Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Adventures In Margaritaville, Pt 1
Another Parrot Grande has come and gone, taking with it about 12,ooo,ooo,ooo brain cells. And those were just mine. If we tried to count all the brain cells that died out last weekend at the Francisco Grande, we'd need one of those NASA computers that does all the figgerin' for all the big hunks of metal we send hurtling into outer space.
Thursday, TFMCD and I headed down there when she got out of the ol' salt mine. A few people were already half in the bag, and I wasted no time playing catch up. Of course, it was my birthday. That meant that everyone felt obligated to buy me a shot, mostly of Patron. Things were just getting going good when, Casa Grande being what it is, we got the infamous Last Call For Alcohol at about 9:45PM. As we headed back to the hotel, I could see the locals dutifully rolling up the sidewalks and preparing to go to bed.
Not the Parrotheads. No way.
We just moved our party up to the palatial accommodations of The Goat and Jello Shot Queen, who had paid the extra cost and got themselves upgraded to a penthouse. We continued slurping beer and frozen concoctions, until some genius suggested I go get my guitar. Hell, it might have been me......I'm not sure.
This created one of those "good news/bad news" situations. See, the bad news is I only started playing guitar a couple of months ago. I can play a lot of chords, but stringing more than one in a row together so as to actually create music still eludes my talents. That's where the good news comes in: Everybody was either too drunk, too rowdy, too incoherent, too loud, or any combination of the aforementioned to really give a shit what kind of noise emanated from my guitar. We would have sang Why Don't We Get Drunk And Screw while accompanied by an electronic remote-controlled fart machine, and thought we sounded like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Though I doubt that particular piece of music resides anywhere in there repertoire.
Somewhere along the way, I looked up and saw a handsome young couple standing there hand in hand, having a drink and watching the proceedings with a sense of wonderment found only in the very young, when seeing some phenomenon they have never before encountered. Turns out they were newlyweds, spending their honeymoon at the Francisco Grande. Of course, that begs the question:
What the hell were you thinking, coming HERE for a honeymoon? Was Hawaii closed?
If I understood correctly, these young folks had eloped. A bunch of drunken Parrotheads had just learned of their marriage before the happy couple's own parents. I can only hope that they learned something up there that night: Grow old together, but not up.
Anyway, things wound down at the Goat Place much too late. Friday was a Parrot Grande work day for everyone.....a BIG one. And there was plenty of booze left to drink.
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Thursday, TFMCD and I headed down there when she got out of the ol' salt mine. A few people were already half in the bag, and I wasted no time playing catch up. Of course, it was my birthday. That meant that everyone felt obligated to buy me a shot, mostly of Patron. Things were just getting going good when, Casa Grande being what it is, we got the infamous Last Call For Alcohol at about 9:45PM. As we headed back to the hotel, I could see the locals dutifully rolling up the sidewalks and preparing to go to bed.
Not the Parrotheads. No way.
We just moved our party up to the palatial accommodations of The Goat and Jello Shot Queen, who had paid the extra cost and got themselves upgraded to a penthouse. We continued slurping beer and frozen concoctions, until some genius suggested I go get my guitar. Hell, it might have been me......I'm not sure.
This created one of those "good news/bad news" situations. See, the bad news is I only started playing guitar a couple of months ago. I can play a lot of chords, but stringing more than one in a row together so as to actually create music still eludes my talents. That's where the good news comes in: Everybody was either too drunk, too rowdy, too incoherent, too loud, or any combination of the aforementioned to really give a shit what kind of noise emanated from my guitar. We would have sang Why Don't We Get Drunk And Screw while accompanied by an electronic remote-controlled fart machine, and thought we sounded like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Though I doubt that particular piece of music resides anywhere in there repertoire.
Somewhere along the way, I looked up and saw a handsome young couple standing there hand in hand, having a drink and watching the proceedings with a sense of wonderment found only in the very young, when seeing some phenomenon they have never before encountered. Turns out they were newlyweds, spending their honeymoon at the Francisco Grande. Of course, that begs the question:
What the hell were you thinking, coming HERE for a honeymoon? Was Hawaii closed?
If I understood correctly, these young folks had eloped. A bunch of drunken Parrotheads had just learned of their marriage before the happy couple's own parents. I can only hope that they learned something up there that night: Grow old together, but not up.
Anyway, things wound down at the Goat Place much too late. Friday was a Parrot Grande work day for everyone.....a BIG one. And there was plenty of booze left to drink.
