Working on the Rovox R-100 "Titanic"

I was tasked with assembling the Rovox R-100 model of the ship RMS "Titanic." This is exciting - the first time I've assembled a ship model since a Viking ship model when I was about ten years old. 

Verisimilitude was very important with the Viking ship model. It had to look just like it was Leif Ericksen's own ship. The Titanic model is more conceptual, though; it doesn't really resemble the real ship. Nevertheless, there is great detail in what's present: a stateroom, an ordinary guest room, a salon at the bottom of the grand staircase, and a bridge. It even has a music box that plays a tune that I can't identify. I hope it's "My Heart Will Go On." 

Tonight, I completed the external shell of the ship, including the LEDs that light the interiors. The assembly instructions wanted me to put together all the furniture first before getting to the structure of the ship, but I said no. That would involve using my large and stubby fingers to put tiny candles in candleholders, glue together and upholster the furniture, assemble floral arrangements, tack down teacups, and do lots of other fine and tedious tasks first. I said no: give me the ship first. 

There have been some mishaps. When I put together the ordinary guest room I failed to remove a couple of plastic strips that I was using for braces. So, these strips are now trapped in the room. They are apparently model surfboards. But why would any travelers on the Titanic have surfboards? 

About 12 years ago, I read an article in the Wall Street Journal about the extreme sport of wintertime surfing along the coast of Maine. Surfers pour scalding water into their neoprene suits for maybe ten minutes of totally-tubular frigid fun in the rocking waters of the wintertime Atlantic (before frostbite sets in). I figure these surfboards belonged to a couple of intrepid Hawaiian surfers who, had not the sinking occurred, would have introduced America to this enjoyable extreme sport a century earlier. 

Even though the Rovox R-100 is not a scale model, I like to pretend it is. Somehow the Titanic was released from its Belfast berth without a port side. It traveled almost all the way to Newfoundland without a visible means of propulsion. The stateroom lacked a front wall (so one could admire the giant bed), which admitted a constant stiff gale and sometimes rain, which is just what guests love while trying to sleep on transatlantic crossings. No lifeboats, of course. It's enough to make Leif Ericksen shake his head. 

Next, it's time to assemble the furniture.