“I have now heard — and am powerless to describe — reggae elevator music. I have learned what it is to become afraid of one’s own toilet. I have acquired ‘sea legs’ and would like now to lose them. I have tasted caviar and concurred with the little kid sitting next to me that it is: blucky. I now understand the term ‘Duty Free.’ I now know the maximum cruising speed of a cruise ship in knots. I have had escargot, duck, Baked Alaska, salmon w/ fennel, a marzipan pelican, and an omelette made with what were alleged to be trace amounts of Etruscan truffle. I have heard people in deck chairs say in all earnestness that it’s the humidity rather than the heat. I have been — thoroughly, professionally, and as promised beforehand — pampered. I have, in dark moods, viewed and logged every type of erythema, keratinosis, pre-melanomic lesion, liver spot, eczema, wart, papular cyst, potbelly, femoral cellulite, varicosity, collagen and silicone enhancement, bad tint, hair transplants that have not taken — i.e. I have seen nearly naked a lot of people I would prefer not to have seen nearly naked. I have felt as bleak as I’ve felt since puberty, and have filled almost three Mead notebooks trying to figure out whether it was Them or Just Me.”

—Davie Foster Wallace, on cruise vacations in “A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again” (via savingpaper)

Sadly true.