Fantastic Voyage

It’s not really a ‘bucket list’.  You know, the list of stuff you want to do before you die.  But there’s no shortage of people places and things i’d like to experience before i check into the big dirt hotel.  i got my SCUBA certification on Labor Day weekend, 2006 to celebrate my divorce.  Coincidently the same day that dearly lanced and departed Steve Irwin suffered the indignity of a stinger through the heart….

When people ask “why”, i’ve got a litany of perfectly fine answers.  “Two-thirds of the Earth is covered by water, and i need to be able to get there”, or “i’ve always dreamed of diving with the Whale Sharks – 45 foot long, plankton-eating mega-sushi!” or “i need a ‘return-to-the-womb’ experience so maybe i can start over and get it right this time…”

Nope.  None of those started it.  It was because of this movie: Fantastic Voyage.  And more specifically, the vision of Raquel Welch in that white, zip-front wetsuit.  Hot science babe, shrunk in a submarine with her science posse, traversing the body of some creepy bald dude.  Got no idea why it marked me, but it did. 

It looked better after the white corpuscles gnawed on it a bit...

It looked better after the white corpuscles gnawed on it a bit...

While rooting through the local dive shop, doing a little shopping, i was discouraged to learn that not only did they have no white wetsuits, but all suits are now designed to zip up the back.  Shit.  A nearly audible pop as the fantasy ruptured.  i found a 3mm shorty that will suffice.  But i’m wondering if the Dive Master will get pissed off if i wear it backwards?

Bring on the dogfish...

Bring on the dogfish...

i’m skipping town in a few days for a dive trip to Mexico.  My first time in salt water, looking at fish that are not a dingy shade of brown… Drift diving, which means you gear up, jump out of a boat, sink to the desired depth, and let the current carry you along.  Theoretically, when you’re done, you ascend and there is a boat waiting to take you back to shore for fruity cocktails and a poolside siesta. 

i can guarantee that in my mind i won’t be poolside.  i will be strapped into my miniature research submarine, anxiously hoping that the creepy bald dude can work up some tears and cry me the fuck out of his head before i return to normal size…