I have a secret. I want to be more like Stever. It may take me years to learn how to break dance, play piano or build my arm muscles into machine guns so for now I will just settle for following the Steve Kamb model of blow by blow blogging.
Fair warning—I’m doing all of this mostly from memory and boat brain (the disorder where your brain is replaced by a large bowl of soft serve ice cream) has already begun to set in. If I really was Steve I would have been carefully observing and writing down every meaningful moment in my little notebook with the golf pencil I keep carefully tucked behind my ear. Well, I’m not Steve so instead of Shakespeare you’re going to get one of those poems you buy from a guy on the street corner in Little 5 Points for a dollar (Atlanta folks know what I’m talking about).
Saturday is one big blur of check-ins at the port, telling people where things are on the ship while pretending not to be lost myself. After waking up at 7am and pretty much talking non-stop all day long I finish my day pretty much falling asleep while standing-up in the back lounge, with Shawn Mullins’ hypnotic voice following me into my dreams. There are worse ways to end a long day.
Sunday morning I wake up next to my husband and am a bit confused as I’ve become used to working these events while missing him back in Atlanta. Oh yeah, Pat’s onboard this time. Now I remember. Did I mention that yesterday was a long day? Several cups of coffee later I’m watching the first group of guests get their photos taken with the artist of their choice, Lyle Lovett is first. He reaches his hand out to each guest and says, “Hi, I’m Lyle.” It’s only normal that he would introduce himself, by all accounts he’s a genuinely nice guy, what else would he say? But for some reason, this strikes me as hilarious. Yes, yes you are Lyle. I watch as one guest, celebrating her 86th birthday onboard Cayamo, leaves her photo session after Lyle has kissed her cheek and proclaims “I’m never washing my cheek again!”
Monday we dock in Samana (take that tender port!). I’ve been looking forward to visiting the Dominican Republic ever since we announced it as a port of call. If only because I’ll probably never have a reason to visit it again. Too bad I sleep until noon and then decide that reading trashy magazines while laying out in the sun for a few hours on the ship trumps all the trouble involved in taking a tender boat to the island and trying to figure out where I am and where I’m going. The back of my legs are extra crispy but I’m re-energized and ready for another night of music n’ schmoozing.
I manage to catch the last 30 minutes of Lyle Lovett and a little Brandi Carlile with Pat and punch him on the arm when each of them makes a point to thank the Sixthman team, “That’s me! They’re talking about me!” Another high point of my day is announcing Antje Duvecot and not knowing what to expect only to be blown away by her powerhouse voice.
Tuesday we dock at yet another port I’ve never been to before and I’m bound and determined to hit the beach. A group of about 10 of us spend a lovely few hours at Megan’s Bay in St. Thomas. *Sigh.* My job is hard, but someone has to do it.
-Joy