Parrothead Ramblings

Gee. I wonder what song they were playing when this photo was snapped.....

Man, does MOTM and Margaritaville know how to throw a party or what? They block off Duval Street at Fleming and Southard, fill it up with Parrotheads and booze vendors, and invite the Coral Reefers to come on down and play their hearts out for like five hours. Of course, of the 3000+ MOTM attendees, about 2,996 of them show up. I'm not sure what happened to those other four. Probably still nursing hangovers.

Of course, the big question was "Will Jimmy be there? Is he gonna show up?" I'm convinced now that the only person who really knew the answer to that question was The Man himself. The Reefers have this all figured out, see: They let the show start out with maybe John Frinzi or one of the other cover artists. Then, they add a Tina for a song or two. Then, maybe Doyle Grisham for another couple of songs, then Mike Utley, on and on until pretty much all of the Reefers have taken the stage for a few minutes. Then out comes Mac. OK, now we're talking! Mac plays a while, then starts to bring the other Coral Reefers back onto stage one at a time until they're all up there. Then of course, what else can they play but It's Five O'Clock Somewhere? Everybody is waiting for the big moment, when Mac will sing

At a moment like this, I can't help but wonder, what would Jimmy Buffett do?

All 2,996 Parrotheads on Duval Street completely expected The Man to walk up on stage at that moment and say "Funny you should ask that, Mac." In fact, we were maybe thirty feet from the stage, and could clearly see Mac and the Reefers at that moment. Here's a news flash:

The Coral Reefers also expected The Man to walk up on stage.

Mac sang his line, paused, looked back at the steps....the whole band glanced back, missed a beat...then being the consummate pros they are, picked up where they left off and finished the song. But I'm convinced they expected The Big Man to show up.

There was only one way to make this a better party. OK, well, two ways with the first being that The Big Man would show up. The other is to sell a beer other than that skunky ol' Corona. I know, I know, they are wonderful sponsors, they do great things, and they provide unmatched support for PHIP. But honestly, their beer kind of sucks. Fortunately, Jack Flats put a sidewalk bar right outside their door, across from Margaritaville, and had a selection. Even better, a phriend in the crowd happened to mention in passing that there was a liquor store about 200' away, just up Fleming. I ran up there and grabbed a 12-pack for what three beers cost on the street. We hammered that one down, then went back for another. Sweet success....

The folks from Radio Margaritaville had a second floor hotel room just above us, and overlooking the stage. They must have brought about a zillion cases of beads, and they never tired of throwing them out their window and into the crowd. They threw nearly as many into the tree right below them, to the point it looked like a Bourbon Street Christmas tree.

It was about this time that Drunk Girl made her appearance. Now, understand that "Drunk Girl" is only an ad hoc Parrothead name. A person can only be a brevet Drunk Girl, so to speak, for the duration of that particular trip or function. In fact, we were forced to award the designation twice more, when Drunk Girls #2 and #3 put in their appearances on Sunday night. The latter two were more like honorariums, but Drunk Girl #1 earned the title the old-fashioned way when she got toasted enough to try and get TFMCD to flash at the street party. You have a better chance of hitting the Powerball just as a meteorite simultaneously destroys your workplace and vaporizes that asshole of a boss of yours while The Big Man announces a private concert in your honor for being "Parrothead Of The Millenium." I suppose it could happen, but it's pretty damned unlikely anywhere but in the seriously beer-influenced mind.

When it was all over, we hit The Meteor for some grub and staggered back to the condo to regroup. The regroup didn't really happen. Drunk Girl and Mr. Bill crashed and burned. Cheap Bastard and Annette went over to the Reach to listen to some more music. TFMCD and I caught up with them there later, but we were simply too exhausted to hang any longer. Props to CB and Annette, who hung in and later reported that the Larry Joe Taylor show was hilarious. Even Larry Joe commented on the skunky Corona when a well-meaning fan brought him one to drink.

Yes, I'll say it before anyone else can:

The Crime Dog couldn't hang. But I hung as long as any other Pirate Looking at 50 in our group.

At least I got that goin' for me.
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