Rocked in Saint Louie


On Thursday night some of my favorite peeps and I went to the Jimmy Buffett concert at Riverport (or whatever its name is this month). The lucky ducks who got there early were endlessly entertained by the thousands of parrotheads who turned out for the show – or became the show if truth be told. My neck is still a little sore from whipping around to goggle at fin-headed, grass skirt bedecked grandmas sipping margaritas larger than most wading pools.

Now, I have to confess up front that Jim isn’t on my top ten list, but I do love an excuse to drink a margarita on a school night and its always fun to get together with friends. Especially friends who are true Buffett fans and are just waiting for an opportunity to stow away on whatever tie-dyed mode of transportation he has chosen for the evening.

So it was with an air of merriment and anticipation that we made our way to the entrance gate…where we were met by grim faced, professional buzz kills who searched through our blankets and backpacks and took our water bottles, our peanuts, and our happy faces.

OK. I understand that we no longer live in a country where you can bring a picnic lunch to a professional sporting event or paid venue of any type for the most part. And I guess I understand the reasons behind that sad fact. However, when you tell me that my water bottle isn’t welcome I have to stop and ask WHY?! So I did. And I was told that even though water bottles are usually acceptable, Mr. Jimmy himself decided that no nourishment or hydration of any kind could be brought in while he was in the house. Hmmmmm.

I haven’t checked this information. I’m simply going by what the steely eyed Frau at the gate said. Apparently, getting a piece of the action from the cheeseburgers in paradise is no longer enough. Mr. Buffett would like a portion from all the cheeseburgers (and everything else) in every geographical location he frequents. Again I say, hmmmmm.

I tend to oversimplify things. But here’s what I think.

I pay (a lot) to see a game, or a concert, or a play. If you would like to offer me some refreshment while I’m there, I’ll take it into consideration. If its good and reasonably priced, it is very likely that I will purchase your wares. I like options. I may decide you’re a better cook than I am. And you save me the hassle of schlepping my ham sandwich across county lines. However, if you hold me hostage without food or water and in hypoglycemic desperation I am forced to purchase an overpriced, underflavored item, I will have no choice but to put a hex on you.

Can someone please back me up – does $4 for a water seem a tad steep to you? How about $9.50 for a draft beer? How about when you’ve purchased said beer, wandered aimlessly for 20 minutes looking for the rest of your party amidst 20,000 Hawaiian shirted revelers, finally reached your 3’x5′ blanketed piece of lawn where you are promptly beaned by one of many flying beach balls which causes you to spill all that liquid gold on your flip flops.


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