Changes in latitudes

I told you yesterday that I was heading off for some Jimmy Buffett-style fun, but even I couldn’t have predicted the Margaritaville geek I would become. Decked out in our flowered leis, flip flops and other Parrot Head goodies, we rocked out with a group of random friends that kept growing as the night went on.

This concert sold out twelve minutes after tickets went on sale. No kidding. Yet, it was as if every person I’ve ever met somehow happened to be there, wandering past our group of blankets on the lawn.

And it was a good thing too. I didn’t bring my ID because in my pre-concert frenzy, I didn’t want to carry much and decided against bringing a purse. I thought about it on the way there, but didn’t worry too much. Hey, I’m over thirty. Well, I must have looked especially youthful and dewy last night because for awhile, I couldn’t get served to save my life. Evidently, telling beer vendors that, “I’m over 21. Really!” isn’t as convincing as one would like. So this concert really was like the Buffett concerts back in college, where I had to run around with cash, asking folks to buy me a beer.

Jimmy Buffett was brilliant, as always. He sang some great new songs and a lot of the classics – Cheeseburger in Paradise, Son of a Sailor, Fins (of course), Pencil Thin Mustache, although that one made my husband a bit sad, as he’d planned on growing one, but had to shave it for a big client meeting. But he looked wonderful in the grass skirt I found for him. My friend Vickie wore this huge, obnoxious parrot pin I gave her at least a dozen years ago.

And I can’t tell you how many people I talked with last night who have been traveling to Chicago every year to see Jimmy. We can only hope it won’t take him another eight years to make it back to St. Louis.

It’s these changes in latitudes, changes in attitudes,
Nothing remains quite the same.
With all of our running and all of our cunning,
If we couldn’t laugh, we would all go insane.

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