UPDATED: Okay, the earlier version of this post was a cheap ploy akin to the 11 o'clock news teaser that tells you "Three things with you in the room right now could kill you... find out which later. Now, here's Berf with Sports!"
So here's what's happening... or first, what happened, in screenplay format:
FADE IN ON DON, PARTNER DANCING TO "OH WHAT A NIGHT" WITH SCANTILY CLAD FEMALE DANCER, FLANKED BY DANCER COUPLES MIRRORING ON EITHER SIDE.
THERE ARE APPARENTLY SOME MINOR BUMPS IN THE SEA, ALL OF WHICH ARE EASILY DEALT WITH AND CAUSE NO PROBLEM.
CLOSE UP: AS DON'S PARTNER TURNS TO DO A QUICK DIP, THERE IS A MOVEMENT OF THE SHIP WHICH CAUSES HER TO FALL. A PIT OF POISONED SPIKES AND DEADLY LASERSNAKES OPENS IN THE FLOOR BENEATH HER.
DON SWOOPS IN AND STOPS HER BEFORE SHE HITS THE FLOOR, KICKS AN ERRANT LASERSNAKE BACK INTO THE PIT, THEN CONTINUES THE PARTNERING DESPITE THE GUNFIRE AND EXPLOSIONS. THE HELICOPTER ARRIVES AND ALL ARE TAKEN TO SAFETY. DON PULLS A GRENADE FROM WITHIN HIS TIGHT BABY BLUE POLYESTER PANTS, PULLS THE PIN WITH HIS TEETH AS HE HANGS OUT THE SIDE OF THE DEPARTING AIRCRAFT.
DON
And that's how they do it in NORWAY, Senor Texiera.
That is entirely true, sans the added element of civil war on the ship. It's for dramatic effect, you understand. See, that happened, nothing was wrong, didn't hurt, but the next morning... twinge. Morning after that, yewoch. Following morning...good lord. Went to ship doc, got injections and pills. More injections each day following doing seemingly nothing. Lots of pain. Cancelled show last night because "THE BARITONE IS DOWN."
Finally a shoreside doctor today. This is an entry to come later, an entry of its own - being sent, alone, to a doctor in France. I had a taxi to take me and a taxi home, but in between - on my own. Fun. Only the doctor spoke English. He sent me for x-rays in another place, which I had to find, and again with no reciprocal English. I returned, he checked me out, and sent me back to the ship with the diagnosis: 15 days of rest, herniated disc. The ship decided to send me home rather than lay me up confined to my cabin for 2+ weeks. More to come, but... I'm heading home.
This is not (knock wood) a major injury and I will be fine, I'm told, in 15 days, a month at the outside. All is well, except I'm leaving many good friends behind. That sucks.
So here's what's happening... or first, what happened, in screenplay format:
FADE IN ON DON, PARTNER DANCING TO "OH WHAT A NIGHT" WITH SCANTILY CLAD FEMALE DANCER, FLANKED BY DANCER COUPLES MIRRORING ON EITHER SIDE.
THERE ARE APPARENTLY SOME MINOR BUMPS IN THE SEA, ALL OF WHICH ARE EASILY DEALT WITH AND CAUSE NO PROBLEM.
CLOSE UP: AS DON'S PARTNER TURNS TO DO A QUICK DIP, THERE IS A MOVEMENT OF THE SHIP WHICH CAUSES HER TO FALL. A PIT OF POISONED SPIKES AND DEADLY LASERSNAKES OPENS IN THE FLOOR BENEATH HER.
DON SWOOPS IN AND STOPS HER BEFORE SHE HITS THE FLOOR, KICKS AN ERRANT LASERSNAKE BACK INTO THE PIT, THEN CONTINUES THE PARTNERING DESPITE THE GUNFIRE AND EXPLOSIONS. THE HELICOPTER ARRIVES AND ALL ARE TAKEN TO SAFETY. DON PULLS A GRENADE FROM WITHIN HIS TIGHT BABY BLUE POLYESTER PANTS, PULLS THE PIN WITH HIS TEETH AS HE HANGS OUT THE SIDE OF THE DEPARTING AIRCRAFT.
DON
And that's how they do it in NORWAY, Senor Texiera.
That is entirely true, sans the added element of civil war on the ship. It's for dramatic effect, you understand. See, that happened, nothing was wrong, didn't hurt, but the next morning... twinge. Morning after that, yewoch. Following morning...good lord. Went to ship doc, got injections and pills. More injections each day following doing seemingly nothing. Lots of pain. Cancelled show last night because "THE BARITONE IS DOWN."
Finally a shoreside doctor today. This is an entry to come later, an entry of its own - being sent, alone, to a doctor in France. I had a taxi to take me and a taxi home, but in between - on my own. Fun. Only the doctor spoke English. He sent me for x-rays in another place, which I had to find, and again with no reciprocal English. I returned, he checked me out, and sent me back to the ship with the diagnosis: 15 days of rest, herniated disc. The ship decided to send me home rather than lay me up confined to my cabin for 2+ weeks. More to come, but... I'm heading home.
This is not (knock wood) a major injury and I will be fine, I'm told, in 15 days, a month at the outside. All is well, except I'm leaving many good friends behind. That sucks.
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