September 7, 2023

If We Weren't All Crazy

We would go insane

My phone buzzed at 4:37am on Saturday morning.12 I was in a light sleep anyway, since my alarm was set for 5:30am. We had plans to go fishing and I needed to make some sandwiches and fill some water bottles before rousing the kids. So when I saw that some good friends who were honeymooning in Japan had texted, I decided to open it up and check out what they wrote instead of leaving it for later.

RIP Jimmy Buffett, of blessed memory. So sad and So young. Sending condolences.

This was the first of many family and friends3 to reach out and let me know they were thinking of me, and by proxy, the Buffett crew they know I roll with. All those thoughts and prayers are so appreciated.

Matt and Evan covered a lot of ground so far, but it’s fair to say that our group is hurting right now and 250 words or less, even in a world-famous napping blog, is a hard way to express the overarching melancholy the fellas are feeling at this time. We’ve all suffered individual losses of family and friends, and there is no way to directly compare one situation, or one feeling, or one person’s experience to another. But this is different in that Jimmy belonged to all of us, and in that way, he was like our communal family member. While the fraternity brought us together, it’s fair to say that Jimmy has held us together, for over 20 years now through marriages, divorces, kids, pets, jobs, unemployment, and spreading out and laying roots all across America.

“What album are you listening to today?” is a common question. “XYZ is playing on Radio Margaritaville right now!” is a common call to action. Laying down a Jimmy quote in response to someone else’s message is a common refrain. Will we or won’t we see a show this summer is a common topic. How much longer can JB go is a constant undercurrent. It’s Jimmy Buffett, the tie that binds.

Let me back up a little bit and then we will tie this in to napping.

I didn’t set out to be a Parrothead. In the fall of 1998, I met Matt, who lived a few doors down from me in the North quad. We pledged the same fraternity and became fast friends. Some would say inseparable. I would be one of those people who would say that. This was very annoying to others.4

I eventually moved to a small dorm called the Castle and had a neat little room in this old castle. It had its own ledge which probably wasn’t meant to be used. But we found a few chairs, chucked them out the window onto The Ledge, climbed on my bed, shimmied thru the window, and presto, had a place where we could see people below us but couldn’t be seen. Great for people watching, and having a few cocktails to kill some time before other cocktails.

This was back in the day when you’d call up a buddy and see if they wanted to listen to an album with you, and then you’d sit in a room and listen to that album together.5 Over the course of the winter, Matt tells me that over the summer, we HAVE to go to a Jimmy Buffett show together. He tried to explain what it would be like to attend, but he didn’t need to waste the effort. I had only been to one real concert before, and really had no idea who Jimmy Buffett was. He simply had me at “we have to.” I honestly think he could have said anything after that and I was in.6

We agreed, of course, that going to a show and not knowing any of the music would be absurd; even I knew that. So he came over with his yellow Jimmy Buffett CD, we climbed over my bed, jumped out the window onto The Ledge, passed over the boombox and extension cord, and we were ready to settle in.7

Songs you know By Heart, 1985. To say I was underwhelmed would not do it justice. I absolutely despised every moment of every song. “Cheeseburger” was kitschy. “Fins” was erratic. By the time we hit “Pencil Thin Mustache,” the dry studio version, I was ready to crack the CD in half. Lets just say it took me a while to come around.

By the time summer rolled in, I was happy to be visiting Matt in his childhood home, meet his family (hey gang!) and hang out with Matt and his high school friends. But the idea of going to two shows — the Thursday and Saturday shows in Camden, NJ — seemed daunting. But Matt said we’d party during the days, and I figured I’d gut out the shows.

As Matt already said, it’s hard to remember how many shows you’ve been to, let alone distinct memories from each show. A few stand out for sure, but did it happen at Great Woods or Jones Beach or Camden? When I was younger, or older? Pre-kids or post-kids? But here’s one I can remember. After a very full day in the lot at Camden on the first day, Matt and I were walking to the venue. Somehow, we decided to pick a fight…with a fence. The fence won, and it was not close. By the time we got in,8 let’s just say there was a lot of blood. And we each have our own scars to prove it. But we were only made aware when the other members of the group gave us their wide-eyed, shocked looks. Because as far as we were concerned, Jimmy was playing “Brown Eyed Girl,” his last song before the end of the first set. We were floating…on air. After sleeping till 3 on Friday, we woke up and did it again on Saturday.

Matt and I had a lot of experiences pre-dating that show. But to say that a friendship was cemented for eternity over those 72 hours is an understatement. When we got back to school, we evangelized the experience to the broader group,9 they bought in, and the rest was history.10

Since then, we’ve been to many shows. We started as a convoy of cars. Took the leap and went for U-Haul vans and cars. Then U-Haul trucks and cars. And even had a coach bus for Snarf’s Bachelor Party. Every time we felt we had achieved a new level, we enjoyed walking around the lot and realizing how much more we still had to learn from those who had come before us.11

We’ve grilled — charcoal12 and electric. We’ve brought sandwiches and leached off of others. We’ve dumped literally tons and tons of Home Depot bags of sand, no idea how they get that out of the lot when we’re done. We’ve sustained many and assorted injuries.13 We’ve lost members of our group for hours and then seen them triumphantly return. We’ve gone in groups of 2 and groups of 16 and everything in between. We’ve slept it off in the lot post-show like champs, and taken turns as designated drivers. And even when we didn’t have kids, we always dreamed of having our kids join.

One way to track our maturation14 is how we have gone about napping. As young kids, driving in just our beat-up cars,15 and throwing some cheap beach chairs on the scorching surface of the parking lot, we napped right in those measly, uncomfortable seats. Sure, you’d wake up under a pile of beer cans, but you were rested and energized for round 2 of the lot, and maybe have something in the tank for the show.

We felt like Kings when we decided to splurge and run the AC in the cars while napping in the front seat. At that point, to amortize the cost of the gas we were burning, and to stave off any bullying,16 you would recruit a few other nappers to join in. Strength in numbers. This may have been the first of our legendary group naps.

By the time we were working stiffs, a nap was no longer cause for concern about bullying; it was pre-wired into the day. Did we know we were going to one day be authors of a world-famous nap blog widely read by several of our family and friends? We didn’t. We just knew that napping was what we did, and that meant even at a Buffett show.

Naps on beach chairs, naps in cars, naps in U-Hauls, naps on coach buses…but the best nap of all was on the lawn of the amphitheater. Sometimes before the show began, if we were motivated and made it in before the lights went down. Sometimes as a needed respite mid-show. Sometimes you were woken up by the sound of the keyboards teasing the beginning of “Fins,” jumping right up to get in to position. Other times, you were woken up by someone stealing your shoe, because you had lost yours along the way. Never were you woken up by the sound of “Southern Cross,” since we have yet to see it live.

Jimmy brought us together in ways we couldn’t have imagined. Without Jimmy, there’d be no group email called buffett@drinkingrecords.com.17 That never would have become a WhatsApp group. And then a Signal chat room. And that means we never would have had the breakaway chat called the Thomas Alpha Edison Nap Room.

We owe it all to you, and more, Jimmy. We will find a way to keep your legacy strong. This summer we took that first step with the First Annual Buffett Group Buffett Tribute Band, kids and all. 

Rest In Paradise, Sailor.