06 May 2002


I went to Jazzfest Saturday. It had a really neat vibe about it, and I enjoyed it a lot.

But it was really fuckin' hot.

How hot? Sonya and I hooked up with some friends. These friends had a bunch of those portable folding chairs that are all the rage these days. When they set up their chairs I huddled behind them in a tiny, Harold-sized patch of shade. I stayed there for a couple of hours, careful not to expose my knees or elbows to the stinging tropical sunshine.

Lots of people nodded and smiled approvingly at me.

"He's found shade," they said respectfully.

Water and snowballs were consumed constantly.

I tell you what, though: I was walking along the horse track (they have Jazzfest in the infield of the horse track. Neat, huh?) from the porta-potties when Buffett opened his show with Margaritaville. I walked into the infield to see a sea of bouncing beachballs, fluttering flags and dancing, near-naked people. I didn't want to be any place else in the whole world.