Bird’s-Eye View

I am for 90 seconds every February on edge, cursing beneath my breath, unable to detach my eyes from the computer screen. The Web site says something about being patient. Whatever. Blood pressure spiking. Just get it over with, man, trample my hopes and let me get on with my day.

And then, as it does just about every year, the Web site of the cursed Ticketmaster comes through. My order went through. My tickets to the Jimmy Buffett concert have been reserved.

La Vie Dansante!

As visitors to the Nest know, I revere the modern day troubadour from the Gulf Coast, the raconteur of exotic locales, intoxicating nights and a cast of characters neither Robert Louis Stevenson or Mark Twain could imagine. And today my faith is vindicated. Nabbed five tickets this morning to the show in Camden, N.J. (not exactly St. Croix or Biloxi, but who cares) on June 20. Now I’m working in the newsroom with Jimmy Buffett’s entire catalogue, three decades of travel and trial stories, blaring on the iPod, bringing me the scent of salt water, the sound of white caps foaming and the feel of sand beneath bare feet. God, how I do love a little afternoon mental escape.

If you weren’t meant for glitter rock n’ roll or you turned out to be the very type of person your parents once warned you about, and you wish you were someplace else right now, anywhere in the world, this one’s for you: