Delayed Vacation Blogging (Part I): If Scarborough Doesn't Care, Why Should You?

If you love Joe Scarborough as much as I do, you'll know that he's been almost obsessed with the disappearance of young white men as with the disappearance of young white women. (Why is Scarborough's soul so preoccupied with these sorts of unsolved mysteries? Well, this incredibly strange Wikipedia entry may not settle the hash anytime soon, but it offers something like a hint.)

Regardless, I mention Scarborough only because — unlike the unfortunate liquor store heir George Smith IV — when I went on a Mediterranean cruise last month, I did not mysteriously vanish somewhere between Greece and Turkey after a night of gambling and reckless bacchanalia. Happily, as of this writing my wife is under no suspicion of having caused my blood-speckled disappearance, and Joe Scarborough has wasted exactly zero minutes of valuable cable news time on the vital question of which nation might take time out from waging civil war (Liberia, where the ship was registered) or sucking up to the EU (Turkey, in whose waters the vile crime transpired) to give a toasted shit about the circumstances under which I devolved to fish food.

So I survived my cruise without being murdered.

Believe me — I'm as surprised as the next person, but it's the small victories that make life bearable.

(Tomorrow's Topic: "Cabin stewards of the world, unite! You have nothing to lose but your congested sleeping quarters, your 11-hour shifts, and your $50 monthly salary!")