Bo was the piano player on our cruise through the Panama Canal and, boy, did he ever play the part. He caught my wife, Gwynne’s, attention the first time we heard him, and we went back every time he played. He was young, Polynesian, talented, and funny; there’s no better combination. Bo knew he was a chick magnet; he would take breaks so that his adoring audience could take a photo with him laying across his piano. It was too gay for me but Gwynne was all about Bo.
Bo would tell about his life between songs, pretending to talk to his mother on his cell phone, and he would often ad-lib little quips; for example when the guitar player, who was a real charmer, would drink with the audience during breaks, Bo would sing “my mama always said, you shouldn’t fraternize with the passengers or you’ll get fired.” There was also a song-guessing contest portion: Bo mimicked a giant scrotum, and I said, “balls” quietly to myself, but Gwynne yelled out, “Great Balls of Fire!” and won a cheap magnet from the Caribbean for answering the question correctly. Gwynne put it on the refrigerator when we got home.
p.s. The definition of irony: our table mates were an older Danish couple who’ve run a restaurant for 20 years but they’ve never had lobster, and didn’t try it even when we ordered some.
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