There is nothing my wife likes more than to vacation on a cruise ship. I call her "Frannie Cruise." I’m not so hot for it. Call me Tom "No" Cruise.
I have a theory. If you can’t cha-cha, don’t cruise. I can’t two-step, let alone cha-cha, tango, rhumba or ballroom dance. If I were ever on "Dancing with the Stars," I’d be eliminated after the twist. Cruising was meant for dancing and vice versa because, frankly, there is little else to do other than eat.
You gorge yourself from the moment you board until the minute you leave. The big decisions of the day are about food. You have three meals and then spend the rest of the day snacking until it’s time for the midnight buffet. There is nothing like some corned beef, potato salad, steamed shrimp and coconut cream pie to get you off to a good night’s rest. The last two things you say before you fall asleep are, "Where’s the Alka Seltzer?" and "What time are we having breakfast?"
Cruising also is about socializing. Again, not one of my favorite pastimes. After a week, I’m ready to take up residence on Walden Pond with Henry David Thoreau. They seat you with three or four couples — total strangers — all of whom are incredibly anxious to learn the smallest details of your everyday life. Each person takes a turn boring you with the minutiae of their lives. The wife will talk of the thrill of planting hyacinths in Bakersfield, Calif., the name of their kid’s third-grade teacher in Lawrence, Kan., and whether that kid ever had the chicken pox. The husband always wants to know what you do for a living and before you can answer, proceeds to tell you of his success in the business world. It turns out the guy invented the spatula.
If you closed your eyes, you would think you were seated at the Round Table at the Algonquin Hotel with Dorothy Parker. Everyone is swooning over the food, which looks as if it has been delivered from your favorite high school cafeteria. You would swear some of these people have never seen pot roast before.
One or two nights, the ship has what is loosely called "formal night," a practice reminiscent of a prom. As I sit resplendent in my tuxedo (which I purchased from a rental shop at a sizeable discount), the jolly fellow on my right, in a dark business suit, explains to me why he would never wear a tux.
I finally realized what I really want at dinnertime is fewer shipboard dinner companions. Thus, I have developed a tradition of requesting a table just for myself and my wife. She calls me "Table For Two." I explain to her, as I get deeper each year into my misanthropic ways, I can’t guarantee in the future I won’t be known as "Table For One."
I should not forget to mention the shows. If you think an entertainer is dead, think again. They are probably just appearing on Carnival Cruise Lines six months a year. I expect Rudy Vall�e is still out there somewhere on the high seas, megaphone and all. If you like big production numbers, go to Vegas. The musicals on the ship resemble one of those dance recitals where the enticement is your grandchildren performing, only here we have the show without the grandchildren.
I love the exotic destinations, which are often part of the cruise ship itinerary. My favorite is the Caribbean Islands, otherwise known as Peddler’s Village. You can enjoy the untold pleasures of being swarmed by peddlers hawking everything from scarves to little jars of cinnamon. They will follow you into the ocean trying to sell their wares. I can’t shake them because I never go deeper than my ankles. The only way you can tell one island from another is the T-shirts (all of which are made in China). I keep buying the little jars of cinnamon. How long will it take me to use a ton of cinnamon?
Surely you have seen the old TV show "The Love Boat"? Everyone thinks there’s lots of amour onboard, right? Otherwise why would they call it "The Love Boat"? Ever try to make love in one of those dank, dark, airless cabins? My wife thought I had learned some new moves until I told her it was just a rough night at sea. The only place less appealing for making love is in the Catacombs in Rome.
As the cruise ends and you waddle off into the sunset, make sure you go right to the tailor and have him let out your slacks. And know your next cruise will be exactly like the last one.
Tom Cardella’s column will not appear next week, as he will need a vacation from his cruise.
