Mariners have for centuries snickered at the misnomer that is "Pacific" Ocean. We discovered that very quickly when upon rising early for a morning walk around the deck, we were greeted by a cold rain, high seas, and a brisk wind that made navigating the deck challenging to say the least. We might be headed for the Southern Hemisphere where it is currently summer, but it was still winter in the Northern Hemisphere, and the rough seas off the coast of California confirmed the calendar.

One of the things easiest to do onboard a cruise ship is eating. It is as though there is every intention of making sure no one else on the planet has anything to eat. Food is in over-abundance; it is available 24 hours a day either in the King's Court restaurant on Deck 7 or via 24-hour room service. The challenge therefore is to not over-indulge too badly. Over-indulgence *is* going to occur, there is no getting around that, but the degree of over-indulgence is what one hopes to manage. So far, I'd say so good, but it is only Day Two of a fourteen day voyage, and the ease and variety of tempting dishes puts the ETC Fifth Floor food shelf to utter shame (though I have yet to find Ramen noodles on board the QM2).

The first event of the day (besides eating) was attending the planetarium show in the Illuminations Lounge. QM@ is the only cruise ship featuring a planetarium. And, the planetarium was designed and built by our good friends at Sky Scan in New Hampshire. We are using a Sky Scan system for our mini-Omnimax theatre at the Independence Seaport Museum in Philadelphia, PA.

We were no sooner seated in the theatre when the cruise director came on to tell us they were having trouble with one of the planetarium CPUs. There may or may not be a show. Needless to say, I felt right at home. A technician had been called. He came, and set about solving the problem (though with nowhere near the panache of a Steve Audia or Jim Valenti) and within minutes after re-booting the CPU (something I think *I* could have told them to do) the show was on. For twenty minutes Tom Hanks told us that we were insignificant specks in the universe. That's sobering in and of itself, but being told that while on board a lone ship in the middle of the Pacific Ocean seemed to add insult to injury.

Depressed at our insignificance, Jan and I headed to the casino to tempt the very fates that rendered us so inconsequential. What apparently wasn't inconsequential was fate's interest in taking our money from us with speed and alacrity. I marveled at some of the new gimmicks affixed to slot machines. My machine featured a pictorial mine where I collected diamonds; every ten diamonds and I received a ten quarter credit. Now, you only collect diamonds when you lose, sort of a consolation prize, but darn if I wasn't pushing to collect ten diamonds so I could get ten credits. The idea is insidious, but brilliant. I managed to "mine" thirty diamonds while only lost fifty bucks in the process. Such a deal!

Dinner that evening was formal. I had purchased a brand new tuxedo just for this journey and the time came finally to show it off, patent leather shoes and all. I looked nice but was nothing compared to Jan who seems to be getting younger by the year. I think I might be her Dorian Gray, with me turning older as she remains young and vibrant. The meal lived up to the expectation of fine dining one anticipates on board a Cunard ship. My rack of lamb was superb, as was Jan's tuna.

We are seated in the Britannia Restaurant at a table for six. Our four tablemates are all Australian. One couple flew from Sydney to San Francisco just for the experience of sailing home on the QM2; the other tablemates had boarded the vessel at the start of its World Cruise in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. Their longevity and commitment to Cunard had earned them a spot at a special Chef's Table that evening so they graciously bowed out of our dinner while promising to return tomorrow.

The previous evening we had celebrated Jan's birthday with a cake and a serenade by four of the worst singing waiters to be found anywhere on the high seas. This evening the same quartet of out-of-tune voices returned to sing us Happy Anniversary. They were loud enough to stop things in the Britannia Restaurant and to coax other passengers at nearby tables to join in, presumably to drown them out. I assured the quartet and our tablemates that this would be the last celebration we would be having onboard and that starting tomorrow we would seek something other than chocolate cake for dessert.

The evening entertainment in the Royal Court Theatre was an Italian-American singer from Brooklyn, New York, named Tony B (no, not Tony Bennett). He sang a terrific medley of popular American songs from the 20th century while telling stories about Brooklyn. I felt right at home. Countering that traditional performance however was a comedic solo performer in the lobby who regaled passengers with his version of "Stupid Pet Tricks" without the pets. The highlight of his show was when he put a latex glove on his head and proceeded to blow it up via mighty exhales while prancing like a rooster. Now, even as I pondered the dissonance of such a regal ship and cruise line having what can only be considered a sideshow performer doing crazy things in the main lobby, I thought the guy was FANTASTIC. I laughed myself silly, not only at his insane antics, but also at the amazed faces of the upper crust geriatrics watching his performance. It was something Gary Larsen could have sketched as a Far Side cartoon.

Content with that image emblazoned in my mind, and a couple of gin and tonics to usher me forth to never-never land, I dozed off to sleep, eager to see what tomorrow would bring.