If you’ve ever wondered what it would be like to live the Jimmy Buffett lifestyle, consider a place where your top concern is running out of salt or tequila. Jimmy Buffett didn’t simply sing about margaritas and cheeseburgers; he made them into their own food groups. In fact, some physicians are arguing whether “Parrothead” is indeed a bona fide medical condition, one usually diagnosed following massive exposure to Hawaiian shirts and compulsive conga lines.
Jimmy’s concerts are no more music performances than they are tropical-themed family reunions in which no one recalls anyone else’s name but everyone is carrying an inflatable parrot. It’s the only place where someone will spill a drink on your flip-flops, give you a cheeseburger as an apology and you’ll both agree it’s just another day in paradise. If you listen closely, you’ll hear the noise of thousands of blenders humming together in perfect pitch, a veritable concert of frozen potions, everyone a lifeline.
One person looks for the meaning of life in philosophy books, and another seeks it in silent meditation. There you had it, fans of Jimmy Buffett didn’t search for lost time but only for their lost shaker of salt. It’s really a spiritual trip, one minute you’re philosophizing about why you’re wasting away in Margaritaville, and the next minute you’re truly wondering how a cheeseburger could ever taste so good in paradise. Who needs enlightenment? We just want a hammock, an icy drink, and perhaps a good ukulele solo.
The high priest of this sunburned flock, of course, is Jimmy Buffett, who leads them in the sacred rites of song, sway, and, yes, every once in a while, celebratory limbo dancing. He’s living proof that you don’t have to take life too seriously, who cares, when you’ve got good friends and an operational blender, every hour’s happy hour? So, here’s to Jimmy, the only guy who could make losing your shaker of salt seem like the ultimate adventure.
