March 4: Days of Preparation, Oscar Night, Rotel Dip

A day or two passed, and there was great activity aboard the Pequod. Not only were the old sails being mended, but new sails were coming on board, and bolts of canvas, and coils of rigging; in short, everything betokened that the ship's preparations were hurrying to a close. Captain Peleg seldom or never went ashore, but sat in his wigwam keeping a sharp look-out upon the hands: Bildad did all the purchasing and providing at the stores; and the men employed in the hold and on the rigging were working till long after night-fall.

On the day following Queequeg's signing the articles, word was given at all the inns where the ship's company were stopping, that their chests must be on board before night, for there was no telling how soon the vessel might be sailing. So Queequeg and I got down our traps, resolving, however, to sleep ashore till the last. But it seems they always give very long notice in these cases, and the ship did not sail for several days. But no wonder; there was a good deal to be done, and there is no telling how many things to be thought of, before the Pequod was fully equipped.

Every one knows what a multitude of things- beds, sauce-pans, knives and forks, shovels and tongs, napkins, nut-crackers, and what not, are indispensable to the business of housekeeping. Just so with whaling, which necessitates a three-years' housekeeping upon the wide ocean, far from all grocers, costermongers, doctors, bakers, and bankers. And though this also holds true of merchant vessels, yet not by any means to the same extent as with whalemen. For besides the great length of the whaling voyage, the numerous articles peculiar to the prosecution of the fishery, and the impossibility of replacing them at the remote harbors usually frequented, it must be remembered, that of all ships, whaling vessels are the most exposed to accidents of all kinds, and especially to the destruction and loss of the very things upon which the success of the voyage most depends. Hence, the spare boats, spare spars, and spare lines and harpoons, and spare everythings, almost, but a spare Captain and duplicate ship.

At the period of our arrival at the Island, the heaviest storage of the Pequod had been almost completed; comprising her beef, bread, water, fuel, and iron hoops and staves. But, as before hinted, for some time there was a continual fetching and carrying on board of divers odds and ends of things, both large and small.

Chief among those who did this fetching and carrying was Captain Bildad's sister, a lean old lady of a most determined and indefatigable spirit, but withal very kindhearted, who seemed resolved that, if she could help it, nothing should be found wanting in the Pequod, after once fairly getting to sea. At one time she would come on board with a jar of pickles for the steward's pantry; another time with a bunch of quills for the chief mate's desk, where he kept his log; a third time with a roll of flannel for the small of some one's rheumatic back. Never did any woman better deserve her name, which was Charity- Aunt Charity, as everybody called her. And like a sister of charity did this charitable Aunt Charity bustle about hither and thither, ready to turn her hand and heart to anything that promised to yield safety, comfort, and consolation to all on board a ship in which her beloved brother Bildad was concerned, and in which she herself owned a score or two of well-saved dollars.

But it was startling to see this excellent hearted Quakeress coming on board, as she did the last day, with a long oil-ladle in one hand, and still longer whaling lance in the other. Nor was Bildad himself nor Captain Peleg at all backward. As for Bildad, he carried about with him a long list of the articles needed, and at every fresh arrival, down went his mark opposite that article upon the paper. Every once in a while Peleg came hobbling out of his whalebone den, roaring at the men down the hatchways, roaring up to the riggers at the mast-head, and then concluded by roaring back into his wigwam.

During these days of preparation, Queequeg and I often visited the craft, and as often I asked about Captain Ahab, and how he was, and when he was going to come on board his ship. To these questions they would answer, that he was getting better and better, and was expected aboard every day; meantime, the two captains, Peleg and Bildad, could attend to everything necessary to fit the vessel for the voyage. If I had been downright honest with myself, I would have seen very plainly in my heart that I did but half fancy being committed this way to so long a voyage, without once laying my eyes on the man who was to be absolute dictator of it, so soon as the ship sailed out upon the open sea. But when a man suspects any wrong, it sometimes happens that if he be already involved in the matter, he insensibly strives to cover up his suspicions even from himself. And much this way it was with me. I said nothing, and tried to think nothing.

At last it was given out that some time next day the ship would certainly sail. So next morning, Queequeg and I took a very early start.

Ahab still has not made an appearance, twenty chapters into the novel.  In fact, we are still on land.  The Pequod is being outfitted for the three-year voyage.  New sails.  Writing quills.  Pickles.  It takes a long time to stock up.  Days and days.  In the mean time, Ishmael and Queequeg wait to lay eyes on their future captain, and Ishmael is battling serious doubts and suspicions about the whole affair.

Welcome to one of my favorite days of the year:  Oscar day.  That's right.  Since I was a kid, I haven't missed a single Oscar broadcast.  That's over forty years of "And the Oscar goes to . . ."  I've seen Faye Dunaway try to give the Best Picture Oscar to the wrong movie.  Sally Field gush, "You really like me!"  Jack Palance do one-armed pushups.  Jane Fonda collect her father's Oscar for On Golden Pond.  I've seen it all, from about 1976, when John Williams won for Jaws, which I wasn't allowed to see until it was rereleased in the 1980s.

So, like Bildad and Peleg getting the Pequod ready, I am currently preparing for tonight's show.  On Thursday, I made up the ballots for my family to fill out.  I've done my research, have my choices.  My wife is currently shopping at Walmart for some snacks.  When I'm done typing this post, I will fill out my ballot.  As I write these words, I'm watching some pre-Oscar broadcasts.  It's like the Super Bowl pregame for all of us movie nerds.

I'm pretty much ready now.  Funny thing is that I sort turn into Ahab when it comes to watching the Oscars.  I yell at people who talk to loud.  Tell people to sit down, shut up.  I like the political speeches.  The stupid production numbers.  All the tiny categories, where the winners stand on the stage and realize that they will never have a better moment in their lives.  Ever.  (It would be like me winning some special Nobel Prize in Literature for blogging.  To paraphrase Jack Nicholson in one of his Oscar-winning performances, "This is as good as it gets.")

I am going to say nothing deep and meaningful this afternoon, because today is all about shallowness and bubblegum.  I've been dealing enough with serious shit these last few weeks.  I'm ready for a little lightness.  And some Rotel dip.  Definitely Rotel dip.

So, Saint Marty is thankful today for the Oscars and The Shape of Water and Rotel dip.  Did Saint Marty mention he likes Rotel dip?