i gotta go where it's warm.
I'm sitting in my dorm room in methtown, Illinois, at 8:17 AM on a cold November morning. I fell asleep around 8:30 last night and woke up at six. I have a final in about 11 hours that I'm disgustingly unprepared for.
I'm listening to Jimmy Buffett.
Boat drinks
Boys in the band ordered boat drinks
Visitors scored on the home rink
Everything seems to be wrong
Lately
Newspaper mentioned cheap air fare
I gotta to fly to St. Somewhere
I'm close to bodily harm
Twenty degrees and the hockey game's on
Nobody cares, they are way too far gone
Screamin' boat drinks
Something to keep 'em all warm
It feels wrong. I've been listening to Jimmy Buffett my whole life. It's just one of those things my mom and I share. She introduced me to this crazy dude's music and it became the soundtrack to every vacation and every family visit - "Livin' It Up" and "The Weather Is Here, Wish You Were Beautiful" and "Pascagoula Run" for San Diego and Catalina and Newport, "Mexico" and "Fins" and "Volcano" for Rosarito and Encinitas and Solana Beach. These songs are so inextricably linked to Southern California and Baja for me that listening to them here, in fucking Illinois, in a landlocked state and fuck you the Great fucking Lakes do not count no matter what anyone says, feels completely alien. Mom's not here. I'm not there. Everything seems to be wrong...
This mornin'
I shot six holes in my freezer
I think I got cabin fever
Somebody sound the alarm
I'd like to go where the pace of life's slow
Could you beam me somewhere, Mr. Scott?
Any ol' place, here on earth or in space
You pick the century and I'll pick the spot
Here, there are no beaches. There is no LA skyline. There aren't sunburns, or tacky sunglasses you buy on the Santa Monica pier because you left yours back in Altadena, or fish tacos (god, do I miss seafood, no one can understand the depths of my longing for fresh fish right now).
Oh, I know
I should be leaving this climate
I got a verse but can't rhyme it
I gotta go where it's warm
There's no calling up Anders on a lazy Sunday and wandering suburbia in search of cheap ice cream. There's no weekend Metro trips down to Harbor City to flutter awkwardly around the girl of my dreams. There's no pool parties or sleepovers or mall excursions with friends I've known since I was six years old.
Boat drinks
Waitress, I need two more boat drinks
Then I'm headin' south 'fore my dream shrinks
I gotta go where it's warm
I gotta go where it's warm
I gotta go where it's warm!
There's no Lego forts in the living room. There's no cats asleep in them. There's no little brother coming in my room every few hours to tell me things I don't need to know about Solid Snake or transforming space robots. There's no one poking me about driving lessons or cleaning my fucking room (okay, maybe those two I don't miss so much).
I'm going home on Wednesday.
But today, I'm sitting in my dorm room in methtown, Illinois, at 8:44 AM on a cold November morning.
I gotta go where there ain't any snow
Where there ain't any blow
'Cause my fin sinks so low
I gotta go where it's warm
I'm still listening to Jimmy Buffett, and I should probably stop before my roommate gets home and asks why I'm crying.
I'm listening to Jimmy Buffett.
Boat drinks
Boys in the band ordered boat drinks
Visitors scored on the home rink
Everything seems to be wrong
Lately
Newspaper mentioned cheap air fare
I gotta to fly to St. Somewhere
I'm close to bodily harm
Twenty degrees and the hockey game's on
Nobody cares, they are way too far gone
Screamin' boat drinks
Something to keep 'em all warm
It feels wrong. I've been listening to Jimmy Buffett my whole life. It's just one of those things my mom and I share. She introduced me to this crazy dude's music and it became the soundtrack to every vacation and every family visit - "Livin' It Up" and "The Weather Is Here, Wish You Were Beautiful" and "Pascagoula Run" for San Diego and Catalina and Newport, "Mexico" and "Fins" and "Volcano" for Rosarito and Encinitas and Solana Beach. These songs are so inextricably linked to Southern California and Baja for me that listening to them here, in fucking Illinois, in a landlocked state and fuck you the Great fucking Lakes do not count no matter what anyone says, feels completely alien. Mom's not here. I'm not there. Everything seems to be wrong...
This mornin'
I shot six holes in my freezer
I think I got cabin fever
Somebody sound the alarm
I'd like to go where the pace of life's slow
Could you beam me somewhere, Mr. Scott?
Any ol' place, here on earth or in space
You pick the century and I'll pick the spot
Here, there are no beaches. There is no LA skyline. There aren't sunburns, or tacky sunglasses you buy on the Santa Monica pier because you left yours back in Altadena, or fish tacos (god, do I miss seafood, no one can understand the depths of my longing for fresh fish right now).
Oh, I know
I should be leaving this climate
I got a verse but can't rhyme it
I gotta go where it's warm
There's no calling up Anders on a lazy Sunday and wandering suburbia in search of cheap ice cream. There's no weekend Metro trips down to Harbor City to flutter awkwardly around the girl of my dreams. There's no pool parties or sleepovers or mall excursions with friends I've known since I was six years old.
Boat drinks
Waitress, I need two more boat drinks
Then I'm headin' south 'fore my dream shrinks
I gotta go where it's warm
I gotta go where it's warm
I gotta go where it's warm!
There's no Lego forts in the living room. There's no cats asleep in them. There's no little brother coming in my room every few hours to tell me things I don't need to know about Solid Snake or transforming space robots. There's no one poking me about driving lessons or cleaning my fucking room (okay, maybe those two I don't miss so much).
I'm going home on Wednesday.
But today, I'm sitting in my dorm room in methtown, Illinois, at 8:44 AM on a cold November morning.
I gotta go where there ain't any snow
Where there ain't any blow
'Cause my fin sinks so low
I gotta go where it's warm
I'm still listening to Jimmy Buffett, and I should probably stop before my roommate gets home and asks why I'm crying.