Creative Loafing's staff celebrated the weekend early on Wednesday at Gators on Treasure Island. We had just finished our much anticipated Summer Guide issue and the staff had plenty of reasons to party. We munched on vats of hot wings, trays of mini Cubans, and fish spread (whatever that means). I attempted to rally the scattering of patrons and tourists eating on the deck to join us by offering them free Frisbees, but most gave lame excuses like, "I have to work in the morning," or "I don't do parties." Luckily for the CL staff, we were drinking with our boss, which meant the more beers we bought her, the later we could come to work the next day. But even if our publisher wasn't there, I couldn't imagine a better way to spend a Wednesday night, eating fried food, drinking beer, watching the sun sink into the water and, if you're like me, hiding behind giant sunglasses to stare at the legs of the waitstaff who scampered about in short-shorts.
The next night, we were back at Crowbar in Ybor City.
"This is not your normal hip-hop crowd," Crowbar's doorman Wolf told a white-collar security guard Thursday. "It's going to be a nice, relaxed night. These kids came to hear some intelligent shit that flows nice."
This article appears in May 7-13, 2008.