SHOOTING STARS...THE BEST THINGS IN LIFE ARE FREE

When I came back from my second cruise, PCSHMEE asked me to compare the two lines. I said, "My family and I all agree, Norwegian was less expensive and slightly better than Carnival across the board. HOWEVER, Carnival was still great!"

STAGE was planning his first cruise and wanted to know why I picked that particular package. I said, "That's easy, we booked so late, it was the only one that could accommodate three people and our schedule."

So, if everything was better on Norwegian then why was Carnival still great? I can answer that in one word, "We had a bigger cabin." Oops that five words. That's right, two years ago, our stateroom or should I say closet with beds...had no windows. This time, our room was twice as big. Plus, we not only had a window but a decent sized terrace/balcony too.

In actuality, we got one of the best non-suite rooms on the ship. Sweet! Our room was aft (rear of the boat) and our balcony faced backwards as opposed to being along the side. Almost nobody ventured down the long corridor that led to the short hall where we were. Paying the premium price for that room paid an immediate dividend when I was stricken with a killer headache on the second afternoon.

I was able to convert our room into absolute darkness. Devoid of light and noise in this sensory deprivation chamber, I fell asleep immediately.

THAT'S OUR ROOM. I'M ALONG THE RIGHT WALL, SNORING MY ASS OFF AND DREAMING OF BUYING ELONGATED, BLUE BALLOONS FROM A PERKY, MUTE BLOND AT TOYS R US...HEY, THAT'S ENOUGH TO MAKE EVEN FREUD BLUSH!

Fifteen minutes later, a sudden dull thud halted my bliss. The mysterious sound repeated itself several times within the next sixty seconds. When my disorientation ended, anger took over. While staggering to the door, I prepared for a confrontation as another thud was punctuated with a prolonged shout of, "GOALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!" When I opened the door, I squinted through my blood-shot eyes and saw two foreign pre-teens kicking an under-inflated beach ball back and forth. Politely, I asked them, "Please play somewhere else." Their statue-like response suggested that they spoke no English. I hated the idea of being the crotchety buzz-killer but due to circumstances beyond my control, I made the "shoo-go-away" gesture.

I couldn't get back to sleep, my snooze bubble was burst. I turned on the TV and was disgusted by the sight of World Cup Soccer highlights. I switched to my favorite station, Turner Movie Classics (TMC). The ship's version of TMC offered a different programming format. They had old TV shows in the afternoon. Plus Robert Osborne, the host who introduces the films, was never included in their lineup. Luckily the movies at night were commercial free because the day-time fare was chock-full-of them. What was funny was that these advertisements were in Spanish and for oddball products...like shoe risers for short people.

Despite this high level of entertainment, my headache was as bad as ever. That's when I tried something completely different. I went out on the balcony. I positioned the chairs in the shade, put my feet up and stared off into the ship's wake. This my friends was priceless! Leading the "Life of Riley," safe from the sun, shielded from wind and totally relaxed, I fell back into never-never land. When I woke up, I felt great. I raced out of the room to share my epiphany with my family.THE TERRACE BECAME ANDREW'S SANCTUARY AWAY FROM QUESTIONING PARENTS. HE GOT TREMENDOUS JOY COMMUNING WITH NATURE, LISTENING TO HIS iPOD, CALLING FRIENDS BACK HOME, TEXTING, PLAYING VIDEO GAMES AND WHATEVER ELSE KIDS DO THESE DAYS WITH THEIR HAND-HELD ELECTRONIC DEVICES. PLEASE NOTE...THIS CANDID SHOT THROUGH THE SLIDER WAS NECESSARY BECAUSE...DUE TO "PRIVACY" ISSUES, WE WEREN'T PERMITTED TO DISTURB THESE MEDITATIONS WHILE HE WAS TRANSCENDING UNIVERSES.

One night at 1:00AM, Sue and I sat on the balcony while waiting for Andrew to return from his nightly debauchery. It was so calm. The moonlight danced upon the puffy clouds and made the Caribbean shimmer. I smiled at my wife as the lithe aura of romance gently filled the air. To my surprise she yawned, "I'm bored!" Seconds later, I was alone. I stood up and leaned over the ledge. I marveled at the vastness of the sea and took a deep breath to suck in as much as possible. Simultaneously, my eyes glanced up at the sparkly heavens. Suddenly, in a two-second impulse, a shooting star sizzled across the sky and faded away. I went inside to share the news but my wife was asleep.

The sky became my focus for quite some time but the splendor did not repeat itself. Instead, I sat back down and recalled my past shooting star sightings.

The best time happened when I went cross-country in 1976. That summer, I slept most nights in my tent or in my sleeping bag under the stars. But in Boulder Colorado, I got word from other travelers that the University of Colorado had a top-notch Youth Hostel.

I WAS FULL OF BUFFALO PRIDE UNTIL I SAW THE $10 FEE WAS BEYOND MY BUDGET.

At the entrance, a hippie back-packer named Bill had the same reaction to the price-gouging. He said that he spent the night before at a great place on a mountain side, overlooking a lake.

BILL'S FREE SPOT WASN'T THIS NICE BUT WAS STILL PRETTY GOOD.

We shared food, listened to my transistor radio and had a long conversation. In the morning he said if I was going through Oregon, I should look him up. I said I might and we went our separate ways. Weeks later, after leaving San Francisco, I headed to Vancouver Canada. Along the way, I found myself outside his town, Roseburg Oregon.

I called Bill and was welcomed with open arms. He lived with his sister and brother-in-law, in an old beat-up house. There was even a hole in the living room wall. They made no attempt to seal this gap that was big enough for a small dog to squeeze through the exposed wires. I slept in the attic and in the morning, I woke up with a stray cat on my chest with its nose a fraction of an inch from mine.

These folks and all their friends worked in lumber-related jobs. But it was a depressed time for the logging industry and an acutely bad year for its employees. They were all out of work and on welfare. Nevertheless, they (friends too), were the most gracious people I ever met. Every night someone had a barbecue or some sort of party. When they had no cash or food stamps, the local market let them run a tab. To show my appreciation for their hospitality and generosity, I went to that store and brought back a bag of essentials for them...they were insulted.

One night, Bill and three of his buddies showed me one of their traditions since childhood. We rolled up our pant legs and forged a river to avoid paying to get into the Umpqua County Fair.

TALK ABOUT, "OLD SCHOOL," BACK IN '76, YOU COULD STILL GET HOME MADE ICE CREAM. THESE GUYS EVEN STORED THEIR STOCK ON DRY ICE.

Another day, we went inner-tubing down the South Umpqua River.

GOING THROUGH RAPIDS, I THOUGHT I BROKE MY BIG TOE ON A GIGANTIC ROCK. THEN I REALIZED, GUYS LIKE ME DON'T BREAK TOES, WE GET EATEN BY GRIZZLIES.

My favorite destination was with a group of about twenty people. It was an hour drive. Along the way there was a huge sign on the highway that read: A CIGARETTE DID THIS DAMAGE ! Then for as far as the eye could see, the remnants of a devastating forest fire was all I could see.

They parked our convoy of cars, including a VW Microbus in a deserted field. Then we took a three-mile hike up a mountain. At the pinnacle, there was a sign-in book. It was so remote up there that the people before us, signed-in eleven days earlier. I felt like I was on top of the world but to them, it was simple small-town fun at its finest. We frolicked in the woods, threw a Frisbee in a big clearing and admired the view. At night, we spread blankets and stared up at the most intense meteor shower you could imagine.

So when you first-timers go on a cruise, you'll know how crucial it is to splurge on an exterior room with a balcony...preferably on the back end of the ship.

You probably won't see a shooting star or whales or dolphins. But the contrast is especially awe inspiring after a few days at sea when you wake-up and come out on the balcony to see land, up close for the first time. You could only image the excitement of Columbus's crew or the anticipation of the desperate European refugees coming to America.

For a million reasons of your own, you'll find time spend on the terrace. You'll go out of your way to have your morning coffee, enjoy snacks, sun-bathe, read or appreciate the sunsets.

DID YOU KNOW THAT THE OCEAN WATER REALLY IS BLUE? COUPLED WITH THE COLORFUL SKY AND SHARP RAYS OF THE SETTING SUN, YOU'LL WANT TO EXPERIENCE THE MAGNIFICENCE EVERY NIGHT.

C'mon, what's holding you back? Sea sickness? Forget it, take Dramamine...excuses are for saps. Trust me, go on cruise, you'll never want to vacation any other way. So forget the expense, its memories to last a lifetime...and you can't put a price tag on that. They have something for everyone, every day and every night. You'll get world class service, diverse entertainment and delicious meals. Best of all, you visit (and shop), the most exotic, historical and interesting places on the planet...or just relax.

So when someone like PCSHMEE asks whats the best cruise line? You'll know in your heart that they're all great. And if you're really fortunate, they'll throw in a shooting star for free.

GORGING MYSELF WITH THE GHOST OF DR. ATKINS LOOKING OVER MY SHOULDER

Remember the comedian Flip Wilson, (1933-1998)? He was a TV superstar in the early 70's. Wilson is most known for dressing in drag as the character Geraldine and using the tag line; "The devil made me do it."CLEROW "FLIP" WILSON WAS ONE OF 18 CHILDREN. HE WAS IN AND OUT OF SEVERAL FOSTER HOMES. TO END HIS CYCLE OF POVERTY, HE LIED ABOUT HIS AGE AND JOINED THE AIR FORCE. HIS UPBEAT, FUNNY PERSONALITY WAS ENTERTAINING TO OTHER SERVICEMEN. IN HIS ROUTINES, HE FREQUENTLY REFERRED TO HIMSELF AS "FLIPPED-OUT" AND THAT DEVELOPED INTO HIS PROFESSIONAL NAME.

Another Flip Wilson line that has always stayed with me all these years was; I grew up in Jersey City...and I wasn't very good in school. The nuns were tough and after I caught a beating, it wasn't unusual for them to say...its because of bad children like you that the Statue of Liberty turned its back on Jersey City.

THE JERSEY CITY VIEW OF THE STATUE OF LIBERTY.

I have had little contact with Jersey City. With complete respect to any friends from there, I usually picture the town as a slum. But the more I think about it, nothing can be more far from the truth.

The swamps that formerly dominated the shoreline overlooking New York harbor have been land filled, manicured and maintained. Today, beautiful Liberty State Park sits on that property. The Liberty Science Museum, (LSM), is situated there too.

GEARED FOR KIDS, LSM IS AT 222 JERSEY CITY BOULEVARD, (201) 200-1000. IT OPENED IN 1993. EACH OF IT'S THREE FLOORS CATERS TO INDIVIDUAL THEMES; ENVIRONMENT, HEALTH AND INVENTION.

I took my son Andrew there on November 8, 2001. My three big memories of that great day include; the IMAX movie about the Brazilian rain forest, my big guy handling a giant Madagascan hissing cockroach and crawling with him through the absolute darkness of the sensory deprivation chamber. Ouch my knees were killing me for days.

Jersey City also boasts Ellis Island. Ellis Island was the main immigration station on the east coast. Nearly every European refugee entering the United States was processed there. In the 80's, after decades of neglect, the old administration building was transformed into a state-of-the-art museum. To get there, visitors park in Liberty State Park and take a five minute boat ride to the island.

IN 1989 MY FOLKS AND I TOOK MY NIECES TO ELLIS ISLAND. WHILE WE WAITED FOR THE BOAT, WENDY PHOTO-BOMBS THIS PICTURE WITH DONKEY EARS ON ME.

Jersey City also came to mind on both cruises we went on, (Bermuda in 2008 and the Caribbean, two weeks ago). Passengers board ships at the West 55th Street pier. On the way out to sea, the cruise liners sail past the ritzy riverfront real estate of Hoboken and Jersey City.

This past Friday, I made another trip to Jersey City. My wife Sue and I attended the wedding of her friend's daughter at the Hyatt-Regency on the Hudson. Sue googled it and discovered that it was an elegant hotel situated on the picturesque waterfront. I thought it was curious how they kept the name Jersey City, out of the hotel's name. The reason is obvious, most people associate Jersey City as a poor crime invested place.

We got off the Jersey Turnpike at the Christopher Columbus Boulevard exit. The two miles to the hotel are dominated with sad looking apartment buildings and rundown or boarded-up businesses. But the last few blocks before the Hudson River are suddenly transformed into a thriving ultra-modern business center. Futuristic electric buses glide by on tracks as huge, clean office buildings with built-in commuter garages sit atop fancy restaurants and other support enterprises. Then at the prime location of the water's edge, sits the Hyatt-Regency.

The park-like exterior beckons you to stroll along the promenade. But it was 90+ degrees, we needed the restroom and we were exactly on time. So went went straight in. Luckily we did because the wedding's cocktail hour was served on a colossal, private deck just above the promenade.

FROM THE HOTEL'S PATIO ONLY THE MEMORY OF THE WORLD TRADE CENTER AND 9-11, STAINS THIS BEAUTIFUL PICTURE. WITH A TRAINED EYE YOU CAN SEE THE CRANES AT GROUND ZERO.

The best part of the cocktail hour was the hors d'oeuvres. And because the party combined elegance with the old-world charm of an all Italian wedding, the food was excellent and abundant. In addition to three open bars, they also had a sushi station and a separate banquet table for a wide selection of cheese, cold cuts and salads. Plus, a chef prepared sliders, crab cakes and barbecued pulled pork. If that wasn't enough, waiters mingled through the crowd with trays of shrimp cocktail, lamb chops, mini-lobster raviolis, pineapple chicken and so much more.

This feast was a great test to my ten-day old Atkins diet. But I vowed to remain strong and devoured the Atkins friendly offerings and washed them down with Diet Pepsi. With dinner in the distant future, I managed to remain true to my convictions...even though I really gorged myself.

The bride was beautiful and the groom was handsome. Nine floors up in the main ballroom, they set a relaxed mood that made all 250 guests feel at home. The band played everything from club banging music to contemporary romantic favorites. When they took their breaks, a DJ played Italian love songs, highlighted by plenty of Sinatra. I was so moved by the vibe in the room, that I spent a considerable amount of time with Sue on the dance floor.

UPSTAIRS, THE SCENERY WAS ROMANTIC AND SPECTACULAR. AFTER DARK, IT WAS EVEN BETTER.

The gourmet dinner was delicious. It started with Atkins-friendly scallops wrapped in bacon. Luckily me, I had three portions. Being the clever lad that I am, I passed on the salad. The entree was heavenly. I got the fillet Mignon.  In the dim lighting, it looked severely burnt. But upon closer examination, the topping was a spreadable concoction of pureed garlic and mushrooms...to die for.

The party was going so well that the host paid for an hour and a half of overtime.

Hard to believe but true, I finished my eating marathon without straying into the abyss of carbohydrates, (I did use a smidgen of cocktail sauce on the shrimp). Still I was forced to loosen my belt on the way to the restroom. Along the way, outside the dining hall, the lure of temptation grabbed me one last time...by the throat...and belly.

NEVER SUCCUMB TO THE DESSERT TABLE WITHOUT A FIGHT. IT'S CERTAIN DIET ANNIHILATION ! WHEN FACING ENEMIES LIKE FUDGE LAYER CAKE, PECAN PIE AND A CHOCOLATE FOUNTAIN...I SAY TAKE THE PSYCHOLOGICAL APPROACH OF ATTACK. (above), I PRETEND TO BE EATING A DREADED STRAWBERRY. AS YOU MAY RECALL, THE ODOR OF THOSE BAD BOYS MAKE ME NAUSEOUS.  SO, I LOST INTEREST IN PUTTING ANYTHING IN MY MOUTH THAT NIGHT.

The next day when the smoke cleared, I had gained three pounds. Even the ghost of Dr. Atkins never said its okay to eat THAT much protein. But two days later it is now gone. I survived. I'm still motivated and back on track. Two weeks into the mission, I have lost nine pounds.

In retrospect, I must admit that before taking the strawberry for the photo shoot, I circled those desserts with a watery mouth. Kids were making s'mores as I eyed the sugar wafers and imagined dipping them in the melted chocolate. Then I pictured the Statue of Liberty and remembered that she turned her back on the bad children of Jersey City. After I gulped, I told the devil that he WASN'T going to make me do it. So I took the strawberry to my mouth and purposely sabotaged whatever was left of my insatiable appetite.

SURF AND TURF...AND SURF AND SURF

Hallelujah! I finally heard this public address announcement in my mind, "Telephone call for Dr. Atkins, Dr. Robert Atkins telephone." This message from the Obesity Unit of my internal defense mechanism is telling me loud and clear...its time to go on a diet. DR. ATKINS, (1930-2003), DEVELOPED THE POPULAR BUT CONTROVERSIAL DIETING METHOD WHICH VIRTUALLY ELIMINATES THE INTAKE OF CARBOHYDRATES WHILE EMPHASIZING PROTEIN AND FATS, ALONG WITH SOME LEAFY VEGETABLES AND DIETARY SUPPLEMENTS.

I have been on the weight-loss roller-coaster my entire adult life. 222 pounds seems to be my norm but in the past I have ballooned to 231 and once melted down to 204. My diet of choice is the Atkins Diet. Mainly because I can "pig-out" on my carnivorous favorites and see quick results. Plus, I'm not the calorie counting type, I don't like being lectured and measuring my meals will never happen.

Back on May 2009, I last heard Dr. Atkins beckon me. That weight purging mission went unusually well. Over the course of six months, I lost 25 pounds and kept it off. Around Halloween, I experienced the highlight of that diet's success...my belt was too big. That euphoria took me and the belt across the street to LACC's house. He drilled me a new, skinnier hole. Spurred by a feeling of weight loss invincibility, I tightened my belt as never before. I even projected doing my own drilling on the next, even skinnier hole.
REMEMBER IN MY SLIMMER DAYS, "EVERYONE" SAID I LOOKED LIKE EMINEM...SAME TATTOOS AND EVERYTHING.

Well that next belt drilling time never came. Somewhere in the middle of November, I put the whammy on myself. I went against every superstitious bone in my body by replacing my size-million clown pants and buying much smaller ones for work.

When you think you have it, "all together," while dieting, the first mistake is making a slob of yourself on a special occasion. Mine was Thanksgiving. Brimming with false confidence, I over did it because I knew, I would never get fat again. Alas, I was full of myself and did NOT get right back on the wagon.ITS EASY TO OVER-INDULGE ON TURKEY DAY BUT I'M ALSO KNOWN TO PUT THE OL' FEED-BAG ON DURING FLAG DAY, ARBOR DAY AND APRIL FOOLS.

While I kept delaying the resumption of my good eating habits, the scale started tipping the wrong way. Then some personal setbacks derailed my focus. Trust me its not an old wives tale when they say; people take comfort in food. I was back in my belt's original last hole in no time. Then at this most inopportune time, the eating free-for-all known as Christmas came along.

I drew a line in the sand and resolved to take better care of myself after the new year. That didn't happen! My weight became a non-factor as other difficulties detoured my path.

In the late spring when the weather warms up and fat guys like me make their own gravy...the obstacles along my emotional path were finally clear. Unfortunately, by that time my sponge-like stomach had re-absorbed nearly every ounce that I had killed myself to lose. On June 24th, I was a few pounds away from my all-time high when Carnival Cruise Lines lured me to the Caribbean.

A Caribbean cruise exposes two major factors that effect a man like me. Its a week long, 24-hour eating marathon AND you spend a lot of time without a shirt on.

SOMEWHERE IN THE BERMUDA TRIANGLE, ANDREW (LEFT) NOTED THAT MY BEER BELLY WASN'T EXACTLY FLATTERING. HE TOOK LITTLE SOLACE WHEN I REMINDED HIM, "I DON'T DRINK AND THAT BEER BELLY, IS ALL FOOD !"

Like all cruise ships, ours, the Carnival Miracle offers round-the-clock buffets. Like the cadence of crashing waves, anything you could imagine for each meal...plus snacks after hours, are continuously rolled in.

I JOKINGLY TOLD ONE OF THE SHIP'S WAITERS, "I'LL HAVE THE LOT." I REALIZED THEN THAT MR. CREOSOTE HAD SWALLOWED THE EMINEM IN ME.

We thought it was criminal, the way our fellow passengers wantonly wasted enormous volumes of food. Now while its true that I rarely went more than 20 minutes without eating SOMETHING...nobody could accuse me of waste because I finished everything I started.

SIX CREME'BRULEES IN ONE SITTING, NO PROBLEM.

We ate our breakfast and lunch at the continuous buffet. Our gourmet dinners were in the elegant, Roman orgy-esque, Bacchus Dining Room. During the day, I might have been "careful" with what I ate but at night, I was an insatiable pit.

IN A RESTAURANT THAT CELEBRATED THE ROMAN AND GREEK GODS OF WINE AND FERTILITY, (BACCHUS & DIONYSUS), I BEGAN MY QUEST TO BREAK THE GUINNESS SHRIMP COCKTAIL EATING RECORD. UNFORTUNATELY, ANDREW INSISTED ON HAVING ONE...THUS DISQUALIFYING ME.

Our entire crew was cordial. However, in the Bacchus, they were saintly. In addition to the maitre d' and several hostesses, each table was provided with a three-person waiting team. This made the service impeccable. So whatever you wanted, you got...FAST! This was proven when the menu included lobster tails on the same day as New York strip steak. I wasn't going to pass up lobster and Andrew ordered the steak.

While waiting, I noshed on the bread basket. I also had, French onion soup and a Caesar salad as well as spicy Thai beef on a stick and a shrimp cocktail for my appetizers. That would have been enough for a normal fat guy...but not me.

IT IS MY UNDERSTANDING THAT IN THE OFF-SEASON, SUMO WRESTLERS COME ON CRUISE SHIPS TO BULK-UP.

I finished my lobster in seconds and pined for the steak. I flagged down our Jakartan waiter Nikko and told him of my desire for, "Surf & Turf." Perhaps because of the language barrier, he brought me the steak (with all the trimming) as well as two more lobster tails for Andrew and Sue. Well, when I downed that delicious strip steak, I noticed that they wanted to save room for dessert and didn't want the extra lobster. I couldn't picture such a delight being flung overboard and returned to its roots...so I ate them both and wound up with, "Surf and Turf...and Surf and Surf." Oh yeah, I still had room for two desserts too.

THIS GENTLEMAN WAS ON OUR CRUISE. WHEN WE DOCKED IN ST. THOMAS, HE HAD TROUBLE DECIDING WHETHER TO GET OFF EARLY OR HAVE A THIRD BREAKFAST OR A FIRST LUNCH. HE WAS DEVOURING A PORK CHOP WHEN HE PARA-PHRASED ZYMBOT, "EVEN THOUGH CARNIVAL CHARGED ME DOUBLE BECAUSE OF MY SIZE...LIKE THE FRIGGIN' AIRLINES...WHEN I EAT ON A CRUISE, I MAKE A PROFIT." BACK ON BOARD, HE TOLD ME HE GAVE BACK THAT PROFIT AFTER BENDING HIS RENTED SCOOTER'S CHASSIS.

In my eight days at sea, without impressing anyone or setting any records, my gastronomic antics resulted in a ten pound gain. Real life set in after my vacation. Especially when I took off my shirt in front of a mirror...holy man-boobs Batman, I needed a mansierre. I was so ashamed that I felt compelled to divert my eyes...and I love me!

When I tried on my new work pants, yikes, my plight worsened. I snugly fastened the belt with the last hole...going in the wrong direction. I was at a new all-time high of 234 pounds and was unwilling to test my new belt hole drilling skill. Amen, that's when I got the call from Dr. Atkins.

The first two weeks of any diet is crucial. First, to make room for MEAT, I re-arranged our freezer. The frozen pizza, French fries, ice cream and Pepperidge Farm fudge cake were the first to go. Then I made an appointment to re-acquaint myself with my butcher.

I have made it through the first week and have lost six pounds of bloating. Hopefully, I can keep at for a long time and steer a steady course back under 205. Because, we are already in the concept phase of a; flying to Los Angeles plus Mexican Riviera cruise vacation for next year.

THE MINIATURE CHARLES MANSON

"BORAT," is the funniest movie I ever saw! Sometimes, my son Andrew and I seem to be the only ones who fully appreciate the genius of it's star, Sasha Baron Cohen. I frequently find myself quoting from it but so few of my contemporaries love it as we do.

Hidden in all of Borat's high profile visual shenanigans and verbal slapstick, is the tiniest bit of prosaic mastery...the clever name selected for his over bearing, behemoth wife...Oxana.AS AN EIGHT-YEAR OLD, I ONLY RECALL THE SNOT POURING OUT OF THE OX'S NOSE AT THE CATSKILL GAME FARM, (UPSTATE NEW YORK). THEREFORE NAMING BORAT'S WIFE WITH THE "OX" PREFIX FURTHER PAINTS THE PERFECT PICTURE.

I liked the name Oxana so well that I used it in a recent blog, "THE GLENDANIAN CONNECTION TO FAST-FOOD." So it was a complete and pleasant shock to find out that Oxana, is a real girl's name in Russia. And fate brought me, "the gorilla my dreams," Oxana, on my family's vacation last week.

After loving our first cruise two years ago, we decided to try it again. This time we hit three Caribbean islands; Puerto Rico, St. Thomas and Grand Turk.

THE SUPREME TOURIST TRAP, GRAND TURK, (PART OF THE BRITISH WEST INDIES), WAS TRULY BEAUTIFUL. BUT THE LITTLE WE SAW OF THIS PARADISE WAS REDUCED TO JIMMY BUFFET'S MARGARITAVILLE BAR, A HIGH-END SHOPPING CENTER AND A CROWDED, YET MAGNIFICENT BEACH.

Like any cruise, the time spent aboard ship affords guests the opportunity to be lavished. The crew of young enthusiastic individuals are trained to excel in hospitality. Even with all my wisdom, I can't imagine how these folks are molded into a seamless army of energetic, cheerful work-a-holics. My only guess is...the staff is desperate for work. And while it seems that they come from every corner of the earth...they don't...at least not from the US of A.

I think its safe to say that the reason there are no Americans working on these ships is...it's not in our culture to voluntarily impress our self into virtual slavery. Simply put, cruise ships are NOT of USA registry. Therefore as employers, they aren't subjected to our minimum wage laws, hours per day maximums, benefit packages etc. Perhaps an American who was down on their luck could survive the job for a few days. But after committing oneself to the bedlam of a sea-faring insane asylum...especially kowtowing to the behest of rich people or even worse, the whimsy of wannabes vacationing over their means...the true red, white and blue spirit, in the form of A-T-T-I-T-U-D-E would shatter the American work experience.

In any service industry, this attitude is the hallmark of success. Aboard a cruise ship, that means that there are tons of workers from a core of ten or so third world countries. You can see how they covet the job and bend over backwards to assure that even the worst crank, is served to the best of their ability.

While this lust to please is evident throughout the ship...it is more pronounced in the gourmet dining room. For each meal, after you wait in line because every seat is occupied, you are greeted by a lead hostess and/or a maitre d'. When a table is available, a secondary hostess escorts you to a serving team consisting of a waiter and two assistants.

The least experienced of three is relegated to getting extras or filling water glasses and busing the tables. Apparently this position carries less of an English speaking burden. On one occasion I asked Attila, our Hungarian second helper, "How do you say the number one, in your language?" His response was, "World War One started in 1914."

After that, I made it a point to avoid putting these people on the spot. But a couple of dinners later, my jaw dropped because I experienced love at first sight. Even though she was taller than me and her uni-brow looks were more oafish than plain, I took solace that there was no snot pouring from her nose.

Her name tag was spelled differently but as soon as I sounded it out, I was smitten. My dreams had come true. Without rehearsing, my words just slid through my throbbing lips, "Excuse me, how do you pronounce your name?" In a bashful manner suggesting that she wasn't used to hearing anything other than orders she stammered, "O-O-Oxana." While my son muffled his grin I said, "That's a beautiful name." Oxana blushed during an awkward pause. Suddenly, a three-year old screamed at the next table. Oxana took it as a cue and scurried to the disturbance.

For the next fifteen minutes, nearly everything stopped in our area of this elegant restaurant. This little boy just kept making blood curdling screams which attracted a squadron of workers who came by to pacify him. Other than handing the little bastard one fat crayon after another to encourage him to shut-up, the unembarrassed mom made no effort to discipline him in order to end the hi-jinx. Simultaneously, the muted dad couldn't be bothered as he swilled one Johnny Walker Black after another.

This was not an ordinary unruly child. This poisonous imp never went a full minute without hollering even when the maitre d' did magic tricks and the first waiter's assistant poorly sang Norwegian carpenter songs.

For such instances, the cruise line should have hired the "NANNY" from TV, "THE DOG WHISPERER" or at least "DIRTY HARRY," because unencumbered by parental supervision, this pre-school menace was allowed to slide out of his highchair. When he was corralled by another waiter, I was hoping the patience-tester would have been slapped with a halibut. Instead the resident evil tyke was politely set back in his chair. But before the manacles could be clamped down on him, he made a daring escape by climbing out and jumping to the floor. Unchecked, he slithered for several seconds in the aisle as waiters carrying full arms of plates narrowly missed stepping on or tripping over the diabolical mischief-maker.

A petite, secondary hostess from another section picked the scream-machine off the floor. She was pleasantly chatting him up as Oxana brought a chocolate milk in a fancy glass. The boy's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. While Oxana held the stemware, this personification of malevolence deeply sucked the brown nectar through a straw. With a big smile, he motioned to hold the glass himself. As if hypnotized by the charm of the miniature Charles Manson's Svengali-like smile, Oxana naively gave in.  She was in the process of relinquishing her grasp when the momentary calm mood came to a crashing halt as the sociopath in training, with depraved indifference, knocked the goblet to the Italian marble floor with a swift backhand stroke.

While the train-wreck was being swept and mopped up, I wrongly thought the family finally realized their folly and gave up before their entrees arrived. The dad got up first. Surprisingly, they had a second son. He was about five and was so short that the height of the booth obscured him from our view. Even more shocking was that the dad took this, "good son," (presumably to the bathroom) and left the screamer at the table with mom.

Amid the constant shouting, a cocktail server set down another double Johnny Walker for the dad as we finished our meal. The good kid and the dad returned as mom stroked, "Old Yeller's," head while handing him more super-sized crayons. Dad wasn't seated three seconds when he downed his drink in one giant swallow. At the same time, inexperienced Oxana bused our table. Rather than get help or make two trips, she managed this feat of strength while balancing all our dishes, saucers, glasses and silverware. It reminded me of the guy on, "THE ED SULLIVAN SHOW," who used to spin 37 plates at the same time. Still, I thought it was bad judgement on her part so I focused on the attention-grabbing mini-devil.

Oxana slowly and carefully turned away from our table. Her six-foot frame stood erect as her confidence grew. Synchronized with her first step towards the kitchen, the kid flipped one of his thick crayons over his head. It's high trajectory was witnessed by my whole family. Everything was happening so fast...nobody could warn Oxana. The waxy, burnt sienna-colored cylinder fell at her feet. Unfortunately, she was the only person in the area who didn't see the danger lurking in her path. Despite the edge of her shoe nudging the colorful hazard, she was unimpeded by it.

She was one step past the threat when the dad anxious to prove that; the demon seed doesn't fall far from the tree, spoke for the first time. "Hey you," he cried. Eager to please, smiling Oxana pivoted to face him as he added, "Pick up my kid's crayon." Oxana maintained a forced smile as the dishes shifted in her arms. After managing to avoid a HAZ-MAT spill of biblical proportion she sighed, "I'll be right back."

That scene would have fit perfectly into the Borat movie. Except in the true spirit of Sasha Baron Cohen's political incorrectness, the miniature Charles Manson and his dad would have been thrown down concrete steps by the cruise security force...twice!

Oxana became a bigger hero to me for the rest of our journey. I even gave her a theme song by substituting Oxana every time the lyric, "ROSANNA," came up during the 1982 TOTO smash hit (rock-n-roll) of the same name. Soon, I had my whole family singing or humming "OXANA," every time we saw her.

"ROSANNA," IS ON TOTO'S 1983 GRAMMY WINNING RECORD OF THE YEAR.

Yeah, now tell me how an American would have handled Oxana's situation. I say, she would have purposely dropped the whole mess at the dad's feet, picked up the damned crayon and said, "Shove this up your ass...sir!"