At noon today the Captain informed us that we were essentially in the middle of nowhere. He didn't phrase it that way of course, reciting instead the formal readings of longitude and latitude of our present position that always accompany the noon briefing from the bridge. But when you hear that we are over a thousand miles south of Hawaii and fifteen hundred miles north of American Samoa, you can pretty easily deduce that we are in the middle of nowhere. The televised map of the ship's position seemed to indicate there was a speck or two of land somewhere hundreds of miles east of our position, but the realist in me knew that was way too far to row should anything dire occur.

[It's hard to be on a ship in the middle of the ocean and not think about such things, especially when the band's orchestra is enamored with music from Titanic. Fortunately, there isn't a 'snowball's chance in hell' of any iceberg lurking in these tropical waters!]

Today began with mass; a mass spoken in both English and German. The shortcoming of mass in the vernacular hit home as at any given time half of those in attendance couldn't understand what was being said. Suddenly, the wisdom of a common 'universal' language such as Latin started to make sense. Then again, Latin allowed people from all over the world to sit in church and not understand what was being said. That actually seemed fairer in an odd sort of way.

Jan and I then played Scrabble. I might be the 'professor' in this family, but I have seldom beaten my wife at Scrabble. This time I came close, but on the last tile of the game she put it away. I know that “close” only counts in horseshoes, but I am desperate here folks.

Retiring to a deck chair to hide my shame, I finished reading Mark Twain's account of life in Hawaii (then called the Sandwich Islands) in the mid-19th century. Samuel Clemens could definitely compose humorous commentary, so much so that his facility, expertise, and verbal brilliance was almost enough for me to give up these daily diary entries. But then I realized that Mark Twain is dead, not really “competition” and, besides, this is *my* journey, not his.

We attended the Art Auction this afternoon where I was able to purchase some terrific Disney animation cells at rock-bottom prices and an original work by Peter Max, the unofficial artist of the 1960s and one of the original creators of '60s psychedelic art and design. Some of the art works up for auction were going for $40,000 and $50,000 dollars, mind-boggling sums, but much less mind-boggling than the realization that some of these passengers could actually spend that amount of money on a painting. Then again, the rack rate for the highest priced cabins onboard QM2 for her maiden world cruise topped out at a quarter million dollars, so why not buy a piece of art while you are at it?

Dinner was again superb, and we continued our humanistic endeavor to again donate to the Cunard Charity for Indigent Sailors in the Empire Casino. Observing how much money was being collectively thrown away in the casino made me wonder how there can possibly be any indigent sailors anymore.

The high point of the day, however, was the evening entertainment. Tonight was a veritable variety show, the kind they don't make anymore. Granted, no one performed an Al Jolson song, but Harold Arlen was again heralded, this time by a magnificent flutist named Gary Arbuthnot. Between Mr. Arbuthnot's amazing flute virtuosity and the curtain-raising Royal Court Dancers gyrating to the greatest hits of the 1970s (their act went by the name “Funkadelic” - 'nuf said, eh), was a two-person gymnastic act called “Duality.”

Now, I am a devotee of Cirque du Soleil and hail them every chance I get. I have seen practically all of their shows from the time their performances were confined to Big Tops in Quebec to their latest arena show. One of the more amazing acts ever presented by Cirque du Soleil in my humble opinion was two gymnasts featured in Mystere at Treasure Island who performed a minutely slow gymnastic ballet. Theirs was a demonstration of strength and finesse that left me - and everyone else - speechless.

Well, suppose I told you the two performers on board the QM2 this evening, a man and woman from Venezuela and Spain respectively, might actually have been better? As this act unfolded I became convinced these weren't human beings. Instead these had to be superheroes or perhaps bionic people. The physical feats this duo accomplished would be considered marvelous anywhere, but performing this magnificence onboard a ship where osteoporosis could just as easily be the vessel's international call sign seemed almost cruel.

The performance was enough to resolve one heading to the gym first thing in the morning. Well, maybe heading to the gym after breakfast in bed; oh, and there's that 'second breakfast' waiting on the Lido Deck, and of course lunch is then close at hand…well, you get the picture.