Little Jim Buffett sat on a tuffet

We went to a farewell barbecue today. The weather was hot and sticky, the food fabulous and plentiful, the conversation lively and interesting. But the best part, by far, was the live music entertainment. There were four guitar players in all, playing a variety of songs, taking turns singing, having a blast. I'm about as musical as I am athletic and Mike, while he owns a guitar and plucks on it now and then, isn't much of a musician either. Just being able to watch these four was a treat for me.

But then the inevitable happened. And really, I should have expected it. I mean, what else would four guitar players do whilst munching grilled meats and slurping down margaritas but play... Jimmy Buffett.

Oh, god, do I hate me some Jimmy Buffett. Now, don't get me wrong here. He's a fine musician. His voice doesn't grate on me like I know it does some. Even the music he writes has a certain appeal if you like that twangy, redneck, high school drop out, cousins marrying cousins kind of melody. For me, it is those god awful lyrics that make me want to gouge out my eardrums with a spork (thanks, Seth).

Really, Jimmy Buffett is like Raffi for adults who still liked kindergarten a little too much. Come on. Cheeseburger in Paradise? You are gonna walk around singing that one all day? Why not Raffi's Peanut Butter Sandwich? What's the difference between humming "Cheeseburger in paradise, medium rare with mustard 'be nice" and "Peanut butter sandwich made with jam?" No difference, really. And really, "Why don't we get drunk and screw" is just the adult version of "The more we get together the happier we'll be."

I could go on, but I think you get my point. Jimmy Buffett is singing kiddy songs to adults. Oh, deep man. So deep. I just don't understand.

Normally, I don't say a word about this. It's my secret. There are a lot of very loyal Buffett fans in the world and I don't need a schoolyard ass whooping over a song entitled, "Last mango in Paris." But tonight I met another Buffett hater (he'd fall under that "his voice grates on my nerves" category). And where there is one, there must be more. I'm thinking of starting a club. If interested, send me a cryptic message such as, "What if the hokey pokey is all it really is about" or containing "Life is just a tire swing."

Anyway, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.