Parrotheads Flock

After my last post about my adventure in Tijuana with a parrot many years ago, it was somehow appropriate to join a gazillion parrotheads at Jimmy Buffett's concert in Irvine last night. Doing the parrothead thing has become an annual tradition for Gary and me. We especially enjoy the "pre-show" in the parking lot where thousands of adults make complete idiots of themselves in the name of Margaritaville. The legendary "RV area" was in fine form again last night featuring "shooters for hooters" and a souped up golf cart with blenders ablaze on the back, making margaritas to give to anyone who would show an I.D. and a "private" body part.

Inside the amphitheater, things were a bit more tame, although security was called - as it is every year - to smooth over a fight because drunken parrotheads refused to remove big hats that were blocking the view of the more sober folks behind them. Our section was colorful. We had the dude with the parrot on his head, pictured here, as well as Nan, Ron & Marilyn, also pictured. One of my favorite moments came when Nan was trying to engage Ron in a parrothead dance, but he was too pre-occupied trying to get the basketball game score. Fourth generation Coloradoan Gary, in one of his more serious moods for a Buffett event, lightened up considerably after learning the Denver Nuggets had beaten the Lakers.

Heard all my favorite tunes, plus some new ones. Loved the one about surfing in a hurricane! The best part of the concert for me probably went unnoticed by most of the crowd. It was old film footage on the big screen of Jimmy on the boat he owned when I was living in St. Thomas back in 1978-79. He was staying on his sailboat in a slip at the marina where I worked as Executive Director of the Virgin Islands Charteryacht League. My office was right on the dock and I would say hi to him almost every day when I walked to work. He always greeted me. I remember he had lots of wavy "dirty blonde" hair. He was a babe. This had to be right around the time he struck it rich with "Margaritaville" because I recall singing it in the Crow's Nest Bar that was above my office on the dock. Jimmy, the "son of a son of a sailor," was alone most days, and he did his own sanding and varnishing. Occasionally he would sit in the cockpit and play his guitar.

I'm glad I did my retirement in reverse. Those priceless days of living on a boat, spending lunch hours snorkeling off Water Island in Charlotte Amalie Harbor, joining friends on their boats for pina coladas at sunset, swimming naked at Christmas Cove, and listening to a famous pirate make music dockside are invaluable memories today as I face the reality of working until I leave the planet. They actually give me the strength to carry on and enjoy everything while it lasts...