JIMMY BUFFETT INSPIRED TALES

TALES INDEX

• Beethoven's Reef
• American Tourists in Canada
• Mike Shepard's Story
• 'Twas the Night Before Reviews ...
• The Castaway Engineer
• 'Twas a Florida Buffett Christmas!

Beethoven's Reef, Grande Cayman
posted by Linae to the Jimmy Buffett Listserv List

A little known reef is now being formed off the beautiful coast of Grande Cayman, thanks to new innovations in modern technology and ever increasing knowledge of our oceans. You won't find it in a Fodor's Caribbean guide because of it's experimental nature.

This new reef began its formation anywhere from 2-3 years ago. The idea for this revolutionary reef seeding spawned from a little music and a lot of tequila (probably the invincible stage). A cast of cruise ship musicians and the necessity for a playable piano sparked this scientific wonder.

A piano is an instrument that needs constant care and maintenance to keep it playable and in tune. Many cruise lines neglect this fact and allow their pianos to go badly, if not, insanely out of tune. A musician can be driven mad by such a beauty turned to beast, as we will see.

On one particular cruise ship, one piano had been the beast of burden of one too many performances of Yellowbird and Guantanamero. The musicians pleaded and begged for it to be tuned. Repeatedly, their requests were shot down by the cruise line cutthroats. The piano soon began losing hammers, breaking strings, and playing 2 notes when one key was struck. Well, this went on for a while (years, I think) when, in a fit of passion, these mutinous musicians took matters into their own hands.

Late one night off the coast of Grande Cayman, while the tacky tourists and hard working crew were asleep, these musicians crept into the main lounge. Placing their hands upon the piano, they rolled it out onto the main deck. Like a burial at sea, they paid their last respects to an old friend that had served them well, and, in a group effort, heaved the ill-fated piano over the side into the surrounding waters. The offering to the the gods of music [having] been made, rum and tequila being offered as well, the group disappeared into their cabins to sleep, knowing that a good friend had started a better life somewhere else.

This is indeed a true story. Beethoven's reef exists, although its whereabouts remain to be discovered. Rumor has it that [people on] sailboats and on the Cayman mainland can still hear Yellowbird and Margaritaville playing on an out of tune piano, late at night during a full moon, coming from somewhere out on a quiet sea.

Oh oh oh oh, Jolly Mon sing
Oh oh oh oh, make the oceans ring "Jolly Mon Sing" by Jimmy Buffett

American Tourists in Canada

"Okay, okay, Tourists Traps and "let's all pass judgement on JB" I can handle, which somehow turned into "let's trash tourists", that I can handle....BUT the line has been crossed, Canadians have been slandered by name! Since we are so polite, I won't get mad (actually, we are physiologically incapable of anger), but we can whine with the best of them, so I don't want to miss my chance. As the famous Canadian, Georges le Bush said, "We must draw a line in the sand" (...or something). Hence, I must do two things:

A)Tell you about our experiences with American tourists
B)Set the record straight on Canadians in Florida (Boy have they been fooling you guys)

WARNING: WHILE (MOST OF) THIS IS BASED IN FACT, IT IS WRITTEN IN HUMOUR (that's the Canadian spelling of humor) AND AMERICANS ARE NOT ALLOWED TO TAKE OFFENSE. DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT INVADE CANADA AFTER READING THIS ... WELL, FEEL FREE TO INVADE QUEBEC, BUT LEAVE THE REST OF CANADA ALONE

A)American Tourists in Canada.

Yes it does happen!, every summer as a matter of fact. Starting in about May and ending in about September, we get convoys of motorhomes appearing on our highways... AND GUESS WHERE FROM?? you guessed it, Florida! While they don't usually turn left from the right lane, they do tend to crawl along in groups of 3 or more motorhomes. Given that our highways tend to be usually quite empty (except for the fools in Toronto and Vancouver), we get to clip along at some pretty good speeds (110 - 125 kph [just for fun, I'll let you decipher kph into mph]), that is except for May to September, when we must follow half the state of Florida at 35 mph [once again, just to be difficult, I'll let you decipher mph into kph].

Again, while they don't usually turn left from the right lane, I once had the pleasure of having one tourist park his vehicle in the middle of the road (I'm not kidding) to walk over to a roadside fruit stand (and the darn fruit was probably imported from his cousin in Miami anyway).

B) Set the Record Straight on Canadians in Florida

Boy, have they been fooling you guys in Florida! If you check your history books, you will find that in the war of 1574, England got Australia (Botany Bay?) and we got St. Petersburg. Since that day, we send criminals to our penal colony in St. Petersburg for one of three criminal offences. They are:

1) General rudeness
2) Cheap tipping
3) Turning left from the right lane

Since we do not send them until they commit their second offense, most are by this time aged 65 or over and are incorrigible. Since our government is broke, all we can afford to build for them are trailers. So that's it, you have the straight goods.

Now, on a serious note, I guess commercialism (and the underlying greed), which is a big part of the high standard of living we enjoy today, does tend to leave nature's beauty destroyed in its wake. We all must fight the good fight wherever we are, but I don't know if we should be too judgemental of others as they chase their rainbows end... and let's remember, we're all somebody's tourist.

You guys are great, just reading my PH mail makes me warm ... well, that and a shot of cheap rum."

**********************************************    _
*                                            *   | |
*  ...ran into a chum with a bottle of rum   *   | |
*  and we wound up drinking all night...     *  /   \
*                                            *  |   |
*                                       -JB  *  |XXX| 
**********************************************  |___|

Gerry "Mr T" Tostowaryk

Mike Shepard Lived to the Fullest, Right to his Jimmy Buffett-livin' Finale: His exuberant lifestyle proved life is precious
by Margie Boule, from The Oregonian,
Portland, Oregon, Thursday,
February 13, 1997.

Nobody will ever say Mike Shepard didn't fight hard for his life. By the time Mike died, late Wednesday morning, he'd gone through four lungs and pieces of two more. All his life, no matter how hard Mike struggled for air--because of the cystic fibrosis he was born with, or the transplant rejection when he'd been given other people's lungs--every breath he took was sweet. Because Mike Shepard loved life whether he traveled in a race car or a wheelchair, in a stunt plane or in an ambulance aircraft that flew him to a hospital in California last December.

Mike Shepard took chances, he chased life's excitements. If you plotted his activities it would look like a fever chart, a graph of his heart. He couldn't do enough. He couldn't get to new places fast enough. It's just that this time he didn't come back.

You may have read about Mike Shepard once or twice in the past few months. In January Mike had a dramatic new kind of surgery: the lungs that had been transplanted into his body a few years ago were removed and pieces of lung from two of Mike's friends were put in their place.

A lot of friends Mike had met through car racing and flying had offered to give him part of their lungs. After tests, Portlanders Stuart Moss and Bill Wainwright were selected as donors. On January 8 the three men underwent surgery at the USC Medical Center in Los Angeles.

Nobody pretends it was an easy surgery for Mike, Bill or Stuart. The donors experienced a lot of pain; recovery wasn't immediate. But everyone agreed it was worth it as long as it saved Mike's life.

Wednesday afternoon, just hours after Mike died, both Bill and Stuart still were glad they'd given Mike a chance to live. "This is a shame," Bill says. "But it was worth trying, and it was worth it for him, for what we gave him."

Stuart agrees. "Things like this, even though they go awry, are worth the try. Maybe the next person will have a better chance because they learned from us."

For decades, Mike's partner in his race for life was his wife Brenda. When the FAA wouldn't let Mike fly, Brenda got her license. She just didn't fly high in planes with Mike. She jumped out of planes with Mike, rocking back to Earth beneath parachutes. Mike taught Brenda how to let go.

Brenda taught Mike how to hang on. Brenda's a nurse; her primary patient for 20 years was her husband. She spent the past several months sleeping beside Mike's hospital bed every night. She saved his life several times when she caught a crisis before other hospital personnel could arrive.

In the end, Brenda says, it wasn't Mike's lungs that killed him. "The lungs were doing well and he was improving," she says. "He was alert and awake, and we were getting him off the ventilator for a few hours at a time. A week ago Monday we put him in a chair and took him outside. He was smiling, waving at people who walked by, happy."

But then Mike, 41, developed meningitis. He began to fail. "I'd asked him last week if he'd known how hard this was going to be, and that it might not work out, would he have done it again. And he said 'Absolutely.' He said he would have given his right arm, his right leg and other body parts for the chance to live."

Slowly, the meningitis worsened. Mike became unresponsive. "By Saturday I just had the feeling he was going to die," Brenda says. "I tried to reconcile it with the feelings I'd always had, that he was going to struggle for a long time and then he'd be fine. Maybe fine just meant something different than what I thought."

Brenda was with Mike in his hospital room when he died. A Jimmy Buffett song was playing. Brenda helped a nurse prepare Mike's body. "I'd taken care of him all along; it's like I had to do this last part, too. It wouldn't have felt right to hand him off to someone else after all this."

Mike's body will be flown back to Portland, and he'll be cremated. No funeral will be held. Mike left orders: He wants a big party, "he wants Jimmy Buffett music and Hawaiian shirts and lots of margaritas," Brenda says. Later, she'll scatter his ashes in a few places that were sacred to Mike.

"It's been hard, but it's been worth it," Brenda says. "As much as I gave Mike, he gave me more. I'm a whole different person because he taught me how to live. I will keep flying. I will keep living life to the fullest. That's the gift he gave a lot of people, making them understand that life's short and it's precious.

"It's like that Jimmy Buffett song he loved: 'I'd rather die while I'm living, then live while I'm dead.'"

"Twas the Night Before Reviews...." Don't Stop The Carnival

'Twas the night of the opening, but I couldn't be there
So three fellow list members took off without care
They'd done all the homework, they'd all read "The Book"
Now it was off hear Iko, see Buffett and Wouk

They met in the lobby looking tropicaly fit
To decide if the musical indeed was a hit
Chris, Rick and Anne took their seats in a hurry
To miss the first notes was their one biggest worry

Did the show go from start to stop without hitch?
Did the fearless Listserve-three see not a glitch?
They knew that their internet pals would be strung taut
For reviews of the show- what each of them thought

I know for sure Sunny Jim went to bed
With visions of Paperman singing in his head
Eager to read in his morning digest
What each of our friends had though was the best

But what did I find when the download was through?
Not a word about Carnival! No, nary a clue!
Just "Waiting for Rick to get back to his desk-
Before we start striking the old' hornets nest"

But I suspect mischief from our traveling friends
Conspiracy theories and plots never end!
They're holding out just for fun, I do fear
(Now apologies are due those eight tiny reindeer..)

On Rick! On Chris! On Annie, I say!
Divulge the whole story! Start squawking away!
The faithful are waiting for the truth to emerge
Do the trumpets play fanfares, or is it a dirge?

Though I wait until May to see for myself
I was hoping for hints from the modem on the shelf
So I'll rush home at midnight, dial up my provider
Throw open the Digest to see what's inside her'

Then at last I'll relax, with the insights I crave
Firsthand reviews, email to save!
Then I'll shut off the computer, with the house doors all locked
Tuck myself into bed saying, "HA! Just like I thought!"

Sunny Jim

THE CASTAWAY ENGINEER

A rather inhibited engineer finally splurged on a luxury cruise to the Caribbean. It was the "craziest" thing he had ever done in his life. Just as he was beginning to enjoy himself, a hurricane roared upon the huge ship, capsizing it like a child's toy. Somehow the engineer, desperately hanging on to a life preserver, managed to wash ashore on a secluded island.

Outside of beautiful scenery, a spring-fed pool, bananas and coconuts, there was little else. He lost all hope and for hours on end, sat under the same palm tree. One day, after several months had passed, a gorgeous woman in a small rowboat appeared.

"I'm from the other side of the island," she said. "Were you on the cruise ship, too?"

"Yes, I was, " he answered. "But where did you get that rowboat?"

"Well, I whittled the oars from gum tree branches, wove the reinforced gunnel from palm branches, and made the keel and stern from a Eucalyptus tree."

"But, what did you use for tools?" asked the man.

"There was a very unusual strata of alluvial rock exposed on the south side of the island. I discovered that if I fired it to a certain temperature in my kiln, it melted into forgeable ductile iron. Anyhow, that's how I got the tools. But, enough of that," she said. "Where have you been living all this time? I don't see any shelter."

"To be honest, I've just been sleeping on the beach," he said.

"Would you like to come to my place?" the woman asked. The engineer nodded dumbly.

She expertly rowed them around to her side of the island, and tied up the boat with a handsome strand of hand-woven hemp topped with a neat back splice. They walked up a winding stone walk she had laid and around a palm tree. There stood an exquisite bungalow painted in blue and white.

"It's not much, but I call it home." Inside, she said, "Sit down please; would you like to have a drink?"

"No, thanks," said the man. "One more coconut juice and I'll throw up!"

"It won't be coconut juice," the woman replied. "I have a crude still out back, so we can have authentic Pina Coladas."

Trying to hide his amazement, the man accepted the drink, and they sat down on her couch to talk. After they had exchanged stories, the woman asked, "Tell me, have you always had a beard?"

"No," the man replied, "I was clean shaven all of my life until I ended up on this island."

"Well if you'd like to shave, there's a razor upstairs in the bathroom cabinet."

The man, no longer questioning anything, went upstairs to the bathroom and shaved with an intricate bone-and-shell device honed razor sharp. Next he showered, not even attempting to fathom a guess as to how she managed to get warm water into the bathroom, and went back downstairs. He couldn't help but admire the masterfully carved banister as he walked.

"You look great," said the woman. "I think I'll go up and slip into something more comfortable."

As she did, the man continued to sip his Pina Colada. After a short time, the woman, smelling faintly of gardenias, returned wearing a revealing gown fashioned out of pounded palm fronds.

"Tell me," she asked, "we've both been out here for a very long time with no companionship. You know what I mean. Have you been lonely...is there anything that you really, really miss? Something that all men and woman need? Something that would be really nice to have right now!"

"Yes there is!" the man replied, shucking off his shyness. "There is something I've wanted to do for so long. But on this island all alone, it was just...well, it was impossible."

"Well, it's not impossible, any more," the woman said.

The man, practically panting in excitement, said breathlessly: "You mean you actually figured out some way we can check our e-mail here?"

'Twas a Florida Buffett Christmas!
By Mslizza@aol.com

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the town,
No noses were frozen, no snow fluttered down.
No children in flannels were tucked into bed,
They all wore Jimmy Buffett t-shirts instead.

To find wreaths of holly, 'twas not very hard,
For holly grows like weeds in every back yard.
In front of the houses, dads and moms,
Were adorning green grass and coconut palms.

The sleeping kiddies were dreaming in glee,
Hoping to find water skis under the tree.
They all knew that Santa was well on his way,
In a Mercedes-Benz, instead of a sleigh.

And soon he arrived and started to work,
He hadn't a second to linger or shirk.
He whizzed up the highways and zoomed up the road,
In a S-L 500, delivering his load.

The moon over Miami gave the city a glow,
And lighted the way for old Santa below.
As he jumped from the auto he gave a wee chuckle,
He was dressed in flip-flops and Bermudas with an Ivy league buckle.

There weren't any chimneys, but that caused him no gloom,
For Santa came in through the Florida room.
He stopped at each house....and swam in their pool,
Then emptied his sack ...this dude is so kewl.

Before he departed, he treated himself,
To a glass of orange juice upon the shelf.
He turned with a jerk and bounced to the car,
Remembering he still had to go very far.

Looked under his seat to find his CD's,
Popped in Christmas Island and listened with glee.
Sang "HO HO HO and a bottle of rum,
This Santa is headin' for the Caribbean."

He shifted the gears and stepped on the gas,
And up I-95 he went like a flash.
And I heard him exclaim as he went on his way,
"MERRY CHRISTMAS Y'ALL, I WISH I COULD STAY!"

This page last updated January 15, 1998
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