I love Jimmy Buffett.
But when I asked Opinion Editor Laney Crawley if I could write my office DJ about one the most beloved artists of our parent’s generation, she repeatedly told me she would not publish the article.
“My first time hearing of him was when he died,” she texted me. That is a travesty.
So, I concocted a plan. I would make my Parrothead debut, but disguise it as a lovely playlist for sitting on the quad with your friends. Subtle, right?
As the weather gets warmer, vitamin D supplements return to their shelves and we approach the sweet spot between those last few midterms and finals, it’s getting harder and harder to pick going to class over sitting on the quad with friends.
It feels so college to throw a frisbee, recognize campus celebrities and procrastinate doing actual work by kicking back on Polk Place. To me, any stretch of time on the quad often means turning on my “Buffett Ballads” playlist.
That’s right, Buffet and I go so far back that, despite being a Spotify user, this playlist is one of a handful of playlists downloaded onto my Apple Music app because my dad imported them from his CDs.
Songs like “Come Monday” and “Margaritaville” have been the soundtrack to my family road trips, my dad’s naps and many a hand of cards. I had a “Little Miss Magic” shirt growing up and have contemplated more than once investing in a pair of Margaritaville-themed Crocs.
I know, I know, capitalism. But for me, Buffet has always been the sound of relaxation, the feeling of sun and late-night laughter.
