Captain’s Log-Day 13. European Vacation.

Traveling in Relative Hell.

Our final post revolves around security. As we awoke 22 hours ago to meet our driver for our morning flight, we felt ill at ease when said driver was late and unreachable for 25 minutes. The bellman fortunately got us a cab, then our long-term relationship with airport security began. Aside from my Mom’s titanium rod in her shoulder and Kaplan women’s underwire bras being a potential harbinger for the next blitzkieg, I was patted so much by security that I think I’m now dating an officious British woman who can rock a pair of striped polyester uniform pants. I neglected to be quality control for my mother and sisters’ carry-ons. I think they thought the travel “don’t” illustrations were a packing schematic as their carry-ones contained scissors, razors, shampoos, creams, ointments, and some lovely preserves. Keep calm and carry-on doesn’t apply to security checking their carry-ons for 25 minutes, of which 10 were the start of boarding at our gate advertised as a 15-minute walk away. Once free to leave, I pushed my mom in a wheelchair with 2 carry-ons by the handles and a backpack on my back, while Dev Hopalong had a walker, and Lauren (the other pack mule) carried Dev’s 2 other carry-ons. Of course, we couldn’t take escalators with Mom’s hot wheels and had to walk to the far recesses of each concourse to find the “lifts”. As we entered the B concourse, they announced final boarding for our flight, so I ran with the wheelchair, my Mom, and her baggage figuring my ensuing heart attack would create enough of a diversion to let the three of them board much like a WWII movie where the dying comrade croaks “Save yourself, go without me” before dying. We just made the flight. Luckily, my Mom left her C4 explosives at home or we never would’ve made it. As I drop my Mom and Lauren off for their trip back to Florida tomorrow, I’m going to sign over my 401k to the nearest sky cap, who offers to check them through without my help. Until next time…

Captain’s Log-Day 2. Maiden Voyage (The Captain’s Origin Story).

Traveling with the Ancient.

Traveling with an Ancient-My Mom forgets all her meds, several of which cannot be abruptly stopped. I call the Walgreens across the street, but the most needed one required a new script. She gives me her Dr.’s cell #. It’s Toyota of Coconut Creek. She gives me her dr.’s office #, it says it’s disconnected, since it’s the wrong number again. The awesome Dr. Warren J Wexelman helped me and a heart attack at sea is prevented.

Captain’s Log-Day 3. Maiden Voyage (The Captain’s Origin Story).

Traveling with the Ancient.

We are in Key West. As we passed the many tourist traps hawking skin rejuvenation, my almost 86 year old mother, who wears her wrinkles proudly and whose skin’s elasticity might be compared to the equivalent retained by my panty hose after a long day on the trade show floor, was twice called my sister by these sales people. In terms of salesmanship, it’s quite devious in flattering the old person, while subtly getting me to spend my entire 401k on moisturizer due to the intended diss. However, they didn’t know who they were dealing with, as I’ve already embraced my puppet mouth and kitty ass lips, while my mom told each of them that to remove her wrinkles at this point, she’d have more success in Home Depot buying spackle. We didn’t even get t-shirts to commemorate the stop.

Captain’s Log-Day 4. Maiden Voyage (The Captain’s Origin Story).

Traveling with the Ancient.

We are adrift at sea. We have nothing to survive on, but gluttonous buffets and 3rd world entertainment. There’s not a Thurston or Lovie Howell to be seen. Often people say that on a cruise the entertainment is just like Broadway and it’s like dining in a 4-star restaurant every night. Well, if Bratislava’s winner of Eastern Block Idol is your equivalent to Patty Lupone and you tend to be the person who rates a McDonald’s 3 1/2 stars in Yelp, then that’s a spot on assessment. Last night’s show featured excerpts from Oklahoma performed by Bulgarians, Slovakians, and Belarusians, as the theater’s fourth wall tumbled with the end of communism rendering it merely into a surrey with the fringe on top. I have dutifully tolerated these “Broadway (above Washington Heights) Reviews, as my Mom loves the big production values, which haven’t been used by the producers since they launched Sputnik. In reality, we are enjoying ourselves, despite the cheesiness of the shows. Although, I think I’d dig Thurston Howell’s musical rendition of Hamlet vs. tomorrow night’s fare.

Captain’s Log-Day 5. Maiden Voyage (The Captain’s Origin Story).

Traveling with an Ancient.

We spent the day in Cozumel at a Mayan ruin. Well, it wasn’t a true ruin, just a run down all-inclusive hotel. I can’t wait until my Ancestry.com results come back, as I think being part Mayan could explain why my 4’10” mother towered over the hotel staff. My Mom believes that she speaks Spanish and since she speaks to all strangers incessantly, she either speaks to them in over exaggerated English saying sentences like “food good. We like” or blurts random incorrect Spanish words to them like “Bolsa” pointing to someone lugging a suitcase or “Amarillo” pronounced with the double LL sound vs. a y sound to someone eating cantaloupe. I so enjoyed being the recipient of manic patting on my head whenever a child was nearby, as she kept repeating to the frightened child that I’m her bambina. I’m sure the Mexicans think she has the Benjamin Button disease, as she blurts out random words like an angry toddler, who has a faulty straw in their juice box. Then, to our dismay, the buffet wasn’t Mexican food, so she didn’t get her Kesso-Dilly-Ya. When she ordered guacamole, her pronunciation sounded more like “Whack-a-mole” causing hundreds of Mexican landscapers to come running with clubs and pick axes looking for day labor only to lose out on a day’s wage to a ripe avocado. Most importantly, we made it back to the ship on time taking a taxi, which my mom aptly called a taxi en espanol. Hace una dia mas.

Captain’s Log-Day 6. Maiden Voyage (The Captain’s Origin Story).

Traveling with the Ancient.

Well, it’s the last day of the cruise, as we arrive back in the morning. I can only hope that I’m the winner of the fine art auction in the gallery. God knows that I won’t be able to add to my priceless collection built from Holiday Inn Art auctions unless I bid appropriately for “Bow Wow!,” a study of dogs playing poker. I discovered an exciting new artist, our Filipino cabin steward, who’s medium is white cotton towels. I’ve commissioned a towel penguin for this evening’s art installation.

Speaking of fare, there’s no end to this trip without speaking of the 5-star cuisine. In fact, I think that’s a cat food brand being launched by Royal Caribbean. There’s so many buffets of lardonous food being served to lard asses that I actually heard someone say, “Well, of course I’m hungry. I only had one lunch today.” I’m not sure what some of the buffet items were, but I think I may have sampled a curry made from a missing Sri Lankan busboy. As a byproduct of the starchy meals, the kids on board are able to climb a solid methane rock wall on the lido deck above the cafe. We’ve had some exotic dining experiences, as we were instructed in the Italian restaurant to use their Italian butter, which we landlubbers call olive oil. Of course, on the formal night, our hillbilly tablemates were thrilled to receive a present with their lobster tail wrapped in cheese cloth, which suspiciously resembled a lemon slice to those of us who’ve dined in a restaurant before that was not adorned with Golden Arches.

Finally, while we expected to travel with 2200 others, I have no doubt that we traveled with 3 stowaway families, known as the Legionnaires, the Noroviruses, and the Salmonella’s (no relation to Liza). Like Columbus, who sailed in the Caribbean, I have no doubt that we were colonized this week. While we all were instructed to washy-washy with Purell before each meal, I have no doubt that there is no lack of booger-picking children left unattended by their glassy-eyed drink package maximizing parents to ensure that my so-called plain pizza had trace loogies from their spawns’ dirty little fingers. Next stop on my itinerary will be a Silkwood shower with a Cipro chaser.

Time to head out to the final show, a Christmas extravaganza. I can’t wait to hear my favorites like “Vite Chridmus” and “Flosty the Snowman” from the Glasnost Singers. Merry Christmas and smooth sailing in 2017!

Captain’s Log-Day 7-EpiLOGue. Maiden Voyage (Captain’s Origin Story).

Well, we are back at my Mom’s independent living facility, whose dining room is curiously identical to the ship’s, as bingo is strategically placed within 10 walker push radius of the lox and bagels. So far, the Brilliance of the Seas has not manifested into the Brilliance of Disease, as my mom and I have nary a sniffle or barnacle growth between us.

Living near NYC, I didn’t understand how the Donald (Orange is the New Blech!) could be our next President, but my fellow sea travelers like this guy pictured above helps to explain everything. On every cruise, there’s always an actual bald guy on who wears a visor with fake hair attached to it for the entire cruise. Not only does he find this the most hysterical thing ever, but 20 other rednecks high five him every time they see him on the ship. If it pleases the court, I give to you exhibit A of the evidence as to why Trump was elected to President, as 1 funny hair visor guy+20 chortling rednecks=1 Electoral Vote. You can leave your hanging Chad Lowe’s out of that equation!

I’ve also learned that we can end terrorism by ending cruise travel. To the untrained eye, we see happy Americans enjoying a vacation, while the travel industry supports less fortunate cultures by training them to serve the US travelers. What we don’t see on Decks 1 & 2 in the bowels of the ship through the hazy steam of the laundry room is that each cruise ship is really an Al-Qaeda training ground. While we gorge on massive buffets and order multiple dinner entrees “just to have a taste”, our waiters are sharing rations of cow hoof and chicken ass stew, as they chew 32 times per bite on their hatred of Americans. One day a cabin boy from Indonesia makes sure he fluffs your extra pillows, then the next day you’re found not breathing with a towel-elephant lodged in your esophagus. One minute you’re dancing to “Hot, Hot, Hot,” meanwhile the temperature of the crew rises, as they work 80 hours a week to send $12 home to back-ass Mongolia, until they eventually Captain Phillips our collective asses.

Anyhoo, all kidding aside, we actually had a nice trip, so anyone taking me seriously, please don’t. I highly suggest to any of my friends who have the fortune of still having your parents well enough to have an adventure with, even if that means tolerating horrible school assemblies on steroids for “entertainment,” go take the time

Wishing everyone a Happy Hanukkah, Merry Christmas, and better times ahead in the New Year❤️️

Captain’s Log-Day 8. Maiden Voyage (The Captain’s Origin Story).

Not Traveling with the Ancient Anymore.

Flashback-My parents 50th wedding anniversary family cruise. My mom made us all wear specially made t-shirts to mark the event as “Kaplan Kruise Krew”. Of course, every black person on the cruise were happy to at sea with the KKK. As my father was disabled and not in control of his bladder for years by then, my mom did all their packing. By the second day, they couldn’t find all his stylish habband sansabelt shorts and pants. My 5’2″ dad and my mom insisted that the slight Filipino cabin steward was stealing my Dad’s pants. My sisters and I kept questioning what the black market price was on old man’s pee-spittled pants would bring. Of course, when they returned home, his clothes were all on the bed.

When we got back to my Mom’s senior living apartment today, she unpacked and couldn’t find her favorite necklace or all her shoes. Of course, she blamed the place’s cleaning lady for both even after unpacking her shoes herself. Closing out this chapter, suffice it to say that her tall cleaning lady isn’t walking around in my Mom’s size 5 shoes and we found the necklace was in a secret hiding place.

Welcome to New York-circa 1975!

For those who think business travel is glamorous, I’m staying at the Four Points across from Port Authority. The neighborhood near this bus depot is so nasty that I used to joke that I am no longer of an age where towing my luggage behind me might cause a pimp to mistake me for a cornfed runaway looking to make it in the big city only to end up in his stable. There’s also a strip club next to the hotel where if you’d walk inside, you’d see women of my age and dimensions shaking and working the pole in granny panties.

However tonight is at an all-time low, as if you filmed this block to represent the big bad city, filmgoers would think that the staging was over the top. First, from the safety of my car, I saw a man running with a toddler holding him ala the Kramer vs Kramer injury scene, although I’d be surprised if this kid wasn’t dead. After parking in a garage around the corner, I got treated to a hobo spending a quiet night at home(less) pleasuring himself into an old phone booth stall. (Is there no doubt why Superman stopped coming around?) Minutes later, I was offered crack for purchase, but took a pass. Next, while venturing into a construction walkway, pizza rat sans his endearing pizza crossed a foot in front of me. I emerged from the walkway only to miss stepping into a fresh pool of urine provided by another homeless gent. After this journey, I arrived at my crappy hotel where the rate tonight is more than the GNP of most 3rd world countries.

I’m actually more than a bit anxious about leaving here at 530am to be at Mount Sinai Hospital at 600am. I hope to arrive there as a vendor and not as a patient due to the anticipated morning greeters on the street. I may be the only person in NYC, who’s looking forward to moving on up to stay in Harlem tomorrow night. Even in his current crazy state, bring back Guilani!!!!