If you remember, I got this medallion a couple years ago partially to wear on my cruises as a nod to my love of adventure on the high seas and exploration of the unknown. Oh there's that a-plenty on modern cruise ships, right? Anyway, this past cruise, and all the bad mojo that seemed to be clouding over my head all week, I was thinking that maybe this little piece of jewelry is my Greg Brady Hawaiian Tiki Idol.
For those of us of a certain age, you may recall that the Brady's famously went on a multi-episode trip to Hawaii where they found this mysterious little ancient tiki idol, strung it nonchalantly on a rawhide string and hung it around Greg's neck as a trinket decoration. Who cares about cultural appropriation or, worse yet, possible inappropriate display of ancient native religious artifacts or desecration of sacred burial mementos? It was the 70s; affluent white people on vacation didn't give a fuck about such things.
But Vincent Price knew better, and the bad things that seemed to befall Greg and others, even Alice when she "Aloha-ed" when she should have "Aloha-ed" during her hippy-hippy-shake grass skirt dance lesson and put her back out, soon informed them as well.
Of course eight-year-old me was strangely fixated on the glistening sea-soaked muscles of Greg on that surfboard and I had yet no idea why...
I mean, like that TV show's MacGuffin, the bad shit that happened to me wasn't, like, life-threateningly bad, it was just really mischievously bad and created sometimes major inconveniences.
I got lost on my way to the cruise parking garage. How? I'd been this route several times before?
My first few interactions with strangers on the ship were less-than-positive and this set up the rest of my mood regarding "them," the other passengers.
I actually wasn't thrilled about finding out Samsi was my steward again. Other than losing out on the newness of someone different, I wasn't all that impressed with his work last year; and this year followed the same standard. Plus he wasn't chatty this year, he seemed overworked, and as I've said, in general, I find MSC stewards not as obsequious as other lines... I miss my Norwegian "Helloooo, Mister Miiiike!!" from down the hall. Call me a boomer.
SCREECH!
Alright, stop the record.
I'm going to do something I never do on this blog. (Well, I have done it, but you wouldn't know since I'd have just backspaced and retyped it all) I'm going to retool this post entirely. I'm sitting here typing this shit out, line by line, going over my TRAVELOGUE, and my memories, not only of the events of last week, but also the hours I spent listening to myself ramble on and on about the cruise and other assorted off-topic shit in my epic 2-hour YouTube feature film (it is hilarious though, please go and watch it) and I'm done with all the negative shit.
The cruise was actually pretty good. Perfect? Fuck no, but what is?
The main reason I feel cursed today is that the supposed "mild" head cold I noted on Sunday in my EDIT postscript to the TRAVELOGUE post that I caught from some fucker on the cruise... well it may not be Covid, if the test is to be believed, but it sure the fuck ain't mild. This shit went right to my lungs and I've been coughing non-stop for days! Still not outta the woods! That's why I'm Vincent price bitter old man in a cave right now.
So admitting it is half the battle. I'll just go gulp more cough syrup and heed the words of Mr. Price: "No mere mortal can resist, the evil of the Thriller." Oh shoot, that was many years later, when he worked with Michael Jackson. You know, Michael Jackson, who I so "lovingly" discus in my two-hour monologue. Go listen (and watch; the slide show aspect is cool too) Bitch!