There’s something about Florida bringing out my infatuation with avant-rock band Sigur Ros, ‘cause here I am again, writing this in my bunk, the oppressive autumnal Ft Lauderdale humidity thousands of miles away as my imagination teleports me high above Icelandic fjords, or at least somewhere where “Margaritaville” isn’t wafting out of a celebrity chef themed outpost featuring twenty dollar quesadillas.
I’ve been hard on Florida these past several days, and I acknowledge that my judging the Land of the Disco Loudout’s similar to shitting on Nashville having only shot Jägermeister on Broadway. There has to be more to this place than poisonous nocturnal animals, vicious retirees, and brown note inducing throb courtesy of DJ Chad McAsshole. If there’re any native Floridians reading this, please send recommendations, sincerely - I need my relationship with our 27th state readjusted.
Oh, and here’s a link to the Sigur Ros song I’m listening to currently.