Posts Tagged ‘hometown’

Jimmy Buffett continues to be one of the most popular touring acts in America.

I haven’t seen him, despite several invitations. I have no desire to do so.

With no disrespect intended toward Parrotheads – hey, you can turn around and deride me as a Deadhead – I’ve had my fill of Mr. Buffett. I had my fill of him before many Parrotheads were born.

In 1979, I went to work making sandwiches at a bar called Mother’s at the Harrisburg (PA) East Mall. Don’t look for it. Last I knew, it was a Swatara Township Police substation. And the mall is called simply Harrisburg Mall now. And it was under reconstruction at one point, so the police substation probably is gone, too.

Anyway, a couple of guys worked there who were big Jimmy Buffett fans. I didn’t know much about him except for “Margaritaville,” so I listened.

And listened.

They’d hijack the record player whenever possible and put on such albums as “A White Sport Coat and a Pink Crustacean,” “A1A” and “Living and Dying in 3/4 Time.” Then Jimmy released “Volcano,” featuring such fare as the title song and “Fins.” That got a considerable amount of turntable play.

The following summer, I lived with the same guys at the beach in Wildwood, N.J. Hearing Jimmy Buffett a lot at work was one thing. Hearing him nearly 24/7 was another.

The guys did play some other stuff on occasion, including the Grateful Dead’s “Wake of the Flood,” thank goodness. And George Thorogood’s first album. But most of the time, it was Jimmy Buffett.

I don’t know if even a Parrothead could live through that and still want to listen to JB.

Again, no offense. But if I never hear “Cheeseburger in Paradise” again, I’ll be a happy man.

Some people tell horror stories about their first dates.

I pretty much made sure I’d be able to do so: I took my date to see “The Omen.”

That was in the summer of 1976. I’d pestered a good-looking classmate a few times, and she finally agreed to go out with me, probably just so I’d stop calling.

The commercials for the movie starring Gregory Peck looked pretty cool, so I asked if she’d like to go see that. She said she didn’t really care.

So off we went, my dad serving as chauffeur. My date didn’t talk much in the car. Nor in the theater. She just kind of made it clear she didn’t want to be hanging out with me.

After the movie, I asked if she wanted to get something to eat. Of course not. So I dropped a dime into the pay phone, called my dad, and he picked us up.

She got out of the car when she reached her home. I didn’t. Dad promptly yelled at me for not walking her to the door.

My second date, whenever that occurred, went much better. I don’t remember what movie we saw, but it sure as hell wasn’t “The Omen II”!

Afterhours: The girl from the first date ended up on “Survivor” decades later. I’m guessing she remembers nothing about me or our night out …

Associated Listening: “Living the Blues” by Canned Heat (1968)