Moojinorbit

This is the sort of day that will be a lot funnier in retrospect than it is right now.

I don’t know if any of you are checking in with CNN international weather, but apparently South America is experiencing the worst weather they’ve had in 20 years and we are being chased by a line of 20 consecutive squalls. What should be glassy blue seas and clear skies for our only 24-hour “sea day” are, in fact, white capped storm waters and steady rain under gloppy grey skies. I’m glad we’re in a boat the size and power capacity of Rhode Island because I would not want to be navigating those swells out there in anything smaller.

Normally, I’d be working at Miss Richfield’s Karaoke in the Rendez-Vous Lounge right now, after my dance practice. Instead, I was able to steal a couple extra hours of sleep and a bit of down time in my room because—well, because I couldn’t afford not to.

I wondered last night if we were going to have a long day ahead of us when, at lesbian comedian Poppy Champlin’s midnight show, the boat was listing enough for the stage curtains behind her to sway noticeably in the background throughout the show. Every few minutes it felt like we were on a roller coaster ride that had added a nice little seismic element so riders could periodically experience what seemed like earthquakes—rumbling shudders—under their seats. Dawn and I did a lot of looking at each other with wide eyes and nervous smiles. She, the seasoned cruise traveler, finally had to admit as we careened back to our rooms, that she was having quite enough stomach-dropping big wave boat motion, thank you very much.

Me too. And I did okay last night because after tossing and turning in my tossing and turning room I finally took one of these little yellow seasick pills they offer for free at Guest Relations. I woke up at 9:00 a bit surprised that we were still rocking hard and was musing absently on this when suddenly—urp—I had to dash to my restroom and blow hot coffee out my back end while holding onto the sink and the towel rack to steady myself. Initially, this was a relief given how clogged my intestines have felt from eating way too much (though I have tried to eat mainly at the healthiest deli line on the ship). But heading back to my bed I had to return to the site of the previous accident and make another liquid contribution. Then tip toeing (steadying) to bed a third time (boat rocking, stomach churning, steadying), I had to double back—urp!—and dry heave (steadying) for a few minutes.

All this before our morning meeting at 10. I don’t know how I managed to sit through it without shitting my Bermudas, because I’m telling you I was green at the gills. Rich (honcho/jefe of Atlantis) seemed to drone on endlessly about how yesterday went and how we needed to be sparky and cheerful to offset the deflating moods of weather-weary passengers today. Even his boyfriend, who was sitting left of me, started uttering little moans of dismay every time the windowed “Board Room” we meet in plunged fifteen or twenty feet and then swayed side to side so that everyone’s heads were moving on their necks. Urp. As soon as I saw my chance—urp—I dashed to the ladies room for another round. Dawn and I agreed I could skip my morning shift and try to get better before the afternoon festivities.

So I took another yellow pill and tried to enjoy the plunging, rocking ocean making itself known under me. It’s not as bad when I’m horizontal, and after awhile I did feel the pill seeming to work and drifted into dreamland. I was frightened awake, however, when the centerpiece of that rainbow birthday canopy Dawn and Vince fastened above my head suddenly came crashing down all around me from all the jostling. (Okay, as I type, I think I just sharted. I’m going to go check. Here would be a good place to insert a photo from my laptop of the fallen birthday thingy.)

Yep, just sharted right in my underwear. Not a trace of poo in it; just clear mountain spring water. Nice. Really, really pleasant. My ass feels like it got dipped in jalepeño juice.

Mom, you asked if I thought I’d get seasick on the cruise. Truth is, I’ve not been more than a bit disoriented and dizzy so far even though our ride has not been very smooth, but I think this counts. On the other hand, perhaps I have a (mild, hopefully) case of food poisoning from something I ate yesterday…sushi on the boat, perhaps? Açai sucado (fruit smoothie) at the beach? Urp. I can’t think about food more. Or mayhap I have contracted a flu from one of the hundreds of people whose hands I have shaken in the last week? And the boat is simply amplifying the food poisoning/flu. That too would be lovely.

But funny in retrospect. Uuurp. God help us.

When the boat is rockin’…

Believe me, I recognize that I have it good as an academic. I have it real good—summers with a reduced teaching load, flexible hours, not doing a job I hate. But something is definitely lacking for me…

Dance routines. Moments in the day or week when I am required simply because I have enough rhythm, spatial sense and chutzpah, to get up and make an ass out of myself in front of lots and lots of people. Dance as part of the job. It makes me into a happy Mouseketeer. And two hours of rehearsal are that much extra cardio, which is crucial given the endless supply of free sushi, bagels and lox, pizza and pasta on the ship.

So far I’ve done two full dance routines with members of Team Atlantis. At Day One Dog Tag Tea Dance we did a medley of songs including “In the Navy” and “Hey, Mickey.” We wore white pants and sailor shirts. Yesterday we had a “Classic Disco” tea dance and we did “Car Wash,” transitioned into “Mama Mia” (yes, the Abba song, but the four of us ‘background dancers’ were frozen in the poses for that part while three seven foot tall drag queens did the lip synching), transitioned into “Shake Your Groove Thing.” We started in white coveralls, and then, for “Shake,” shook them off to reveal tiny red shorts (skirt in my case) and no shirts (black bra for me).

 

 

 

Me and a bunch of the best boys I ever met, knocking out little performances on the fly. (Dawn steers clear of the dance routines, and everyone seems okay with that…not that we don’t all love Dawn.) Yesterday not one but two of the other dancers were unbelievable performers in their own right—in fact, headliners on the ship. Russ is the fabulous and campy Miss Richfield 1981.

Kris is—get this killer drag name—Dixie Longate (say it out loud and you’ll get it) who does an entire, hysterical routine around her side job as a Tupperware dealer. Dixie absolutely entranced me at Karaoke the night before our dance routine with her genius improv skills and light speed wit, and I was in the complete dark that “she” was in fact our mild-mannered, blonde team member Kris until something he said at the morning meeting finally clued me in. My jaw dropped to the carpet. That’s how good his character is, and I still have trouble believing he’s Dixie when she’s in make up, speaking in a slow Alabama drawl.

Anyway, a number of people have caught our routines on video and promise to tell me when they’re up on You Tube or whatever, so I’ll keep you posted. Tomorrow I’ll play Sporty Spice for our 90s Diva party in some oddball Spice Girls number.

Mental note: next time I need to bring a wider array of footwear than the 6 pairs of shoes (!) I packed this time. Also consider adding dance routines to political science department perks when serving as Chair (if this Atlantis gig doesn’t keep me from ever attaining the position).

Oh, and Mom: I can’t tell you the incredible reception I got on your purple jumpsuit with chiffon outer layer from the seventies (if there’s anyone reading this who doesn’t remember it, it looks like Chaka Khan collided into Steve Nicks). I wore it to the Classic Disco tea dance after the routine. They LOVED it, and the two drag queens both told me they kind of hated me, my outfit was that good. The giant afro I was wearing helped, too.

Did I mention I also did a karaoke duet to Rick James’ “Super Freak” with Jessica Kirson, one of the two lesbian comics on the boat. Ridiculous.

Now I know why Katie lived in Brazil for nearly a year and has since returned several times. It is easy to fall in love with Brazil. And tonight or tomorrow on our one “sail day” without a port stop, we officially leave Brazil behind. Our next stop is Punta del Este, Uruguay. I look forward to that too.

But if on one of our shore stops someone told me I couldn’t go back to the states and had to stay in Brazil for a couple years, I wouldn’t freak out; I’d be grateful. I plan to come back, with any luck many times. Here’s why:

• Brazilians know how to have a good time. They seem to glory in color, fashion, music, laughter, and play. I hope to know more about this if I ever get to spend more time getting to know some of them.
• Brazilians are every color and ethnic combination imaginable. To me this is captured by a lively conversation I caught outside Sambadrome between a blue-eyed, curly red-haired guy who looked phenotypically Irish and the darkest-skinned Afro-Brazilian man—both speaking lively Brazilian Portuguese. (These girls, though, are likely Uruguayan. I saw them at a beach in Punta del Este.)

• They have gorgeous beaches that are open to everyone. Private beaches are not legal in Brazil—you can have beach access in front of private property, but you can’t keep anyone out. I loved seeing brown-skinned Carioca (Rio residents) kids splashing in the aqua waters in front of my beach hotel in Rio alongside the fat Americans and Europeans.

• Caipirinhas, oh my god. Cachaça, sugar cane liquid straight from the Divine.
• Beautiful bods, boys, and bathing suits. (Yeah, I’ve seen some gorgeous women as well.)

• Modern highways, cities that look like utopias from the coastline, colorful buildings.

• Fish markets with the most amazing variety of fresh fish you’ve ever seen.

• The 300 year-old fig tree in the center of Florianopolis that the people love so much they have propped its lush branches up with metal girders. They believe that if you make a sincere wish and circle this tree three times, your wish will be granted. I loved offering my wish to a tree so appreciated.

This doesn’t begin to do it justice, and I know I’ve only seen the tippy tip of the Brazilian coastline. But still. This place was magic.