Tampa Bay Street Team

“What makes you qualified to lead a street team?” asked Steve at Yeoman’s Road Pub on Thursday — the site of this month’s Beer Club.

“Um,” I said, sipping my beer. “I drink a lot?”

“That seems to be a reoccurring trend with Creative Loafing.”

Alright, so maybe CL was sponsoring the Craft Beer Expo on Saturday, starting a new wine club and gearing up for our annual Beer Fest, but it couldn’t be such a bad thing for a company to be synonymous with drinking.

“When I’m bartending, I remember most of my customers by what they drink, not their name,” said Crystal, one of the volunteers pouring Michelob’s Porter, Fire Rock Pale Ale, Longboard Island Lager and Longhammer IPA at Beer Club.

Apparently my name was also becoming associated with drinking, as more than a few beer club members told the pourers that I said they could have extra drinks. CL’s staff writer, Wade Tatangelo tried this tactic but quickly reverted to swindling free drinks by using his standard go-to line, “I write Bar Tab.” This was the kind of fringe benefit I have always craved as a writer. Like a food critic getting free meals or a travel writer getting free vacations, I want to be admitted into various forums where women appear nude in groups by simply saying, “It’s alright. I’m doing research for my novel, Panty Raid.”

(more…)

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“I feel like I’m in a three-way!” I said Friday at the grand opening of Tekila Rocks, where I kept getting jostled by gargantuan boobage and ladies grinding like it was their job. I had heard of women keeping cash in their cleavage, but I had never seen them used to holster cell phones. This was the kind of eye-level cleavage with enough energy to potentially knock you out if it got moving fast enough.

I have never actually been in a three-way, but I’m fairly positive that the only major difference between Tekila Rocks’ dance floor and the sex act is that you couldn’t get pregnant on the dance floor. Then again, I’ve been wrong before. (more…)

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“Do you have no pride?” asked Natalie Saturday at the State Theatre, questioning my choice of cheap American beer over her Guinness.

“I drink Bud Light as a matter of pride,” I said.  “It tastes like America.”

Obviously she was in need of a serious history refresher.  America was founded on cheap beer. What do you think George Washington was talking about when he penned the lyrics, “amber waves of grain” — the malt and barley used to make delicious golden beer!  Or why do you think the Sons of Liberty dressed up like Indians and dumped ship tons of tea in the harbor during the Boston Tea Party. This wasn’t something sober people would do. These patriots were a bunch of drunken smugglers with a lust for drinking cheap beer, dressing up and destroying shit. And who do you think led these hooligans? The patron saint of all cheap beer drinking Americans: Samuel Adams.

“Alfie!?” called a voice behind me, drawing me away from my lecture on the finer points of American history. I was confronted by two ladies named Hanna and Amy who I wished I had recognized. “We met you last night. You were wearing a cape?” (more…)

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After the first round of fruity cocktails the gay jokes flew like rainbow flags. As one of the few non-gay CL staffers marching in the St. Pete Pride Parade, I was the ass of most of their jokes. Byron McMullen told me the bandana trailing from my back pocket (which I had intended for midday sweat collection) was actually a type of gay flag. Turns out that along with rainbows, black leather and Lance Bass, bandanas have been co-opted by the gay community. He directed my confusion to a group of men festooned in piercings, straps of leather and combat boots. I spoke to a man with deeply tanned muscles bulging out of tiny black leather shorts and a sash that read, “Mr. Gay Day Leather 2008.” I figured he was a reliable source. Turns out a bandana hanging out of your back pocket indicates whether you are submissive or dominant, depending on which cheek you wear it on. The colors are also significant: Checkered means safe sex only, yellow is water-sports, black and white mean you are up for anything, and red (the color I was sporting) means you’re into fisting. This wouldn’t have been so troubling had I not already been hit on by a gentleman who insisted on helping me set up the CL tent. And I thought he was just being nice.   

Dykes on Bikes kicked off the parade followed by a fleet of boat floats borrowed from the Gasparilla armory and sufficiently gayified by the likes of the Tampa Bay Bears and men in construction caps. The range of floats was about as diverse as the crowd. Spurs Bar pulled a mobile line dancing stage. Actors from Bath House the Musical wore towels atop a Hummer. My favorite was The ROTC (Righteously Outrageous Twirling Corps) in sailor caps and sleeveless shirts who whirled rainbow flags in a routine that climaxed with a burst of rainbow confetti. Creative Loafing rode second to last on a fire engine rigged with long range squirt guns and a roaring siren to drown out the protestors who brought up the rear.

“I’m slightly offended,” CL’s Senior Editor, Eric Snider, confided in me near the end of the parade. (more…)

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