Thirty years on the ships.

Neither of these normal-looking people in their mid- to late-thirties has a home outside of the ships.

Barry is the small fellow, the big guy is trombonist Rob. Each of them has about 15 years at this game. Think of it: 15 years of living in the space of a closet.

They have storage spaces and take their mail at their parents' addresses.

Maybe I got too late to thier game. I have a spouse, a couple grown kids who I went through parenthood with, a mortgage, pets, and and a thousand lumps of life these knuckleheads will never know as long as they take long contracts with cruise ship companies.

When gigs started interfering with life, that was it for me. Now I'm back at it. These two don't realize there's another alternative life out there.

For me, I know there is life out there, and the skill of integrating the polarities of life with the gig is where you show if you have the finesse to pull it off. Otherwise, you're just a cog in somebody's machine.

I like these guys, but I know my limits don't extend to their way of life. They stay up all night drinking in the ward room. When they run out of things to say they talk about they folks who don't. And that's the saddest thing of all.