Beer Me (gonzo-style) Book review of Beer and Loathing in Panama City: A Bloodthirsty Spring Break Exodus by Keith Strausbaugh

By Meghan Dusek

Spring break. These two syllables make the framework of Strausbaugh’s heady, alcohol-infused memoir that breeze through eight days illustrated by a tornado of extended metaphors, ellipses and brutal honesty (nothing is off-limits for the author, even if it includes demeaning himself).

It gets a little dizzy at times, and the plot isn’t always entirely apparent—but that’s what spring break will do to you. Written from his own memories but feeling strangely generic, Strausbaugh re-creates the spring break world of ambiguous morals fueled by MySpace sponsorships and Jag bombs (but mostly beer … lots of beer), and where the hot tub is always desecrated by vomit, feces or both.

Strausbaugh’s writing is heavily reminiscent of Hunter S. Thomson, i.e. gonzo journalism, but without the surrealist drug presence. Instead, for better or for worse, any spring breaker will recognize Strausbaugh’s seemingly surreal elements as all-too-common MTV televised-but-fuzzed-out segments. It’s a funny and apt wildly-gesticulating commentary on a hallowed part of “the college experience,” and why the rest of life can’t possibly live up to it.

The tone of the chronicle is set by opening with Strausbaugh and friend wheeling two carts loaded with Natural Ice cases, identified as “provision shopping” to their car, followed by the 12-hour booze cruise to Panama City. The ride is punctuated by encounters with police shining their marijuana-clouded vehicle; running into Falcon footballers at rundown Atlanta gas stations; and ultimate dismay at their Florida accommodations. Thus ends the first chapter.

The following seven are a little less distinct. The other members of the party are fleshed out further, such as the unfortunate Brett, who “is a heavy heap of nothing, no personality, no chutzpah, no smiles, large and dull like the statue of liberty ... Brett seemed to pride himself in being overly average, like he went through hard travails to keep success and failure both at bay...” Brett ultimately leaves the party early and lives up to his characterization, after passing out first and the narrator and co. Sharpie-up his face and shave his eyebrows on his 22nd birthday.

The beach scene figures prominently in multiple capacities—“Sin reigned the sand and it shouldn’t have been any other way; we were crusading infantry hell-bent on parlaying the fun odds, nearing the threshold of a non-religious Paradise Found.” Strausbaugh details the goings-on of the MySpace stage, complete with rump-shaking contests and cross-gender clothes swapping, ogled by throngs of (mostly) males with sunglasses (imperative to a would-be Peeping Tom, as Strausbaugh shamelessly admits).

It’s where loosely-tied bikinis come undone and beers are savored with the sunrise … preferably with Mexican migrant workers or the homeless guy, a.k.a. comedic relief. There’s brief mention of the seascape, but not too much—the appropriate quote to illustrate that here doesn’t quite meet the “fit-to-print” standards (and to be honest, not much in the book does).

The bar scene figures even MORE prominently, and Strausbaugh is hilariously dead-on with his critiques of social smokers, puffing away cig after cig, coughing when they actually inhale; the self-described “good girls,” who are dancing on the barstools and taking body shots after a couple kamikazes; and club music: “a superficial and commercialized chant showcasing the mass stupidity of mass audiences.”

It’s all almost a little too on-the-nose; one wonders how and why Strausbaugh endures the banality and seeming futility of the spring break experience? He sums it up by pretty much telling us what we already know: “Spring break wasn’t real; it was a drunk dream reminding us how fun life can be.”

Keith Strausbaugh is currently a teacher of freshman composition and a graduate student at Old Dominion University in Norfolk, VA. Beer and Loathing in Panama City: A Bloodthirsty Spring Break Exodus is his first published work, and is available online at www.amazon.com. Do be cautioned: if you are offended by South Park-esque humor, this may not be the best book for you.