Sailing Sick-up

I grew up on the water. My grandmother had a lakehouse before I was a baby (she threw my bottle, aka "ba-ba," to the fishes when she thought I was too old for it) and my parents got one later on. We went through several boats, from pontoons, to speed boats, to mini yachts to house boats to sail boats. And let me tell you, there is nothing like sleeping on a boat. You fall asleep on a gently rocking blanket of waves, the small splashes on the bottom of the boat second only to the soft hum of cicadas in the summer. It makes for the most amazing dreams.

So I've always appreciated boating - I never really had a choice. But I often forget that not everyone feels the same way I do.

A group of us went sailing in the Pacific recently. It was my first time on a boat in the Pacific and I was excited beyond belief. We had wine and cheese, good company, and a captain rivaling Chief Brody in Jaws. We shoved off from the port in Marina del Rey full of the wind in our hair (yes, I can still feel the wind in what little hair I now have left). Immediately, however, we realized we were probably in for more than we bargained for.

It was a rocky start. The boat lurched left, then right, the sails pitching from side to side. You had to duck frequently in order to avoid getting clocked on the head by the. Once out in the ocean, however, it was smooth sailing, as they say. Though the boat leaned practically on its side the whole time, most of us were enjoying the spectacular coastal views and the electric zing of life through our spirits.

It was on the way back from Malibu that the action happened. One of the seat cushions fell overboard and our fearless captain swung the boat around after it. Our motley crew made several attempts at nabbing it, all the time the boat flipping back and forth along the coastline as our captain stood over the edge with his harpoon. And we were almost about to catch that cushion too...when it happened.

A guy I'd just met all of the sudden flung his head overboard and commenced yacking full throttle. As others turned away in disgust, trying their best to pretend they didn't notice him, I stared directly at him. I couldn't help but crack a smile, glad that all those years around boats had made me sea worthy. I turned to another girl to comment, but her face looked green. And I'm not kidding...it was GREEN. She managed to mumble out, "I'm not feeling well" before going below for a bit of reprieve. At this point, I heard a soft chuckle escape from my mouth. Horrified, I forced a serious face to match the concern of the others. And that was when I turned around to see a girl on the other side of the boat, blowing chunks all along the starboard side.

It started as a feather in my gut. A light flutter that bubbled up, gaining strength on its way up my throat. And before I could even think to attempt to shove it back down, it came: great bellows of laughter erupting from my mouth. And there was no stopping it! I knew it would be one of those laughing fits that you are powerless to control. The kind that make others smile for awhile, but eventually become annoyed with you.

I rolled around the boat, my face in my arms. Red-faced, tears streaming, I looked to the others for or at least sympathy, but found none. I was on my own and it wasn't funny. But I just couldn't help it! It seemed like every time I turned around, someone else was puking! Every time I started to settle back down, the image of the back of someone's head would pop into my mind and I was done for again. Oh, the humanity of it all!

The fit finally petered out as the boat motored in to dock. We never did get that damn cushion back...but if you ask me, it's a small price to pay for a good giggle.

Inn Ocence Lost

There's nothing like hotel living. Don't get me wrong, I'm a bigtime homebody. I love the familiar comforts of home and, no matter how social I can be, nesting is a specialty of mine. But there's just something primal about invading a space and claiming it as your own.

First of all, it's exciting to be in a strange, new place. The first thing I do when I check into a room, is go exploring. I sniff around in all the drawers and snoop in all the closets, fully aware that I won't find anything all that interesting. Still, there's a certain satisfaction in the act. As if I were suddenly transformed into a wide-eyed cat, testing my claws on every surface, doing everything but spraying the curtains to mark my territory.

Secondly, I love the sheer abundance of it all! The place is yours to use and abuse. After all, a magical maid will slip in when you're not looking sometime the next day. She'll set everything perfect again with just the wrinkle of her nose. So, without a care in the world, you can go through several shampoo bottles during your stay. Brand new full ones will appear before you've used even an eight of the first one...and there'll be one leftover for you to take home for your troubles. You can leave trash lying on the floor just outside the wastebaskets. Who cares? Your whole room is your wastebasket now!

Then you can down baby bottles of booze from the mini bar, oblivious to any credit card damage they incur. Once you're nice and buzzed, you can order room service, feasting on hamburgers and cheesecake in bed. And you don't even have to bother to brush away any crumbs...why, you can even use the comforter as a napkin! And towels? Those are my favorite! As soon as you've dried off your satiated body, you can simply toss that nice, fluffy white towel on the floor. Maybe you'll even make the effort to kick it behind the toilet. You know, to make sure the maid understands that you are no longer in need of its service.

During a recent hotel stay, something happened to deprive me of all these wonderful joys. As I made my way into the bedroom, I noticed a card on the plush pillow of the neatly made bed. I leaned down to read it and it all but screamed back at me: "Help protect our environment! Conserve your towels, sheets and toiletries!"

At first I felt a softening in my soul, followed by a small pang of guilt for how much I had planned to reek havoc in this sweet, unsuspecting suite. But eventually, the guttural, gluttonous part of me won out and I found myself drowned again in all of my usual habits.

But on the final day, I stepped out of the tub and turned to the vanity in sudden shock. There, in the reflected fluorescent light of the bathroom mirror, was the horror of what I had become. A creature with bloated, paled skin. Pimples as large and as colorful as M&Ms covered my face. My eyes were bloodshot, my chest sunken. But most frightening of all was the look of pure greed that had been quickly etched into my face over those few days.

Slowly, I picked up a dirty, damp towel from the floor and dried myself off. I returned the shampoo bottles from my suitcase to their rightful spot beside the faucet and cleaned away all of the crumpled paper and rotting food. I resolved that next time I would remember the lesson that "complimentary" doesn't mean "take anything that isn't bolted down". I'd do it not just for the maid or the environment, but for myself.

And I'd also remember to bring a few candles to bathe by. Those fluorescent lights really are hell in a hotel.

AnybodySpace.com

Meet Carrie, a tertiary acquaintance of mine who I added to my myspace page early on in my haste to accumulate friends. Carrie is a 40 year-old bisexual who hearts pussycats, Dr. Pepper lip gloss and posing provacatively. But if you actually take the time to read her extremely lengthy "about me" section, she reveals that she is also coping with cancer, adores her autistic daughter and has a heart of gold. Carrie has also managed to amass over 12,000 friends.

It's called myspace.com, a place to harbor all of your dreams, fears, sins and secrets. But once you post all of these things, they don't really belong to just you anymore, do they? Anyone can peek into your private world. Anyone can steal your thoughts or take your photos (much like I stole the one above for this blog entry). Everyone knows what myspace is and lots of people have their very own smiley-face infested pages. All for the sake of innocent entertainment of course. But what's it really doing to us?

At first, I saw myspace as a sort of personal paparazzi. My crew could keep up with what was going on in my life. They could post pictures and comments about me...you know, share the love. Make me the celebrity in my world. But it also allows you to keep score of how many "friends" you have, which begs the question, "Do I have more than you?" And if I comment on your page, I expect an immediate, glowing comment back on my own. Or else I might just remove you from my Top 8. What's more, you have the power to approve or deny requests from would-be new friends. It's like playing a virtual game of God.

I also thought it was a good way to reconnect with old friends. Like random people in college you hung out with a few times but then lost touch with. Naturally, I found a few fun ones. But after requesting a few others to add me, I noticed that my number of "friends" didn't go up. Well, perhaps these people simply hadn't seen my request yet. After all, not everyone checks their myspace page for updates every 30 minutes, right? This logic kept my ego safely coddled for awhile...until three weeks passed and I realized the awful truth: I had been "denied." But why? Why don't they love me?

As a mature adult, I considered myself impervious to the negative side effects of myspace. I'm not some kid in high school anymore, desperate for attention and praise. The football jock can't check my page for catcalling fodder the next day. But myspace does have the potential to affect me as a career-oriented young man. Recently I've heard rumors that myspace, Lord help us, has become the go-to tool for career headhunters and HR directors. Who even needs a private detective anymore? Myspace seems to have eclipsed even Google as the perfect stalking device.

Myspacing is a popularity contest akin to a baby beauty pageant. The judging can be extremely superficial and overly critical. Anyone and everyone can sentence you in an instant, deciding whether to approve, deny or simply leave your friend request in the limbo called "pending".

So while it's fun to promote your personality, I'd take a second glance at everything before you post it for public viewing. And while you're doing that, don't forget to leave a comment on my page letting everyone know how creative and philosophical I am...