Welcome back sailors. I finished out my six weeks in April, told Angel not to have too much fun without me, and headed back to the big city. The night I arrived home, my dear friend Arthur who you may remember from previous contracts, was waiting for me at my apartment in Brooklyn. When the clock struck midnight I turned 40. The day of I had a very small, last minute party downstairs in Carrie’s apartment featuring 10 of my closest friends, Mediterranean tapas, a pillow pit, two cakes, many bottles of amaro and one large pizza. It was perfect. So far I love being 40. Friends who’d already done it tried to explain the freedom involved with the transition, but you really don’t get it until it happens.
Shortly after I crested that great big hill of life, I shipped off to Vegas for three weeks to work. Vegas is so weird. I was there at the perfect time of year, April, when it’s not too hot yet. In the middle of the summer it is hell’s front porch. Everything in Vegas happens in a casino. I hate casinos. But I like working so here we are. I split my time in Vegas between crashing with two different friends while I hosted a really fun variety show at a classic downtown hotel. I’ve said in the past that I would never take a full time contract and move to Vegas but time has taught me that I am not in a position to say no to any job that wants to pay me money to do the thing that I love. Do you know how low the cost of living is in Vegas compared to NYC? It’s absurd. I hate the highways and the cars and the tourists and the dry, dry dryness but I would absolutely take a long term contract there if someone offered. No one IS offering mind you but the point remains.
Back in New York I found myself in the position of having houseguest after houseguest. I never really had a moment to myself. I presented a precious, personal work in progress at a much anticipated art salon of creatives for a production company that I respect and have the privilege to collaborate with. It was powerful and informative and gave me creative fuel to move forward. More importantly it gave me a project to focus on during my next contract at sea.
In the blink of an eye I’m back onboard. It’s amazing how adjusted I’m becoming to this lifestyle. Shocking really. I don’t want to use the word “comfortable” because that would be overstating it, but at ease. Except when I’m not. I’m currently writing this from the floor of a rarely used staircase in the theater because it’s raining outside and the passengers are boarding and the chair in my cabin is too hard. Whatareyagunnado? The fact that I am once again only doing six weeks here instead of the full six months makes a huge difference. In total this current little dance with Poseidon will equate to one half contract, three months total. Barely a blip.
What’s the difference? How did I finally gain this ease of life as a cog in the corporate ocean going machine? I acquiesced. It’s as simple as that. To anyone who’s ever acquiesced to anything you know that it’s not actually simple at all but heart wrenching and very slow. But I did it. I accepted the reality of my situation. I AM a mere cog in a giant floating machine. I keep my head down, I follow the rules, I do my job well and I continue to have the privilege of taking advantage of this corporate money to work on my own personal projects while getting paid. I don’t need to have too much fun, I don’t need to fall in love or get laid or make friends. I’m here to make money, create art and build muscle. That’s it. And considering the state of the world, I am LUCKY for it.
I’m in New York so seldom these last few years it barely feels like mine anymore. Being at my apartment feels like being on vacation. It’s weird. It’s shaking up my sense of self. Am I still a New Yorker? My home is there and some of my most chosen people, the gigs and venues where I cut my teeth and became the performer I am, my cat… But my work isn’t there, and for the most part neither is my body or my mind. So where do I live? Is this the beginning of the transition out? If so where am I going? That’s my question for the ages. I’m always wondering where I’m going and I’ve never known the answer. This can be an uncomfortable way to live, but I’ve acquiesced to this too. I can never see the path in front of me because I am the path. The path stretches out behind me, not in front.
I was supposed to spend all of August back in Vegas, but that show decided to take a hiatus for the summer months so I’m suddenly out of a job and homeless as my apartment is sublet until September. I’m attending a wedding in Greece as soon as I debark in July so I’ve decided to just stay in Europe. One of my best friends lives in Geneva and spends the summer with her family at their chateau in the French alps (insert laughing emoji here because I know how that sounds). My beloved Charlie is directing a show at The Edinburgh Fringe Festival, an event I’ve always wanted to attend and hope to perform in next year, so I’ll be bopping off to Edinburgh for a bit. I’ll go visit Arthur at his new apartment in Manchester. There’s a producer in Germany I’d like to meet in person. I wrote a parody of “Perhaps Perhaps Perhaps” in five languages for the polyglots that I can pitch to cabarets in different countries. I’m really trying to make some fucking lemonade out of these lemons. I’ve always been the type of person to chose adventure over comfort. So here we go.
Thank you for hanging on with me and this journey. It is looking very likely that I will do another full contract next year. The ship I have my eye on starts on a sexy Caribbean itinerary out of San Juan and then crosses the Atlantic to hang out in Spain and Italy for the summer before going into “dry dock” in Palermo. America is pushing me out like a splinter and I can’t fight the universe forever. I will keep my roots in NYC for as long as I can and will continue carrying you along with me in my Sicilian leather backpack for as long as you’ll have me. If you’re looking for more juicy ship gossip, stick around.
I didn’t see It coming but I tripped and fell and now I’m back on the ship. Not the same ship but the same job. In actuality, the person who was hired to do my same job here was fired just three weeks into her contract for having “inappropriate relations with a passenger” and the company panicked and asked me to come on board to cover. They wanted me to stay for the remainder of the contract which I politely declined because I have other obligations, but I was able to cancel some gigs snd jump onboard for six weeks. Honestly my dream is a six week contract, if I could do it this way all the time I would do it a lot more often.
I’m about halfway through that six weeks as I write this today while docked in the Bahamas. This ship has a very different itinerary from my last one and I’ve traded the beautiful ancient ports of the Med for the turquoise waters of the Caribbean. A downgrade for several reasons but still way better than the endless winter we are enduring in NYC. This ship is currently doing what is referred to as the dreaded 5/5/4. Meaning we do two five day cruises followed by a four day cruise and then do it all again. Our home port is Miami and we hit the same four or five ports over and over. Miami, Key West, Puerto Plata, Cozumel, Bimini, Repeat. I’m doing more work for the same amount of money, but let me tell you, it’s a better deal than I was getting back home.
I told myself I wouldn’t do this again. I really thought I was done. When I first joined the ship two years ago, on my very first day I saw a crew member sitting in the mess hall wearing a t-shirt that said “It’s my last contract I swear” and I thought “Oh no, what have I gotten myself into?” One of my biggest concerns when initially leaving NYC for that long was that my regular gigs would learn to live without me, that I would be replaced. Everyone assured me that wouldn’t happen, but guess what? That is exactly what happened. Of course it did. Out of sight out of mind. If you love New York City you will miss her fiercely when you’re away, but she won’t even notice you’re gone. NYC goes on with or without you. When I got home from my last contract I was shocked to find how hard it was to get work. I spoke about it briefly in my last post, the situation is dire. I didn’t feel the love from my city or my industry. So I made the decision to let go of my self imposed narrative that it’s New York or nowhere. I had to open my mind to other options. Suddenly I was offered some short contracts hosting a show in Vegas. Then like a fog horn out of the darkness the ship called and I, a poor unsuspecting showbiz sucker, was pulled back in… hopefully not to my death.
After being here for about a week the company asked me if I could come back in June and July and finish out this contract. Once again I had to decide if I wanted to cancel all my gigs back home. I told them I would only do it if they gave me a raise (bluffing) and It fucking worked. They said yes. So now I have to come back for seven weeks in June and July. I was feeling so defeated and heartbroken by all the professional rejection I was experiencing in the city and my therapist told me to listen to the “yeses” and ignore the “nos”. Good advice.
I’m already suffering from the same frustrations that plagued me in the past. I’m hungry all the time and I’m sick of all the food. The days are endlessly repetitive. The pillows suck. Did I mention the food thing? Cause that one is really bugging me today. The biggest difference is I’m only here for six weeks! It’s almost over! Because of that nothing feels too serious. Additionally I could not give two fucks about making friends. I am madly in love with my cast mate Angel. He has also done two contracts so he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s a sweetheart who is currently in school to be an anesthesiologist so he’s got his own shit going on. We share meals and gossip and hugs and my friendship needs are met. There are quite a few people onboard I know from my last two contracts, far more than I expected, so the day I arrived I heard a lot of “welcome back!”. I did feel welcome. I’m also so excited I get to leave soon.
My year is basically booked at this point. I’m here until April 6th, on April 7th I turn 40, then Vegas for three weeks, NYC in May to workshop a show I’m writing, on the ship June and July and then back to Vegas for all of August. I might bop around to visit some friends to celebrate my 40th year at some point. Greece, Mexico, Switzerland, etc. But then what? There are some circus companies in Germany that could use a great emcee, I just have to learn German. No problem! I like language! It’s time for me to think way outside the box if I want survive the devastating economic recession that is doubtlessly hurtling towards me at a million miles an hour. People much younger than I am have much stronger plans for their futures and it might finally be freaking me out a little bit. Time to finish that undergraduate degree bitch.
Today in Bimini I went to the beach with some friends. I burned that spot on my back where I couldn’t reach with the sunscreen while floating in the crystal water. Later we rented a golf cart and drove around the island sampling all the different conch dishes. Tropical conch salad, raw conch with citrus and hot sauce, conch fritters, crack conch, etc. Then I enjoyed an Aperol spritz at the back of the ship while we sailed away. My neck hurts from doing squats on the smith machine last week or maybe from the shitty pillows or maybe because I’m almost 40 and I probably have arthritis like my mom. Life is an endless swirling melange of the good, the bad, the messy and the unknown and I’m equally excited and terrified about tomorrow.
I kept thinking I would be able to wrap this contract up in a tidy bow once I got back to land. That I would step off the ship and go on a solo adventure to Scotland, and then somehow process my year long sea faring experience into a digestible nugget of insight about life. But damn if that hasn’t happened. I should know by now that nothing ever gets tied up in a tidy bow. This is when the greeks would send down Helios on a chariot to carry me away so that I never have to face the consequences of my actions.
The “Senioritis” post may have had a few of you worried that I might jump ship before the end, but I held on. I was deep in some feelings in August, feelings of comparison and inadequacy and frustration. That month was rough. The charter was annoying to say the least, and my feelings at the time were valid, but it’s amazing how, just a few months later, looking back at that post I feel very little relation to where I was then. I had to let it all go in an instant and move back to who I am on my own. We did stop at some excellent ports while we crossed from Athens to the UK. My favorites were Catania, Barcelona, Palma, Lisbon and Bilbao. Once the charter ended, our cast replacements arrived and we spent one more week onboard for “handover” where we did our final show and watched the new cast do their first. I visited Amsterdam for the first time, a humiliating thing to do on a ship because the dutch DO NOT want cruise ships in their harbor. A protest group chained themselves to a lock in the river and nearly kept us from the port. I remember wishing I’d been standing with them.
On August 30th I handed over my crew ID, stepped off the gangway in Portsmouth UK, hauled my giant suitcases to Heathrow, stored one, and then spent 10 days on a London/Scotland holiday to reacquaint myself with freedom. I stayed with a friend in London for the first three nights and I kept dreaming that I had to go back to the ship. Like maybe I was just having an overnight and I had to be back onboard by 2pm the next day. It wasn’t until I was on the train to Edinburgh that that feeling began to fade. After two nights at an apartment on The Royal Mile, I got behind the wheel of a rental car and drove (ON THE LEFT HAND SIDE) up into the highlands and finally began to feel free. Scotland is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen, and for those of us with Scottish heritage, a place of legend. Although, if you are an American with Scottish ancestry, I do not recommend mentioning that to locals at the pub in Edinburgh, they don’t like that. I was conceived on the train from London to Edinburgh 40 years ago, which is one reason I decided to take the journey. That particular story went over better for some reason.
After an overnight in Inverness and a very chilly morning dip in Loch Ness, I came back to Edinburgh for one night and stayed at a 5 star hotel called Prestonfield House which is the fanciest thing I’ve ever done. I felt like I was in Downton Abbey. A few more days of hotels and airports and baggage claims and taxis and then suddenly I found myself standing in front of my brownstone on a perfect sunny September day in Brooklyn. My cat remembered me and my apartment wasn’t in as much disarray as I feared it might be. It took me a few weeks to get everything put away where it belongs. The gigs in NYC are drying up because the economy is shit. Costs are up, profits are down, budgets are being slashed, and as we’ve seen time and again, art always gets cut first. I’m not panicked, I have a little time to figure out how to survive. I’ve actually managed to scrounge up enough work to keep buying groceries without dipping into savings.
But what’s next? I turned down the offer to go back onboard. After two back to back contracts, I qualified for a raise, but I just couldn’t do it. I’m not saying I never will but definitely not now. They wanted me back in January for a seven month contract. That’s too long and I’m not supposed to be a sailor for life. But what am I supposed to be? I’m back at a crossroads. It’s actually less of a crossroads and more of a pathway that’s hidden from me. I got worried the other day because I thought “Oh no, I can’t see the path!”. But then I remembered that I’ve never been able to see the path, it’s always been hidden. I just keep taking steps and somehow as soon as my foot comes down, the path is beneath it. I don’t know where it’s going, but as long as I’m moving it’s there.
As the title of this blog may insinuate, I do not know what the ending is. I started this writing experiment to document my time onboard, but I’m not onboard anymore and I don’t really want to stop writing. I’ve given up some of the things that held me down in the past so I could make room for what’s to come. But I don’t know what comes next so right now, as I write this from a cafe in Brooklyn enjoying an oat latte and a plant based BLT, I am languishing in the in between. At 39 years old, I can’t help but feel time slipping away from me. I have never so desperately wished the sky would crack open and a voice filled with authority would boom down and tell me what to do, or at least give me a deadline for that play I’ve been thinking about writing.
I read a lot of novels about greek myths this year. I’ve always felt compelled by them, as many have. I once did a burlesque act as Persephone and my favorite new musical in the last 10 years is Hadestown. The novels I read this year included Ariadne, Elektra and Atalanta by Jennifer Saint and Circe by Madeline Miller. Of these I found the latter to be the most relateable. In this interpretation, Circe is an immortal sorceress/goddess/nymph who is exiled by her family to live a life of solitude alone on an island. I identified intimately to her descriptions of loneliness. She lives for thousands of years and is never able to master loneliness. When she does find love, she uses magic to transform herself into a mortal so she doesn’t have to watch her love grow old and die. I’ve always been ashamed to admit to being lonely as though it is a weakness of character, and although I haven’t quite lived for thousands of years, I’ve been feeling especially isolated lately. I don’t know how I’ll feel tomorrow, but today I feel like maybe I would give it all up, all my ambition, all my freedom, all my dreams, and trade it for the comfort of love and partnership.
But that’s not how it works is it? There is no chariot coming to whisk me away, no booming voice from the sky with directions about what to do next. There’s no one to give me a deadline to finish that creative project that keeps rattling around my brain and there certainly isn’t a man or woman who will fall in love with me and magically make all my insecurities go away. It’s just me and the people I choose to share myself with. That friend who told me to stop wasting the precious time I have, the producer who believes in me and keeps hiring me, the collaborator who wants to work with me no matter what we’re working on, my parents who know me to my core. This community, while sometimes out of sight, is never out of mind, even when I forget they’re there. There may not always be a deus ex machina, but there is always a chorus to fill in the gaps.
This blog is no longer at sea in a literal sense, but I will keep sailing forward none the less.
Yo guys I cannot believe I am still on this fuckin boat. Yes, I called it a boat. That’s how you know the koolaid has run dry. I am just under a month away from the end of my contract. The regular summer season is over and tomorrow begins 20 days of a private charter that does not require my services. I am here, under contract, getting paid, to do nothing. I’m not a passenger, I’m not crew, I am a ghost haunting the passageways of this big ass vessel with no purpose other than to continue to exist. It is weird. This business is weird. Please don’t get me wrong, my intention is not to complain. I am currently on a paid vacation traveling to some of the most beautiful places in the Mediterranean for free. I am also ready to go home. Both things are true. I remember this feeling well, the same thing happened last year. I must eat but no bite of food available to me is of interest. I must sleep but my once cozy cabin now feels like a high end prison cell. I must work but there is no job to be done.
I mentioned once before that my job here is hosting a show. There are two of us in this show, myself and Charlie, my “glamorous assistant”. The show essentially turns a traditional gameshow on it’s head by having a woman as the lead and a flamboyant man as the assistant. It is written as a classic comedy double act in which I play the straight man and Charlie plays the clown. The creator of this show warned me that everyone always loves the clown and forgets the straight man. She said “people will love him more than you, it’s written that way. This will bother you and when it does, call me.” She was right, it did bother me at first, and I did call her and she helped me through it. The love for Charlie is scripted. Over and over I say “Don’t you just love Charlie? Isn’t he great? Give it up for Charlie!” Meanwhile I’m the bad guy who yells at them and takes away their points. I got used to it. I knew I was good at my job. But recently something happened that pulled at the thread of this delicate sweater (I am the sweater).
Ninety percent of the time, when people approach us to comment on the show they say “OMG look it’s CHARLIE! We LOVE you! You are so funny and talented and amazing!!!” Then sometimes they realize I’m there and say “You’re good too”, but mostly they say “Nice boobs.” This used to make me laugh. I do have great boobs. My stage name is a play on the word boobs because I tried early on in my burlesque career to get ahead of it. To call attention to the thing before anyone else could. It didn’t work. After our last show, a woman approached us with tears running down her face. She wanted to hug us and tell us that she was on vacation with her husband for the first time in 20 years and that she never gets a break because she has disabled children at home. She told us she had just had the best 45 minutes of her life. She hadn’t laughed that hard or had so much fun in a very long time. Through tears she wanted to hug us and thank us for the joy and catharsis we had brought her. It was an amazing moment, a beautiful validation that artists seldom experience. Then she looked Charlie right in the eyes and said “I’m obsessed with you. I want to leave my husband and marry you and have your babies”. Then she looked at me and said “I wish I had your boobs.”
It hurt. Something about this interaction, one that should have been so special, so sweet, so affirming, it pushed me over the edge. I hone my craft for 20 years, am hand selected to take this job, am a professional, delivering a script while improvising and interacting with the audience and nailing jokes and singing and dancing for an entire year, and over and over again I am reduced to “Great Tits”. This is not the first time this has happened nor will it be the last. I know I am not alone. I know this is a tale as old as time. My anger and frustration is most certainly being fueled by the novels of greek myths told from the perspective of women that I keep reading. Surely I’m on edge due to the chaotic tipping point my country teeters on. But I do not know what to do with this rage. I have never been great at dealing with my anger. I seem incapable of ever directing it towards any individual person, so it usually turns around on me. I know that is not a healthy path so I’ve learned how to not do that. But what to do with this existential fury? The only thing I can think is to funnel it into my work. Keep creating I tell myself. Keep making art and telling stories. Maybe someday someone will see me as someone who has value beyond this female shaped meat suit I ride.
When I say there is no job to be done, that is not entirely true. I have no job duties to fulfill on board, but there is other work to do. My job as an artist is to speak the truth, my truth, no matter how small it sometimes feels. It’s why I write this blog, it’s why I press forward on my other writing and performing ventures, it’s why I stay open and present when I’m onstage. The world is wild. The American empire seems poised to fall. Things back home are precarious to say the least. One cannot live on an international floating resort for a year and not gain a different perspective on what it means to be a citizen of earth. There is a whole planet out here and no matter what they tell us, The US is not the center of it. I am untethered, so maybe it’s time for a change of setting. I have options, but whenever I think of leaving New York my heart aches. I am a New Yorker before I am an American, can I really abandon my home? My family and friends? Is there a line that could be crossed that will finally push me away? Is it Trump being reelected? Is it a nationwide abortion ban? How many more war crimes can my country finance before I decide to divest? I don’t know. NYC has been my home for 20 years and is an unending source of inspiration for me as a creator. Would I be able to replicate that somewhere else?
My best friend is moving out of the home we share together to move in with her boyfriend. I’ve given up my job and stable source of income for the past five years. I’ve been gone so long I’m not sure any of my regular gigs in New York need me anymore. My future is unclear and I don’t see the path ahead of me, it could go anywhere. I’m not scared, I don’t fear change, I have started over many times. Change is exciting and hard moments are what spur development. This is the realest senioritis I’ve had since I was an actual senior in high school. This contract is coming to an end, I am ready for it, and something completely unknown lies ahead of me. The difference now is that I am a 39 year old women with two decades of life experience under my belt instead of an invincible eighteen year old girl with twinkly stars in her eyes. At eighteen I went to the wrong university and left after one semester. At nineteen I went to the wrong conservatory and left after one month. I had to do the wrong thing to know what was right. I have repeated that process many times, I’ve always been a trial by fire kind of bitch. Back then I was listening very hard to what other people told me I was supposed to do. These days I’ve become proficient at listening to myself. Let’s see what kind of difference that makes.
I am not a professional traveler but maybe I should be. One of my biggest personal heroes is Anthony Bourdain, I’m still fucking pissed that he’s dead. I deeply admire his authenticity, his cinematic vision, his writing and the way he honored the places he visited by trying to experience them below the surface. This blog is not going to be about Anthony Bourdain, instead I want to share with you some of my favorite things that I like to do in the ports that we visit over and over again. Yes, I am on a ship, No, this is not the most authentic way to experience a new place and Yes, we only visit very touristy places, but I do my best to sniff out local experiences. When you visit the same place many times, even though we usually only have about a day, you get the opportunity to try different things without the pressure of missing out. I LOVE to travel alone and I refuse to go exploring in port with more than three other people. The times I’ve gotten caught up in groups of eight to twelve were hellish and I shall not let it happen again. I’m great at just wandering and listening to my heart as well as doing a little bit of research ahead of time and saving potential destinations on google maps. The star feature on google maps is my greatest travel companion.
Dubrovnik
Australia and New Zealand feel like a very long time ago. I didn’t spend nearly enough time there to be able to pick many favorites, but I can say with conviction that I loved Down Under very much and will certainly be returning. New Zealand in particular was a wildly special place. I have always loved Polynesian and Maori culture and to get to see it up close only whet my appetite. Some favorite spots in NZ include Tauranga, Auckland, Wellington and the fjordlands. I loved pretty much every port in Australia including the big ones, Melbourne and Sydney as well as the littlest one, Eden. Hobart was amazing and already has it’s own post and my surprise favorite was Freemantle on the west coast. The food in Australia really is the best I’ve ever had and I don’t know how they do it. When we did the big repo we didn’t have very much time in any port but my number one favorite stop along the journey, much to my surprise, was Walvis Bay Namibia. A small group of us went four wheeling in the dunes and I haven’t laughed and gasped with childlike wonder so many times in one day in a very long time. Another place I fell deeply in love with was Malta and I low key think I might try to move there one day.
New Zealand fjordlandsSydneyNamibiaMalta
Now I’ll move into a territory where I can speak from a small amount of experience. This ship does two itineraries on repeat during the summer season. One is in the Aegean and the other is in the Adriatic, both sharing a home port of Athens. These are the same itineraries we did last year so I now have quite a few visits to each of these places under my belt. Let’s get into it.
Athens. The ship docks in Pireaus, the ancient port of Athens which lies about twenty minutes south of the city center. Anyone who has ever visited the Greek islands (unless you have a private jet or something) has traveled through Pireaus. I am sitting on the ship in Piraeus as I type this. It’s hot as fuck in the summer, almost 100 degrees today. Pireaus is it’s own small city with an almost entirely seafaring infrastructure. I don’t always get off the ship when we are here. It’s sometimes really nice to take advantage of the four hours every week after the debarking passengers have left, before the new passengers come on when the ship is almost quiet. The gym is empty! What a treat. But when I DO decide to get off I have a couple favorite things to do. Sometimes I take a cab into the city center for lunch and shopping. Athens is awesome. It’s so so old. Ancient ruins litter the streets. It’s also pretty clean and safe. This is coming from a New Yorker so I guess that’s relative. They have some excellent bars and restaurants including a cocktail bar called “The Clumsies” that is on the top 50 bars in the world list and an inconspicuous little restaurant called “Six Dogs” that has a beautiful courtyard and excellent vibes. If you’re partying overnight, the club scene is wild and I recommend a gay club called “Shamone” where we danced into the wee hours of the morning during ramp up last year. When I stay in Pireaus I like to have lunch at a small family restaurant called “Margaro” which serves only three things: fried mullet (a local fish), fried shrimp and greek salad, all prepared to perfection. I also like to visit local favorite “Starfish restaurant” which was recommended to me by a taxi driver named Dimitri and does not disappoint.
Santorini. I will be honest with you, Santorini is way way way overrated. I haven’t tried to get off the ship in Santorini once this entire contract. I got off twice last year. Arriving in Santorini on a cruise ship is a nightmare. There is no port that can accommodate a large ship so you must tender to land at the port of Thira and then take a cable car up to the top of the cliff where the town is. There are no restrictions on how many ships can be in Santorini at a time so sometimes there are four or five ships anchored at the same time. This makes the wait for the tender boats and the cable car unimaginably long. People stand for hours in the sun just waiting in line. You can opt to walk up the zigzagging foot path in the blistering heat next to the abused donkeys who are sweating and pissing and shitting the whole way. Once you finally get to the top you will find what is essentially a giant shopping mall and hundreds of other tourists trying to take the same photo for their instagram. It’s a dystopian hellscape and there is nothing authentic about it. It’s a tourist trap. I came to Santorini once 20 years ago right after I graduated from high school with my best friend and it MAY have been more authentic then but I just remember it being a beautiful place with lots of expensive resorts. It IS a beautiful place. The history and the geography are incredibly unique. The one time I enjoyed it was the very first time we went last year. I hiked to an ancient castle called Skaros and climbed to the very top. It was hard and scary and dangerous and forbidden and fun. I did it alone. There is another town on the far end of Santorini called “Oia” that is the home to all of the iconic blue domed churches you’ve seen on the internet. I still haven’t bothered to visit it. My favorite thing to do in Santorini is stay on the ship and look up at all the layers of rock that were blown out of the ocean thousands of years ago when the volcano exploded and destroyed Akrotiri. If you decide to visit Santorini, sail through the caldera on a sailboat and wave.
Skaros Castle Santorini
Rhodes. I love Rhodes. In general there is only one ship in port per day so it doesn’t get completely saturated with tourists. The port is situated right next to the historic old town which is right next to the new town so you don’t have to walk far to get to pretty much anything you might want. It’s a helpful port when you live on the ship because there are pharmacies and barbershops and makeup stores for any human needs a crew member might have. The port is also the former site of The Colossus of Rhodes, one of the seven wonders of the ancient world. The beach is beautiful and it’s right there. I tend to rent a beach chair at a place called “Elli beach club” if I feel like having a beach day. My favorite restaurant in old town is called “Island Lipsi” also known as “Nikki’s Place” and serves perfect traditional greek food in a very old building that plays traditional greek songs like Zorba the greek that make me want to smash my plate on the floor. If you rent a car or take a bus about 30 minutes south of the old town you can visit an ethereal place called “Kalithea Springs”. It’s the kind of picturesque oasis where people like to get married. It’s a beautiful little park by the water and the site of where I scuba dived for the first time last year. I’ve always been able to breathe underwater in my dreams so doing it for real was a living fantasy. Don’t be like me and scuba dive when you’re recovering from a sinus infection. In the center of the island is a butterfly forest. You read that correctly. I have been wanting to go to this butterfly forest since last year but there is always some reason I don’t. I’m running out of time. One of my key memories in Rhodes was two weeks ago when I finally got both my nipples pierced after lusting after it for years. It was extremely worth it, my tiddies look so cool.
Kalithea Springs Rhodes
Bodrum. Turkiye. This place is what someone might describe as “way too fucking hot” and not my favorite. Bodrum is popular for shopping, specifically for designer fakes. Get all the fake Chanel and Versace and Marc Jacobs and Dior your little heart desires. It’s the kind of place that funnels everyone through the same narrow channel and then harasses them into buying things. You must haggle. This kind of shopping isn’t really my jam so I don’t tend to walk through. The very first time we went to Bodrum I walked deep into town and went to the local market and smelled all the spices and teas and sampled Turkish delight. If you find yourself in town when the market is open I recommend it. My favorite thing to do in Bodrum and the only reason I tend to get off the ship is when a big group of us rent a boat for the day from a company called “Angel Bodrum”. We stock up on snacks and walk to the pier where all the small boats are docked and then sail away. We spend the whole day lounging and jumping in the water and swimming and napping and reading and getting drunk and it is a delight. It’s days like this that make you feel like you have the coolest job in the world that is actually just getting paid to be on vacation. Charlie’s favorite thing to do in Bodrum last year was to go to the Turkish hammam and get naked and steamed and scrubbed and rubbed by a man named Tunji. Last time we were in port I discovered a small local beach right next to the port that has lounge chairs and umbrellas and it will be my new go to whenever we are there.
Bodrum boat days
Mykonos. Aka Greece for millionaires and millionaire wannabes. Mostly wannabes. When I visited Mykonos in 2003 it was known as the gay island and the party island. It is still very much those things but now in addition it is exploitatively expensive. This is not by accident. The powers that be want it to be prohibitively exclusive. However, with a little forethought, it is possible to enjoy Mykonos for what it is, a beautiful sun drenched paradise. Mykonos is for swimming and there is no shortage of places to do it. Sometimes when I want to be alone and keep it simple, I go to what I call my “shitty little town beach” as it has no name and no label on the map. It’s not pretty or romantic but it has a concrete pier that sticks out into the most perfect blue green water and it’s where the locals seem to like to hang out. When I want to make a whole day of it, I’ll take the local bus twenty minutes to Elia beach for three euros and walk down to the nude section which also happens to be the gay cruising area. I’ll find a little place hidden away in the rocks, get naked, eat a sandwich and swim for hours. In old town there is a classic Mykonoan restaurant called “To Maereio” which I am hesitant to tell you about because it’s already hard enough to get a table. I usually get there 15 minutes before they open to make sure I get one of the six tables they have inside. The three people who run the place are clearly family and the food tastes like it was made by someones grandmother because it probably was. Get the special. Mykonos old town has an adorable outdoor movie theater called “Cinemanto” that is so romantic and adorable and like a secret garden. Last year we all saw Barbie there on opening weekend. On the north of the island there is a tiny restaurant sitting alone on it’s own beach called “Kikis” that I have not yet visited but I am dying to, another thing I am running out of time to do. Night time is party time and the reason most people go to Mykonos. The clubs get wild. “Jackie O’s” is a famous gay bar and will always live in my memory as the place where I first did poppers. “Lola Bar” is my favorite cocktail bar in town. It’s very burlesque and makes excellent drinks and the owner Dimitri loves me. Everyone in Greece is named Dimitri by the way. Mykonos is the only port where we have an overnight and there is something about being free from the confines and rules of the ship at night that really feeds my soul, even if I can’t be on drugs like everyone else.
Mykonos
Split. Now we’re in the Adriatic. Croatia is my favorite country we visit. It is so beautiful. The color of the water is like heroin to me, it does something indescribable to my brain. The internet says it’s some of the cleanest water in the world and I can feel a calmness in my belly just thinking about it. Split is a very cool town and on the top of the list of places I will revisit when I take a proper vacation there. The ship docks within an easy walking distance of the old town which was originally a Roman castle. There is a local beach just on the other side of a hill from the ship that is like a huge seawater bathtub. It’s not fancy but it does the trick. I love watching the locals play “picigin”, a ball game meant to be played in shallow water and involves a lot of dramatic leaping. I tend to be a creature of habit so I have a few things I do in Split over and over. First, there is a tea and spices shop called “Harissa” that is full of large tins of loose tea that you can open and smell and I love bringing new people there. It is very pleasant to have nice tea in my cabin and it’s a wonderful gift to bring back to loved ones. Next there is an incredible restaurant called “Villa Spiza” that I credit The New York Times article ’36 hours in Split’ for helping me find. It is tiny and another treasured venue where I wait outside 15 minutes before they open in order to get a table. They don’t have a freezer on the premises so everything they have is fresh. The pasta is amazing. Split is a lovely town with narrow winding roads that is fun to get lost in. There is a beautiful park with a fountain that I love to lay in the grass and read in. Twice in Split I have been with a group that rented a boat from a company called “Rent a Boat Split” and those have been some top notch days from both contracts. Ten of us on a little speed boat flying away from town and hopping from one perfect little beach/cove/cave/lagoon to the next. Last week in Split I had the opportunity to be a crew “escort” for a ship sponsored excursion with Jen’s friend Brendon and we went white water rafting on the Cetina River. When I say that this experience made me want to run away and live in the woods… I am exaggerating but I did think about it. I only hope that when I get home I can try to replicate with paint the abundance of varieties of green I saw under the water.
Split
Dubrovnik. Oh to have been able to visit this place 20 years ago before the rest of the world discovered it, and by the rest of the world I mean fucking HBO. Dubrovnik is an incredible, breathtaking, interesting old city and the set location of “Kings Landing” in Game of Thrones. Thus it has been completely ruined by fanatical tourists. It’s difficult to explain exactly why but this is the one spot where the abundance of tourists really bothers me. It’s not all bad, happily I have found a Dubrovnik hack. This is a secret I have viciously gate kept from my fellow crew members because I do not want to share it. However my contract is ending soon so here goes. The secret to Dubrovnik is Lokrum Island. Lokrum is a small island less than 5km from old town. One must simply push their way through town from the Pile Gate, down the main road, out the back gate to the port and buy a 27 euro ticket onto the ferry. The ferry takes ten minutes and then there you are, in paradise. Lokrum Island has a fascinating history and I highly recommend you read about it. Here let me help you: www.en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lokrum. It’s cursed ya’ll. There are trees and tidal pools and wild peacocks and an old ass monastery with a restaurant in the courtyard and a nude bathing area with a big cave and it is pretty much the only thing I ever want to do when in town. I can’t take credit for finding it, Charlie did when doing his diligent research of nude beaches last year. Charlie and Arthur and I all love this place above all others. Arthur likes it because he’s a free diver and he can swim really deep down into the ravines. We often stop on our way to Lokrum at a fast food spot in town called “Holy Burek” and buy what we affectionately call “meat sticks”, a local Balkan dish made of filo dough wrapped around chicken or cheese or whatever. We eat our meat sticks on the ferry beaming with joy and pride for how very smart and cool we are. One other Dubrovnik tradition is something I resisted last year because of the insane price but did do once this contract before the busy season began and that is to “walk the wall”. Dubrovnik old town is completely surrounded by an old castle wall that one can pay 35 (!) euros to climb and walk the perimeter. It is honestly an excellent way to see the whole town. But if you only have one day in Dubrovnik, don’t waste it on the wall or a stupid Game of Thrones tour, go visit the ghosts on Lokrum.
Lokrum Island
Kotor. You and I are both going to be disappointed by this paragraph. I have not done right by Kotor. Montenegro is probably the most beautiful place we sail to. To get to the port of Kotor, we sail for an hour from the sea through a series of narrow bays and channels surrounded on all sides by staggering mountains. It’s incredible. I am constantly in awe of how amazing the earth is. However the actual old town of Kotor just doesn’t do it for me. It’s not fair really cause I never gave it a shot. It’s another very old town with walls and narrow passageways and cats and too many tourists. When lots of ships are in at the same time there are just too many fucking people in a very tiny space. I hate to admit it but the landscape is SO stunning, the best place to see it really is from the water. So most of the time I stay onboard and sit on deck 7 and stare up at the mountains with glistening little tears in my eyes. There is a hike up an ancient wall that people love to do, I haven’t done it. There is a cable car that goes to the top of the mountain that has a little gravity powered train track roller coaster thing that looks amazing, I haven’t done that either. When my best friend Carrie came onboard I sent her and her boyfriend Dave to rent kayaks because that seems like the best thing to do there. They had THE TIME OF THEIR LIVES. It was both of their favorite days of the whole week. There is a great little Thai massage parlor in town that I frequented last year until I realized I don’t really love Thai massage. I am visiting Kotor one more time before this contract ends so I have one more chance to not fuck this up. The internet showed me a place called “Underwater Wine Kraken Kotor” that is a floating wine bar which stores its wine underwater. It’s about a 15 minute drive from the old town and requires being picked up in a boat to get there. In two weeks time, I plan to go to this place with my new ship friend Jessie. I will report back if this all works out.
UPDATE: On my final visit to Kotor, I did make right by the place. We didn’t make it to the underwater floating wine bar thing, BUT I did get myself signed up as the escort for a ship excursion to the cable car that goes to the tippy top of one of the mountains. This was breathtaking. Once at the top, there is a funicular roller coaster thing that winds along the top of the mountain overlooking the whole bay of Kotor all the way to the ocean. I’ll never forget it. I would love to return to explore more of this beautiful tiny country.
Kotor
Corfu. Yes please. More Corfu. My favorite Greek island. It’s not in the Adriatic, it’s technically in the Ionian Sea and while it is a part of Greece, it kinda feels like Italy. That’s probably why I love it so much. I told Carrie that if she buys a house in Corfu I would buy the boat. The Ionian islands are the only islands in Greece that were never ruled by the Ottoman Empire, so Corfu never got those Turkish white washed buildings you associate with Greece. It was also able to maintain a history of artists and artisans more easily than its Aegean siblings. Corfu has a lovely old town that I love getting lost in. Every single person I meet there is so warm and kind and remembers me every time I come back. I feel at home there. My days alone wandering Corfu are incredibly cathartic. My first time there I was wandering past a jewelry shop and I almost continued by but I felt compelled by the universe to go in. That is how I met Pavlos, a man who I certainly know from a previous life. He is a silversmith and jeweler whom I have spent a fortune on because he makes beautiful jewelry and sells it to me at very generous prices. Probably because we are soulmates or were soulmates or something about his jewelry has healing properties for me. Pavlos sees right into me. I bring everyone to meet him including my mom whom he gifted a long chain necklace to match one of mine. I do have a favorite restaurant in Corfu that I visit every time. It’s called “Elia” and it is a traditional Greek restaurant that makes all the standard Greek things perfectly. They also have a really great vibe and often gift me a limoncello at the end of my meal. The best gelato is from “Papagiorgis” and is really the only place I bother to get gelato in any port. There is a little spot where the town meets the water that I refer to as “the town beach” but is actually called “Faliraki Square”. I come here after my wanderings and swim in the perfect clear water next to the ancient fortress and try to figure out how I deserve such a cool life. There is one unchecked box on my Corfu to do list and that is Paleokastritsa Beach. It is said to be one of the beach beaches in Greece and I don’t want to miss it. Corfu is a big island and I have only seen one tiny portion of it, but as soon as Carrie buys that house and I get that boat I’ll be able to check out the rest.
UPDATE: On my final visit to Corfu, I DID make it to Paleokastritsa! My friend Clark and I went to Akron Beach Club and spent the day drinking and swimming and lounging and it was awesome. I will be returning to Corfu.
Corfù
That’s it. That’s how I’ve spent the last two summers of my life. At the beginning of this coming August we will be leaving Athens and repositioning to our next home port of Portsmouth in the UK. During that repo, the ship is being chartered by an outside company for two back to back voyages. That company generally provides its own entertainment and is not interested in having our show which means I will have exactly 20 days off while we move through the Mediterranean stopping at some of the absolute best ports one can imagine. Malta, Catania, Naples, Ajaccio, Majorca, Barcelona, Malaga, Cadiz and Lisbon, to name just a few. Once in Portsmouth we will do two more short trips, one to Amsterdam and one to Zeebrugge, before our contract is over. After that I’m taking ten days to visit Scotland for the first time, the land of my ancestors. My mom will be joining me and we’ve got a pretty cute little trip to Edinburgh and the highlands planned. By the time I get back to NYC I will have visited 20 countries since my contract began in March. Pretty soon I’ll have to make a new list.
Hello blog, I’ve missed you. I haven’t written anything new in quite a few weeks and for that I am sorry. I have no excuse other than at first I didn’t really have anything to add and then I got busy and distracted. We have arrived in our home port of Athens Greece and have started our official summer itinerary. We do two weeks of Greek island runs followed by one week in the Adriatic. Lather rinse repeat that until August. After doing only about one show every 10-12 days during the crossing, we now do four shows a week in addition to a ship wide party that all performers participate in. I’m not tired per se I’m just working more. But I’ve got my next idea and I’m ready to share it with you.
It’s not fair to say this was my idea, it wasn’t. My friend Sofia requested a cabin tour and I thought maybe I could spin that into a whole blog spilling the backstage secrets of the ship. This may end up being more of a vlog than a traditional practice in writing, but I couldn’t resist the request. I am aware that “behind the scenes” info is highly desired by cruising aficionados, so much so that my ship actually sells tickets to a backstage tour that is not cheap. Every now and then I’ll be trying to do my laundry and a group of 20 adult humans wearing special backstage passes are clogging the staircase to the laundry room. My friend Arther has been surprised in the dressing room while putting on his makeup and made to feel like an animal in a zoo. So here is your very own backstage pass to the very glamorous underbelly of living on a cruise ship.
Let’s start with my cabin. I made a video which covers it all, probably far more than you wanted to know. I had to divide it into three parts to make it fit here. You’ll hear me reference Sofia in the video, she’s the friend you can blame for this idea. In addition, a correction: when I’m listing all of my magnets, I say Eden New Zealand. That is so wrong, Eden is in Australia. Also my cabin lives in fire zone 4 near the front of the ship two floors below the dressing room where I do the show which is very helpful and right above the crew laundry which is also very helpful.
Cabin 4306Z Part One
Cabin 4306Z Part Two
Cabin 4306Z Part Three
Speaking of laundry. There are two crew laundry rooms. One is the main crew laundry and is below me. This laundry room has 15 washer/dryers for 1100 crew. It can be a war zone. The machines malfunction all the time. If you are 20 seconds late getting to the dryer someone will probably take out all of your clothes and leave them in a heap. I’ve also known people to have their still sopping wet clothes taken out of a washing machine half done and left on an ironing board. It’s the wild west. There is one other laundry room reserved for officers in a secret location. This room has three washer/dryers and tends to be slightly more civilized. By trial and error I have found that doing laundry in the middle of the day on a sea day is the best bet as most other crew members are busy working during that time.
Let’s talk about dining. As I mentioned previously, my job comes with a perk level that allows me to eat almost anywhere on the ship. The company I work for used to be a lot more lenient about this policy, but lately with more and more passengers onboard, our requests to eat in the restaurants are more frequently denied. There are six restaurants that require a reservation. I do occasionally get to eat in these places and that’s a treat. One of my closest friends here happens to be the general manager, aka the most senior person besides the captain. Being friends with the GM can come with perks like walking into restaurants. Sometimes it feels like some restaurant managers really hate us in entertainment and enjoy denying us out of spite. There are five food places that don’t require a reservation but are forbidden to crew, including the pizza place. However, our managers can get us pizza when we want if we ask nicely. Delicious forbidden pizza.
This leaves two dining options on a regular basis. The galley, which is the passenger dining hall on deck 15, and the crew mess hall on deck 5. The galley is modeled after a NYC style food hall (lol says this judgmental New Yorker) and has multiple food stations. There is a sandwich shop, a taco stand, a noodle bar, a 24 hour diner, a salad bar, a sushi station and a bread/dessert/fresh fruit place. I eat in the galley often but the options are basically always the same and to say that gets old is an understatement. The mess is more like a cafeteria. The chefs there must cater to the tastes of all 1100 crew members, especially those who aren’t allowed to eat upstairs. That means that the offerings in the mess are completely schizophrenic. On any given day in the mess one will find rice, dahl, curry, fishhead stew, southeast asian dishes that I cannot read nor pronounce, sheet pan pizza, some kind of potato, steamed vegetables, some kind of chicken, sometimes burgers, maybe a roast, maybe tacos, a salad bar and two kinds of soup. They also give us fresh fruit and some pretty cute desserts. Sometimes there are “special” lunches and dinners in the KT with themes like “Mexico!” or “Africa!” or “Easter!” or “Pride!” Those moments are very exciting and we often text each other a heads up: “Crew mess is fire today”. When they give us ice cream its downright pandemonium.
The Mess Hall
The next place where I spend a lot of time is the dressing room of the theatre. There are two performance venues onboard. One is a nightclub which feels like an intimate cabaret theater and seats about 200 depending on the setup. The other is a bigger more traditional proscenium style theater that seats about 500. The big one is where I do my show. The nightclub is intimate and sexy with an intimate sexy dressing room that looks like a movie set. The big theater is big and convertible and full of all the technical bells and whistles and has a big dressing room that can accommodate a lot of people. It is not very sexy but is very functional. I have my own station and a little drawer with my name on it where I keep all my show stuff.
Dressing room and stage
In a previous post I mentioned the A1A. This is the main thoroughfare that runs the entire length of the ship from aft to stern, ship words for back to front. On some ships this hallway is nicknamed the I95 because of it’s high traffic nature. Midway down the A1A is the loading dock. On turnaround day aka embarkation day aka the end of one cruise and the beginning of another, the A1A is very busy and dare I say somewhat dangerous. Lots of luggage and pallet movers and shipments and people moving around. Best to avoid it then. It should also be mentioned that proper footwear is required on the A1A, closed toed shoes only. In addition to the A1A there are crew corridors hidden behind walls all over the ship. Doors in nearly every hallway on every deck are marked “Crew only”. Behind these you will find all the crew stairwells and elevators and storage lockers and kitchens and so on. All crew areas are brightly lit and painted a sterile primary blue color on the floors with white walls and stairwells.
The A1A
Yes, there is a crew bar. Two in fact. No, I don’t go to them. One crew bar is deep in the belly of the ship. It’s dark and small and smells like stale beer. I am a snob. I barely drink when I’m on contract but if I’m going to have an alcohol it is going to be fancy and the drinks served in crew bar are not good. The second crew bar is all the way up on deck 17 above the running track. This is also where the crew outdoor smoking area is. I do not go to this place for similar reasons. The only reason I might go to crew bar is for someone’s birthday or going away party. Apparently there is some kind of social media challenge where young people on cruise ships try to find the crew bar and get inside without getting caught. To my knowledge this has happened only once on my ship. Someone probably got in trouble. I don’t know what the big deal is, it’s a pretty shitty bar. The downside to not going to crew bar is that I rarely get to socialize with people from other departments and I miss out on potential hookups. A sacrifice I am willing to make.
I have two favorite spots for “working”. I put working in quotes because technically performing in my show is my only real job here, but what I’m referring to is what I’m doing right now as I type this. Sitting at my laptop and focusing on something. That could be writing this blog or reading emails or doing regular life admin. It can also mean writing in my journal, reading my book or doing my daily Italian lessons. I don’t work well in my room. The stool under the desk is hard and uncomfortable and if I try to work in bed I inevitably fall asleep. The one thing I can only do in my room is take zoom meetings which happens more often than you’d think (secret projects and what not). My two best options for “work” are outside on deck 7 (my number one favorite spot onboard) and the Den. Deck 7 is magic because it is one of the only public places onboard with no music playing. That is everything to me. There are big outdoor couches and the sea spreading out around you and the coffee shop is right there. The only downside to deck 7 is it’s publicness so on sea days it can get crowded with passengers who also crave quiet. That’s when I use option two, the Den. The Den is a multi purpose room that has been designated “crew only” on our ship. It is divided in half with a moveable wall, one side has chairs and tables and is usually used for meetings and trainings. The other side has bean bag chairs and cushiony stools and is used for lounging and video games. This is an easy room to put on my headphones, play some lo-fi beats, snuggle down into a bean bag chair with my water bottle and focus.
I could go on. I could tell you about where we get filtered water or how the medical center works (or doesn’t) or where the bridge is or those secret parties in the engineers workshop, but I think you get the idea. If there’s anything you’re dying to know, write a comment or shoot me a message on IG and I’ll do my best to answer it. Right now the sun is setting over Santorini and I’m hungry so I’m going to head to the galley for dinner. Fingers crossed they have something good as a special this evening.
PS. Dinner gave me food poisoning and I was put on a mandatory 24 hour isolation so I lost a day of my life. Questa è la vita in mare.
This entry is the one I have simultaneously been the most excited and most scared to write. This is the real shit, the big feelings, the source of the most delicious tea, the reason for my own personal emotional shift last year and the main reason I initially tried in vain to stay anonymous. Relationships. All of them. Friendships, working relationships, enemies and of course lovers, both real and imagined. We live in a bubble, only the people onboard truly understand what it’s like to live and work here. Intimacy develops quickly. Your life on land seems to be very far away, on another planet even. All that we have to do here is work, complain about work, fuck and gossip about who’s fucking. I want to be real with you, but I also don’t want to blow up anyone’s business, so I will do my best to paint an honest picture whilst also being somewhat vague.
When I came onboard last year I didn’t know anyone at all. I met my show partner Charlie in rehearsal in Florida before we arrived so at first he was all I had. Making new friends can get trickier as one gets older and I was genuinely worried that I would end up depressed and alone in my cabin all the time, so I really prioritized getting out and making friends. Almost to a fault. It felt like high school, which was amplified by the fact that I was at least a decade older than most of the people in my department. Chasing after the friendship of a 25 year old when you’re 37 is humiliating and for me it lasted about one week. The real ones found me.
That’s the thing about being an adult that I appreciate so much. I know who I am. Making friends took me a minute but the people who stuck, stuck hard. I consider about 3-4 people that I have met here to be my real true people that I will keep with me after I leave. There are about 5-10 people who’s company I really enjoy, who’s energy brings fun and balance and good conversation, who I will reach out to when I visit their cities, but who will probably always be location dependent friends. And then there are the people who run in the same circles, who share meals and go to the same birthday parties or movie nights but who aren’t for me on any kind of deep level and that’s fine. It’s to be expected. Considering it’s a microcosm of real life I think I’ve done a pretty decent job.
It can be tricky for some people to suss out what’s real and what’s circumstantial. I suppose that can be true anywhere but it’s particularly amplified here. We are sharing space with the same 1000 people every single day and night for months. Break that down to the people you actually spend time with, those in your department, and you’re looking at more like 75 people. Hanging out with mostly just the performers? that’s about 30 people. Just your cast? In my case it’s just the two of us, but usually that means about 10-15 people. So you can understand why things can intensify quickly. We eat, sleep, socialize, adventure, work and relax with the same 10 people everyday for 6 months. Crew members come and go constantly but when you’re working in entertainment and hanging out with your cast, those are your people for the duration of your contract. It can take a minute to figure out if you genuinely like someone or if you just lack options.
I’m grateful to have developed pretty good instincts about who I gravitate towards. Last year my friend Vikki came onboard with her partner in circus and in life. They were immediately two of my favorite people to hang out with, we just vibed. Vikki’s partner was injured early on and he had to leave the contract which was a huge bummer but is also probably why Vikki and I were able to develop such a close friendship. She came to visit me in NYC last winter and I look forward to many more hangouts with her either on her coast or mine in the future. We like to sit next to each other in silence on deck 7 while I read and she knits. It’s awesome. Another favorite person is Arthur, he’s a brilliant, hilarious, handsome sweetheart who also happens to be my next door neighbor. He’s the tits. He lives near Sheffield in the UK and is coming to stay with me for a month in NYC this winter and I genuinely can’t wait to take him fabric shopping in midtown. He just finished editing a new hosting reel for me out of the kindness of his heart. That’s love.
I am incredibly lucky to have been matched with my show partner Charlie. Our show is a two hander, it’s just us up there. The dynamic between us is what makes the show work. I can’t imagine how brutal it would be to be cast with someone you didn’t like. He and I have very different energies that compliment each other perfectly. We also have a very loving and relaxed way of being friends. We share meals, we share excursions, we share secrets and fears and triumphs, and we also leave each other alone. It’s a beautiful partnership for which I am grateful. He’s also coming to visit me in NYC this year and will be dragging me kicking and screaming to see the musical adaptation of Death Becomes Her on broadway. That’s what friends are for. The other bestie is Jen, the general manager of the ship. When we met last year she was the entertainment director, but was quickly promoted. She’s extraordinarily busy when she’s onboard but we do occasionally get to share meals and the STORIES this woman has are BEYOND. I can’t go into detail but you would be shocked by the crazy shit that happens on a cruise ship. From suicides and stow aways to severed fingers and rogue poop, her job is wild. I look forward to visiting her new home in Vegas in the fall.
You didn’t come here to read about my easy friendships and I didn’t come here to write about them. We all want the gossip. Thank god for other people’s drama, it is the spice of life here in the middle of the sea. There is nothing more fun than finding out who’s hooking up with who this week. Or better yet who cheated on who or broke up with who or which two people requested to link contracts after fucking for two weeks. It is wild to me how quickly people “fall in love”. I have to remind myself that when you are young, things can feel very intense, and as previously stated, that is amplified here. If you connect with someone and the sex is great and you suddenly spend every single night together and share every meal without taking a break, it can feel like love very quickly. I’m also impressed at how quickly people get together and then split up and move on. It makes my head spin but it certainly keeps me entertained.
I am going to be very honest with you now. I can be very judgmental of people who can’t be alone. This is a flaw in myself that I am trying to work on. I see these hot young babes focusing all of their attention on getting a man. They go to crew bar every night or they spend all their time at a party dancing up against some guest musician who just came onboard instead of talking to their friends and I can’t help but see a weakness in character. In reality I’m just jealous that I’m too shy to do that sort of thing. But it also feels to me that women do this because they’ve been told their entire lives that being alone is bad. They can’t imagine spending six months not having the attention of a man.
The men onboard know it. Especially the men in positions of power. I’ve watched these men use the entertainment department like their own personal fuck buffet. Men in their 40s sliding into the DMs of ten different 22 year old dancers until they find the one who’s the most vulnerable. Again, life here is merely a microcosm of the world at large, but that doesn’t make it any less gross. That said, I have had an absolutely massive and unrequited crush on “the hot captain” for well over a year now and I only just got up the courage to introduce myself to him a week ago so really I’m just bitter.
To be fair, there isn’t much else to do here other than fraternize and if that’s what tickles your fancy, by all means this is the place to do it. Although when you inevitably break up with your ship thang you have to see them everywhere everyday until one of you leaves. And then repeat that process for every subsequent contract. My friend Whitney refers to these ship ex’s as ghosts, which is the perfect allegory. They float through your life on the daily and they may give you a chill but you can chose whether or not to acknowledge them.
I’m not completely cynical about this shit. Sometimes people really do fall in love. The same way a few of my friendships here feel very real and long lasting, the same is true for some ship relationships. Last year my beautiful friend Katherine was keeping an open mind and an open heart about dating and finally expressed her interest to her ship crush. Six months later they were engaged. True love works in mysterious ways. I could tell you at least five similar stories. Will they all last forever? Who knows! But that’s true no matter what circumstances people meet under. It reminds me of the quote from the 90s hit film “Speed” starring Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock: “Relationships based on intense circumstances never work”. And as we all know, 90’s movies starring Keanu Reeves should be the basis from which we all plan our lives.
A very fun thing about working on a ship is how many different nationalities work onboard. Different departments host different types of people but there are definitely some countries that have a stronger seafarer tradition and therefore are heavily represented. First there are always a lot of Filipino and southeast asian crew members. There are a lot of people from the Balkans, aka the countries bordering the Adriatic Sea – Croatia, Montenegro, Serbia, etc. There are lots of Brazilians as well as Spaniards and Italians. The more senior officers tend to be Italian, Scandinavian or British. We’ve got some Germans, South Africans, Indians and Americans. Americans tend to be in the entertainment department or in management roles. It can be really fun to make friends with people from all over the world and learn about different cultures. I’ve gotten pretty good at distinguishing the difference between a northern and a southern British accent. If you do end up fooling around with someone from somewhere else, hearing your lover whisper sweet nothings to you in Ukrainian or whatever can be a real gusher, at least it is for me. My personal favorite flavor is Italian but all the good Italian men are married or gay because of course they are. Most of the straight men are married and love to cheat on their wives.
There are about a hundred examples of love and hate that I didn’t cover because there’s literally something new everyday. Every vague reference I made has at least 20 real life examples behind it. Like the girl who got engaged to the community dick and then he cheated and bragged about it one week before she got back onboard so now she has to suck it up and walk past him everyday on the A1A. Or the babe who finally stopped fucking the hot dish washer and went for the “nice guy” and fell for him and linked contracts with him and then decided a few months later that she didn’t want anything serious and left him hanging while he was visiting her in another country. Or the two guys who used to date the same dude and were super catty about it but then suddenly fell in love with each other and are now planning their wedding for next year. It’s a juicy, delicious, caffeinated, sexy soup we live in and I have a front row seat and know exactly where to get the popcorn.
PS. If you think I’m talking about you specifically in this post, no I’m not.
Before I started this current contract, I knew I would be doing a “repositioning voyage”. That is ship lingo for switching from one home port to another, usually over a vast distance. In this case we would be repositioning from Sydney, Australia to Athens, Greece. The original itinerary included some major bucket list destinations for me across Southeast Asia including Thailand, Indonesia, India and Egypt. We were originally scheduled to do an overnight in Bali on my birthday, I’d rented a house and booked a private chef and everything. About two weeks before I left NYC, I found out that the itinerary was changing due to the war in Gaza and subsequent conflict throughout the Middle East. It was no longer safe to send ships through the Red Sea and the Suez Canal, so instead our ship would be heading west across the Indian Ocean, around the southern tip of Africa, up into the North Atlantic, through the straight of Gibraltar and into the Mediterranean. Aka we would be going the long way around.
This new itinerary meant a lot of changes, one of which was many more sea days and far fewer ports. Instead of stopping at a new port almost everyday, we would be traveling over big stretches of ocean for long periods of time. Those stretches came down to two long sets, both seven days long. The first would be from Perth to Mauritius and the second would be from Namibia to Cape Verde. One day during this first stretch, while somewhere in the middle of the Indian Ocean, my friend Vikki referred to “The Second Seven”, meaning the next set of sea days awaiting us after our African ports. A bell started ringing in my head. “The Second Seven” is an excellent name for a horror movie.
I had a conversation a few days prior with a passenger about the lack of horror movies set on cruise ships, it seems like a no brainer. There are a few, but other than “Triangle of Sadness” which isn’t exactly a horror movie no matter how horrifying it is, not many came to mind. The other new thing that the itinerary change brought us was far fewer passengers. These repositioning voyages can be quite popular with seasoned cruisers and usually sell out. After the schedule change was announced, everyone who had purchased a ticket on the original was offered a refund, a chance to switch to a different scheduled cruise, or to join the ship for the new repo. Most took the money or switched. Which left us with about half the usual passengers for 45 days. Can you imagine living with your audience for 45 days? Neither could I. An idea began to emerge.
Instead of actually writing a horror movie, I would like to offer to you dear reader, all of the ideas that I collected during the second seven. I intentionally waited until the whole thing was done until I wrote this blog post so as not to miss any possible inspiration. I’ll tell you what really happened and then how I think it could be spun into an excellent horror movie. As I’m posting these ideas online I’m aware that I’m releasing some pretty good IP into the wild. If anyone out there decides to actually write and produce this film, please cast me. I have lots of experience screaming on camera. Please god don’t go looking for evidence of it.
In the days leading up to the start of the second seven, somewhere near South Africa, we started experiencing some extreme weather. There were high winds and rocky seas which rocked the ship back and forth with an intensity that I had never felt before. One night the ship rolled so much I thought I was going to fall out of bed. Whenever we hit a particularly big wave at a weird angle there would be a loud BANG and the ship would violently shudder (this was especially pronounced at the front of the ship where my cabin is). Then there were the lightening storms. Major thunder and lightening that lit up the sky. I turned out all the lights in my cabin and pushed my face all the way up against the glass of my porthole to watch the lightening strike the sea. It was breathtaking. Next came the fog. One morning I went upstairs to the galley for breakfast and when I finally glanced out the huge floor to ceiling windows, there was nothing. No sea, no sky, nothing. It was like someone had closed the curtains on the outside world. We were sailing through a fog bank so thick the captain had to sound the horn every few minutes to alert any other sea traffic of our location. Visibility had to have been less than 10 feet. I had never seen anything like it. It was disorienting and isolating to say the least.
The fog delayed our arrival into Cape Town by many hours. Debarking crew members and passengers missed their flights, embarking crew and passengers stood in the terminal for hours waiting for the ship to arrive, it was a mess. The wild part was, the fog was only over the water. Just meters away in Cape Town itself, it was a clear, beautiful, sunny day. It was as though we were trapped in another dimension. Obviously the fog is cursed right? It doesn’t want to let us go. We did eventually make it to land, but the delay had done damage to our tight schedule. What was supposed to be a very short stop in Cape Town turned into an overnight stay. The biggest news to come out of this delay? We wouldn’t be able to make one of our planned ports of call in Cape Verde, and so the second seven would become THE SECOND NINE. We began affectionally referring to it as The Second Seven Eight Nine.
Our final stop before the official start of the second seven eight nine was Walvis Bay, Namibia. I actually had an incredible day in Namibia. A small group of us booked an excursion four wheeling in the dunes. It was a wild and wonderful experience. To be out there deep in the desert surrounded by miles and miles of open sand dunes is something few get to experience. However, I think we may have angered some Namibian sand Gods. Our friend and onboard physical therapist Jose fishtailed his four wheeler on a dune and flipped it, banging himself up and giving himself a concussion. My ship bestie Vikki tried to take a ziplock bag full of sand onto the ship and was very much denied. Maybe this angering of the sand gods is what allows the true curse of the fog to take hold.
As we sail away from Namibia, the second seven eight nine officially begins, now with a curse upon the fog that clings to us like a bad smell. Or maybe that smell is coming from the literal garbage patch that we sailed though. One morning while at breakfast I noticed a group of people pointing and taking photos out the window. Upon inspection it turned out we were sailing though a long stretch of yellowish green rubbish as far as the eye could see. It was a heartbreaking sight. Perhaps this is a story about environmental destruction and the sea gods are mad at us too.
Now comes the illness. The most common and most devastating kind of outbreak to occur on cruise ships is AGE, acute gastroenteritis. It’s highly transmissible and the villain of every cruise ship horror story you’ve ever heard. Well we got it baby. That and Covid which is still very much a thing. There are all kinds of maritime laws and regulations about how to deal with AGE and Covid and how to handle an outbreak. There are different levels of urgency and sanitation that go into effect depending on how many cases you have onboard. We never went above level two, but what if we had? And let’s not forget about the heart attacks. Not many people can afford these super long journeys except old, retired people, so health issues like heart attacks are not uncommon on cruise ships. We had several diversions both in the first and second seven for this very reason.
Let’s talk about Bryan. Bryan is a passenger who had been on the ship since the repo began. Bryan is one of those passengers who likes to imagine that he’s friends with the crew, who likes to be overly familiar. Bryan propositioned several crew members who he fancied. If you’ve read my earlier posts then you know that fraternization with passengers is a big NO NO and is grounds for immediate expulsion. So even if these crew members had wanted to hook up with Bryan, which they did not, they couldn’t have. Bryan expressed to my friend Steve that he had been stalking him and his partner online. While he was at it he mentioned that he had also stalked that guy and that guy and that guy, pointing to all crew members that were in the immediate vicinity. Then Bryan stole Steve’s crew ID card and ran away with it. Steve had to ask someone else to get it back for him. Bryan also has a bad habit of getting very handsy. I imagine that in our fictional second seven, Bryan cracks and starts murdering all the men who reject him, obviously.
Halfway through the second seven we crossed the equator. This is a major rite of passage in naval history and includes an initiation ceremony and a special certificate. When one crosses the equator at sea for the first time they graduate from being a lowly polliwog to becoming a trusty shellback. Don’t ask me what any of this means, you can google it. It’s a navy thing. This was a rite of passage I was anticipating, as a family friend who had been in the navy was very excited for me when he heard I would be crossing the equator. However, there is something else that occurs when you cross the equator that I wasn’t expecting. The dreams. I had one particular night of very disturbing dreams. One which shook me so much I awoke with a start, heart beating, unable to go back to sleep. I overheard some musicians asking each other if they were having strange dreams over lunch. It turns out that he had heard from several passengers that THEY had been having upsetting dreams. Now I’m no scientist, but I know how to use the internet and it turns out that there is some association between geomagnetic activity and the bizarreness of ones dreams. We happened to have crossed the equator very near the prime meridian*, thereby increasing such geomagnetic levels. I can imagine that these intense and bizarre dreams could cross over into hallucination territory. What’s real and what’s imagined? Does everyone onboard go mad?
*sidenote when you cross the equator at the prime meridian you are deemed a “royal diamond shellback” no big deal.
I’ve lost the plot. To be fair there never really was a plot to begin with, but this is a pretty generous pile of bullshit to occur in a short period of time. In real life, we all survived. After nine straight days at sea, we arrived in Tenerife and ate tapas and drank sangria and touched the earth. But in our horror movie, maybe we never make it. Maybe the second seven eight nine becomes 10, 11, 12. Maybe the fog takes us and keeps us forever. Maybe Bryan kills all the men onboard and the women come together and catch him and throw him overboard and the fog releases us from its grip because the fog is a feminist. Maybe there’s too much here for one movie and it becomes a franchise and makes me rich. Whatever happens, the actual experience of the repositioning was once in a lifetime type shit that was ripe with ups and downs. I’ve never been so grateful to be back in the Mediterranean (which is saying a lot because I’m always grateful to be in the Med). Yesterday was my first time in Barcelona and tomorrow I get to pop my cherry in Malta. A few days later we finally arrive in Athens and the real meat of this contract begins. I’m not bored yet.
Trigger warning, I’m going to be talking about suicide. More specifically about suicide’s little cousin, suicidal ideation. It may seem a little out of left field and I’ll admit, it is. Why on earth would I want to delve into something so sinister when I’m in the middle of an adventure of a lifetime? I think that may be precisely why. Not only do I have ample time to ruminate and self reflect and work on new projects, I’m also the healthiest mentally I’ve ever been and that seems like a ripe time to do some vulnerable exploration of my darker self. I’ve also recently been inspired by some other people being honest about this subject in addition to watching a documentary the other night about the Costa Concordia, a cruise ship that tragically crashed and sank in 2015… so I guess mortality is on my mind.
Have you ever sailed through the middle of a thunderstorm? We did last night. It was incredible. I turned all the lights out in my cabin and stared out my porthole at the lightening striking the water. I’m sure the lightening must have been striking the ship too, how could it not? We’re a tin can floating in the middle of the ocean. I couldn’t help but think about what it must have been like for wooden ships sailing these same waters hundreds of years ago. We’re currently rounding The Cape of Good Hope, the southernmost tip of Africa on our way from Durban to Cape Town. Moving from the Indian Ocean into the Southern Atlantic, some of the most dangerous waters in the world. Lots of sharks and ghosts. It makes one think about the fragility of life.
For the majority of 2016 I was so severely depressed I thought frequently about killing myself. I had to scroll back to the beginning of my instagram to figure out what year it was, I just had to search for photos of me looking very skinny. I lost a lot of weight during that time because I had no interest in eating. I still remember how many compliments I got. It’s a very confusing thing to hate yourself so much you think you don’t deserve to live and then suddenly get so much validation for fitting into the skinny girl mold society insists upon you. I planned my suicide as much as I could. I figured out how I would do it and what I would write on the note I would tape to the outside of the bathroom door to stop my roommate from coming in and finding me. “DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR” CALL 911″. The funny thing is even though I was definitely clinically depressed and what a psychiatrist would call “high risk”, I hesitated to claim the label of depressed for a long time afterward. I didn’t think I was ill enough to deserve it.
Me in 2016 at the height of my depression
I got a surprising amount done during that time considering the mental state I was in. I went on a nationwide burlesque tour, I worked, I wrote vulnerable scripts about the heartbreak I’d experienced, I performed a one women play and received an award for best actress in a theater festival, I crowdfunded, produced and directed a trailer for a TV concept that has continued to evolve into bigger and better things for me even to this day. Looking back I was swimming as hard as I could against the current of my own mental illness. I didn’t really want to die, I just didn’t want to suffer anymore and I was trying everything I could think of to rescue myself. It did eventually work. I hired a life coach who saw how severe my situation was and calmly informed me that she wasn’t a licensed therapist and that is what I needed. She encouraged me to get back on antidepressants. She threw me a rope and helped me out of the deepest part of my sorrow until I could finally see the stairs. I am very grateful for her but I am also grateful to myself for continuing to rail against my own situation.
A few months after I started to feel better, I landed a small background role as a burlesque dancer in The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. While I was in the chair getting my vintage hairstyle done, the hairdresser asked me if I had alopecia. I had never heard the word before, I didn’t even know what it meant. She said nothing but went and got her boss, the lead hairdresser man, to come and set my hair. The day went on without a hitch. It wasn’t until I was at a burlesque gig a few days later that one of my peers noticed the bald spot on my head. My hair had fallen out in a huge circle near the crown of my head. It was shocking but not debilitating. I did a little research and discovered that when the human mind is in a state of survival for so long and finally starts to feel safe, the body can react in some surprising ways. It’s almost as though the body takes a sigh of relief after being in fight or flight mode for so long. In some people this can manifest as psoriasis or an illness caused by a dip in the immune system, or even stress induced alopecia.
Photo of my alopecia taken by my friend, photographer Ben Trivett
My hair grew back. My mental health has only improved since that time in my life. I’m still in therapy, I’m still on antidepressants. The neural pathways that were created when I hated myself are deeply worn and sometimes I still stumble into them, but with lots of love and brain training, I’m able to crawl out again quickly and with little suffering. What was the source of my depression you ask? Besides a chemical imbalance in my brain? I mentioned it in an earlier blog. Attachment to desire for romantic love. I’d fallen for someone who didn’t want me back and that wrecked me beyond what I could handle. The world was not laying itself out for me the way I had been promised it would. My ego could not handle the rejection and I crumbled. I have had shame around this perceived weakness in myself but I am happy to report that the shame is finally in my past. As is the attachment. In fact, at this point any person hoping for my affection has to prove themself to be more interesting and entertaining than me all by myself. Not a small feat. I find the vast majority of men to be pretty disappointing. I’m still waiting for the right women to come along and sweep me off my feet.
Until then I’m happy alone. This contract on the ship has been much more peaceful than the last one. I spend most of my time alone and the people I do spend time with are carefully curated. A couple of people have looked my way, piqued my curiosity as it were, but none enough to get me to do anything about it. If someone onboard wants to buy me coffee and can make me laugh I’d be open to hanging out, but not if it cuts into nap time. At the ripe age of 39 I am no longer tolerant of small talk or leading every conversation and asking every question. I’m still human. I long for affection, for intimacy, for connection. I dream about kissing, but I don’t cry about it anymore.
If you’re suffering from depression, the first thing I want to say is, yes it is real and yes it’s as bad as it feels. It’s serious and should be taken seriously. If you ever think even for a second about suicide, that’s really fuckin real. Tell someone, literally anyone. The fear you see in their eyes will tell you everything you need to know about how serious it is. In the end, suicide is not about you, it’s about all the people you traumatize when you leave. From your friends and family who didn’t know you were suffering to the train conductor who has to quit his job after running you over or the fireman who has to pull your dead body out of the bathtub. Don’t do it. There is a way out*. If you can’t see it right now, you may only need one little boost up to see the bottom of the stairs. Keep looking for it, keep scratching and climbing until you see it. When you find your way out you will be stronger and smarter and hotter and more powerful than you ever were before. I would know.
*Unless you’re dying from an extremely painful terminal disease in which case do you Boo.
It’s a ship. When I first got the contract, before I ever set foot onboard, I spent a lot of time calling it in a boat. There are many hours of online training (what I lovingly refer to as brainwashing) before you arrive. They make it very clear that it’s a SHIP. I tried to be subversive, I really did. But eventuality, you can’t help but drink the koolaid. I call it a ship and I resist the urge to correct my friends when they mislabel her. Ships are different than boats. Ships are big as fuck. This is a floating city. You cannot jump off and go for a swim. I am writing this post from the middle of the Indian Ocean, halfway between Perth and Mauritius. This big bitch is the only thing keeping all 3000 plus people here alive. We are very far from land, far from any other shipping routes, far from anyone who could help us. We are on our own.
Ship life is not land life. Here’s an average day in my life back in NYC. I wake up whenever I want, usually around 930am. I roll around in bed for 30 minutes. I get up, take my pills, drink my AG1, feed my cat and make a little Nespresso latte with oat milk. I cook some oatmeal that I mix with yogurt and painstakingly cut up all my favorite fruit and nuts into tiny little pieces to mix in. I might put on a record. I sit with my breakfast and write in my journal. The rest of the day consists of any or all of the following activities: Go to the gym, drop off/pick up laundry, grocery shopping, cleaning the house, admin, meetings, therapy, make a salad with 100 ingredients just the way I like it, Best friend Carrie pops upstairs during her lunch break and eats her gross smelling tuna in front of me, shit/shower/shave, dry my hair, set my hair in curlers, nap, paint my face (stage makeup), pack my gig bag, commute into Manhattan, host a show (my actual job), commute home, wash face, smoke weed, eat dinner, read, sleep. Sometimes I’m also blessed with social obligations like birthdays and dinners and supporting my artistic friends.
Life onboard is not ruled by days of the week. When I am here I usually have no idea what day it is. Ship life is dictated by sea days vs port days. This categorization decides what the day will hold. Since we are currently at sea for many days in a row while we reposition from Sydney to Athens, I will describe as best I can a day in the life at sea. Please keep in mind, as previously stated, I have an unusual experience among the crew. I am only in one show and that show only happens once or twice a cruise, even less often during the repo, so I have WAY more time on my hands than the average crew member. They work 10 hour days with no days off.
OK. Wake up whenever I want, usually 930am. (This is trickier right now because we move into a new time zone near daily so we have to change our clocks before bed every night. Right now we’re gaining an hour of sleep, after Africa we turn east and we will loose an hour of sleep.) Roll around in bed for 30 minutes. Get up, take my pills, drink my AG1, get dressed in gym clothes and put on my name badge. We have to wear our name badge everywhere at all times. I take my little ceramic mug that my friend Vikki got me in Melbourne and I walk from my cabin along the A1A (the main crew thoroughfare on deck 4 that traverses the whole ship from stern to aft) to the crew mess hall at the back of the ship. I get a double espresso and add oat milk. At this point I have missed crew breakfast hours which end at 9am so I take a crew elevator up to deck 15 to the Galley. The Galley is the passenger dining hall which I am privileged enough to be allowed to use. I get an overnight oats and a plain yogurt and mix them together. I take a banana and do my best to cut it up into little bits to mix it in.
After breakfast I go to the gym which is right next to the Galley. I didn’t really learn about fitness or strength training until my first contract. I resisted, I made a lot of excuses. Onboard I have no excuses. I have access to a physical therapist, a gym and a bunch of wildly fit 22 year old dancers and circus performers. So now I’m obsessed with working out but I refuse to make it my whole personality so I’ll make this part quick. I have a new fitness program designed for me by a friend back home. I do weight training followed by cardio and then I stretch while I drink my little protein drink. I go back to my cabin, shower and get dressed into the second outfit of the day. I pack my little backpack with my laptop, journal and book. I eat lunch, I go to one of my favorite sitting spots, either inside or outside depending on the weather and the number of passengers. The number one rule for crew is “SAILORS FIRST”. This means while we have the right to enjoy the ship, guests always take precedence. So if too many passengers are on my favorite couch on deck 7, I go somewhere else. Sometimes it’s hard to find a place to sit and I wander the ship like a weird little ghost before giving up and going back to my cabin. This often spells trouble and by trouble I mean a nap. When the ship is slowly and gently rocking back and forth it’s like a sedative, it makes one very sleepy. When I have nothing better to do I’ve been known to take a 2 hour nap in the middle of the day. If I do manage to find a place to settle, that is when I’ll do my writing/reading/admin for the day.
Evening approaches. This is when things get tricky if I don’t have a show. I wake up from my weird nap, put on yet another outfit and find my way to dinner. There are several dinner options: Crew mess, Galley or if I’m lucking sometimes I have a dinner reservation at one of the restaurants onboard. I’ll usually run into friends at one of the food places and enjoy their company. Sometimes after dinner I go listen to a band or watch someone else’s show. Sometime’s there’s a crew party and I pretend I’m 19 and push through til after midnight. Sometimes I’m in bed by 930pm. Sometimes it’s the entertainment department spa night and we get to steam and soak after midnight. Sometimes there’s a secret party in the engineers workshop, but you didn’t hear it from me.
Let’s say I have a show. I get to the venue 15 minutes before call time to stretch and chat with Charlie, my show partner. I do a sound check and then head into the dressing room while Charlie does his aerial rigging check. I paint my face, put on my costume and wait until the five minute call. Charlie goes out onstage about 10 minutes before me to start his pre show bit. I join him and the show begins. It lasts about one hour and is HIGH ENERGY. After taking photos with the crowd we come backstage and recharge. Charlie fixes his makeup which he has completely sweated off and after about 45 minutes we head back out onstage and do it all again. Our show is very audience participation heavy so the level of energy and enthusiasm the crowd gives us has a big effect on the quality of the show. Sometimes we have 500 people going absolutely apeshit and sometimes we have 100 people just staring at us. Thats showbiz baby.
Once we are done with the reposition and we get settled into the routine of our summer itinerary in Greece and Croatia, things will be different. We will port every day. These will be the same ports we enjoyed last year and I am very excited to get back to them. I have my favorite spots, shops, restaurants, beaches and parks. Being able to get off the ship is important for ones sanity in the same way that getting out of New York City on a regular basis is the best way to be able to stay there long term. Port days change my routine quite a lot. Thank god. I’m not a big fan of routine no matter how many mental health professionals tell me it’s good for me.
The biggest difference between ship life and land life is responsibility vs freedom. On land in the real world I am absolutely free to do whatever I want. I can go where I want whenever, eat what I want, fuck who I want, do drugs, say what I want, dress how I want, etc. But I’m also responsible for everything. I have to pay rent and buy food and clean my house and take my cat to the vet. Being a crew member on a ship is like being a kid again. I have very few responsibilities other than the one job I was hired to do. My job is fun and easy and I have more creative freedom than other cast members in other shows, but at the same time someone is always watching and making sure I don’t say cunt on the microphone. I also have very little freedom. I have to eat in certain places at certain hours and wear the right clothing and the correct footwear and can’t flirt with passengers or sit by the pool or order a drink directly from the bartender. Not to mention I can’t ever have a blood alcohol content over .05%. Responsibility vs. Freedom. I wouldn’t choose this life on a permanent basis, but as I learned last summer, I’m willing to sacrifice my freedom for six months of income with no expenses.
At the moment, with so many sea days and so few shows, I’m basically being paid to be away from my real life. My job is to stay sane. I consider it my responsibility to keep a low profile, follow the rules, don’t piss anyone off and don’t complain. Whenever that starts to annoy me, I remember that I have never had savings in my entire adult life and now I do. I’ve sublet my apartment in NYC and I don’t have to pay for food. After last summer I took my contract money and opened a high yield savings account. I didn’t even know what a high yield saving account was before. So yeah, I can wait until 11am to eat salad and try not to say fuck too many times onstage.
Oh and tomorrow is my birthday! I’ll be saying hello to the last year of my 30s while about 1500 nautical miles from land in every direction 🙂
Ship Log Blog 