Omari Banks

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The band and Omari Banks

Dinner on the beach at Cap Juluca. Photo by David Lansing.

Sad news: We’re breaking up the band. The decision came last night during our Survivor-like dinner on the beach. We placed a kerosene lantern on the sand and then I passed around some strips of paper and everyone was supposed to write down who they thought should be voted out of the band. There was one vote each for Luscious, Bail-Out, T-Bone, Mrs. Pookie, The Man, and me.

The thing is, I think we all voted for ourselves.

After it was decided that we were disbanding, the evening became a lot more pleasant. We ate, we drank, and then we decided to go listen to Omari Banks who was playing at his father’s place, the Dune Preserve Beach Bar.

Everyone went back to their rooms to freshen up and the plan was to meet in front of the resort in 20 minutes. When I got there, Bail-Out was the only one there. I shook his hand.

“You’re not going, are you,” he said.

“Naw. It would make me too sad.”

Bail-Out nodded. “You know,” he said, “we were never going to make it as a band.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one thing, none of us could play an instrument.”

“That never stopped the Sex Pistols.”

I heard, later, that everyone had a good time. Mrs. Pookie even hooked up with the golf pro she’d met on the way to Anguilla. As for me, I just went back to my room and watched an old movie. I think it was the right thing to do. You know I don’t like reggae.

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