I always think it's nice to start a blog with a bit of good old fashioned scene setting, so kickstart your mental imaging tools for a vivid and grim portrait. The Andaman sea on a wednesday afternoon, and the weather conditions are harsh. On a scale of harshness, 1 being serene (think sea birds frolicking, dolphins slicing through the sea like bullets through a valentine, turtles discussing the merits of turn of the century American literature over a casual joint) and 10 being Voyage of the Damned (I'm talking mile high waves, thunder kicking up, well kicking up a storm, passengers desperately trying to get enough signal to say goodbye to their loved ones) - we're looking at about Level 6 harshness. That last sentence was so convoluted even I lost track so if you made it through, well done you don't have ADD. Anyway yeah, it's raining like a motherfucker and the winds are blowing like a prostitute, it's all you can do to stop yourself falling over and sliding into the open jaws of a cute but deadly Killah Whale. Naturally, given the aforementioned harshness rating, the passengers flocked below deck to avoid any kind of adorable mauling - save the smokers who huddled in the entrance way for shelter and in some cases a rare moment of human contact.
Not me and ol' Charlie boy though, we brought the thunder to the thunder by sitting on the very front of the boat, just low enough so my hair didn't obscure the view from the captains window. Why did we do this? Because we're what marine biologists call Sea Pussies and can't deal with the concept of being on water without vomiting. Thank God the ship didn't get invaded like in that Steven Segal film, we'd have been the ones they show dying first so you know the terrorists are serious. Or communists or whatever people were disproportionately afraid of back then. There a certain things you just don't expect to see in such an environment, rain all up in your grill and wind fucking your hair right up, and relentless, infectious optimism is most definitely one of them. Lo and behold though, that is what we were confronted with in the form of an Austrian gentleman who went simply by Dorian Gray. A ray of sunshine in a decidedly grey ambience, he strolled round the corner without a care in the word - shirtless and shoeless in those dangerous conditions and clutching bravely to a can of beer that by that point must have been mostly rainwater. Without a word, he stood on the very front of the boat in a scene I can only decribe as Titanic-esque, much to the irritance of the captain; nearly fell off, turned round and asked us if we fancied a drink. There is an offer you simply cannot refuse.
So we sat with Dorian, Charlie finding a soul mate in someone who is exactly as loud and intrusive as himself when liqoured, and gooned around for a while. The aggresively maudlin atmosphere that previously had me shouting improvised blues songs lifted and we felt it was time to take our message to the other passengers. I must admit when I first saw Dorian approach those poor souls grouped under the shelter of the doorway smoking I wasn't entirely sure how it was going to go down. I mean bear in mind at this point we were literally dripping wet, like we'd just crawled out of the water and I wasn't confident that people desperately trying to stay dry would willingly accept our hip hop hugs and good tidings. I made the critical mistake, you see, of underestimating the power of genuine happiness and soom comradery was so high it was like we'd dissolved ecstacy into the ships water supply. Which we would've done if the fucking pills hadn't dissolved in the rain. Even our sea sickness was remedied by such incredible cheer, then again I did have a cut on my leg and it's not unthinkable that some of the E got into my bloodstream. Either way I was right upbeat.
A good deed having been done, Dorian and I returned to our posts at the ships front. By this point we were so drenched that my iPod had broken and Charlies rizla and baccy had kind of melted into one sludgey entity. We sat there and as is often the case when the liqours been flowing, the conversation got deep and somewhat repetive. Waxed lyrical, we did, speaking of love, loss and the misty horizon ("looks like forever maaan", "word, if we still thought the world was flat this is where we'd fall off" "...shit yeah") until the boat arrived at port. Thanks to the genius of this idiot, a three hour slog flew by and we were both briefly transformed into the kind of people you might want to talk to.
Of course, as soon as he fucked off we went back to our usual snide, sarcastic selves but for a brief moment we felt what it must be like to be real nice dudes. It's nice to know he's out there fighting the good fight, and that someone in an attic is a picture of that man's liver becoming increasingly decrepid.
We're approaching the end of our time travelling as a duo, I have to serve some prison time in LA for selling guns to T.I., but we're going to hit you with another video in the coming weeks. There's gonna be some tears, some wistful nostalgia, it'll be a pretty downbeat and unpleasant affair for everyone involved. Be sure to check it out!
Peace
Joe
