The air was balmier than most days. It was officially summer in South Florida, when just being outside makes you sweat profusely. The last day of the Tortuga Music Festival in Fort Lauderdale Beach was gonna be a scorcher!
Sure, thousands of Instagramming friends were showing off their awesome duck-face poses in front of neon Ferris wheels at Cochella, but that didn't matter to the 5,000 plus half-naked boys and girls making even more awesome duck faces in front of a giant turtle sand castle at Tortuga!
Yeah, so what if they had bands like Blur and Phoenix headlining in the desert? We've got country outlaws Jake Owen and Eric Church on the sand! And the one thing Coachella didn't have this year was the one and only, Gary Clark Jr.!!!
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Yes, this Austin native, musical prodigy that has been dubbed this generation's Jimi Hendrix, that Gary Clark Jr. was not in sunny California, but rather the Sunshine State of Florida... Or so we thought.
After a horrendous two hours of trying to find viable transportation to get from mainland Fort Lauderdale to the Seabreeze shores of Tortuga Fest, it was apparent that our journey was marred. So what if we had to wait 45 minutes for the ferry that did not exist. So what if the public trolley that picked us up from the Publix parking lot smelled like baby poop and last night's vomit. It all didn't matter, 'cause we were on our way to witness the greatest modern-day musician to grace our presence since Clapton's debut in Cream! Gary! We're comin' for ya!
As our tinkering trolley trolled across the causeway, I got an ominous bleep from my iMessage.
"Gary canceled!" stated the text.
My only response was that cute, teared-up emoticon times 30.
I was beside myself, and the only image that came through my mind was this trolley hailing straight towards the Atlantic Ocean.
Why, Gary, why?!? What was the excuse?!? Was it my stalkerish Twitter posts that scared you off?!? I didn't mean to hashtag your name over 500 times the night before on Instagram. Why, dear Ginger Baker, why?!?
As I sluggishly approached the VIP entrance, tears streamed down my flushed cheeks, I was greeted by New Times Broward Palm Beach's music editor, Liz Tracy, as she handed me a vodka straight. Drown my sorrows in liquor. Good choice.
Sure, all the other bands were fun. Sure, Sister Hazel did a nice performance to a bunch of naked springbreak-for-lifers. Sure, all the ladies threw their bikini tops to Jake Owen who then proceeded to sing the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air theme song. Sure, I ate a jalapeño vegan corn dog. But Gary... Why, Gary?!?
I hear he's planning on coming back to SunFest next month. So, you may have won the battle this time around, but I will eventually win this war. Gary Clark Jr. you will be my husband and we will live happily ever after in Willie Nelson's ranch. Yes, we will.
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