don't know, I'm too self critical." But finally, "It's been a long contract."

Gayla turns to cough. She's still recovering from a respiratory illness. They finally made the piano bar nonsmoking, but a little too late. "They're probably worried about liability," she says. "They should be," I say. We talk awhile. She's trying to make it through the contract. "Oh I'll go back to Ohio. My agent says maybe Cancun, but I really have no idea where I'll wind up."

I know the feeling. I don't have any certainties. I often feel I don't have anything to hold on to, but I try to just put one foot in front of the other in a direction that seems good. One day, the day will come.

Until then, I'm grateful to those who read me and keep me sparking.

-DSM

P.S. So I'm changing rooms. They are running out of rooms so they are giving me a luxury suite! Tune in next week to find out if I'm telling the truth and for pictures of my new room!

Week 5 & 1/2: Disco Birds & Other Stories

Twice a week is "Elegant Evening" meaning staff is required to dress in formal attire on the ship. It also means – it's disco night.

So I am standing next to one of those tall chair-less tables looking out on the gyrating mass on dance floor. We're all looking at the dance floor – the staff is. I introduce myself to the Italian officer. "How long have you been on board?" "2 contracts, and now I will ignore you and continue to stare at the dance floor." I try again, "so, you must really like working on a cruise ship, huh?" "Yes, I do, now please, I am trying to maintain my aloof posturing and bob my head every now and then to the music and I cannot do that and listen to your human talk at the same time."

Ok, maybe Francisco, or whatever his name is didn't really verbalize the latter parts of his responses, but that is effectively what he said. After two or three such encounters the staff & officers seemed much more like pigeons than people. Is talking really so difficult?

"Don't take it so hard, Dave" says Brian the audio tech. "Were you talking to an officer?" Yeah why? Just don't talk to officers. Here's the Italians' [officers'] idea of a joke: "why is sex so good with twenty six year olds?" "I have no idea Brian," humoring him, "why?" "Because there are twenty of them! Hardy har har! Tell that one to the Captain and he'll laugh his ass off. Then he'll fire you."

As an A/V specialist, although I have never desired to be a technical person and although they are not my department, I end up conversing with the techies. There's Brian, Joe, & Jeff. Brian runs the soundboards and buys us drinks. Joe is a drama teacher from Canada who has got better hitchhiking stories than I do. He runs the lights. Jeff used to work backstage at Hershey Park. Now he works backstage on a cruise ship, but he's an actor really. And he reads vibes. "What's my vibe Jeff?" "You are reserved, but really at ease with yourself, and a little geeky." "I'll take that," I say. After all, you can't talk to techies without a little of it rubbing off.

I am looking at Joe who is covered in dancers. Like a multi-leveled feline scratch pad. "Wow, Svetlana's DELICIOUS tonight. He licks his tongue - I can't take it anymore. "So Joe, are you gay or what?" Joe, understanding my lack of sobriety as he is dealing with his own, hesitates in his reply. Brian steps in rather academically, "it's quite simple really. Joe's a gay man that likes to talk about vaginas and I am a straight man that likes to talk about penises." In fact, I used to make I'm my own extremely gross sex positions. For instance have you every heard of a dirty Santiago…"

Long nights that run past 3 am (of which this is my second) usually end up at the pizza bar on the deck. I'm headed there now, but I figure I'll take at least one crack at the dance floor just to get it out of my system. I'm on the floor for 10 seconds before a girl grabs my arm and wraps herself inside it. This girl can move and knocks my socks off. "Vlada, is that you!" I say through the vodka haze. This was the new poker dealer that I had met the day before. She was so reserved that talking to her felt like prying open a can with a screwdriver. Like talking to a pigeon. Hmmm…

My confidence up, I go to the disco another night, but don't fare as well - I start thinking that maybe this cruise line isn't for me. Meditation isn't going well either. It seems to make me extremely self-conscious. It gives me nightmares. I explain to my spiritual friend Natalie (in Virginia) – "Maybe it's like psychic detox. Maybe dreams are just the icebergs showing us what's underneath and the fact that I am experience pain where it bothers me the most is just a sign that I'm becoming able to let it go?" Maybe. Or maybe I'm just not quite doing it right.

Bisera - I've come to like her very much. She never got back on the boat in Mexico. There was an emergency surgery and she lost her child. Corpus Erat.

The succession of my roommates has been as follows:
Chris from Canada – corporate trainer
Sergey from Ukraine – was a housekeeper, but he's got his masters and now is 1st accountant
Mike from the Philippines – didn't stay long enough for me to ask what all the tattoos meant, but explained that they are cheaper over there.
And now – Sunil from India.

Sunil (soon EEL). How do I remember a name like that? This was probably the farthest I've ever stretched a mnemonic. It involved Ursula from The Little Mermaid plotting to feed her pets.

But it worked.

I lay in my bed and Sunil tells me about spirituality and ghosts. He intensely reads my palm. I am a hard worker because luck is not on my side. I will have two wives. He describes his import/export business and how he screwed it up by trusting his uncle. Now he works in the gift shop and it is a hard reality to face. He is homesick and misses his wife and child.



We swap stories until very late in the evening. Sunil shares a banana and a Coke. The first night he sat next to my bed and talked to me, laughing as he talks because that is his way and wildly gesticulating in an Indian fashion. And his hands come a little too far into my American comfort zone. It is as if he is tickling me and I, bewildered by my own response, cannot stop giggling like a little boy. It goes on like this for some time. The next day Sunil talks to me down from the top bunk looking over the side, and it is like the bunk beds you had when you were a kid – painted like a red fire engine, and all is well with the world. A friend.

I'm missing the rest of my friends. Keep in touch.

P.S. Do not attempt to explain the word "cheesy" to a non-native speaker without being prepared to spend at least an hour and willing to make a dancing fool out of yourself. Cheers.

Week 4: Down is Up (& vice versa)

Dear Friends & Family,

I thought of several titles for this email. Contenders included “Ship Life” and “Do I really get paid for this?” but neither was quite as comprehensive as I required. Down is up – a radical perspective shift – kind of like the Peace Corps, but more nonsensical.

Today, I’m in Cozumel, Mexico (which I think is an island, I’m pretty sure it’s on the Atlantic side) videoing a snorkeling expedition off of a Catamaran boat. Later it started to rain, so I tucked my camera away and drank a margarita. But carrying around and manipulating the camera and tripod can be demanding. By the end of a four-hour tour I’m completely wiped and still have to edit until midnight.

The cruise ship guests love to ask me about my job – just as I like to ask the American bartender in St. Thomas or the Catamaran guide in St. Martin how they ended up there. It occurred to me only later that if I were the bartender I’d ask the same thing to the cruise line videographer. It’s pretty great living in Vacationland (as it was living on the gorgeous Maine Coast). I can’t help but feel good around the guests that have made it their mission to have an absolutely great time. In what other job will people scream with joy or dance for you simply because you point at them? That’s cool. Coming from an unpleasant rut in my life, the sunny Caribbean is like – whoa this exists? I’m sure that’s how a lot of vacationers feel (especially the Canadians). But vacations are just that – a short respite from reality. When you live on the cruise ship it is easier to consider that there are other worlds than the ones I know and the possibilities are unlimited.

I am starting to sink into routine on this boat. I have no set schedule, but have gotten a handle on the terminology and most of my responsibilities. The ports of call are distinguishable now.

I shot from a parasail the other day. I finally felt like a pro manipulating this large and somewhat unwieldy piece of technology while strapped into a parasail. The footage looked great. To my surprise Ionut, my manager, asked me if I was “fucking crazy” to take the camera into such a risky situation. “Not at all, and the camera is fine.” “Well…” said Ionut, “Don’t do it again.” Kirk, my co-worker, trainer, and incorrigible ladies man – who had mentioned the week before that he had planned to shoot from the parasail himself – looked the other way. Just an example of not knowing where the unwritten line is and hearing different interpretations of it by different people. But I am merely a first contractor. I have barely finished my first month. As my fellow documentary filmmakers know, feigning ignorance will get you through. I plan to use this excuse as long as I can.

This past week, also, I have also been exchanging in depth emails with Sean Sauber, a fellow filmmaker I met at the Workshops about starting up a documentary production company. We’ll be working on the business plan soon. I could not be more excited. More to come.

I have a lot of acquaintances now on the ship, but am lacking any real friends. I suspect I am not alone in this. There are many people here that I get along with, but as we all work different schedules it can be hard to connect. One such person is Alezandre (sp?) from Croatia, but he claims Serbian nationality. His parents were both workers under a socialist regime and though I equate that as meaning he comes from a blue-collar family I am sure it is very different. He works in the Crew Mess everyday to 5 pm to 5 am. “You must work very hard,” he says to me when I come in at 9 pm, “you always miss dinner.” I do work hard so I nod my head, but I’ll never tell him that I just stopped in for my post-dinner snack. Not when I think about the hours he works seven days a week.

I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to hang out. I’ll get up early sometimes and watch the sunrise. If Alezandre did the same it would be right before he went to sleep. I only see him when he is working, but we’ll exchange a “hello” when we see each other. It’s like waving at someone you know while driving different cars down the highway.

I don’t mean to say that I’m not having fun. I am! But how can I be completely at ease? After a night at the disco boozing to the dj’s blaring tunes, before I go back to my room, I go out to the bow of the ship. On the wind is the faint song of a girl singing to herself in a language from halfway around the world. I cannot understand the words, but there is a longing the melody. I stay and listen. So many seem beaten down by the monotony of routine or the long hours, but underneath there must be so many stories.

That’s all for now. I am very grateful to my friends and family for reading this and staying connected to me although it’s not easy! Oh also, don’t mistake a Turk for an Italian. Not as bad, but still…

Cheers,
DSM

Week 1

Dear Friends,

My new number: (305) 632-3549. Hold on to my old number too! I will eventually revert back to it.

My experience on this cruise ship, the M/S Glory, has been so exotic that I wanted to wait at least a week before I penned any definitive opinion. Integrating here has been more challenging actually than the Peace Corps, because there is no hand holding. Whereas in the Peace Corps I had a training group that learned to integrate with me, here I am on my own. There are two others that signed on with me with whom I have become friends, but my department is small so am still challenged to make friends and a life for myself on the ship.

Misperception abounds. I arrived at the ship with my suitcase and guitar in hand. The only other white guy approached me to ask me a question: "You must be English." He is now a friend of mine. He is Serbian and his name is pronounced "STANK-off." My shaved head and my suit must have engendered me with an English gentility. "Will you be playing for us?" asked the guests as they passed. "No," I apologized, "I'll be putting you on TV." As you all know, I have not been on a cruise before. I did a double take. My training group – small and brown. The passengers (i.e. "guests") – big and white. I can count on one hand the American co-workers I have met aboard this ship.

My boss, a taciturn but good-natured Romanian, Ionut (pronounced "Yo NOOTS") guided me out of the main office to rush me to training. I waited for over an hour to board the ship, and as soon as I sign my life away for very little money (for an American – I must add this), I was already late. This has been exemplary of my experience here; learning rules that are not written down as I go. Even those that have been here a while still practice caution: not wanting to risk breaking a rule that may or may not exist. Ionut provided me with my uniform – YES! A black collared shirt and khakis and I can where whatever shoes I want – as long as they are black. My deep-seated concerns about physically being able to do the job are all but gone.

In our rush to get to an orientation setting that did not orient me (I found a map of the ship to take with me two days later), I quickly shoved my luggage into a closet. To my shock I accidentally woke up some guy that snuck into the closet for a quick nap. The guy's name is Chris, a Canadian. He is my roommate. It was NOT a closet. "So what do you do?" He asked. "I'm a filmmaker." "Oh that's cool, that's cool," he replied. I wrote a script once. I even went to LA." "So how'd that go?" "I ended up here. What do you think?"

My audiovisual team consists of Ionut, the manager, and Bisera (Serbian), Kirk (American/Jamaican), and myself. With the exception of Kirk, I thought my team hated life. Not Kirk though. He's a dude, a good guy, and a patient trainer. Kirk loves the women. My team did not ASK for me. I was simply assigned to the ship. "How did you get the job?" I explained the process. "I hate you," Bisera snapped (this was the very first time I met her), "I had to work so hard to get this job. I'm not kidding. I really hate you." What? No warm welcome? My team is beginning to warm up to me. Being an American does not help my cause.

What's wrong with being an American? First, let me say, categorically, DO NOT CONFUSE A HUNGARIAN WITH A TURK. Yes, they are from pretty much the same part of Europe. No, most of us could not tell the difference, but centuries of warfare and occupation says you must tread carefully. "It's ok, you're an American," someone will say. "No please, I really would like to know." "You're an American. You wouldn't understand." Yes I am an American, with a degree in foreign affairs from a top ranking school, but I still will confuse a Hungarian with a Turk. What the Europeans don't understand is that us Americans pretty much own our own continent. So excuse me if we don't know the ins and outs of Serbian history. We are extremely culturally and geographically isolated from the Europeans who are all up in each other's business.

Attila the Hungarian forgave me. We met last Wednesday at a party and talked to the wee hours of the morning. "David, David, listen to this documentary idea. Perhaps you can help me make it. I want to take Americans, big fat Americans, and strip them down naked. Then we will humiliate them. We will shout at them 'why are you so fat? Look at you, you are a pig!' Of course, they will then lose weight and we will document how that changes them."

… … Wow. Just really – wow.

In Attila's defense, we were both piss ass drunk at the time. But I think his sentiment about American gluttony is shared with most of the crew. More than the Peace Corps, here I find myself a representative of the American people. This time I'm on defense. But what can I say about American obesity? The facts are all too obvious on the top deck. "They should not call it overweight," Attila points out as we exchange volleys, "it is overfed!" Clearly. And I can make no excuses for the over… fed, loudmouth, boorish guests that draw attention to themselves on this ship. (This categorization you all of course!) In a way, the whole idea of a cruise ship pains me. Is our quality of life in the US so poor that we need to sit on a ship in the middle of the ocean just to feel relaxed? I think so. We spend our lives stressed out sitting in chairs and eating processed foods and inhaling carcinogens. I draw a comparison between the Americans on the top of the ship cherishing their few free minutes and the rest of the world serving them from below, and though I try to find fault with the cruise line for running a sweatshop, all I can see right now is a world out of balance.

"David, David…" Attila beckons me closer. "There is something not good on this ship." I asked him what he meant. A ghost? "One night I was standing out at the bow of the ship in the blackness," he continued. "I sensed a presence that wished to hurl me over the railing and into the sea. This was not my imagination. Since then it took me months to go back to that deck. This ship" says Attila, "is not like other ships, there is an unhappiness here. You can see it in the crew. Ask Druggy, he knows. Ask Druggy." I have not yet asked Druggy, but I think I understand.

There is a social order here: officers, staff, and crew. I am staff and have "deck privileges," but I think the majority, the crew, are not allowed in most areas and so they live out their contracts out of the sunlight, most of the time beneath the sea. They work very long hours. A beautiful (crew) waitress came to clean my table. "I didn't see you at the disco yesterday," I opened. "I could not," she said in an Eastern European accent, not looking at me, "I have to work, I work many hours, I have so many tables to attend. When I do not work I am so tired." She left my table abruptly. I though she could have cried.

My night talking to Attila was my best experience so far. He was willing to overlook my calling him a Turk. I told him it was the best conversation I have had since joining the ship. So many languages, so much bustle; it is hard to make friends. "My friend," he replied, "It is not coincidence that we have met. You will learn a great many things on this ship. This is the best conversation I have had in eight months!" This ship is dream for a documentary filmmaker like me. I have always wanted to travel and see the world and, strangely, the world has come to me. But I am fearful of when my next good conversation will be. I found, I think, a good friend in Attila, only to say goodbye. His contract ended last Saturday. He is already gone.

Ok, enough musings for now. Just the facts: I like my job. It will get very repetitive and tiresome, I am sure, but for now I am still learning and interested. I will simply state that it is arguably the very best job on the cruise ship and leave it at that. It has been a process, actually, to not feel guilty about such peachy job (with the exception of a decent salary) amidst so much grueling labor. But I have found some consolation in that there are also many here that simply sing or dance for a living.

The food is – not good. The guy who hired me that told me that we eat the same food the guests eat told a big fat lie. Still, I'm not that picky. I am working out regularly and am able to eat every 2-3 hours to put on weight.

I am not a good videographer. So says Ionut flatly in front of my team after I came back from shooting my first tour: snorkeling off a catamaran. He's right too. I've been out of practice. It does take practice. Somehow I managed to forget most things that I learned in film school all at once. I am not too worried. I'm pretty sure it will come back to me and it will be hard not to learn something shooting here on a regular basis. I just wished Ionut whispered it in my ear.

My room is really extremely small. I get the top bunk, which can be dangerous when you are liquored up on a moving ship. The only time I feel claustrophobic is when exiting an airplane, but living in such a confined space is kind of neat. However, I do lose all sense of time.

There is no way around doing damage to my liver on this ship. At least I am sparing my lungs. Everyone drinks and smokes here. It's what people do.

I have gotten completely lost on this ship literally and figuratively. Going from the bleak crew hallways to the elegant guests quarters is surreal – like something out of the movie Brazil. I don't spend too much time on the guest side. I always have to be in uniform. Moreover, it reminds me of a lazer tag maze in that there just isn't a nook or cranny to hide in where you can feel completely at ease. It ain't no pleasure cruise.

I am not allowed to get involved with guests. If I do so I'll have to be prepared to get kicked off the ship. I had the feeling that the performers were, as a whole, an unsavory bunch, but I got to know some of the dancers last night and was pleasantly surprised. Hopefully more to come… Don't forget about me while I'm gone.

All my best,
DSM

P.S. Yes I do get seasick.