I'll readily admit something, I'm not a huge Jimmy Buffett fan. I like several of his songs, but I'm by no means a Parrot Head. There is something wrong with a grown-man wearing an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and flip-flops, drunkenly dancing around Lakewood listening to music about life on the sea...when you're at LAKEWOOD! Even worse are the women who readily lift their shirts to these goons. Chances are these women are hearkening back to life 20-30 years ago when their boobs didn't look like a tennis ball in a tube-sock.
Anyway, my point being I just got back from 4 days at Tybee Island and my radio was mostly glued to Jimmy Buffett's Margaritaville station on XM. That seems to be the only time I'm patient enough to listen to Jimmy's B-Sides and not mind. Chillaxin on the beach with beer in hand...nothing else like it.
I ate my weight in shellfish and ceremoniously downed my share of raw oysters at Uncle Bubba's.
Where else but at the beach would anyone feel perfectly comfortable eating something that looks like this?
It was tough to leave, but I take solace in knowing the only way to sustain that type of life would be to constantly deal with Hurricanes, Tourists, Sand Gnats (not the baseball team), D-Bag Spring Breakers, and the lack of a decent BBQ restaurant. Also, the wife and I noticed there never seems to be a shortage of glassy-eyed, sun-burned, rednecks (redundant?) drunkenly swearing up a storm and hollering at the women they rode in on. I'm used to this in the Gulf, but I expected a little less around the Atlantic...my mistake.
Back to work and the daily grind, lots to catch-up with so light posting this week...but seriously would you expect anything else?!? It's May for Pete's sake!