On Censorship

Gather round shipmates; your humble narrator needs to unburden his soul. You see, I’ve barely been hard at my duties for a whole month and already I face an ethical dilemma. No, it’s not whether I should push that really annoying guest over the railing*; rather, I have been censuring books. That’s right, the Dread Pirate Dewey, bleeding-heart liberal champion of free speech and equity, has been imposing his set of beliefs—albeit, superior beliefs based on reasoning clearly beyond most conservative “thinkers”—on the patrons of the Pequod’s fair library! Oh the shame! But before you judge too harshly, hear my tale of all-too-human failing and weep with me for the sake of my proud integrity!

It began, oh so innocently, with a copy of Sarah Palin’s Going Rogue. Now, we all know that Palin is little more than a small-minded bigot grasping at opportunity like the patrons of my library digging through the free book bin**. She has little of value to add to any conversation and without Faux news, she would have no chance to prove this. As I said, every adult citizen of any intelligence whatsoever is aware of these basic facts, and yet…we have a copy of not only Going Rogue, but some other drivel to which she put her name. Simply bizarre. So it goes without saying that I suffered almost physical pain every time I put her books out on the shelf; this meant that not only had someone actually deigned to check this rubbish out, but now another person could follow suit! Oh the pain! Thus, when I picked this steaming pile of garbage out of the return bin one day and found it to be slightly damaged, my heart went all aflutter! Aboard the Pequod, when books are not in perfect shape, we remove them from the system—our mariners expect the five-star experience after all. But was Going Rogue damaged enough? Well, an oh-so-gentle nudge along the disintegrating spine closed that issue. And thus began my slide into censorship.

Since then, a guest left a nearly-new copy of one of Glenn Beck’s books in the free bin. I generally take new, hard-cover, books in mint condition—such as the Beck in question—and enter them into the system. However, I took this particular book straight to the hellish fires of the incinerator! This has all been passive censorship thus far; I haven’t actually removed a perfectly sound book from our system. Yes, I helped some along, and refused entry to others, but I think this is different from active censorship. And this leads me to describe my currant dilemma. You see, I have a book by Dick Cheney that was returned several days ago, and I simply cannot bring myself to reshelf it; in fact, many have the nights been when my mind is tormented by thoughts of sending Cheney’s undoubtedly evil text to meet it fiery fate in the bowels of the ship! That’s right mates—I stand before you tempted to commit the crime of bibliocide!

If this were simply a single “slip of the Dick” and a means of sending self-serving tripe back to it’s Tartarean origins, I would be less perturbed. But where, I ask of you, does it end? Do Newt Gingrich’s novels follow?*** And then? Tom Clancy? His work is almost equally insipid. And from there, what? An aesthetic cleansing? Oh superior intellect, education, and literary taste! Why do you taunt me so when my duties require that I serve the great unwashed masses and their penchant for textual pablum!

*Obviously I should push her over. She’s probably the next Hitler.

**Imagine a group of elderly pigs rooting around in the garbage can that holds the night’s remnants from the “nacho bar”—about 30 pounds of chili, salsa, and “cheese.”

***Although we seem to have about 300 of them, so it might clog the incinerator.

A Day in the Life, Part 1

Shipmates,

Well mates, today marks a month that I’ve been aboard the mighty Pequod in her wave-cresting quest for ducats! Oh the sights I’ve seen lo these many weeks! The sayings and doing of the decrepit elderly, the sheep-eyed innocents, and the genuinely stupid could fill volumes*, but it is on this momentous day—surely marked in most people’s calendars—that it behooves us to turn our gaze from the idiosyncrasies of the flawed beasts aboard this strange ark and instead consider “a day in the life of a cruise ship librarian.”

7:00-7:15. My small travel alarm clock begins ringing**; although, most mornings I am awake before my shrill plastic friend. This is odd as I have no windows. I seek my nightly succor from the cares of the world in the deepest dark of the crypt and I wake to the same inky embrace! Yet somehow my internal clock keeps accurate time. Oh the wonders of my body!***

Next I begin the careful descent from top bunk to floor—a scant few inches of my desk providing the sole aid down from my perilous perch! Keep in mind as well that this is accomplished in darkness and silence as to avoid disturbing my roommate. Using the bathroom light, I then pull on my regulation outfit for the day and make my way to the Lido deck.

7:15-8:00. Most mornings we are in port somewhere, so once I get to the Lido I gather my breakfast and sit on the back deck with the Dutch fellow who is both the Pequod’s “lifestylist” and my morning dining companion. I am currently crafting a post dealing with the nutrition aboard a cruise ship, so I shan’t bore you with an account of my typical breakfast here. Let’s just say that smoked salmon plays a starring role; my shinny coat is proof of this.

8:00-:8:30ish. Opening time! After the nosh, I walk down 3 decks and begin my workday. With my trusty keys I open the electronic gates that bar guests from messing with the merchandise during the evenings—or I try at least. Generally there is a horde of shambling cattle gathered about the “puzzle nook” mooing for their daily Sudoku. Thus, after I shovel the mental pabulum into the trough, I make my rounds and declare to the world: open for business! Come and test my wares! Our collection runs from Atwood to Zola! Come and sail the imaginative seas mates!

Oh how a room full of books always fills my heart to the brim with faith in my fellow human being’s capacity for goodness and learning—and how quickly a line of shambling morons clutching the latest Patterson “thriller” drains my ebullience!

8:30-9:45ish. This period is one that we in the trade refer to as a “sweet spot of the day.” Generally, I space out for a while after opening and straightening out any kinks. Then I might read and check my corporate emails. Perhaps I’ll wonder about and stop for a chat with Erwin, the Filipino fellow who currently runs the coffee stand. Occasionally a guest will stop by and require me to do something. Occasionally they will chat with me. Occasionally it will be a guest I actually like.

9:45-10:00. Part of my job is taking care of the bridge group that meets every day at 10am and 2pm. This means I wander down a deck and make sure the supplies are in order. On some cruises I am faced with a room full of militant card players ready to give me a full dose of hatred if the cookies are not on the table soon enough. I suppose the lack of a timely repast is the reason that they steal all the playing cards day after day. Next I saunter over to the entertainment office and check in with my bosses. I have much more to say about the wonderfully smarmy personage known as a cruise director, so I’ll pull the curtain here and move on to the next exciting chapter of my day!

10:00-Noon. Another sweet spot. I might, if feeling rambunctious from caffeine overload, work on a “project;” fixing old books, or putting a shelf in alphabetic order,**** for example. Sometimes I read. Or just stare out the windows.

12:00-16:00. My time off! Yea! Basically my sole daily allotment of freedom. I usually get my pump on and eat lunch. Then, if I’m interested in the day’s port, I’ll make my way ashore. If not, I’ll go chill by the back pool. Good times!

16:00-18:00. Back to the grindstone for a long two hours. This is, unfortunately, not generally one of the sweet spots of the day. The shambling multitudes will have made a mess of my tidy shelves and, as they are for the most part an unhappy lot, take this opportunity to complain to me about the seemingly endless series of misfortunes that beset them daily. It’s humourous because I don’t care.

18:00-19:00. Dinner! Sometimes I join the “Explorations Team” for dinner and sometimes I dine alone. Whatever seating space and my mood allows.

19:00-21:50ish. Back to work. This is generally a period of ebbs and flows. During showtimes, the library is a desert, but then—alas!—the show lets out, and it’s schmooze time baby! It’s also sleepy time, and so I try to take it easy and remain at my desk.

21:50-22:00. Time to close up shop! Basically a reverse of the morning process, it also involves putting away the reference books that the morbidly obese deem “too heavy” to return to their rightful homes.

22:00-?. Done for the night! Thus far I’ve been too tired to make much of an effort to cultivate a social life during my brief time off; I usually go back to my dark bunk and watch an episode of Homicide: Life on the Street, read for a bit, and pass out with the hopes that my exhaustion will keep me from being awoken by my roommate’s 2am call for room service.

That is the typical “port day” for your humble narrator. Days at sea differ only in that I take my breaks at different times and I am barred from using the back pool. And the guests are more annoying. The first day of a cruise, however, is…different. Trust me mates, the strange rituals I am forced to participate in on an embarkment day deserves a separate posting!

*And they will for I have little else to write about.

**Thanks mom! Best (or at least, most useful) X-mas gift eva!

***Get your mind out of the gutter.

****No the books are not generally in fully alphabetic order. Our ticket agents seem to only sell berths to those lacking the brain power to put a book back in the same place from which it was removed. I am, however, conducting an experiment this cruise: I have arranged my “best seller” and “fiction” section in alphabetic order. If I don’t find this an overly frustrating experience, I fully intend to organize the other 8 sections in

I feel Dirty

Shipmates,

Last night whilst closing the Pequod’s library for the evening, a man with a German accent stopped me to ask about books written in his native tongue. I happily stopped my duties to show my new Teutonic friend the appropriate section. A few minutes later he had picked out a book and made his way to my desk. As happens in these situations, we fell to chatting. It turns out the man was Canadian, and we discussed sundry matters related to our beloved Ontario. Then the conversation took me down a yucky road of implied complicity in some rather odious practices.

Now, my position demands a certain level of tact; one needs to be willing to remain silent in the face of overwhelming ignorance and outright stupidity. People routinely complain to me that they cannot enter their email account because they cannot remember their passwords. I, in my humble position as living doormat/librarian, am forced to treat these complaints as serious concerns rather than quite possibly the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Just now I had a “serious” discussion with a woman about the upcoming generation of young preachers writing such wonderful works of biblically-informed fiction—and I maintained a straight face! I truly do have the skill set required to make a good cruise ship librarian.

But my German friend crossed into a whole new country of compromised integrity. Our conversation, after dwelling upon matters of the hearth, turned to our present location and future destinations. Then we started talking about Cuba. It turns out that he was an avid lover of Cuba but had recently soured on the island. Since I’ve been to Fidel’s fiefdom several times, I was interested and we touched on various points. Then he said, with a glint of brotherly bonding atwinkle in his eye, “I really like the entertainment.” As I answered, “yes, I went out every evening to imbibe and listen to the great music,” I could see the twinkle fade, and it was then that I realized what he meant. I’d seen the gross old men with Cuban teenagers on their arm in the Havana nightclubs, but it took that moment of recognition denied to make me realize I was speaking to a sex tourist.

My point here is not that I find sexual exploitation vile*, but that I was forced to remain friendly with this fellow. Certainly, we didn’t set a date to get together for wiener schnitzel and beer, but at the same time, I have to greet this reptile every day. I’m sure an extra shower today will help.

*For the record though, I do.

This one goes out to all my CFG homeys

Well mates,

I’ve been aboard the Pequod for some time now, and I’ve had the chance to grace both the gym spaces available. Gather round dear Crossfitter mates, and those who enjoy hearing about the minutia of physical exercise programs.

The Pequod features two separate gyms: one for passengers and one for crew. As an esteemed officer I have access to both. Now, as we see in the picture of the passenger gym:

*Where I do my HSPU/check out my guns*

It’s a larger space with more machines and a much better view. What’s missing? Well, no bars for starts. No place to do pull-ups either. There is a large wooden-floored area I use, but there low ceilings and a plethora of sprinklers. I have to be very careful where I do D/Us—I could flood the ship.

What this means is that when I do overhead presses, I have to bend my knees ever-so-slightly. On the plus side, my D/Us have improved dramatically: I have to keep my arms tight to my sides or else the rope hits the ceiling. The trainers are mostly accustomed to my spastic workouts, but I get looks when I do KBSs...which brings me to another point: I miss kettlebells.

Now, when I want to use a bar, I go down to the crew gym:

*As a bonus, half the machines don’t work. We do have both an “Ab roller” and something called a “Torso Track.” Sweet?*

As you can see, it’s not quite the aesthetic treat that the passengers enjoy. It’s also right above crew quarters so one is encouraged to never drop weights. There goes heavy cleans. As well, the ceiling in the crew gym is even lower. So low I do shoulder presses seated on a bench. An added problem is the plates available, or, rather, lack thereof. I think there are about 300 lbs worth of plates:

This is fine for most of lifts, but my deads are going to suffer, and as there is no rack, so are my squats. Ah well! The sacrifices one makes in the name of bibliographical duty!

My strategy thus far has been to alternate “lifting days” with “conditioning days.” For my lifting, alas!, I do all kinds of gym type isolation exercises. Yes mates, I’m talking about pumping my guns via preacher curls and the like. So, for example, a couple days ago, I worked my shoulders with shrugs, seated presses, and delt raises, then some deads with all the plates (so, like 300ish), then 7min amrap of good ol’ burps (I was tired and only did 60), and finally 7 minutes of my buddy, planking. Today, I caught up on my HSPUs (yes, I’ve been playing along) and some weighted dips done between two treadmills.

For a WOD I did something called “Ivan the Terrible”: 90seconds skipping/50 pushups/50 lunges/ 50 situps/90 seconds skip/40/40/40/90/30/30/30/90/20/20/20/90/10/10/10. Good times! Took me about 30 minutes. I accidentally turned my watch off towards the end so the exact time remains a mystery for the ages. Another reason I miss working with a trainer.

Finally, for this post, I’ll touch on the problem inherent with working out on a ship: the motion of the ocean. About a week ago, I was doing a set of TABATA squats while we were at sea between St. Thomas and St. Croix. We were rocking quite a bit, so my squats alternated between really easy and really hard depending on which way the ship rocked. This was kind of funny, but there are times when I cannot, for safety reasons, do the lifts I was hoping too. Ah well! The view from the sports deck where I go for runs is superb.

If anybody has any suggestions, please let me know. I’d love to do stuff to keep my deads healthy, but with limited internet access, I have a limited ability to conduct research. Just another sacrifice I have made!