Penguin on the High Seas

* A link to my cruise photos follows.

I've been going around for a while saying it's been about 3 years since my last cruise. It was my first time to cruise. I had found a nice 5 day trip from San Juan, so I went out a few days early to stay with a friend of mine who owns a bed and breakfast a short drive from there. I loved it so much; it has made me a true fan of setting sail on a large boat over the oceans of our planet. Imagine my surprise at learning that it was 4 years, almost to the date, and not three, since that Eastern Caribbean cruise. It's no wonder I've been drooling over cruise ships and talking to my friends about going for over a year now.



So I finally put my foot down and decided that I was going to go again, even if I had to do so on my own. I went on my first cruise by myself, but on the first night I ran into a co-worker and her friend, and I had company the whole week. My biggest hurdle in cruising is finding someone to go with; either friends have the time and no money, or the money and no time.



I had the time off. I had a special cruise savings account with plenty of money to cover the low deals I was getting for working in the travel industry, and to cover the other fees needed to cruise; tips, taxes transportation and souvenirs. And almost at the last minute, I found a friend to go with me. Finally, after four long years, I would be sailing again.



So at two weeks out I booked an 8-day, 7-night cruise from Miami on Carnival. I spent the next two weeks going out of my mind in anticipation. I spent hours each day researching the ship and reviews from past travelers. I looked through people's photo albums and viewed videos from Youtube. I found sample menus, looked at excursions and discussed various topics on several forums. When I actually walked on the ship in person, I felt like I'd been there before!



With my bags packed my journey started the day before our ship set sail. It would do so at 4pm on the last Saturday in February and I wanted to make sure I would be on it and not stuck in some airport with winter delays. I had found a nice hotel near the airport that offered free transportation when I arrived, and that also had a free shuttle to the port the next day. Several hotels offered such a shuttle, but the main reason I chose this particular hotel was because their port shuttle left before the others, and I was in such a hurry to get on board…





My friend, Loren, had travel credits on another airline so he flew in a few hours after I did. And since that airline didn't fly into Miami, he had to fly into Ft. Lauderdale and take a van. We were so excited when he did arrive. It was like the vacation was finally a reality; our trip was finally going to begin!



We got little sleep that night from all of our anticipation. But we were up early for our complimentary breakfast and to be in line for the shuttle. The mood for the cruise was set on the van to the port from our hotel. There were several ships docked so the van had a few stops to make. The first ship had only 2 people getting off, a couple in their 60s. The husband started towards the door of the van but had left a bag behind so his wife began calling his name. Not hearing her, he continued towards the front when she finally shouted, "Hey, dumb-ass!" Not only did it get his attention, but every married man in the van turned his head!



We arrived at the port by 1130 and boarded the Carnival Liberty around 1230. It seems fast, to think we got through security and check-in in just an hour. But it seemed like it was taking forever! Unable to get into our rooms for another hour, we headed upstairs to the fish and chips restaurant and got lunch.



There were so many options for lunch on our ship. There was a burrito bar, a deli, a pizzeria that was open 24 hours, the fish and chips counter, the huge buffet, a grill for burgers, dogs, chicken strips and nachos and even free room service. It was like a challenge to see if one could experience all aspects of culinary delights that they offered on board! I did try them all but one. I never did eat lunch in the main buffet line. The burritos were great, and even included shrimp as a choice. Their fried oysters were so good that I had them at least 3 times that week. The pizza was OK, not as good as on my last voyage, but that was an Italian cruise line, so the bar was set very high. The burgers were decent and I loved the deli sandwiches.



I think what I love most about being on a cruise is the treatment I receive. It's as if being treated like royalty. My stateroom is made up while I'm at breakfast and again at dinner, when they turn my bed down. On Carnival, we are welcomed in the evenings by elaborate towel sculptures on our bed, and chocolates. You are always entertained and constantly fed. Drinks are a little expensive, but I did very little of that on my trip; doctor's orders.



The best part is dinner. I enjoy dressing up a bit in nice slacks and shirts and having a formal meal with linens and 4 courses and attentive service. The meals on board were very good. Some nights I found myself commenting that I've had better, but it certainly wasn't bad. On lobster night, I ate 2. Most nights I couldn't decide on the appetizer, so I had 2, or even 3. It's also fun to try food I wouldn't normally try, since it wasn't costing me anything. And if I didn't like it, I could just order something else! The one thing I found most disappointing with our meals were the desserts, which mostly were bland. Only a few I found decent enough to finish, but I was fine with that- after the huge meals, who needed a big dessert? Plus, the soft ice cream machine flowed 24 hours.



We ate each night with 2 lovely women, Melinda and Pam. They were sisters and were so very nice. Loren and I both enjoyed getting to know them. We were at a table for 8, but most nights it was just the 4 of us. On our second night, we finally met Rick and Tom, two buddies cruising together. Rick was a character, who kept talking of his wife, yet he wore no ring and seemed to flirt endlessly. Tom was single, but very quiet. Both were fishermen who looked forward to some deep sea fishing on our first stop in Cozumel.



I was a little disappointed in the rain that began to fall just as the ship brought in her lines to set sail from Miami. People scurried below decks, but Loren and I stuck it out, eventually finding a covered area on deck 10. The rain didn't last long and we enjoyed the views leaving Miami for almost an hour before exploring the rest of the ship. That first night we sailed fast, going through a low pressure area with high winds and seas. All night the boat swayed up and down and from our room over the bow we often heard the ship slamming into waves with a hull-shaking thud and rattle of anything loose in the cabin. It was like slow motion turbulence on a plane, which I love. A few times it woke us up, once causing me to comment that it was like an earth quake! And when asked the next morning, about a third of those in the theater said they were experiencing some sea sickness. Fortunately, it never bothered me.



On day 2 at sea, we arrived in Cozumel as the sun was rising. I awoke in time to venture onto our balcony for photos. I had booked an interior stateroom, as I normally spend very little time in my room, so I have no need to spend the extra money on a view. However, we got an upgrade into a room with a picture window. It was over the bow, 2 levels below the bridge. It looked onto a large balcony, which very few people seemed to know about. It was almost like having our own private balcony! I spent a lot of time there, especially when we arrived at our various ports.



It was in Cozumel that Loren and I had our only official excursion. We had booked a tour to see the Mayan ruins of Tulum. We had to disembark at 0800, so we had secured a prearranged room service for breakfast and got some sandwiches as well to take as a snack on the tour. To get to Tulum, we rode a 45-minute ferry to the mainland, where we boarded a bus for our hour-long ride.



I was amazed at the beautiful clouds that morning when we arrived. Our tour guide was amazing. He was of Mayan ancestry, so was able to give us a very interesting account of their history, making sure to convey his belief that the Mayans disappeared because there were more people than what the land could support, so they abandoned their great cities and greedy rulers, leaving most everything behind.



The ruins were amazing and Manuel, our tour guide, explained their correlation to the sun and stars and the seasons. He showed us places on the ground where one can easily find pieces of pottery left over, but saying that it was bad luck to take any. There were numerous birds and iguanas and the sea breeze and ocean sounds were quite pleasant. I was glad to be visiting at a time when it's not too hot, as I hear that Tulum can get quite warm.



After the tour we had some time on our own to look around, and then Loren's agenda was to get a good Mexican taco. Manuel recommended a place so we returned to the bus area to give it a try. We both had a combination plate with a fish taco, a beef taco and a chicken quesadilla. All were very good and the margaritas were so strong that by the time I finished my 2nd one, I was a bit loopy. I slept almost the entire way back to Playa del Carmen for our return ferry.



We still had a lot of time and did some brief shopping before running into Tom and Rick, who were at a bar getting hammered. Tom showed off photos of the large mahi mahi that he had caught on their fishing trip and then we made our way back to the ship.



Loren and I were very much looking forward to snorkeling in Grand Cayman, our second stop. I had found a place within walking distance of our pier where there was a ship wreck over which we could snorkel. However, an early morning announcement informed us that due to strong winds and high seas in Georgetown, we were positioned in a different area of the island. Many tours were cancelled and we would not be able to snorkel over the Cali, due to the big waves. However, the area the ship was positioned was fairly calm. We took the tender to the island and asked about a place to snorkel. The lady told us of a public beach about a five minute walk. We set out for said beach and found it to be quaint, beautiful and a perfect location for snorkeling.



It wasn't the prettiest snorkeling I've done, and the waves were a little intense at times. But I accomplished what I had set out to do. That was to see turtles, sting rays and lobster. Not only did I see these, but I saw a cuddle fish and a neat-looking flounder. It's for times like these that I'm happy I have a waterproof camera and I even took some underwater video.



After getting out of the Caribbean waters, I found a nice shady spot to lounge in and met a family from San Diego. I took more photos of our ship, which was unable to actually anchor, due to the depth of the ocean, so it, and a few other ships, kept their positions by using their thrusters.



The following day we arrived in Ocho Rios, Jamaica as the sun was rising. It looked so colorful and inviting. But I found Ocho Rios to be a pain in the ass. Every three steps and we were accosted by someone new asking if we wanted a tour, if we wanted a taxi, if we wanted food or music, if we wanted ganja and I even was offered an 8-ball, which I think has something to do with cocaine.



I was more than happy to get back to the ship after our short little walk through town, where Loren picked up some Jamaican jerk for lunch. I was satisfied with the jerk I had at dinner the night before, so I ate on board, grabbing a tray of food and eating on a lounge chair on deck 10, which is where I spent most of my deck time on board, as it was shady there and I could keep out of the sun.



It was so nice to lounge on deck on our at-sea days. I'd take some reading, but it was often difficult to do much as I'm easily distracted by the people to watch. There were a lot of young people and people my age on board our cruise. There were also a lot of Canadians, escaping the winter. I loved meeting all the interesting people and hearing about their cruise experiences. I was also happy that Loren and I were content to be spending most of our days doing our own thing. It was the perfect balance of having a friend to go on excursions with and to enjoy the shows with, but being able to move freely and keep my own agenda on board. He loved playing bingo and I enjoyed the art auction and games, or going to high tea.



Each night we attended the shows in the large ornate theater. Most nights the shows were really good and offered song and dance numbers. One night we were entertained by a couple of guys who did comedy and juggling. The next morning at breakfast I actually heard someone use the term, "tomfoolery" in his review of that show! It was hilarious. On 2 nights there was a hypnotist. I've always been skeptical of these shows, not trusting that people are actually under. But I met a kid in the hot tub who said he really was looking for his belly button and couldn't explain why he wanted to belly dance – and try to take his clothes off while doing so. Maybe it was for real, after all. But then, the next night I met one of the guys who said he wasn't under and that he was just going along with it for the glory of being on stage.



Our cruise director was so energetic. His name was Butch and he appeared to be only in his thirties. He talked fast but often was quite humorous and ended most paragraphs by saying, "Ay?". He even had us repeating 'Ay' every time he said it. He was from Minnesota, as were a lot of the American guests.



My biggest disappointment with this ship was the smoking policy on board. I had been looking forward to spending time in the disco at nights and in the piano bar and doing some karaoke. But in each of these bars, and a few others, they allowed smoking! I went to the desk to inquire; do they allow smoking every night, or are there some non-smoking nights? Nope, every night. And where were the non-smoking bars? One was in the main lobby, which is where all the octogenarians hung out with the lounge music. One was a bar that closed down at 11pm each night. And the other was the bar next to the casino, where the smoke was so intense you could hardly see the far wall! Not only that, but Carnival allows smoking in the state rooms (any interior cabin and any cabin with a balcony…and you can smoke inside the room, not just on the balcony!). This meant that in walking down the corridors, it was like walking through an ash tray. The ship often seemed like one, big, floating ash tray!



It was for this reason alone that I have told numerous people that I could never sail on Carnival again, not until they change their smoking policy. When I sailed on the Italian line (MSC) I was never bothered by smoke on board! It's sad, too, as the ship was beautiful, the staff were friendly, the other passengers were fun and energetic and other than not being able to enjoy the night life on board, I had a really good time.



The week was over far too fast for me. I could have spent another week on board and now I am thinking one day, I'll need to take a 2-week cruise! Loren was ready to get home, though, saying he was tired of eating! Yes, we lived like kings and ate like there was no tomorrow. Now I'm home, a bit depressed, and on a strict diet to lose the pounds I put on last week! But it was so worth it. And with more vacation coming to me in November, I am already putting out the word that I'm seeking cruise partners. Maybe the Mexican Riviera!

Here is a link to all my cruise photos:
http://www.kodakgallery.com/gallery/creativeapps/slideShow/Main.jsp?token=823345368211%3A274494334&sourceId=533754321803&cm_mmc=eMail-_-Share-_-Photos-_-Sharee

Mrs. Sanders

Photo: Albany bulb artwork by Penguin Scott

The year was 1981 and I was in seventh grade. Paul Revere Middle School had just opened for seventh and eighth graders. In fact, during the first few weeks of classes, there were still a few minor construction projects still under way.

Yet, for being a brand new school, it had a rough quality to it. Perhaps this is partly due to the fact that at my previous school, the elementary, my class of several hundred sixth-graders were at the top of the food chain and had no negative influences reigning down on them, whereas the eighth-graders had come from a middle school in a rougher part of Houston, where they had different values of behavior. Being in a new building was nice, but I didn’t like the energy of the other students.

I was assigned a class to learn Spanish. The room was located on the second floor of the new school, near the front of the building. The newly-scrawled graffiti was a bit more prevalent in this part of the school, which I thought was odd since it was closer to the principal’s office. I largely ignored the graffiti, in part because I didn’t understand what much of it meant.

The thought of learning Spanish intrigued me, so I was at first eager to take part in the curriculum. Walking into the room, I found a seat near the center of the room and laid eyes on Mrs. Sanders. I knew it was Mrs. Sanders because her name was written on the green chalkboard at the front of the room. The lettering was exquisite. I don’t know that I’d ever seen a teacher with such nice chalkboard script.

To my young eyes, Mrs. Sanders seemed to be a hundred years old. Round spectacles hung on her tiny nose, which was framed by wrinkled cheeks and a forehead full of horizontal lines etched deep in her skin. She had to be older than my grandparents and I wondered if she’d still be alive by the end of the semester.

Her hair stood high and rounded from being teased, and apparently had been dyed, as she had roots of a slightly lighter color with some grey evident throughout. Skinny legs seemed to dangle from beneath her blue polyester skirt and on her feet were wimple and sturdy low-heeled sandals, like any typical person of her age might wear, with a large gold buckle and squared fronts. Her bony arms formed points at either side of her body, with its bulging tummy, as she listened to a student with her hands rested on her hips.

As she listened to the girl speaking to her, her brown eyes would squint, seemingly to better concentrate on what was being said. This created more wrinkles on her face, which seemed very unnecessary to me!

When she spoke, she did so with an old, gravelly voice. She had no accent, which I think I expected from someone about to teach me Spanish. But she spoke with a careful consideration of what she was saying, deliberate in her pronunciation and sure to be understood so as not to need to repeat herself. And I would come to find that she had a habit of looking downward towards the end of her sentences, as if she was looking down on the person being spoken to.

The room quickly filled and the new-styled electronic horn sounded , announcing the start of class. It would take some time getting used to hearing this horrid dual-toned beep after hearing bells for so many years.

I said a quick hello to Tim and Bill, friends of mine who sat in nearby seats. Our rectangle desks with their storage shelf just under the simulated wood grained tops were arranged in five rows of six desks in each row. I put the books from my other classes in the wire shelf and readied my notebook for class.

Mrs. Sanders started class by saying something in Espanol, and then followed with the English translation. Nothing like feeling lost in a class from the fist words out of the instructor’s mouth. It’s a feeling that would not be replicated again until I would reach college, when I enrolled in algebra! Carrie, who sat just behind me seemed to understand, though. She showed off by giving a little laugh after the teacher’s opening statement and before the translation.

Her first order of business was to rearrange the class in our seats according to a diagram she had already made. This was so she could better remember our names, as she could easily look to it and match the child with the corresponding box, which represented the seat the child sat in. But it was because she was too old to remember us any other way. My name came towards the end of the list, so I lost my nice seat near the center of the room and was now in the row furthest from the door and near the back of the room.

Mrs. Sanders’ next duty was to assign us all the Spanish equivalent of our Americanized names. I started to get excited at this prospect. I wondered what my name in Spanish would be. I liked my name, but it didn’t seem to have much flair. I did like that it was not a too common name. But after hearing it for so many years, I liked the idea of hearing something new for a while.

My friend Tim, while within the four walls of this room for the rest of the semester, would be known as Timmy-TAY-oh. Neat. Linda was now Leenda. Here, Mrs. Sanders took a moment to comment that her name meant “beautiful”. I like that, since that is also the name of my mother. John was assigned to be Juan. George became Hor-hay, there was Carmen, Rosa, Tow-mahs and I loved how Bill became Guiermo.

This was so exciting. What wonderful names. We were to use these names at all times during this class. My turn was coming up, she’d gone through almost the entire class. I sat up a little higher in my seat and presented a good, clean image to the ancient one. She got to me, first looking down at her list for my name. She looked up, hardly giving thought of my new name much consideration . Her lips parted and air from within her old, wrinkled lungs pushed through her vocal chords and they produced my very own name, as I’ve heard millions of times before, but only now with a slight accent over the O, coming out rhyming like something between hot and scoot. I could hear Leenda snicker.

And just like that she moved on to the next student and for an hour each day I would simply be called, Skoht. I slumped back down a bit, the smile from my face faded, my anticipation dashed. I hated Mrs. Sanders. And Leenda, too!

The class would be fun at times; trying at others. During the year we had a few celebrations, even going outside to finally burst the piñata that had been hanging in the class all semester. We had a field trip to a flamenco guitar concert and visited a Mexican bakery. Mrs. Sanders taught us to conjugate verbs, how the language had masculine and feminine words, and I became very good at the pronunciation of the words of the language.

But I never really came to like Mrs. Sanders. I don’t think it was the way in which she carelessly threw out my name with an accent on our first day, nor was it the fact that she was a small, scrawny ancient woman. She was an abrupt woman. She was very strict when it came to her familiarity with her routine. We were often required to state classroom answers “en Espanol”. I was a slow learner and not very motivated. She was constantly calling me out on my lack to answer in Spanish to the ability that she thought I should have.

However, after all these years, twenty-eight, to be exact, I now see that Mrs. Sanders was actually a wonderful teacher and a nice woman. I still think about her when, for fun, I will read a paragraph in Spanish with the proper pronunciation. I don’t know what the words mean, but I know how to say them.

I now appreciate her routines. I see that she was not yelling at me or talking down to me, but that she was pushing me to become a better student. But I was too busy learning the bad habits of the adolescents who shared the halls of Paul Revere; who had a rougher upbringing than that of mine.

Surely she’s expired by now, or in a state that she’d certainly never remember me. But I’ll never forget that class, that meticulous old woman, and the way she would call my name…Skhot.

View to a Thrill: Ghosts in Japan

Photo by Penguin Scott

NRT March 13, 2004

I’m in Narita, Japan and turned on the radio. I found a station playing band music. The music is sort of jazzy- sort of big band; trumpets, pianos, violins, harps and bass, old people music, as I call it. I'd already been downtown, walked to the Naritasan temple, dined at the local noodle house and shopped in the hundred Yen store. Now I was back in my room, trying to find some activity to occupy myself with before boredom took control. I'm not sure why I chose to investigate the radio and its limited variety of stations, but there you have it; big band music to boot.

It took me back to the days when I was a young boy and I’d go to Corpus to visit my grandparents, Memaw and Pa. They listened to this type of music at night as they slept. I recall it so well; After staying up past my bedtime, I’d go to bed in the bedroom, which adjoined theirs. Still being awake when they would eventually turn out the lights, I could hear them pray together, the one that talks about walking down the valley of the shadow of death. From my bed, listening to them recite together, and then turn on the radio, I could feel the love they shared for one another. And I always wondered what that valley looked like, obviously all dark with those death shadows blocking out the sun.

Oh how I used to love going to Corpus. I would go to the grocery store with Pappy, holding his hand while crossing the street to go to that funny grocery store with a big arched roof. On the walls were large, colorful 3-D fruit and veggies. I seem to recall a mural you’d expect to see in West Texas with cowboys and covered wagons. Not sure how it wound up being on the Gulf Coast instead, but it left one of those wonderful, lasting impressions on a young boy.

My grandparents were such good cooks, and everything was made from scratch and with fresh ingredients, many grown in their very back yard. I'd eat things in Corpus I never ate at home in Houston; collard greens, fried okra, rice swimming in sweet milk. And it was here where I learned that some people put salt on their watermelon and didn't use sugar in grits. I'll never have hotcakes or cornbread the way my grandfather used to make them, and the world my never recover from this.

I loved their house, with its musty smell, the sound of the window air conditioner and the dim light created from keeping the curtains drawn to keep out the Texas heat. I recall the traffic noise from the busy street out front, the cicadas screeching in the hot and humid afternoons. They always made the heat seem so much more than maybe it was, as their screams permeated the living room where we hid in the relative cool. Memaw and Pa…together again, now that she passed away nearly six months ago.

And here I am in Japan listening to their music and thinking of them; missing them and reliving the past. I was so young then. And I feel so young now – not like I’m 36 at all; hardly even like late 20s. Sometimes I still feel so very young. And although I’ve been on my own for so long, and I’ve been an adult for as long as I was a child, I don’t feel all that old. That’s a good thing, I guess.

An Acquired Taste by Penguin Scott

Photo by Penguin Scott

There goes an old man shuffling down the street. You've seen them a hundred times. If you live in certain parts of the country, maybe more. I've often wondered about that old man shuffle. How long have you had it? How did it come about? Did it start slowly or was there some traumatic event involved. One day you walk with majesty, the next- after some terrible accident, or finding out your hero is gay- the shuffle.

I recently had a bad bout and was taken to the hospital where I was told I had some unknown viral infection. With a fever of 107, sore, red spots all over my body, fatigue and achyness, I've been starting to feel my age, whereas, before getting sick, I felt about 7 years younger than I really am. But the latest thing is, I can drive for as short a distance as 10 miles, and when I get out of my car, I shuffle into my house; just like an old man.

So recently, I asked a friend of mine if this was going to be the start of how I look old to others. Will I have this shuffle from now on? Will I no longer be able to run up a flight of stairs? Will I now be taking the phone of the hook between 2-3 for my daily and quite necessary nap? Oh, wait, that last one, I've been doing it for years now.

When I was in high school, I remember a neighbor of mine in the condominium complex in which I lived. I didn't really know the guy well. I would run into him as I picked up bags of trash . I had a job with the complex office and twice a week they would let me drive around in their electric golf cart and collect the trash people put out by their back door. By the time I would get around to servicing the buildings in my part of the complex, it was usually getting to be dinner time, and I would see Mr. Napier leaving for his car. He was a classic looking man, meaning he always wore slacks and a button down shirt with a tie and a hat and all very well coordinated. I knew so little of him but that he lived alone. One day I came to find out from him that his daily excursions were to go to various local restaurants for dinner. I got the impression that this man has never dirtied a pan in his life. Why, his countertops must be free from any scratch marks, burn marks or stains.

There have been times when I've been in eateries and I'll see a man eating by himself and wonder if he was not similar to Mr. Napier, heading out each night for sustenance. What a life, I think, to always have the luxury of eating out, to always be waited on and to be able to afford it. It's never like Mr. Napier was always going for the dollar menu, to be sure. He was going to nice sit down places, please wait to be seated, why, Mr. Napier, so good to see you again, would you like your regular table?

With my recent illness, I've not been much in the mood to do any cooking. Not to mention that where I currently live, decent cooking is made difficult by the fact that I only have a kitchenette; a small fridge, a sink, a few cabinets, a microwave and a toaster oven. These are hardly the tools with which to make a roast chicken or a succulent casserole. I eat a lot of frozen meals, stuffed in my small freezer. I also make a lot of sandwiches or little concoctions in my nifty omelet maker that I found in the aisle of the store that shelves the, "as seen on TV" items. It's not usually too bad, what with my travels all over the world. I eat a few meals on the plane, or I eat out; in the airport, in the hotel restaurant, in the downtown mall food court. I don't see that as luxurious, as it's the only thing I can do, really.

But being home and unable to work for the last six weeks, I'm eating out more at home than normal. And what with my feeling my age, or older, and my newly acquired, and hopefully temporary old man shuffle, I've been feeling more like Mr. Napier than ever. Is this what I have to look forward to? Forever the bachelor who can't cook for himself, for whatever reason, and eats out for his dinners. Why, Mr. Scott, so good of you to join us this evening. Would you like a menu or will you have the special, as usual?

A few nights ago I was trying out a local restaurant for the first time. It was fairly crowded, which was a good sign. It always seemed empty to me, so I never entered, thinking, well, if no else will eat there, I surely won't. But I'd heard good things about it so I found myself there with a table for one and with quite a few others but all in groups of 2's or 4's. As I sat there, I had nothing to do but watch the other people. A young couple came in and occupied a booth to my right. They were in their mid thirties and once they took their seat, they both took out their portable communication devices and starting thumbing at them like they were covered in ants. They remained silent, a mirrored image of one another; head down at the same angle, same postures, holding their devices identically. Their only interruption was to give their dinner order, and then they returned to the silence and to the invisible ants.

They must have known one another for a long time to be so comfortable with that silence, I thought. I felt badly for our society when this is acceptable behavior for two people in a restaurant. Was there nothing they had to say to one another? What was so important out in the world that they couldn't tear themselves away from it for 40 minutes while they enjoyed a meal, each other's company and remembering what the other's face looked like, or how they each laughed. From where had they just come that they seemed to now be so out of touch? The woman finished with her project and I even heard her ask a few questions, each one answered by moans and grunts, while the guy continued. The only time he put that phone down was to shove a sandwich in his mouth. Then the phone came back up to his face, the bill was paid, and the two left- in silence.

Today I went to a fast food place for a burrito. Next to me a guy sat down. For a moment I thought it was one of the Baldwin brothers, the more famous of them. He hadn't shaved in a few days and he wore baggy blue sweat pants and a baggy orange shirt. His hair was mussed and I thought had I been close enough, he probably smelled as if he hadn't showered in a few days, either. On his tray were 8 food items, wrapped in various colors of the restaurants food wrappers, indicating that not only was he hungry enough to order so many items, but that he enjoyed variety.

I looked away for only a minute. When I looked back, there were now 7 items and one balled up piece of paper. I thought little of it, looking out the window to the surfers visible in the ocean just beyond. Now the man had 6 items and 2 balled up pieces of paper. Another glance around my environment and there were 3 items left. Amazed at how quickly his food was vanishing, I found that I simply had to watch. He opened the next item and I saw a taco emerge. It was gone in only 4 bites! His first included a good third of the crunchy treat. I thought, well, he could buy smaller clothes or try to fill out into what he already had. I also imagined that a few years prior, this was a good looking young man, busy in college with an active social life, an active sex life and a healthy interest in a sport or two. But now, here he was, looking like he was on a fast track to becoming the local town hobo and shoving food in his mouth like it was 2012 and the world was about to end.

As I got up to depart, I saw that he was again at the counter and was being handed a plastic bag quite full of more food which he followed me with out the door. Now I thought maybe he was one upping on me. He'd go out for dinner like the rest of us going down hill, but he'd at least take some home as well! Bon appetite, sir.