I'm visiting my sister's place in Tampa, and just went outside to see if I could find a stick of butter at the local convenience store. Well, "convenience" is probably a stretch, as anyone paying more than $3 for one stick of butter might consider themselves inconvenienced, but the "store" part of its name still stood with its integrity intact.

Anyways, the goose-like honk of a cruise ship rang out when I exited her building. Hearing honks a bit (a big bit) louder than car horns occurs on a regular basis here next to the bay-- and unless you have consistently steel nerves, you are never ready for those blasts. As I looked up at the cruise ship, I couldn't help but wonder at two things: first, that the boat looked like it was heading straight for the island I stood on (ahhh!), and second, only the testosterone-saturated brain of a man must could have dreamed up something that big. The sheer size floored me ("roaded" me, I guess, as I was on asphalt), and seemed somehow. . . unnecessary.

I'll never understand that desire to make things huge, so the most I can guess is that some are born with it and I am not one of them. A standard kayak (a very adept boat style for boats, rivers, and oceans) rings in at 18 feet in length, 100 times shorter than the world's largest cruise ship. But, try to hang a chandelier or place an entry staircase in a kayak and the hassle will surely lead you to decide the bigger boat is worth the $1.4 billion dollar investment. Some creature comforts are worth a pretty penny, eh? And if that also could prove your dominance over the oceans and technology combined, think of how many territorial pees you could save.