HI-HO POLITICO, PT. 1: The lopsided foes-to-fans ratio that greeted President Bush's recent Tampa manifestation seemed to confirm what the GOP has always assumed — that conservatives work hard for their tax cuts, and that liberals might actually make enough money to qualify for one if they stopped taking Fridays off all the time to protest some damn thing or other.(That's a joke, people.)
Across the barricaded street from downtown's Waterside Marriott, 100 or so protesters orbited loosely around an unpaved parking lot whose owner had doubled its usual five-buck price for the occasion. Black-clad anarchists, pink-clad Planned Parenthood representatives, red-white-and-blue-clad Hillsborough Democratic Party volunteers and black-sock-in-brown-sandal-clad tourists milled about, under the watchful eye of a 15-foot inflatable rat with a "W" taped to its chest. It seemed, however, that only Planned Parenthood was out in real force, in keeping with the protest's vaguely stated theme of women's rights.
("Killers!" some ponytailed wit hollered facetiously, laughing, while taking a second from his cell phone conversation as he drove by.)
There wasn't much in the way of pamphleteering or flesh-pressing going on — the protesters weren't there to rally for their cause. They were there to be seen by Bush.
So were the small knots of his supporters, mostly families, gathered on opposite sides of the streets bordering the lot. And they seemed more content to wait, stage-door style, for the president's eventual exit.
It didn't take long. Scarcely an hour after their arrival, the phalanx of motorcycle police began preparing for the motorcade's departure. Gawkers on both sides of the street took up positions against the barricades, brandishing signage and shouting as the line of vehicles roared past. I think I got a look at the leader of the free world, but I can't be sure; the man in the back of the fancy black car with the flags on it had a wave that looked distinctly like he was blocking his face from view.
HI-HO POLITICO, PT. 2: Most nights, St. Pete live-music haven the State Theatre is home to underground bands and the kids that love them. But the venerable grotto recently hosted a distinctly older (and more consistently seated) crowd when it screened headline-grabbing anti-Fox News Corporation documentary Outfoxed: Rupert Murdoch's War on Journalism. The average patron's age was somewhere just above 40, a mite higher than that of the tattooed/dreadlocked/cargo-shorted/vegan activists I see there on a regular basis.Most Bay area Outfoxed "premieres" (organized through grassroots political website MoveOn.org) happened Sunday, July 18, but the State had a concert booked for that night. The 24-hour postponement didn't seem to hurt attendance or enthusiasm, though — around 100 folks showed up, and the lobby buzzed with the exchange of statistics up until the 7:30 p.m. start-time.
The crowd obviously found the no-frills, clip- and interview-heavy doc edifying, routinely bursting into laughter, applause and/or heckling. Me? I thought Outfoxed was both intriguing and frightening (seriously, Bill O'Reilly is fucking nuts), though it failed to answer at least one important question:
How are they ever going to get a conservative to sit through it?
DAY OF REST, MY ASS: Remember when Sunday night was mellow, an evening spent readying oneself for the work week? Yeah, me neither. Something always comes along at the end of a hectic weekend; you tell yourself you'll just make an appearance then, hours later, you've blown your shot at eight hours of sleep all to hell. And so it was on July 18, when Sunrise Cinemas (formerly Madstone Theaters) manager Margaret Murray threw a birthday bash for WMNF "Art in Your Ear" host/Globe Coffee Lounge proprietor JoEllen Schilke at Murray's fruit tree-besieged West St. Pete home.
Dozens of friendly, fringe-y types gathered. High-octane sangria was synthesized. Rides were given in the Pig Mobile, liberal activist group TrueMajority's latest protest vehicle/rolling eyesore. The kitchen, Ground Zero of any good party, was laid to waste, and people still wanted to hang out in there. The Peabodys — the loose-knit rock ensemble led by Times and Trib music critics Gina Vivinetto and Curtis Ross, respectively — turned in, er, stirring versions of Christina Aguilera's "Beautiful" and, with the Planet's critic on bass, The Ramones' "Beat on the Brat." Mistress of All Things Tampa Theatre, Tara Schroeder and Attendee of All Things WMNF, Julie Sheid, frightened me off with their feminine hygiene talk.
The invites implied the soiree would end around 9 p.m. Sure, right. At that point, they were just getting around to plugging in the karaoke machine.
THEY MAKE MORE SENSE AFTER A FEW COCKTAILS: Methinks the Salvador Dali Museum might've underestimated the appeal of combining unimpeachable art, live jazz and good ol' watering-hole socializing. Halfway through the St. Pete landmark's inaugural "S'Real Fridays" happy-hour event last weekend, the tables were full, the meager snack buffet was mobbed, and the line at the cash-for-tickets-for-booze table had reached a consistently frustrating length. The live jazz and screened entertainment (old Max Fleischer cartoons; old-school abstract expressionist German films; early-90s MTV-clip rip-offs of same) were cool and all. But the real treat was being able to wander the museum's eclectic current exhibition, Dali Centennial: An American Collection, in a casual after-hours sort of environment. No kids, no crowds, and no tourists loudly feeding their companions misinformation about each of the works. In fact, if there was a disappointment at all, it was finding out that affluent, ostensibly arty types are just as likely to try and cut into the drinks line — and pretend they didn't notice said line when busted — as the dudes down at any given dinosaur-metal show at Jannus Landing.
Contact Scott Harrell at 813-739-4856, or by e-mail at scott.harrell@weeklyplanet.com.
This article appears in Jul 29 – Aug 4, 2004.
