Mayor Of Ponce: Troubleshooting With Palmetto’s (Part 1)

Mayor Of Ponce needs an outlet. Here goes everything…

“Life moves pretty fast. And if you don’t stop to look around every once in a while, you just might miss something.”

Palm trees. I don’t know how they do it, but they can have an amazing effect you. It’s not scientifically proven, but I’m pretty sure they release some sort of chemical endorphin in your brain that makes you feel better. Gives you a careless confidence. And in the right light, a nice breeze, and on the fringe of an afternoon buzz, they can sometimes make all your problems go away.

With the summer months wearing thin and the sight of the same city faces wearing thinner, an impromptu road trip with the boys is welcome relief from the dog days of August. In a last minute decision, I join The Hiss in a weekend romp through the Sunshine State. The same trip we made last spring where we self appointed ourselves to a fictional state department. The Department of Nightlife.

After a quick pass through Gainesville to reminisce where Todd Galpin
(drums) and Adrian Barrera (lead vocals) met at the University of
Florida, we roll into Tampa for a Thursday night show. Three of the
four guys in the band are from here, so it’s a homecoming gig of sorts.

Tampa Bay is a weird town. It’s not so much the heat, it’s the
Chlamydia. It’s an unofficial capital of central Florida, which isn’t
much a compliment. The winners and dreamers of the one car wash towns
that lie off highways in the middle of the state make it to Tampa. Then
the overachievers and malcontents from there move on to cities like
Atlanta; the unofficial capital of the south. It’s the minor leagues of
social success. An icky step ladder.

The show is in the night life
district of town, Ybor City (pronounced E-bore). Ybor is an attempt by
the city to create 90’s Buckhead for Tampa, but it came out more like
Underground Atlanta 2000’s, with an Orlando semi-gloss. This sounds
like it could be pronounced E-boring. It sounds like a job for the
Dept. of Nightlife.

After what I assume is possibly a Brian Jonestown
Massacre cover band, The Hiss take the stage. Or actually, it’s more a
patio. We’re at New World Brewery, a bar/ former brewery that stopped
brewing its own barley and hops because apparently every beer tasted
exactly the same. And on the edge of Ybor, its very un-Ybor; torn and
frayed with an uneven front brick patio secluded by overgrown Oleander.
Wide open French doors lead to the bar. And 50 ft palm trees and an
over- running fountain give it a Hemingway, Key West feel- And that’s a
good feeling. Panhandle, South Beach, or a food court in Conyers, I’ve
said it once, and I’ll say it again; palm trees can really change your
outlook on shit.

After the show, there’s a Hiss afterparty at a club
down the street. And for Ybor standards, Czar is a fancy establishment.
High ceilings with white curtains, illuminated bar, and booths with
Ybor’s finest- some guys have product in their hair, and some guys look
like a product of a failed marriage.

Sadly, my Czar experience is cut
short after I’m tossed out the back door following a mishap in the
bathroom. Obviously the bouncer doesn’t know I’m with the Dept. of
Nightlife. It’s an honest mistake.

With Ybor looking like E-snore at
the moment, the only other place that looks open is a gay bar across
street. I shrug my shoulders…

Taking shots with the promoter at the
bar, he keeps explaining this is a gay bar, but luckily not tonight,
it’s just techno. Funny, I never knew their was a difference.
                           My phone
rings. It’s Todd. “Dude. Where are you?”
I explain that I’m at a gay
bar across the street. After a pause, I can barely make out, “Yeah.
Bring half the…”
                           It trails off, so I call right back just in case I
missed a “Classic Todd”. It’s only seconds later and he’s already
forgot, “Dude, I said Magnums or something… Don’t worry about what I
said, just come back to the hotel and let’s party!”

Fair enough. It’s
lightning round, and trying to round up an after-after party, I give
the ol’ Ybor effort to a 20 year old little duggy behind the bar, but
no dice. She has a fake boyfriend or something. I shrug my shoulders.

So I roll out with the promoter and a dancer named Katie. In the 2 bock
car ride to the hotel, Katie explains that she’s been in adult films.
But only with her boyfriend at the time. Fair enough.

Milton Chapman
(guitar) sees me get out of the car at the hotel with a dude that,
well, looks like he promotes techno at a gay club. “Oh, no”, is his
first thought he said.
But luckily, the next pair of legs he sees has on fish net stockings
and a halter top… and it’s a girl.

At the after-after party, it’s an
odd assortment. Stand up for the Dept. of Nightlife roll call: Drummer.
Bass player. Wife. Mixed martial arts fighter. Bellhop. Producer. His
hot ass “singer/songwriter” friend. Half assed writer. Techno
enthusiast. And an adult film star/ night club dancer. They’re all
here. Present and accounted for.

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it
again; Tampa Bay is a weird town. Let’s just thank God it has palm
trees.

Stay tuned for Part 2 next week!