The excitement of Auckland had dissipated by the time we stirred on this Sunday morning. We were entering the final leg of this incredible journey: sailing from Auckland, New Zealand, to Sydney, Australia; Southern Hemisphere neighbors separated by over a thousand miles of ocean and, like the US and England, by a common language.

Despite the pervasive feeling of futility, five laps around the promenade deck accounted for a brisk walk of a mile and a half. That burned enough calories to allow me to eat, I believe, one piece of toast, without butter or marmalade. Whoopee. Remember, I was saying something earlier about a "pervasive feeling of futility."

There wasn't much energy for anything else today so I sat in a deck chair reading more of Augustine's Confessions. Goodness, he had a lot to confess. Lounging on a deck chair gazing upon the endless seas is the proper way to read and contemplate philosophic literature. Sprinkle in a few wispy clouds augmented by some serious cirrus layering further skywards and the setting is perfect. At this moment I, too, would confess and seek redemption.

The ocean is amazingly relaxing, especially when the sun is shining brightly. I must admit though that I can't really tell the Tasman Sea from the South Pacific nor have I been able to identify the solar and stellar differences in the day and night skies. For many onboard, most especially the resident astronomer, these distinctions are readily apparent. The astronomer brings his telescope up to deck twelve on clear evenings and allows passengers to gaze at the heavens. This is something I definitely wanted to do from Day One of this voyage, but here we are on our way to Sydney on the final leg of this voyage and I have yet to share in his generous stargazing offer.

One thing that struck me today was the complete absence of other ocean-going vessels this entire voyage. Cruising from Miami to Nassau, for example, one sails literally in a convoy since multiple cruise ships ply that familiar trade. Sailing from New York you are guaranteed to encounter merchant vessels heading for Bayonne, New Jersey, or other nearby piers. These two weeks, however, have seen the Queen Mary 2 sail solo, embarked on a solitary journey with only sea and sky as companions. This strikes me as kind of a shame, because this ship is so magnificent and massive one desires the opportunity and vanity of being seen and admired by other ships at sea. Let's face it, as the name implies, this ship is royalty.

This afternoon we made a few more donations to the Queen Mary 2 charity, otherwise known as the Empire Casino, then hightailed it back to the Royal Court Theatre where the actors from the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts were performing two one-act plays by Alan Ayckbourn, one of my favorite British playwrights. The pairing of "Drinking Companions" and "Gosforth's Fete" showed off the RADA cast most admirably, and resulted in this final stage performance being their best yet.

"Drinking Companions" was most appropriate given the ubiquity of alcohol consumption on board the QM2. Plus, the scheming of the middle-aged character trying desperately to pick up two young women on holiday no doubt stimulated long-dormant memories on the part of many of the aged male audience members. Those were definitely laughs of recognition bellowing forth with each more outrageous attempt at seduction.

"Gosforth's Fete" proved to be a perfect counterpoint in that it bordered on slapstick and farce albeit with that distinctive brand of English wit spliced among outrageous scenes and actions. A well-intentioned community event goes absolutely haywire with everything from unintentionally exposed romantic dalliances to hooligan boy scouts harassing townsfolk to an uptight city council member being electrocuted by lightning. At this stage in the cruise, one had the feeling we needed something of the absurd to encapsulate this life of gluttony and overindulgence.

Dinner this evening would be our last formal night. This meant I got to put on one last time that clown suit known as a tuxedo. I stress the clown suit imagery because Men's Wearhouse (the place that guarantee's "I'm going like it") provided me with pants that are six inches too big. Whether this was done in anticipation of the binge eating that marks a cruise, or just dumb tailoring, the result was a pair of pants more appropriate to Barnum & Bailey than the Britannia Dining Room. The workmanship is also suspect, since the last wear resulted in one of the pant leg hems unfolding and draping my patent leather shoes like modern day spats, and the jacket lost its only button - and not because it popped from too much internal pressure! Jan blessedly repaired these more obvious fashion shortcomings so at least it wouldn't look like Lou Costello or Emmett Kelly was escorting her. She also wore a stunningly beautiful black and white gown. In fact, when complimented by my tuxedo sporting this evening a brand new white tie and matching handkerchief, we looked like guests at a Corleone wedding.

Entertainment for the evening was what I would term a fabulous Neo-Futurist musical group called String Fever. These four musicians from Britain boarded the QM2 in Auckland and were only staying onboard until Sydney; hardly a residency considering the other performers had joined us in San Francisco for the entire two-week crossing.

String Fever can be described as a musical quartet version of the Flying Karamazov Brothers, even to the point of the quartet members interchanging instruments as a form of juggling. Their violins resembled musical instruments from Star Wars' intergalactic club scene, while their virtuosity conveyed solid education and training as musicians. They utilized and incorporated, however, technologies associated primarily with rock-n-rollers: distortion machines, reverb, multi-tracking, wah-wahs, tremolo, etc, but never overdid any of them. The highpoint of their show was a two-minute history of music that pretty much touched upon all the salient genres. They also did a medley of James Bond movie themes that made one realize just how familiar we are with that music, even if not true fans of the melodies. This was one act deservedly brought back for an encore and they didn't disappoint. Their rendition of the famous Romanian piece "The Lark" was a concluding tour-de-force such that for the first time this voyage I felt a standing ovation was truly warranted.

Still, as the evening drew to a close, it was clear the cruise was winding down quickly and entering its final few days. It was the Russian writer Fyodor Dostoevsky who said, "Man is an animal who can get used to anything." That adage echoed sad but true to me as I indeed felt like an animal - an elephant to be exact - who had gotten used to eating himself silly simply because it was there. As one who has always battled weight problems, taking ocean voyages is perennial confrontation with temptation, and so far, after something like thirty cruises, I have always come out on the short (and fat) end of things. Willpower dissipates by 'Day Two,' and the remainder of the voyage is spent promising myself that as soon as this cruise is over I will commence a serious diet. Sadly, all bets are off, though with Lent lurking around the corner, and Catholic guilt a staple of my existence, there might be some hope yet.

These cruises are, however, the stuff of memories. Even though I over-use the phrase "life changing" (because I hope each day of my life is in fact "life changing") there is no doubt this two-week voyage across the Pacific Ocean has enriched my life in ways well beyond the major addition of cholesterol to my metabolism and inches to my waist. This is the longest cruise I have ever taken, and is the first time I have sailed across the grandest ocean of them all (lets' face it: this ain't the "pond" of the Atlantic!).

This majestic ocean liner has become much more than a ship or a means of transportation to me. It has become what we in entertainment technology aspire to create: an imaginary world and independent sovereign realm. In this particular instance, however, it possesses corporeal form while also providing multi-sensorial stimulation. In other words, it's real!