I’ll tell you what’s funny. What’s funny is that because of my first serious boyfriend, I totally abhor Jimmy Buffet. The guy seriously worshipped Buffet, and it made me hate everything about him. He – the boyfriend, not Jimmy Buffet – named his car after Buffet’s daughter. He named his dog JB. He liked to talk about how one day he’d give it all up and sail around the Caribbean like some weird cross between Buffet himself and Tom Cruise in Cocktails. He wore hawaiian shirts like they were ever a good idea.
It made me HATE JIMMY BUFFET by extension. I still think Parrotheads are mentally disturbed, obsessed with a man that’s not actually as much of a “free-spirit” as they seem desperately to believe he is. Do we even KNOW if Buffet was ever any kind of sailor, ever? Or did anything but visit Key West that one time and write crappy songs about it, forever to be played in hotel bars anywhere near a beach, but otherwise with no inherent musical VALUE whatsoever? The ex-boyfriend, apparently, is still a Parrothead. And I am still a Jimmy Buffet hater. But that’s not what’s funny.
What’s funny is that I’m going on vacation in a month to the very place that Cheeseburger in Paradise was apparently born.
Bring on the endless renditions of Margaritaville. With tinny drums. And a Parrothead on the mike, living the “dream”. If a rash of Buffet is what it takes to get a slice of paradise in Eleuthera, AHOY ME HEARTIES, I’m in.
* ten points and a shaker of salt to anyone who knows what this is referring to.
son of a SON OF A BITCH*
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i want that shaker of salt… is it some sort of weird mixture of Son of a Son of a Sailor by JB and Hair of the Dog by Nazareth? and by the way, thanks, I’ve got both songs stuck in my head now…
You dated a Parrothead? Did you lose a bet or something?
One of the depressing things about being a college teacher is watching Jimmy Buffet-esque behaviors emerge from their cocoons every spring. Pseudo-drunk sing-a-longs, a lot of “I’m a free spirit, damnit!” talks by the freshmen, and yes, oh, yes, the hawaiian shirts.
All of this for a man who is about as spontaneous in performance as the Bolshoi Ballet.
I might as well have lost a bet, Simon, for all me and the Parrothead had in common. At the time we were dating, I wanted to be the editor-in-chief of the New York Times. He wanted to be the Camel Guy. Life paths = not convergent.
a pirate! son of a son of a pirate!
The opening to Carly Simon’s “You’re So Vain” – that almost-whispered part in the beginning, before she launches into song?
euh … i always kinda liked jimmy buffet.
ok, shutting up now.
very cool post. i hope you have a great vacation.
No, Becky was right. It’s a buffet song, “son of a son of a sailor”. It’s funnier my way.
Heh. I harbor a strong dislike of David Bowie for very similar reasons.
Yeah, I have the same issue with Kate Bush for the same reasons. I hate that red-shoed wench.
Strange. I still listen to Ravi Shankar every day, my ex-boyfriend mostly made me just hate my ex-boyfriend.
son of a son of a sailor.
I don’t hate Buffett (but I am having a hard time believing you dated someone who called their car Savannah).
Anyway — I think Buffett lives on an island somewhere and actually I think he does sail. But I’m no Buffistorian.
well, hot damn that brings back memories. and come on, he made it halfway there, so lets give him some credit. and doesn’t he read your blog? So… Hey Un-Named Ex, remember me? your next ex? drop me a line, and i have to say, i just got back from a pirate cruise in the carribean, and i now have a new appreciation for his ill-timed dream, because, now, i want to run away and be a pirate…
Yeah, I hate the Grateful Dead for the very same reasons. My first boyfriend was (and still is, mind you) very, very much in love with the Dead. “Touch of Grey” makes me want to hurl things at the radio. For all their peace-loving, hippy dippy image, no band makes me so violent or leap to change the radio station so fast.
Well, a trip to the Caribbean in late fall/winter is never a bad thing, right?
I have a sort-of-along-the-same-lines hatred of Jimmy Buffet story. For about 9 months I worked in a Karoake bar and every.single.night SOMEONE decided that it would be great fun to sing Margaritaville. Because it would just make sense, it being a bar and all and because, of course, no one had ever thought of that before them. To this day whenever I hear Jimmy Buffet I heard god awful karoake singing of that horrid song and drunks waving their glasses in the air.