All aboard.

I’m on a boat. Actually, it’s a ferry. Wife and I are visiting her relatives for the holidays, and for some reason that requires us to drive our car onto a ship as if it is an elephant and we are saving it from a flood. Come to think of it, this ferry is basically apocalypse proof. There’s a snack bar, bathrooms, fifty automobiles with enough gasoline to power a MacBook Pro, every single breed of dog ever, and, most importantly, babies. Think about it: if the Mayans are correct, and the world ends in 2012, we’re going to need to repopulate the earth somehow. But how do we make the all important, seemingly arbitrary decision of who does this dirty deed? Simple – just reroute all the ferries to an island in the South Pacific and let nature run its course. “Attention, passengers: we’ve just received reports from the mainland that the world has ended. We are now adjusting our heading to Bora Bora. Please notify Grandma that you won’t be making it for supper. Oh, wait…nevermind!” Naturally, the fact that ferries seem to be perfectly suited for post-apocalyptic survival makes them inherently creepy. This is why I can never truly relax while aboard a ferry. I mean, how do you think the animals on Noah’s Ark felt? “Let’s see, here. There are two of every one of us, some crazy guy with a beard, and a ‘Private Cabin.’ [exchanges looks with monkey, comes to sudden realization] Ewwwwwwww! Let me off! I wanna get off!”

Happy Holidays!