The huge replica of a royal blue flip-flop that adorns the hotel lobby and the sign above the reservation desk that says “No Passport Required” immediately tells you you’re not at a Holiday Inn. The lengthy chandelier across the ceiling comprised of upside-down margarita glasses and the multiple song lyrics displayed around the hotel reinforce the Jimmy Buffett worldview. Do I even need to mention that Jimmy Buffett songs flow from speakers everywhere?

From No woman to Blame to Strumming my Six-string to Searching for my Last Shaker of Salt, the unmistakable voice accompanies you throughout the grounds. Strolling through the property, which ends up facing the ocean, the Welcome to Paradise, License to Chill and Beach Vibe will entice even those who have never heard of the groupie accolade of Parrothead! Think original Swifties! Not exactly your grandmother’s hotel. On the other hand, considering that Buffett’s heyday was in the ’70’s and ’80’s, that’s exactly what it might be…

How to describe hanging out in this flagship hotel’s Margaritaville Bar – one of a half-dozen dining options on the property? An indoor beach scene doesn’t capture it. Yes, there is seating in boat replicas. Beach videos adorn the walls. Each table has a different seascape, palm tree or other beach-related design. Even the floor resembles waves – and large coconut palms cascade downward. Pelican statues watch over you as you dine – if you can even for a moment take your attention away from the décor to actually order. Do I need to mention again what songs accompany this scenic overload?

The menu proclaims: A State of Mind Since 1977. And you feel that in your core. But let’s get to the important stuff. Margaritas. Although I understood there are 31 Margaritas to be had throughout the hotel, I was content with the 16 available at the Margaritaville Restaurant alone, with unsurprising names such as Who’s To Blame, Finns to the Left and Feelin’ Hot, Hot, Hot.

Now maybe I’m biased, but it seemed the bartender didn’t just make a drink, he crafted a work of art befitting the drink’s origin. Unlike the many other margaritas I’ve imbibed over the years, this concoction of flavors — all proprietary recipes, of course — caused my throat to smile as it caressed its way through my digestive system. Admittedly, that was after the third or fourth sampling. And, of course, the fact that Jimmy Buffett favorites were continuously being performed on stage helped the process along.

And it goes without saying that the property as a whole boasts multiple pools, slides, spa and all the other amenities typical of any up-scale hotel. But if you’re there for Jimmy Buffett, you’re in the right place.

Across the street is the iconic 5 o’clock Somewhere Bar, where the beach vibe continues with tables in the sand, reminding me of a plaque I once gave my husband: A Drink in the Hand, Toes in the Sand. Actually doing it is better than just reading about it. And if you need more diversion, you can play a round of corn hole, rent a kayak or attend the weekly “best dance party in flip-flops.” Okay, so yes – this one is just a bar – but with Jimmy Buffett’s vibe all pervasive and his music so immersive, for the moment I was thankful that it’s always 5 o’clock somewhere!

And if you’re still questioning the importance of the singer to Florida’s legacy, State Road A1A, a major Florida highway, will soon become Jimmy Buffett Memorial Highway while specialty “Margaritaville” license plates will be available throughout the state. Hard not to hum along….

For more information, contact https://www.visitlauderdale.com/beaches-and-beyond/cities-towns/hollywood and https://www.margaritavillehollywoodbeachresort.com.

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A Bald Move

I finally did it!

My hair is gone. My Favio days are over. No longer will I be able to flick my hair in the wind. The last strands of my salt and pepper locks washed down the sink. When I look in the mirror, there’s a stranger that greets me.

Unfortunately, going bald was a procedure that didn’t go very smoothly. I thought I had a good understanding about what was involved but no. It was a comedy of errors. In case you are thinking about balding your head too, let me share what happened. Learn from my mistakes.

I saw this video commercial of this shaver and this bald guy saying that it was so easy to maintain his baldness with that gadget. So I went online and bought the cheapest rotary electric shaver. I thought this was going to be a piece of cake. I didn’t know you’re only supposed to use that shaver to maintain an existing bald head. So when I tried it on my overgrown buzz cut the shaver got stuck and literally tried to yank the individual follicles. I was thinking of retreating and doing more research but when I saw the unbalanced hairless patch on my front lobe, I knew I had reached the point of no return.

I figured I needed to trim the hair as close to the scalp as possible to avoid the snags. But even that didn’t work. I’m not a shaver. I never had a lot of facial hair so I usually shave with just water. I remember seeing a movie where the barber puts this white foamy stuff before he shaved his customer. Aha! That’s the secret — shaving cream! Somebody had given me a shaving cream for Christmas some 10 years ago. The can was rusty but the content was still good. I was surprised it still worked. I massaged that cream into a lather and put it on my scalp. I waited a few minutes to soften my skin then proceeded to shave with a cheap plastic disposable shaver. It was like raking leaves with a toothbrush. It was a tedious process because I needed to wash down the clumps of hair that got stuck in the shaver. But eventually, I shaved off half of my head — the half that I could see. The hair on my nape and at the back were impossible to reach.

So I asked my daughter for help because she’s had experience cutting her friends’ hair. “You’re doing it all wrong! You’re supposed to use a shearer,” she said. “I thought that was only for sheep,” I laughed. She didn’t think it was funny.

“With a shearer this could be done so easily,” she said with authority.

“But we don’t have a shearer,” I said, “so let’s just do with what we have.”

“Like most projects, you need the right tools. This is so wrong! You can get a shearer at Walmart for $15,” she nagged, “I don’t want to do this. I’m afraid I will cut you. Why don’t you just buy a shearer?”

“Why will I buy a $15 shearer when I will never use it again?”

“You’re so cheap, Papa! If you want, I can borrow my friend’s shearer. I really don’t want to do this,” she repeated.

Nag, nag, nag. I realize I’m arguing with her with my head looking like a messy, sticky white blob-dripping modern mixed-medium sculpture. Her heart wasn’t in it so I told her to stop and washed up. Mission failed. Half of my back was still unshaven. I never felt so ridiculously ugly. As I lay in bed in defeat, I pictured myself in Walmart … people staring, laughing behind my back wondering where this Klingon from Star Trek came from — giving them a Vulcan hand gesture I say “I come in peace! Lead me to your shearers!”

In the middle of my self-pity, my wife comes in the bedroom and laughs at my head. She has never cut anyone’s hair in her life so I didn’t even bother to ask her. But desperate times call for desperate measures — I asked if she could finish the job. Surprisingly, she said she’d do it. My wife! My savior! My friend!

It was back in the sink and back to the lather and disposable shaving blade. It wasn’t even a minute when she realized what she had gotten into. It was nag, nag, nag again!

“Why don’t you just go to the barber tomorrow? Why don’t you get that shearer, etc.” It’s unmistakable that she is my daughter’s mother — a nonstop recording of how this was a bad idea. I decided to shut my mouth and laughed at this silly predicament I got myself into. It didn’t take more than 30 minutes but with the yakking, it seemed like hours. It was done. I was completely bald. Thank you! (So that’s what wives are for.)

WHAT IT”S LIKE BEING BALD

A quick shower and I rubbed my head. What a weird feeling. I thought it was going to be smooth like a baby’s bottom but it actually feels like sandpaper because of the little stubs of hair clinging on for dear life. And there are mounds and craters in my scalp that I never knew existed because they were always covered with hair. And it’s cold when I lay my head on the cold leather sofa. I now understand why baldies wear beanie caps. When I bump my head I feel the full force of the impact. I’m afraid I might crack my skull.

It’s obvious where I cut myself shaving. You can’t call it a bad hair day so what do you call it? The worst part is the pigment areas where I shaved are so much lighter than the rest of my head. I think I should go get a tan somewhere.

I don’t know about you, but getting a haircut is a pampering ritual that never appealed to me. The advantage with this new look, is I will never never never have to go to a barber for the rest of my life. Was it worth it? Oh yeah … I think so.

TGIF people!

Raoul

Joke of the Week

Thanks to Frank of Alhambra, CA

Videos of the Week

Thanks to Garie of the City of Paranaque, Philippines for this thought-provoking essay from Carl Sagan called “The Pale Blue Dot.”

Another one from Garie. This time a funny story about a Polish Man.

Thanks to Wynn of Mandaluyong, Philippines, for this quick quiz. I didn’t know the answer to 3 of them.

Parting Shots

These I found:

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