I went to Jimmy Buffett’s concert last Tuesday night in Seattle. Truth be told, I’ve seen him many times before, even in Florida a time or two, until the price of a single ticket soared above $125 and I bailed out of Margaritaville. Yes, there were the cheap “seats” in the lawn. But I have never been one to sit way the hell out in dumb fu** Egypt for anyone, not even Jimmy. And I’m not about to sit on a blanket or bring my own chair, like I’m some homeless guy.
However, I couldn’t resist going to the concert here. First of all, the Janmeister is a Buffett concert virgin, so we had to fix that little problem. Second, the circle of life was such that the stars had so properly aligned that it would have been a sin for me not to go to the concert.
You see, Jimmy’s and my life have parallels in this regard. The very last time I had ever been to a Coral Reefer Concert in Washington State was in 2003. It was Sept. 16 to be exact. Our usual Indian summer had taken an unexpected turn for the worse and was it was unseasonably cold. OK, to the Coral Reefers, it was freezing. For us, well, being good Northwesterners, it was brisk. Instead of the usual 70, it was about 54 at the times of the concert. It didn’t bother us too much, largely because we were dressed up in pirate gear, not a coconut bras and grass skirts.
It’s the last time Jimmy and I would be together in Washington for nine years. As you may know, I left for Florida a short time later, in April of 2004. As I said, it’s not hard to see a Buffett concert down there. I had even seen him in a very personal, low key concert one evening in Margaritaville in Key West. His bodyguard had befriended the goofy pirates performing near his studio and told us to be at the restaurant that night. “Don’t be late,” he said. “You’ll be sorry.”
I had already met Jimmy earlier that day. He was standing outside his studio. The pirate and Jimmy, together alone. The Margaritaville concert was well worth canceling our other plans. It was just Jimmy, Mac, Doyle and a few of the studio musicians, who were putting finishing touches to the Conchy Tonk album.
Seeing Jimmy in Washington was a much more difficult proposition. Even though he promised to come back to the Northwest, it wasn’t Seattle. You can still hear him tell everyone that he’d be back on the CD of the Auburn Live concert.
Only one problem; he didn’t return. For 8 1/2 long years he didn’t come back to Seattle, not until last Tuesday.
Now, I believe in signs. No, not Stop signs, I consider those merely suggestions. But I think I will take credit for the Coral Reefers returning to Seattle this year. It just can’t be a coincidence that in the eight or so years I’ve been gone from the homeland, Jimmy hasn’t stopped here. There must be a connection.
Either he was waiting for me to come to my senses or had finally gotten over that bad review I had written about Landshark Lager. Yes, I bashed Landshark pretty heavily when it came out. For the longest time, my pithy review was everywhere. They have since edited it a bit but basically I called it a step up from drinking goat piss. I know, it sounds kind of harsh. What I really wanted to say was that the goat piss was better, and about the same color.
Thankfully, the phaithful of Jimmy have since come to its aid, writing glowing reports about his beer, which really isn’t his beer at all, but one made by Anheuser Busch, and we all know they don’t really make beer, just colored water with some alcohol tossed in.
I guess it could be the beer bashing, but I prefer to think that it’s because I finally returned home to roost. I mean, how come it’s been 8 1/2 years since both of us have been here? And if he was really mad at me, you’d think he wouldn’t have performed in Florida all those years so that the Parrothead Phaithful would run me out of town, or in this case, the state.
For all those revelers crammed into the Key Arena, you’re welcome. For all those that poured into the bars around the Seattle Center to drink shots of top shelf Patron and margaritas on a cold, fall day, you’re welcome too. I’m sure that if the city kept track of cheeseburger sales they would have soared Tuesday night, thousands upon thousands of cows slaughtered just because I came back to Seattle.
Wait, I’m starting to feel a bit guilty here. Sure, going to a Buffett concert was a blast, even if Ticketmaster put us in the nose-bleed section for whatever reason I can only imagine since I bought my tickets at 10:03 a.m., three minutes into sales (I guess Jimmy really is still holding a bit of a grudge). But was it worth the cost? All that pollution and all those punished livers, not to mention the cow carnage, all because I came back to Seattle.
I am beginning to think that Jimmy did this to me on purpose. I’m sure somewhere his many Margaritaville Minions were combing the Internet, trying to figure out where this Beer Ambassador Robb lived. And once they finally fingered my location, they decided to exact their revenge by having the Coral Reefers return to town. Now all the phrenzied phlock who also happen to be a bunch of eco-Nazis can blame me for depleting our natural resources, increasing pollution and lining their arteries with phat-clogging cholesterol from the all the cheeseburgers, with lettuce and tomato, Heinz 57 and french fried potatoes.
Strangely, I think I can live with that. It’s a small price to pay so that all the Parrotheads of Washington State can get their fix. And sorry Jimmy, Landshark still sucks.
In the Emerald City, just a barefoot child in the rain,
– Robb