MMTT4S - Square Pegs, Belts, and Tully Mars

Captain's log: 8 July 2019, Abilene, Texas

Back in the Lone Star State.

Texas is one of my most favorite places in the world. Lived here for a few years. Made some great friends here. Created some incredible memories here. Most importantly, I found my wife here. I can't argue with General Johnson when he and the Chairmen of the Board claim that Carolina girls are the best in the world. I must say, though, that I'm more partial to Pat Green and Lyle Lovett's opinion on the girls from Texas (they're just a little bit better).

When I arrived here back in 1992, I was a flip-flop-wearin', vinegar-based-pulled-pork-eatin', basketball-lovin' beach bum. Not all that common in the cowboy town of Abilene. I soon realized that not only was my choice of smoked meat, my drawl of an accent, and my sport of choice different than the local varieties, I also realized that I was a little different. Then again, that was neither unusual nor a big surprise. In fact, it's par for the course, no matter where I find myself.

I've learned that I'm atypical in most facets of life on this planet. I don't quite fit in.

Sometimes it's extremely slight, like the pair of Wranglers that require a belt to stay up or the straw Stetson that needs a sliver of foam hidden in the inside band to give a fit snug enough to prevent losing the hat to a West Texas gust. Both the jeans and hat "fit" - just not perfectly. Other times, I'm the mayor of the Island of Misfit Toys. In either case, I've learned to accept it, embrace it, and even use it to my advantage.

Image courtesy of Amazon.com

Not fitting in is the topic of today's Jimmy Buffett tune "Cowboy in the Jungle" from his album Son of a Son of a Sailor. Buffett creates a wonderful character in one of his short stories in his compilation of short stories called Tales From Margaritaville - Tully Mars. Tully is a cowboy with a restless soul in search of a different life than the one he knows well on a ranch in Wyoming. His journey to the tropics is pure entertainment with a touch of introspection. This same character appears again in Buffett's novel A Salty Piece of Land and is inspiration for a character in today's song. Like the title suggests, our main character is out of place, as a cowboy in the jungle would be. Still, he figures out how to "plow ahead come what may" by adapting to his different environments, relying on his hunches, and rolling with the punches.

Image courtesy of
Goodreads.com

Buffett is somewhat of a misfit himself. Take his music. Plug in "Jimmy Buffett" or one of your favorite Buffett songs into a music app like Pandora or Spotify or Apple Music and let it create a list of songs for you. You'll get a mix as varied as the Texas landscapes and climate. You'll hear country, folk, rock, reggae, zouk, beach, surf and more. Not many singer-songwriters have their own brand of shrimp, clothing, tequila, retirement community, casino, restaurant...you get the picture.

Jimmy Buffett is atypical. He doesn't quite fit in. It works, though. Obviously.

After we hear of this out-of-place cowboy's exploits, we get a glimpse of Buffett the Unique as the tune continues. He pokes fun at typical tourists "trying to cram lost years into five or six days," claims to abhor swimming in "roped-off seas," and waxes eloquent about our short stay on this planet amidst the constellations and satellites while sailing alone on a "midnight passage."

Just a little encouragement that not fitting in is ok.

So, while I'm not a cowboy in the jungle, I can relate to Tully Mars. I'm still a beach bum, but I now prefer brisket to pulled pork. I love my cowboy hat, though I may wear it with Vissla shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. My cowboy boots are well-worn (not with shorts - I do have a line) as are my Wranglers (with a belt). And even though I stole away with my wife back to South Carolina, her family still accepts me for who I am. They are the best. Lyle Lovett pegs me when he sings "That's right you're not from Texas. Texas wants you anyway." Thank goodness.

So if you consider yourself a kindred spirit of mine and have wondered why the beat of your drum is a different cadence than that which you hear most everywhere else, kick back to today's tune "A Cowboy in the Jungle" and remember intuition can sometimes make up for blind ambition. It's the square peg/round hole idiomatic expression. Or is it round peg/square hole? Kinda silly either way.

Aloha, amigos!

Fruitcakes Anniversary Spurs West Texas Memories

This weekend, RadioMargaritaville is celebrating the 20th anniversary of the release of Jimmy Buffett's platinum-selling album, Fruitcakes. This album is possibly my favorite of the trop-rock singer-songwriter's collection, which numbers around 50 now. For me, though, I think it's all about the timing.

May, 1994 places me in Abilene, Texas - a snapshot of the West Texas of old. Imagine a barbecue joint, scuffed plank floors, hardwood walls infused with mesquite smoke, a large board up on the wall that displays the menu - from brisket to steaks, which are ordered by thickness, and a long counter directly below, which multitasks as a buffet, check-out station and massive cutting board. Inside are ranchers, bankers, oil people, college kids, golfers, and actual cowboys, discussing the weather, prices, scores, and parties in between savory bites of smoked meat or pinto beans or homemade bread. It was into this world of Stetsons, Justins, longhorns and extended cabs that I brought Jimmy Buffett.

I became a Parrothead during college in the late 80's. But, having grown up in sunny South Carolina and spending my childhood summers at Surfside Beach on the Carolina Coast, I started unconsciously cultivating a coastal gypsy soul at an early age. So, Jimmy's stories of adventure and messages about enjoying life fit perfectly with my blossoming escapist dreamer's mentality. Armed with an arsenal of tunage, parrot-phernalia and ideologies to match, I rolled into Abilene in 1992, reunited with my brothers, who found Buffett with the same ease as I, and set out, peacefully making converts of their friends and my new acquaintances, including this cute co-worker who would become my wife in October of '94. 

Soon, as is customary of the Phlock, we held a party to celebrate life as it is seen through the salt-rimmed sunglasses of Margaritaville. My soon-to-be wife's family had a great remote West Texas spot out in Buffalo Gap, complete with pool, house, scrub brush, and the perfect sunset viewing mesa. We began an annual gathering here, away from the everyday two-step. The event grew exponentially, garnering the status associated with highly anticipated let-your-big-hair-down events.  It was around this time when Fruitcakes was released, providing the perfect accompaniment to the revelries of our ever-growing throng of newly tropicalized Texans. We found our inner fruitcakes as we quietly made noise with Miami cousins and Frenchmen, listening to Uncle John's six-string music on sunny afternoons with visions of lone palms, vampires, and mummies, Apocalypso on the near horizon (confused? see the song list from Fruitcakes). 

Jimmy Buffett had finally arrived in Abilene, Texas. Before, Margaritaville was a vaguely familiar tune, heard on rare occasions on the local country and western stations. Now, it had become a state of mind, an island reachable simply by imagination - not some far off South Pacific paradise that landlocked West Texans vacantly thought of after watching John Wayne in Donovan's Reef. For a few decadent days, boots became bare feet, starched white shirts gave way to leis, but we still wore our cowboy hats, even in the pool (rumors abound that those hats were all that some of us wore). Tiki torches blazed as we danced like natives about the base of a volcano. Pirates and parrots, sailors and surfers all joined this carnival, the likes of which had rarely, if ever, been seen in the heart of West Texas. Fruitcake city. 

The Buffalo Gap parties became too large to somewhat reasonably manage. So, we discontinued the official gatherings, leaving them to the ageless stories of legends. I returned to South Carolina, wife in tow. Some friends remained in Abilene; others scattered to other ports, both near and distant. Families naturally grew. Careers emerged. The movements of life shifted. The property in Buffalo Gap was sold. 

Those of us who can wrangle the cost and scheduling still gather annually in Frisco, Texas for the Jimmy Buffett concert and tailgate extravaganza, where we watch the parade of fruitcakes, indulge in our own brands of craziness (to prevent insanity), and reminisce about those few summers in Buffalo Gap when Jimmy Buffett's Fruitcake album accompanied a realization of the wonderful and wacky ways of life among friends old and new. Our kindred spirits rejuvenate. Our perspectives realign. 

We discovered back in 1994 and continue to discover still today that there was and is, indeed, "...a little bit fruitcake left in every one of us."

Tour shirt from the Fruitcakes tour - Saw the Dallas show