Day 3 ~ Still at Sea
Monday, April 25
If I were a dermatologist, I’d be handing out business cards on Deck 11. Our morning walk gets delayed until afternoon, when the deck is crammed with white and soon-to-be-red bodies soaking up the sun. Among the more interesting sightings: a guy sound asleep with his mouth open, no doubt at risk of sunburned tonsils, and a guy with what looks to be a feeding tube. Talk about a waste of the midnight buffet. Judging from the crowd we see, this might be a profitable place to market lap-band surgery, too.
If I were a dermatologist, I’d be handing out business cards on Deck 11. Our morning walk gets delayed until afternoon, when the deck is crammed with white and soon-to-be-red bodies soaking up the sun. Among the more interesting sightings: a guy sound asleep with his mouth open, no doubt at risk of sunburned tonsils, and a guy with what looks to be a feeding tube. Talk about a waste of the midnight buffet. Judging from the crowd we see, this might be a profitable place to market lap-band surgery, too.
I’ve picked up a sore throat, so we get a late start to the day, unless you count a three-hour breakfast on the balcony during which my main accomplishment is to polish off most of the New York Times and to spill most of my coffee on my new pink robe.
Then it’s off to dance class and the foxtrot. Today’s instructors are less skilled, but most of the people already know the steps (including us!) with the possible exception of a couple who spends most of the session standing in the middle of the dance floor and snarling at each other. We enjoy having a chance to dance, though, and the recorded music – even with the same song over and over and over – is significantly more pleasant than any of the live bands we have heard so far.
Then it’s off to dance class and the foxtrot. Today’s instructors are less skilled, but most of the people already know the steps (including us!) with the possible exception of a couple who spends most of the session standing in the middle of the dance floor and snarling at each other. We enjoy having a chance to dance, though, and the recorded music – even with the same song over and over and over – is significantly more pleasant than any of the live bands we have heard so far.
Snookie has booked himself for a photo shoot with the Chattering Class, so we spend a couple of hours battling the wind on the top deck while he takes pictures of those bored and/or brave enough to show up. Blind Squirrel Photography, indeed.
Then it’s time to dance again, and tonight the band sounds significantly better. (Or maybe they just benefit from comparison with the drummer-impaired party band.) But we can do everything but the tango (next time!) and the music is so danceable we barely sit down. On our one venture toward the sidelines, I am intercepted by a demented Frenchman, who proceeds to twirl me through a foxtrot. I soon exhaust all of my French language and dancing skills; he seems quite unimpressed with both.
Then it’s time to dance again, and tonight the band sounds significantly better. (Or maybe they just benefit from comparison with the drummer-impaired party band.) But we can do everything but the tango (next time!) and the music is so danceable we barely sit down. On our one venture toward the sidelines, I am intercepted by a demented Frenchman, who proceeds to twirl me through a foxtrot. I soon exhaust all of my French language and dancing skills; he seems quite unimpressed with both.
We are old, but not old enough to appreciate the unique vocal stylings of Perry Grant, who seems to have something of a cult following among the Holland-America set. After 10 minutes of watching him flash his dentures while pounding out a half-dozen songs – all of which sound suspiciously like “The Melody of Broadway” – we decide to take his advice and use the door for its God-given purpose. We gratefully give up our seats to people who will appreciate him.
We skip the show (old folks need their sleep) and instead sit on the balcony while listening to the '70s cover guy mangle songs in the fantail bar above. It’s like having our childhood run through a blender.
We skip the show (old folks need their sleep) and instead sit on the balcony while listening to the '70s cover guy mangle songs in the fantail bar above. It’s like having our childhood run through a blender.