Finz Up!

I'm getting psyched! This Saturday is the one day a year I really look forward to. The Prophet of the Parrots is ascending on Chicagoland this weekend. James W. Buffett will be performing this Saturday and next at Toyota Park, our newest stadium.

I know, I know, Jimmy Buffett is a niche artist. Yes, he's the middle-class Midwestern white workin' man's idol. He represents what we all want to be, the guy who escaped - who went on a permanent vacation to the tropics. He's a guy who looks for snow on holiday because he spends a good majority of his life in paradise. He sails, he flies, his life, as he once wrote, is "a mixture of reggaes and tangos." Of course that's said tongue planted firmly in cheek, as he's still a man, with a wife and kids and real life. But yeah, to the outsider he's made it look like a pretty phenomenal life. And has said for the most part it has been. That's why we, the fans, the "Parrotheads" love him so much and yes, aspire to be like him . . . or at least grasp a tiny part of that lifestyle he's selling.

In many cases is a polarizing subject. People you ask often either love him or hate him. But the truth is, most people don’t even know him. They know that one song. The one about the frozen tequila based cocktail. And they damn well should. It's a great song. And it's really a mystery and an amazing success story. That song was allegedly one of those "ten minute" wonders, and it's turned into an industry for Mr. Buffett. Let's face it, until the early 00's and his resurgence to the charts (albeit on the Country side where he started and failed back in the early 70's) Buffett was a top-grossing summer act for over 20 years on the strength of one song. He was a "one hit wonder" making tens of millions of dollars a year, because of one song. One song, and an image.

I've heard Margaritaville probably a million and a half times, and it still stirs the Peter Pan in my soul. Or maybe I should say my inner-Captain Hook!

But true Parrot heads know there's so much more than one song. There's a catalog of great music that the mainstream hasn't heard. Buffett, who doesn't have the greatest voice and claims to only know 3 chords, is an incredible songwriter. He's put out more songs that move me and makeup the soundtrack to my life than U2, the Beatles, you name it. And beyond that, he's an "Entertainer." He's a showman. He's James Taylor, Bob Marley, Harry Nilsson, P.T. Barnum, Walt Disney, and Louie Prima all rolled into one.
And I'll happily keep supporting him as long as he'll keep putting out more and rolling through town every summer. I'll even tolerate the beer-soaked frat boys who come every summer that only know that one song, maybe two, who treat it as an outdoor summer kegger, and the scalpers who've driven up ticket prices so high I won't tell you what I paid.

Jimmy has said publicly from the pulpit, I mean stage, "I'm spending your money foolishly." And we all applaud. At the end of the day, that's what we want him to do with our money, because alone we can't do it ourselves. We want a hero whose flying seaplanes, drinking rum and eating lobster by a turquoise sea with his feet in white sands. A troubador and International Man of Mystery who is as welcome in Jamaica and St. Bart's as he is in Palm Beach, Florida and Cincinnati, Ohio.
We live for the tales of being mistaken for a drug smuggler and being shot at by machine guns off the coast of Negril (ok that kinda contradicts the "welcome in Jamaica" part . . . but the government later apologized!)

Jimmy says in his book A Pirate Looks at Fifty, as a teen he was asked in school, "what are you going to do with your life?" And his response was "Try to live a pretty interesting one."

He's a man who has clearly accomplished that goal. Howard Stern isn't the King of All Media. Jimmy Buffett is. Top selling musician, best-selling author, movie producer, restauranteur. Nice work if you can get it. Sure beats spending your life in a cubicle.

So this Saturday, you'll find me field level, drink in hand, slapping beach balls across the sea of people, singing along with every song. The originals, the covers, the hit(s), and the one's only 5 of us in the crowd know. And trying to steal my little piece of that charmed, sun tanned life.

And no, I don't wear coconut shells. Well, not at the beginning of the evening anyway!

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-8622802860572314949&ei=nZV5Ssi6HaWUrALCuZxg&q=Jimmy+Buffett+-+Here+We+Are&hl=en

Who would have thought this game, this flame would still be burning
Who would have guessed that all these blenders would still be churning
Not even we on our bended knees could have ever blessed it
Not even I with my head in the sky could have ever guessed it

But here we are, for a family reunion, costume barbeque
All the black sheep, family outcasts, and a freak or two

No the hat tricks and the gold bricks still don't have us down
Still a party, we are the hearty when we come to town
You're still grinning and we're still winning, nothing left to say
I'm still gliding as I go flying down this endless wave

And here we are, we're the offbeat Uncle Freds who spill their wine on you
And the in-your-face Aunt Rachels with an attitude
All the ones that use your bathroom then eat all your food
We're the dreamy Deadheads who just like us and Dave Matthews

Here we are, maybe it's because in spite of all the work we do
It's the child in us we really value

Here we are, with our fins up and our feathers flashing
Here we are, with our coconut shell brassieres chanting