Tuesday, June 07, 2005Fun Fun FunI'm sitting on the back of a Carnival Lines cruise ship heading north along the coast of Baja California. The ship is so outrageously large that I tend to forget it's circumscribed by water. It's more like a huge Las Vegas Casino than anything else.There are parts of this weekend adventure that have been magical, no doubt about it: Horsebackriding in the hills of Ensenada with three kids feeling the wonder of being astride a horse for the first time, finding their mastery, seeing the world with a new perspective; the amazing ability of humans to create a world no matter where they are, from building a nest for four in a 10x10 interior stateroom, to creating a microcosm of life in a moving building. I had a wonderful hour with Taylor early the first morning as we stood at the rail and watched us dock in Ensenada. We all had a great snuggle one afternoon, huddling around my computer in the cabin, watching The Bourne Identity. I shopped in Ensenada with my girlfriend, Kathy, and we wrangled deals and copped a quick cerveza. So it wasn't ALL bad. It really wasn't. One of the strongest impressions this trip has made on the kids, however, is how completely stupid people look when they're drunk. Sadly, the prevailing observations and conversations have been about the drunk people on board. There are a lot of them. They all are acting so unbelievably stupid. At one point last night, when some grown men were running up and down the aisle outside our stateroom around 2 or 3 a.m. I just wanted to crawl out of my bed, open the door, and tell them with pure and scathing sincerity: you are a complete disgrace to the human race. People seem to have a compelling urge to identify themselves clearly to the world. If they are going to be stupid and drunk, they have an urge to proclaim it to the world. If people want to get laid, give them some beer in sufficient quantity, and see what happens. I saw two guys - one wearing short red corduroy shorts and the other a large white physician's coat with the word "gynecologist" embroidered over the heart. They were walking around, I suspect pretending to be more drunk than they were, and rubbing their crotches on whatever female would hold still long enough to endure them. They were dancing and ogling and picking up on everyone. One woman talked to them for a few minutes and they sandwiched her in a gyrating dance, the red corduroy shorts guy rubbing himself on her repeatedly, while she just stood there basically laughing at them. When she left they conferred, rather soberly, and went bobbing off to find the next woman. They weren't that cute. And last I heard, red corduroy short shorts on a white guy was not the be-all of sex appeal that he apparently thought it was. The need to be stupid and self-proclaim boggles my mind. Here are some examples of t-shirts I've seen this weekend: "I'm only here for the lap dance." "I learned from lesbians." (That one at least takes a half a second to register.) "The problem here? You're stupid." "Sex instructor: Free lessons." "A skater guy broke my heart." (This on a girl of about 11 years old.) And my favorite, especially in the midst of all the guzzling and nuzzling: "I love church." Which this guy apparently did, as there was a huge cross necklace dangling around his neck. There is an assault of noise here. A live band plays by the pool. Loud speakers jut out of every corner. There is so much alcohol consumption, I heard someone this morning demanding of a bartender where you could get a drink on this ship - at 8:15 in the morning. He was not willing to wait until 8:30 when the bar opened up. "You mean there's nowhere on this ship to get a DRINK?" Up on the 11th deck, the Veranda deck, with its pricey staterooms and balconies, we came across a guy laying in the middle of the aisle around 3 p.m. yesterday afternoon. I asked if he was OK. "Just taking a little nap," he said, quite coherently. Nice looking guy. Just, you know, passed out in front of his expensive stateroom door. A kid we met who was staying on that same deck heard someone one night yelling down the hall around 1 or 2: "I want me some BITCHES!!!" Lovely. Today someone dropped their glass into the pool where the kids were sliding down the water slide. They had to close the pool, clean it out, and refill it. Broke my son's heart. He was having so much fun and was just about to get his little brother to try. But no. Some drunk guy has to drop his glass in the water. That's when I got a little militant. Come ON man.What is UP with all this obliterating CHAOS??? Can these people not last a minute with silence? Can they not stand to think their own thoughts? Is their pain SO painful that they simply cannot stop and breathe a second in silent clarity? It must be. These lives of silent desperation are fucking noisy. And I must come off as so judgmental and holier-than-thou. But I'm not. I'm NOT. I did my time being stupid in public when I was younger. It was fun while it lasted but it really pretty much sucked. It was stupid and it made my head hurt. And even though you feel like a god when you're that drunk, it just doesn't take too long on the bathroom floor to realize that, in fact, that's not a reality. God. I'm sounding so OLD. I don't mean to sound like that. I don't. I think back to my days of partying like this. And even though I knew I was wasting a certain amount of time and brain cells, there was something cool about it. And that was comparing notes the next day. I did WHAT? And then I went home with whom??? It was the story that was juicy and gave the whole thing meaning. That was cool. I loved the stories afterwards; I still do. So what the hell is this about? Like my blog about the Star Wars line people, let's give these cruisers a break: Let's assume they have a life. And let's assume that their life isn't that great, actually. I have to suspect, with compassion, that they just can't be that happy and content and self-actualized in their real daily existence if this is how fast and hard they have to escape. There must be a LOT of pain in the world to consume so much beer. Seriously. I have compassion for these people. About exactly up to the point where one of them takes a super soaker squirt weapon and shoots Taylor with it while we're navigating through the poolside bar back to our chairs. Just points and shoots, at close range. Har har har har har, the fat guy roars. Isn't that FUNNY? Yuk yuk yuk. I just shot me a nine-year-old. Taylor did not want to be shot. He looked pleadingly up at the man, and then was shocked and scared when the water hit. This is exactly the moment when the compassion vanished. I still am so angry at the guy that I'd like to deck him. There were more stories. People at 4:30 in the morning the day we got home, yelling and laughing in the hall outside our cabin door. When I tell them to PLEASE give it a rest, they looked honestly sorry. Like they just realized there were people behind the doors and that the people occasionally had a face and one or two needs of their own. These were not bad people. Just loud ones. Having a good time. At 4:30 in the morning. Outside our cabin door. I came home and started writing Carnival Cruise Lines. I told them about the situation. During the time I was there, I kept blaming the people themselves. You know, personal responsibility and all that. Then I looked up at the bigger picture and started thinking - ya know? The cruise lines really do need to take some responsibility here. They can enforce a Code of Conduct. One of their 900 crew members could be authorized to SAY something to these dickwads. I wrote a comment card, a long email and finally called them. Apparently I did not complain enough on the trip (which is true, we only complained once about our table). I did not go to the Purser and tell him that his entire ship was being taken over by drunkenness. I didn't actually think he could do anything about it - what's he going to do, turn the spigots off? The spigots that were running gold for him? Not bloody likely. I SHOULD have told him about the fat guy with the super soaker. That one was a crime and there was a face to it. But the rest? I didn't complain because - short of upending the boat, washing everyone out to sea and starting over - there wasn't really much to be done. So be it. Carnival Cruise Lines offered me and my adult companions a hundred dollar ship credit, next time we sail. I told them that would be never. They said they were sorry, but I should have complained more. So noisy desperation it is, then. Sometimes I guess you just have to be noisy back. Carnival Cruise Lines: If you want a red corduroy crotch rubbed against your thigh they've got just the vacation package for YOU. # posted by Katherine Doughtie Nolan @ 6:34 AM  
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