Jesus wasn't born on December 25, but Jimmy Buffett was.
My only strong impression of Mr. Buffett is: You couldn't make him up, and if you tried, nobody would believe you.
In the mid-1970's American pop music was pretty much divided between Disco and heavy metal hair bands. Then a crop of musicians started showing up, who sang about real things. Jimmy was one of a dozen. The other guys, they all toil in relative obscurity now, but Jimmy is still here. Boy, is he here!
It's easier to list what he ain't doing, then try cataloging all the pies his fingers are in. I swear, if I read tomorrow Jimmy's about to start a space tourism company, wouldn't be a bit surprised. Bet he'd make money at it too.
Parrothead in Chief writes best selling books, tours packed arenas, cranks out platinum sales CD's on a regular basis. That's just his artsy side though. He also owns a piece of sports teams, beer companies, restaurant chains, real estate empire, charter services, and the list goes on.
I find something intensely admirable in crafting an appeal that speaks to a desire to chuck the 9 to 5 drag and go be a beachbum... and turning it into a billion dollar enterprise. That's really interesting.
Happy birthday Jimmy, you done good hoss. I'll always remember you starting out. Looked and sounded lots like your colleagues, except you had this weird Florida Keys obsession in your songs. Who knew where it'd all lead?
Naw, I don't think you did either Jimmy, not until a ways in anyway. You were just trying to distinguish yourself from the crowd, but it came to dawn on you, there's ore here, and you swung your pick hard.
See, that's a joke, well more a play on words. It's like a guitar player uses a pick but so does a minor. Get it, get it? Oh, never mind!
Every life is visited by a certain share of dumb luck, both good & bad. The way we handle what falls in our laps, or on our noggins, makes all the difference in human affairs.
Kenny Noggins, he was pretty good too, come to think of it. Wonder whatever became of him?
Happy birthday Parrothead, long may you squawk.