Creepy Crawlers: Siesta Key

Thursday's an odd night to stage a pub crawl. But I was up for the challenge and eager to prove to my entourage — co-workers, a few significant others, their equally significant friends — that weeknights on Siesta Key can be fun-nights, too.

From sundown to the dead of night, I made sure that we hit all of the major attractions lining Siesta's main drag, Ocean Boulevard. My mission was simple: to sample the various nocturnal offerings along the strip, drink a daiquiri or two, maybe pick up a pair of Bermuda shorts.

We started at a Siesta institution.

The first thing you see when you enter The Beach Club (5151 Ocean Blvd., 349-1636) is a large-scale replica of a shark hanging from the ceiling. The scuba diver dangling from its teeth might be a cautionary tale for some (you will tip your bartender!), though more likely, its chief purpose is to complement the bar's tropical boathouse theme. With high ceilings and a grass hut-style entrance, the roomy tavern houses three short bars and a longer one, each well-lit and coated neon orange.

Regulars know The Beach Club as "the captain's sportsbar," presumably for its nautical motif and informal, clubhouse feel. Huge television screens broadcast ESPN; pool tables and dartboards are strategically placed; free popcorn is available on some nights. Even the music -- a rotating set list of live cover bands, pre-fab reggae and Third-Wave ska -- caters to its "college shmoe" target demographic.

Needless to say, on Thursday, there were quite a few more captains than, um, captainettes. Which was enough to get our engines revvin' for a change of scenery.

At Gilligan's Island Bar & Grill (5253 Ocean Blvd., 346-8122), Thursday evening is just the calm before the weekend storm. Gilligan's, which boasts both a dimly-lit indoor watering hole and patios in front and in back, prides itself on the Cancun-esque reception it gives spring breakers: a glass case showcasing past winners of the weekly Hawaiian Tropic Bikini Contests, amateur stripper poles befitting any drunken hottie, boxes and boxes of carnival beads, "Gilligan's Gone Wild" T-shirts -- the list goes on.

But not tonight. Sensing our disappointment, a nice bartender named Jackie urged us to wait two days and come back. On Thursdays, she told us, you can always hit up Ladies' Night at Blu.

[Record scratch] Blu?

The seed was planted: What was this mysterious "Blu" she spoke of? I resolved to put it on our itinerary, and, just when the sight of a few, marked-down thongs had me wondering how long it had been since my last trip to Tijuana, we were off like dresses on prom night.

The Rhino Room (5253 Ocean Blvd., 346-8122) next door caught the attention of some of my entourage; namely, my girlfriend, who wanted in. "OK, but just for a second," I told her, my head teeming with visions of Club Blu.

Perhaps it's the way the interior's quasi-Hot Topic neon lighting scheme juxtaposes with the "old beach cottage" look of its outer walls, but from the outside, the Double R looks like the kind of house I imagine Kid Rock would build for his grandma. It's awesome: a slice of kitsch on Siesta Key, with a packed schedule of game nights, booze and dancing, all under the watchful gaze of a Pam Anderson painting.

Across the street, the Daiquiri Deck (5250 Ocean Blvd, 349-8697), an outdoor, Shakira-pumping vision in pink and electric-blue neon, keeps its patrons merry and well fed with a menu of Snacketizers and Bodacious Burgers. My entourage was getting hungry, so we stayed for the food -- then stayed longer to watch the odd spectacle known as the "Daiquiri scene." Behind the bar, a Willy Wonka-ish row of daiquiri machines churn artificial colors and flavors and rum into ice. There are hordes of flavors to choose from: "Purple Haze," "Green Monster," "Banana Slider" and the most popular, "Deck Diesel."

In jest, I asked the waitress helping me if there is a "Flavor of Love." Not only did she not get it; I think she thought I was hitting on her, which, when I think about it, is probably more embarrassing for me. "Here," she said, passing me an orange Diesel. Up close, I could finally read her T-shirt. "Don't You Wish Your Girlfriend Was Drunk Like Me?" it asked.

I cut a deal with my crew: one more stop and then it's time for some Blu.

The Speakeasy of Siesta Key (5254 Ocean Blvd., 346-1379) is the sort of dive bar you visit if you're in the mood for, as one regular described it, "the kind of place where Elvis Presley might break into song."

It has that vintage feel. Old wood, live cover ensembles like tonight's "The 504 Band"; this is hipster heaven -- if such a thing exists on Siesta. Describing the weekly schedule, bartender Christi -- I blame it on my mental Tourette's, but I kept hearing the word "sassy" every time she spoke -- listed the diverse range of jazz, blues, Sublime coverers and rock. "We're laid back here," she said. "Much more laid back than Gulf Gate."

"Yes, Joel," they all said in unison when I started inching toward the door. "It's Blu time."

And so, at long last, the night of pub-hopping reaches its epic end. Odysseus leads his loyal Achaeans back to Ithaca, a place where Aphrodite prevails and no Trojan will ever set foot.

Blu 1266 Lounge (1266 Old Stickney Point Road, 346-1711) was blutiful, everything I'd hoped for and more. Exclusive enough to let in only a fraction of my entourage (apologies to shorts-wearers CLB and Linsky, but this is how we roll), Blu makes its pomposity known through sheer, money-snorting nihilism. Cocaine-white walls and too-expensive drinks. Gangsta dance music and too-tight clothes. Nude marble busts and semi-nude breasts. And the best part: The whole operation is run out of this lumpish-looking warehouse off ol' Stickney Point.

Now just throw in free drinks for my friends, and you can bury me there.

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