October 2006 (v9 i2)
Wetting Our Pants Since 1997
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This ‘yacht rock’ really gets me in the mood for mimosas
by Thomas Weatherby, Gen-X Yacht Owner

If not for years of strategic and well-charted investments, I wouldn’t be standing on this deck, staring off into the hazy horizon of the Pacific Ocean, listening to truly funky collaborations by Kenny Loggins and Michael McDonald.

Hearing the now-substandard synthesizers takes me back 30 years to those wild college days in Southern California. We would cut class to drive to the beach and drink wine spritzers while discussing our promising futures. I can even imagine the Loggins and Messina keyboardist with one hand on each of his bi-level synthesizers while his drummer offsets the mid-tempo beat with the occasional cymbal splash — not unlike the occasional splash of vermouth I enjoy in my appletinis.

Yacht rock — with a good appletini and plenty of economically savvy friends — is like setting sail into a daydream of smooth acoustic guitar melodies.

But nothing compares to the near-orgasm I feel when the invariably male vocalist goes into falsetto for the chorus. The soaring vocals combined with the vaguely lovelorn lyrics often remind me of the exhilaration I felt when purchasing my summer home off the coast of Fiji. Fortunately, if Loggins should ever truly take me over the top — much to the dismay of my second wife — this yacht has five full bathrooms to clean up and change. I also have plenty of pastel colored deck shorts, Nautica collared shirts and V Neck Argyle sweaters in the master bedroom.

Things really start to get crazy with the Doobie Brothers smash hit single “What a Fool Believes,” an ode to unrequited love that often reminds me of the arduous yet sensible post-divorce settlement I achieved with my first wife Vivica. Our six-year marriage started off strong with whirlwind traveling as part of my job as corporate liason to foreign investors but was soon marred by my proclivity to leave the toilet seat up and her inability to have children.

But I won’t bore you with the details.

Nonetheless, my business associates and racquetball buddies have occasionally accused me of being a hopeless romantic. When I began courting Cheryl, my second bride, we would slow dance to Bryan Adams while drinking flutes of champagne and eating chocolate-covered raspberries. I guess I really was right here, waiting for her, all along.

But whenever things get a little too crazy, Phil Collins’ haunting ballad “In the Air Tonight,” tends to bring the festivities down to a mellow chill. The off-kilter drum beats combined with the multi-layered vocal tracks often force me to contemplate the more serious aspects of life such as a well balanced portfolio, a structured retirement plan and overcoming my own mortality.

In the interest of full disclosure, I’ve also been known to enjoy a little Jimmy Buffett. Don’t tell Cheryl — but I had a margarita machine installed in the kitchen!

I’d love to wax on about the virtues of yacht rock, but I’m afraid this is it. They’re serving mimosas in the main cabin, if anyone’s interested.
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