It’s the dead of winter in Houston, Texas and you’d think – given our other “season,” which is HOT - we’d appreciate this burst of arctic air. Then along comes the concert announcement that sends everyone’s head spinning like a margarita blender into a beachy, sunshine attitude: Jimmy Buffett is coming!
I love Jimmy Buffett. I’m a Parrot Head. I want a job where I can sing great songs, make people happy, travel the world and indulge my writing talent. How did I miss THAT major in college?
I remember the “Urban Cowboy” soundtrack, where “some guy named Buffett” sang a great dance song called “Hello, Texas!” There were concerts at G. Rollie White Coliseum in College Station, TX – concerts that required road trips to Houston to purchase Hawaiian shirts. The Hawaiian shirts made the trip to Ft. Lauderdale, where I saw him at Miami’s South Beach during Spring Break – right before we very thankfully decided to forego the tattoo.
In adult years (if you can call them that as I wear a straw hat with parrots, Mardi Gras beads and a cheeseburger on top of it), I’ve seen him inside and outside – at the old Summit in Houston as well as at the beautiful outdoor venue, Mitchell Pavilion. I’ve spilled beer on others and had the same returned to me. I’ve had a conga line trample the pizza our group was sharing. I know how to do the “Fins” dance and I don’t know where I’m-a-gonna go when the Volcano blows.
I’ve lived vicariously through several of his novels (yes, in case you didn’t know he’s also an author). I am pretty sure that Berkshire-Hathaway financial guru Warren Buffett secretly wishes they were related. His songs occupy a significant memory load on my i-Pod. I haven’t bought tickets to the concert in May yet, but plan to do that as soon as I finish looking for my lost shaker of salt!
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