Exuma Cays, in the Bahamas

Yes, this really is the color of the water in the Bahamas. This, where we anchored, was at a depth of five meters.



How gorgeous is this? This is where we anchored for two nights off Allen Cay, a small island in the chain of the Exuma Cays, a national marine preserve, which are part of the Bahamas. And no, I was not allowed off the boat to swim nor explore. Which was like torture for me, a SCUBA diver, because the coral reefs were amazing. I could see them beckoning from 15 feet below the hull. Waaaaaah. Someday, however, I hope to return and that time I will be swimming with the fishies.

Merry Christmas from the Bahamas, whose sand I will never feel between my toes.

Love notes from my co-workers


Christmas in the Bahamas sounds great, except when you're working on the modern-day equivalent of the Amistad slave schooner playing laundress on the day you're supposed to be sipping mulled cider while enveloped in the comfort of the balsam-scented tree by the fireplace surrounded by family opening presents. The only part of the Bahamas I've experienced is the longing gaze I give the gorgeous aquamarine water -- from the passerelle above as take out the garbage each night. It wouldn't be so bad if we got some time off once in a while, but that never happens.



Here is the view from my boat. We're docked two slips over from this sailboat. I so wish I could go over to Atlantis, the crazy pink resort that you see ads for all the time in the New York Times, and swoop down the waterslide and experience the amazing glass tunnel under the shark tank, and maybe play a little Blackjack, but alas, that is impossible to do when you only get a two-hour break each day. Seriously. Yesterday I worked from 9 a.m. to 2:30 a.m. Fun.

If you're considering working on a yacht because you think you'll get to experience exotic locales, think again. As bad as the economy is, I gave my notice yesterday. I can't wait to hand in my polyester airline pilot uniform and kiss my epaulets good-bye. I want my life back, even if it is a cash-poor one at that.

I have to iron WHAT?

The bigger the yacht, the more formality required. The 100 foot yacht I worked on previously is considered small in the industry, and I was the sole stewardess, which was cool. Now on this larger yacht, I am the crew's cook, which I love. When the owners are aboard, however, I relinquish the galley to a chef and then become the third stewardess. And I have a supervisor, the "Head Stew." Head stews have reputations for being . . . let's just call it not so nice.

Today I bring up the laundry upstairs to the owners' closets and see the second stew. She is with the head stew. I say to the second stew:

ME (holding garments on a wooden hanger): Um, these are Mrs. X's pajamas. I don't think you really had to iron them, did you?

SECOND STEW: I'm not sure . . .

HEAD STEW: Yes, we absolutely do have to iron everything.

[She loves to say "we" when she really means "you"]

ME: We have to iron their pajamas?

HEAD STEW (getting flustered that I am ignorant of this obvious and logical fact): Of COURSE we do! We have to iron everything. We iron pajamas, boxers, everything!

Now I don't know about you, but any job that requires me to iron someone's underwear perhaps may not be the ideal job for me. God, how I cannot wait to get back in the galley where I belong.

Two tablespoons of cinnamon

I've been awake and working since 7:30 this morning. I can't yet go to bed until all the guests do, and two are awake so in the meantime, here's something funny that happened tonight.

The boat's owners are into karaoke. They invited a couple for dinner tonight, who brought their 17 year-old son. The poor kid, having to listen to loungey piano music all through dinner on the aft deck, only then to be subjected to hours of martini-induced Karaoke. I'm in the galley listening to this party of seven of them sing fifties doo-wop and Elvis stuff, and suddenly I hear a new voice. And he's good. And he's singing . . .

CHOCOLATE SALTY BALLS!

I immediately charged out to the salon and pretended to get drink orders, but really I had to find out who the hell had picked this song. So awesome. It was, surprise surprise, the kid. And his mother was fuh-reaking out. Here he is, belting out with gusto in front of the gazillionairre hosts:


Say everybody have you seen my balls
they're big and salty and brown!!
If you ever need em' quick,
pick me up
just stick my balls in your mouth

OOOHH!!

Suck on my chocolate salty balls,
stick 'em in your mouth and suck 'em
Suck on my chocolate salty balls,
they're packed full of vitamins and good for you,
So suck on my balls!!

Yachting leaves no time for blogging

Being a yachtie during "season," i.e. winter in the Bahamas/Caribbean, is hard work. My schedule has me going from 7:30 a.m. to 10:30 or 11:00 p.m., with a two-hour break mid-afternoon to nap. When I do rally after my break, I have to appear in my dress blacks, complete with my moon epaulets, ready to shake mad martinis and serve them on the sun deck or the aft deck or wherever the billionaire owners are so inclined to take in the view.

This goes on seven days a week, for several weeks or a month at a time. The point of this is to admit that my blog is going to suck until the owners disembark in January. Only then will I have time to write. Good night, gotta be up in six hours.

Iraqi journalist throws his shoes at Bush

I would have liked it better had he thrown a big ol' pie a la Bill Gates, but this is still pretty damn good.




The U.K.'s Telegraph reports,

Muntadar al-Zeidi, 28, was arrested after throwing his shoes at Mr Bush during a press conference with Nouri al-Maliki, the Iraqi prime minister.

[His quote] “This is a gift from the Iraqis.This is a farewell kiss, you dog” – was praised across the Middle East, including in Saudi Arabia, Iran, Egypt and Jordan. A Libyan charity nominated him for a bravery award.

It was disclosed yesterday that Mr Zeidi “detested America.” He was once briefly detained by the US military and was also kidnapped by militants.

Fort Lauderdale's Winterfest Boat Parade

Hot for teacher

I randomly found this picture on the website of the South Florida Firefighter's Calendar.

See the guy in the shades? That eye candy, ladies, was my teacher for the classroom fire fighting portion of the STCW class at Maritime Professional Training. Although Kevin's pectorals sadly were covered up by an ugly school-mandated polo shirt that day, never have I paid such rapt attention to a lecture in my entire scholastic life.

Happy Holidays from Fort Lauderdale Beach

This sign greets you after you cross the Las Olas bridge over the Intercoastal Waterway heading to the Atlantic. I love the pelican in the Santa hat.

My intro to mixed martial arts class

The owner of the gym I belong to is an ex-Marine special ops guy (yet another one, the fourth I've met). He teaches a mixed martial arts class on Monday and Wednesday nights, which I've observed but have been too chicken to participate in because it looked really difficult. I saw him today on my way to the beach and he asked me when I was going to check out his class, so I hesitantly agreed to participate tonight.

It was a blast!

The class started out with a thirty minute boot camp-esque "warmup," which was ass-kickingly exhausting, followed by boxing practice with a partner complete with gloves and sparring pads. The person on defense calls the shots. "One. One-two. Two two one." One means your forward jab, two is your power arm, your hook. I never knew this stuff. Then came a more traditional martial arts class where our instructor showed us defensive jujitsu moves. We then paired up and practiced being the attacker and the victim, and when you're the victim, you get thrown down on the mat and have to "tap out." I wasn't so hot at being the attacker, but it was fun trying to be a badass.

I learned a lot, for instance if a guy grabs your arm, how to twist out and break his arm. Our instructor showed us tons of moves. My brain was on sensory overload by the end of the hour-and-a-half session, and although my jujitsu skills pretty much sucked, I was really impressed by the moves of some of the advanced students.

The coolest part of the class, however, occurred when the instructor told the following story.

A wanna-be martial arts student sought out a renowned retired instructor, whom he managed to convince to teach him. On the first day of their scheduled class, which was to take place on the shore of a lake, the student was a half hour late. The instructor told him to return the following morning. The following morning, the student showed up twenty minutes late. The instructor told him to return the following morning. The next morning the student then showed up five minutes late.

The instructor agreed to begin class. He told the student, "Walk into the lake, and I will hold you under the water. When you can no longer hold your breath, tap me and I will let you up so you can breathe."

After a minute the student taps the instructor, who keeps holding him under the water. Ninety seconds go by, and the student taps more furiously, but the intructor holds him under. Two minutes go by, and the student is flailing and panicking, tapping like mad. The instructor finally lets him up.

"Why didn't you let me up when I tapped you?" the furious student asks, gasping for breath.

The instructor responds, "When you want to learn from me as badly as you wanted to breathe, come back and find me. Only then will you be ready to learn."

Starfuckers: The lowbrow side of Art Basel

While wandering through Art Basel, I spotted a photographer with a super nice rig snapping a ton of photos. He was walking rapidly backwards, about three feet in front of a couple who were striding toward me. Since he was moving backwards and didn't have eyes in the back of his head, the celeb snapper almost crashed into me. As I put my hand out and darted sideways to avoid collision, I examined the couple he was shooting, trying to figure out who the guy was. The guy looked gay, wore a tasteful perhaps camel hair jacket and great eyeglass frames, and was much older than the trampy blond arm charm wearing a beanie and wrinkles. I figured he had to be some famous artist, but who?

They marched to one particular gallery's area, where a throng of people had gathered around them. I asked some arty guy, "What's with the clusterfuck over there?" and he said, "It's probably Paris Hilton." We both laughed. He asked someone else, and reported back to me. "It's Pamela Anderson," he told me with a straight face. "Are you serious?" I asked, shocked. I thought it was some famous artist! This is what everyone's so amped about?



The guy in the background was the one she'd been walking with. Funny thing was, in the chaos of the near collision with the photographer, I failed to notice that Pammie wasn't wearing pants! WTF?



You can peruse the plethora of Pam's classy Art Basel shots here.


And what's with displaying the weird bruises? Poor Pam, she looks better in the pics than she did in real life. She honestly looked more like this, which is probably why I didn't recognize her.



Too bad celebs aren't allowed to age gracefully. I don't understand why, at 41 years old, she's wearing undies at a highbrow art show. Sad. Even sadder, people got more excited about her than the art itself.

Art Basel Miami Beach

Like whoever stuck this on the sidewalk near the Miami Beach Convention Center, some may be cynical about Art Basel, but you know what? I loved every minutiae down to the shades of pink on the ticket and the font used to brand the show.


YEAH!

Art Basel Miami Beach is the most important art show in the United States, a cultural and social highlight for the Americas. As the sister event of Switzerland's Art Basel, the most prestigious art show worldwide for the past 39 years, Art Basel Miami Beach combines an international selection of top galleries with an exciting program of special exhibitions, parties and crossover events featuring music, film, architecture and design. ~www.artbaselmiamibeach.com

Art Basel Miami Beach was fantastic. The art was beautiful. The people were beautiful. I snuck my camera in, took lots of pics, got busted and was told to check my camera. For the love of Blog! So I checked the empty camera case (haha), snuck the camera back in, and kept shooting away.

The first thing that really caught my eye was this:






I was struck by how similar it is to the painting style of my nephew Andrew, who is self taught and has never taken an art history class. I wanted to tell him about the artist because of the similarities, so when I went over to find out who it was, I was shocked to discover that it was none other than . . .



There was so much great art that I didn't have time to see it all. In order to really appreciate the entire show, I believe it would take me the entire four days that Art Basel is open. But here are some pieces that I found particularly good. Enjoy.


The gold leaf on the tire reads "GOD."


I dug this 3D motocross bike piece. So funny.


An art-appreciating Botero!






This laser-cut stainless steel sculpture was one of the most impressive pieces there. It's repped by the Sperone Westwater Gallery on W. 13th Street in NYC. The artist is Wim Delvoye, and its title is D-11 Scale Model 2.0 (2008).


Chelsea's David Zwirner gallery on West 19th repped this Chinese artist Yan Pei-Ming. Nice portrait.


This gold-plated chain-link fence by Aaron Young was a big hit, blocking off the "Art Nova" booth of Chelsea's Bortolami Gallery . The art dealers behind it appeared hipper than thou, and only the most serious art appreciators squeezed through breaks in the fence to enter.


This sculpture was as tall as I. Feel like playing God? Click on the photo to enlarge and you will see that the buttons give you choices of:

• star falling
• sun eclipse
• revolution
• epidemic
• migration
• flood
• war
• storm
• earthquake
• temperature

. . . which can effect either

• humans
• animals, or
• plants.

Great stuff.




"Lotus"


This painting of the foundering psychedelic schooner was one of my top favorites. The detail work was amazing. I wish I'd documented the artist but the gallerista noticed my camera so I bolted.


And what is with these knives? This . . .




This painting was pretty cool, titled "Hippie Artist," (2008) by Sigrid Holwood. The subject's body was covered in gold leaf, which this photo does not do justice.


He's omnipotent. No matter what museum, gallery or boutique you venture into, there he is.

Does Harvard need a bailout? Nah.

"Harvard is too snooty to beg like mere CEOs of automobile companies. They will probably just try to influence congressional opinion with op-eds and thinly veiled autobiographical novels and episodes of The Simpsons."
~ "Harvard Needs a Bailout!", Gawker.com


First of all, can we just revel in the hilarity of this fake ad? How I love Gawker. They ran a story yesterday about how Harvard's 36.9 billion-dollar endowment has shriveled by 8 billion dollars lately, leaving the ivy-covered Ivy with "only" 29 billion. Hmm. That still doesn't seem too bad if you ask me. The Wall Street Journal says, "That's more than the entire endowments of all but six colleges, according to the latest official tally. The university is planning for a 30% decline for the fiscal year ending in June 2009."

The piece poses the question if this venerable yet going-broke institution -- which U.S. News and World Report just rated as the best college in the world -- is too big to fail. And the answer is pretty much yes. Harvard has been around since 1636. They probably know what they're doing.

As one of the commenters writes:

Most of Harvard's endowment is untouchable, it may have lost value but they still own the shares, real estate etc. and only 25% of their operating budget comes from the endowment. Harvard and its ilk will be fine. No more 29% returns for awhile, but they have been planning on this for years and only paying out 3-4% of their endowments every year. If they have to adjust that rate by a few % like they did in the 70s and 80s, it certainly won't kill them. Might delay a few building projects or something but everything else is fine.

Special ops badass

America's special operations forces operate at the tip of the spear often behind enemy lines conducting secret missions. The Army, Navy, Air Force and Marine Corps all have dedicated special operations units, including, Navy SEALs, Army Green Berets and Rangers, Air commandos and Marine Corps special ops personnel.

Their impact on our way of life is immeasurable. We may never read or know about most of their work and when a special operator loses their life in the line of duty, it often goes unreported. It is the price of secrecy - a by-product of their profession.

~ Special Operations Warrior Foundation

This weaponry is displayed in the living room of a friend of mine whom I met recently in my maritime safety class. I'm like, "Okay, what is the deal?" I mean this Gurkha knife didn't strike me as your run-of-the-mill bachelor pad decor. Turns out he is ex special ops. I've known two other special ops guys who were co-workers when I worked for the federal government, and their stories were mind boggling. I ask this guy about some stuff and he tells me the craziest story ever.

Back in the day, he was in a South American jungle country trying to rescue some people that were captured by guerrillas. Things didn't go as planned, and he too got captured. The guerrillas tied him to a wood chair and kept smashing him in the face with a metal gas can. He decided to really play it up and when they hit him, he made sure to dramatically crash to the floor, still tied to the chair. His purpose in doing this was to "bust up the chair real well, and it worked."

"Why did you want to break the chair?" I ask.

Get this. Still tied to the broken chair, he was able to loosen the piece of wood he was tied to, but because it had splintered when he crashed to the floor, it now had a pointy end. And, with his hands still tied to the pointy piece of wood, he used it as a weapon and stabbed his captor in the neck, killing him instantly.

My jaw drops. "You," I tell my friend, are a badass!" If he could do that with a chair, I can't imagine he could do with that crazy knife.

As badass as special ops guys are, they are still very prone to post-traumatic stress, my friend informed me. He said nobody can truly understand what they have endured except for other guys who've done and gone through the same thing. If you want to give to a great charity these holidays, the Special Operations Warrior Foundation is a four-star charity that's been around for 28 years. They provide, among other things, scholarships for the kids of fallen special ops guys. I had never heard of SOWF until I saw their full-page ad in yesterday's USA Today. What a cool organization.

Say no to boob-grabbing Saxby Chambliss

If you ask me, any man who grabs his granddaughter's breasts -- not to mention in a fuzzy-wuzzy by-the-cozy-fire family values-eschewing political advertisement -- should probably not be making decisions for us.



Today's the day when we'll find out if Democrats will Rule with a capital "R." Saxby Chambliss, the Republican senator from Georgia is favored by most political experts to win today's runoff election. A victory for the creepy pervert will prevent Democrats from gaining a filibuster-proof, 60-seat majority in the Senate and limit Barack Obama’s support in Congress. Please God don't let that happen.

Lauderdale evening

On my walk to the gym tonight I passed this canal. I love the Christmas lights.



More lights, this time in the sky. Behold the lovely Venus and Jupiter conjunction.