September 14, 2005

• Redneck Yacht Club

  When I lived in the Midwest, there was a little cove on the far shore of the nuclear power plant reservoir, where everyone who had a gasoline-powered boat would go. As we sailed by the cove, I could see their rafts around the peninsula, and even if I couldn't see them, I could hear their music from across the lake. One of the boaters told me, "It's always a potluck." It was hard to convince my fellow crew members that this was actually a good thing. "Look at them! They're just trailer homes on pontoons!" they scoffed. (You'd think I'd suggested dining with anteaters.)

  It's true. A houseboat is merely a trailer home without its trailer. But there's no denying that some people know how to live it up. I'd take a potluck over Evian and granola bars any day. Being a snob is hungry work.

  
  

  "Redneck Yacht Club" Craig Morgan I'm meeting my buddies out on the lake. We're headin out to a special place We love that just a few folks know. There's no signing up, no monthly dues. Take your Johnson, your Mercury or your Evinrude and fire it up. Meet us out at party cove. Come on in, the waters fine. Just idle on over, and toss us a line. Basstrackers, Bayliners and a party barge, Strung together like a floating trailer park. Anchored out and gettin loud All summer long side by side there's five Houseboat front porches astroturf, Lawn chairs and tiki torches. Regular joes rocking the boat; that's us. The redneck yacht club. Bermuda's, flip-flops, and a tank top tan, 'Popped his first top at ten a.m.; that's Bob. He's our president. We're checking out the girls on the upper deck Rubbin' in 15 SPF. Its hot; everybody's jumpin' in. Later on when the sun goes down We'll pull out the jar and the old guitar And pass 'em around. When the party's over, and we're all alone We'll be making waves in a No Wake Zone.

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