Blogging From Key West: I Tried, I Really, Really Tried....

I promised a number of people - including myself - that I would diligently blog from Key West and Meeting Of the Minds. Then, we got here. From pretty much the minute we put our bags down in our room at the Island City House and rented a couple of bicycles, it has been one non stop whirlwind ride - or pedal, if you will - around the island. As Mr. Buffett would say, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Wednesday, November 2nd: First stop - The Bull (or Bull & Whistle for those who want to be exact) on Duval for the Atlanta Parrot Head Club Welcome Party. Hosted by Joel Oates and the APHC, of which both my wife, Georgia, and I are proud members of. Two-fer-seven bucks Margaritas and music from Jim Asbell & The Tropiholics. A great way to kick off six days of music and mayhem. it was also where we first ran into Kurt and "Achmed", his personal version of Jeff Dunham's dead terrorist puppet. This one welcomed all Virgins (i.e, those who had never been to a MOTM) to town.

We used The Bull as "home base" setting off from there to grab a bite to eat and check out other nearby venues, including a stop at Hog's Breath, where Jim Morris & The Big Bamboo Band rocked a packed parking lot of enthusiastic fans. Back to the Bull for some late night dancing and a couple of nightcaps and home to get ready for what would be a busy Thursday.



Thursday, November 3rd: The Island city House serves a very nice complimentary breakfast in the courtyard every morning. Unless you're Donald Trump, between what you pay for a nice room on the island and necessities like adult beverages during MOTM, you save where you can. So, free breakfast and coffee right outside your room is a no brainer. Fully muffin'ed and java'd, we climbed on our bikes and headed across town to the official convention site - the Casa Marina resort. The ride from the Island City House to the Casa is a pleasant one, down a number of back streets and past a variety of colorful Key West homes. It also takes you past the graveyard, famous for many interesting sites, including the grave stone that proclaims, "I told you I was sick".

Georgia and I arrived at the Casa and encountered something we never seem to luck into back in Atlanta. Looking to register, we were directed by security to the other side of the building, turned a corner and ran smack into a line of people a mile long. We turned to each other and whined in unison, "this is going to take FOREVER". Just as we were about to give up and come back later, when maybe it might not be as crowded, a benevolent Parrot Head standing in the mile long line saw our registration cards and said, "Oh, you have a green one. You're not in THIS line. You can go in THAT one." THAT line, the one she pointed to, was only about five people long. It turned out to be a last name thing, and we - being "M's" - had hit the alphabetical jackpot. Feeling a little bit guilty, but only a very little, we strolled to the head of the pack and before you could say One Particular Harbor, had our wristbands on and welcome bags in hand.

We made a quick spin around the floor, stopping for quick chats with Trop Rock artists Brent Burns and Jim Morris, each of whom were manning their own booths - selling and autographing copies of their cds and t shirts, or I suppose, whatever else any more adventurous soul might like signed, then slid behind the Parrot Heads In Paradise "merch table", where - for the next three hours - we helped sell t shirts, hats and coozies to conventioneers. PHiP is the governing body for the Parrot Head nation, and the one that throws this shindig at mile marker zero every year.

Registration and volunteer responsibilities completed, we climbed back on our bikes and heading back to our room to regroup and get ready to dive in to a veritable smorgasbord of Trop Rock.

First stop: The Rum Barrel, where we catch John Friday and friends and I graduate from Boat Drink U (I have the certificate to prove it). To be continued....