Letter 'M' is the letter of the day.
For those of you who know me in the three dimensional world I am maintaining your expectations – This post is about 'Margaritaville'.
(Those of you who have never met me in 3D probably could have guessed this.)
(I also feel I need to point out that it took me no less than six tries to type the word 'dimensional'. For some reason it kept coming out 'dement-ial'. Really not much of a leap either, I suppose.)
Back to the task at hand.
We are here today to dissect that iconic lifestyle song Margaritaville.
Let's have a listen:
So, in the first verse we are introduced to a fellow who is semi-despondent, sitting on his porch eating what one can only assume is very dry, stale cake watching a mass of sweaty people wander around. Sure, he is playing a little guitar and waiting for some delicious shrimp, but in the refrain we learn he will be eating those crustaceans on his own as he has clearly alienated yet another woman. AND he can't even find the appropriate seasoning for his shrimp.
As we move on to the second verse we discover the man to be completely directionless and experiencing moments of complete black-out. How else could he possibly wind up with a tattoo? Although in the refrain he is beginning to come around to the fact that he, himself might actually be responsible for his current state of lassitude. And his dependency on salt is worrisome in a hypertension causing manner.
In the third and final verse the man has now ruined a perfectly good pair of shoes, doing God knows what, and injured himself in the process. He clearly has a problem with alcohol. And he still can't find his salt shaker. Seriously? How hard is it to put the damn salt shaker back in the cabinet? If you had put it there in the first place maybe you wouldn't always be griping that you can't find it...
But then he does, at last, accept full responsibility for his situation.
And that is the beauty of this song. The song that has inspired not only restaurants, resorts and merchandise out the wazoo.
It has inspired a lifestyle. I am not talking about a life where you numb yourself with booze and complain. I am talking about a life where you find something, no matter how tiny, to be happy about. And when you grasp that tiny shred of pleasure, I think you will find that it is just like grains of sand on a sweaty, Coppertone coated tourist, more and more tiny shreds will stick to you until you are living your happiest life.
Because in the end, no matter what, you need to own your life.
And when you look at it from that perspective, the song is actually quite happy.
Or, in the words of another wise man – "You'll be happy. You just won't know it." ~ Alec Baldwin to Kevin Bacon in She's Having a Baby by John Hughes.
Be happy my friends.
See you in Margaritaville!
|Me and some of my favorite people at 'Margaritaville' - yes, that is a boat sail in the back of the pick-up. How else do you wind up on the Jumbo-tron?|
-I am deviating slightly from the A-Z challenge and posting my Saturday installment on Sunday. This is related to work issues. And I haven't written it yet. And there may be a lunch date...