We begin this record by noting that never before has such an undertaking been undertook. Most, if not all, spring breaks have been spent participating in low-budget escapades in Denver. Increasingly, however, my spring breaks have developed into something greater.
Sophomore year, I took a wild jaunt to Montreal that featured a gravity beer funnel three stories high and party pioneers on the cutting edge of the Jesus Juice phenomenon. Last year, I hit Barcelona and got plastered nightly at an old haunt of Hemingway via absinthe-sans-wormwood and a newfound appreciation for wine that I capitalized on in this Mecca of vino.
Still, it's fitting that what may be my final break is the one that takes the cake. This spring, I took part in what can only be described as a full-blown shenanigan.
I went on a cruise.
Ordinarily, I try to shun superfluous things like cruises, but then I thought to myself, "Damn it, I'm an American, and I go to one of the most expensive schools our country has to offer."
In other words, there's no way I can downplay my relative wealth - so I enjoyed it for once. I've got an incoming lump of cash from a tax cut I never wanted, and, by golly, why be fiscally conservative when you have five more weeks of college? Upon my death and reincarnation as a walrus (I call it HinJewism), there is no way I'll be able to enjoy a cruise unless I'm there being served as a delicacy.
So now, despite my best efforts, and despite the fact that those bloodsuckers took one of my future kids' college funds from me, I'm going to sing their praises.
Survival - hell, life in general - used to be a full-time job. Thank you, civilization, for letting us get away from that monotonous 24/7 mammoth hunt so that we could perfect the art of relaxation. Rome tamed the mass's seething unrest with the hippodrome and the coliseum. America does it with the party boat.
A cruise represents the synthesis of refined leisure entertainment and rehearsed debauchery. Half of the time, the game was finding the free liquor - champagne at the art auction or wine with the captain? I hung out with at least five of the seven deadly sins over the course of the week, and with friends like that, who needs enemies? Satan himself must rejoice at these mobile sin factories that roam the ocean from one port to the next.
Your average cruise these days comes equipped with all the amenities you need to stay fat, drunk and pampered. Roaming beer-fetchers populate the deck between the hours of nine and five while you decide whether you're getting drunk or if it's just rough seas.
You can't take three steps before running into one of a dozen free buffets serving freshly made sushi or chocolate cake so rich it puts the Sultan of Brunei to shame. The casino opens earlier than the sun rises while the spa opens just after, and your late night activities include wandering from one dance club to the next, dodging underage (and overage) girls like the plague. Only the brave try the weight room or run on the Olympic-sized track built into the deck, and those fit few are mocked for it.
On the more esoteric side, the interiors of the boat are a combination of tackiness and decadence, which unfortunately looks like something out of the mind of Tim Burton. Plastic purple tubes and fake wood weave in and out of the ceiling and walls with seemingly random placements of mirrors and ornaments. There is a brig, and, more importantly, a morgue; should you die onboard, you can rest assured you won't rot before you have a chance to meet the embalmer.
My personal favorite part of the cruise: Should you leave the boat and find yourself so inebriated that you cannot walk, the cruise provides wheelchair services for you and your incapacitated friends to rejoin the ship. They make sure to wheel you by the teeming drunken masses that take photographs and jeer every time you lose your lunch, perhaps trying to embarrass you into sobriety.
And the people! I can proudly say that the 24-odd Jumbos from Tufts represented a clear minority on the ship. The majority came from Perry, Florida. You can judge that city's relative worth by the fact that the cleanest picture Google Maps has of it is from 10 miles up. We're talking Deep South Podunk Panhandle with a southern drawl that not only justifies stereotype, it makes Ebonics sound like angels singing. I ask, "Where are you from?" and I get, "Wh'ah'm frum Parey Flahridah'f'corse!"
Yeah, and I am from Boston - and for once, I'm proud of it. In all seriousness, despite everything I found disturbing about the boat, I can do nothing except condone this catastrophe.
For every time I walked in on a couple making out on a urinal, there were two great people to meet. For every bout of seasickness, there were seven free drinks. Every dollar was well spent, and I owe it to good company for making it happen. Glasses up to the Fin, the Toothpick, the Beached Whale, 36A, shuffleboard tournaments, Garth Brooks, Muster Station A, the U Deck, funneling beer through snorkels, Cuban cigars and cruise director Chris.
The one thing I can say about spring break this time around was that I made a huge mistake. And I enjoyed every minute of it.
Alex Sherman is a senior majoring in architectural studies. He can be reached via e-mail at alexander.sherman@tufts.edu
