For some, it’s Bon Jovi. For others, it’s Lee Brice.

But regardless of the genre or haircut of choice, there’s at least a good chance you’ve spent some time behind your steering wheel, your shower head or your hairbrush playing the part of a singing star.

I’ll confess, my jam always leaned a little more toward Springsteen.

Still, while I can mimic the “Boss” on air guitar and grimace in time with every guttural “1-2-3-4” during “Born to Run,” I’ve never been able to master the poetic side of things with any success.

Oh sure, I bang out 600 words in my sleep about surfing with a kite, paddling with a board or drifting my way out of a rip current, but I’ve never progressed anywhere beyond “Do… Re… Mi…” when it comes to penning my own entry in the Great American Song Book.

And for a guy like me, that’s frustrating.

Which makes performance Saturdays at Tween Waters Island Resort & Spa particularly challenging.

Now, make no mistake, spending a weekend day hanging around the Oasis Pool Bar – or an evening in the Crow’s Nest Bar & Grille – while listening to the song stylings of someone who can actually, well… sing, is far from a difficult chore.

After all, the resort is spectacular. The weather is gorgeous. The people are awesome.

And yes, the drinks are plentiful.

So, throw in some music and you’ve officially elevated a climate-friendly good time into a tropical party.

(Editor’s Note: If you’ve never been, do yourself a favor. Book a seat on the next available flight. Now.)

That said, amid all the carousing and carrying on, the entertainer in me still stands by a bit stifled.

Of course, it’s not as if I don’t have ideas.

In fact, for nearly every moment of a recent early-morning Captiva trip I bombarded my wife (Danielle) and son (Ryan) with pithy lyrical ideas, hoping to gain some semblance of traction.

With a caffeinated Tween Beans beverage in one hand and a pen/paper in the other, I strolled across Captiva Drive, plopped down in my lounge chair and waited for the Gulf-side inspiration to arrive.

First, I needed a title.

Given the surroundings, how about “Coffee. Beach. Repeat.”?

I know what you’re thinking… “That’s brilliant, why didn’t I think of it first?!?”

Sorry, it’s mine.

Next, every song has a few evocative turns of phrase… let’s get ours.

Ryan looked up and said he saw “a money bag on a cloud.” There’s one, I thought.

Danielle spied a dive-bombing pelican who “knocked himself silly looking for lunch.” That’s two.

I giggled at a phone-obsessed woman “about 10,000 selfies from a supermodel’s life.”

And we have three.

Just a few la-las, you-knows and oh-yeahs as fillers and we draft a speech at the Grammys, right?

OK, maybe not.

Turns out, no matter how good your initial 30 seconds might be – and unless you resemble a male model/female starlet holding a microphone – you still have to fill in another three minutes (or another nine if we’re talking “Jungleland”) with something other than dead air and static.


Problem was, even after three more cups of coffee, I remained stuck.

And given that Ryan’s only about 30 days into middle school training on the tuba, there’s no iron-lunged “Big Man” ready to swoop to my imminent rescue with a prolonged and soulful solo.

I suppose we’ll wait for eighth grade for that one.

In the meantime, I’ll be the guy at the side of the bar, pining for a chance at a singalong.

And hey, if anyone’s got Kenny G’s number… have him shoot me a text.