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Carlton: A name for Vinik's, uh, vision, and other signs of the times

 
Published Jan. 30, 2015

It's almost refreshing that Jeff Vinik, the money man ready to transform a chunk of once-sleepy downtown Tampa into something bigger, does not much care for the nickname "Vinikville."

That's the working title some use for a planned and ambitious remake of the southern end of downtown into a vibrant business, residential and entertainment district. With, if all goes well, a medical school to boot.

And what to call projects like V-ville matter when people are talking about a town's selling points.

Traveler: "Hey, I'm headed to San Antonio/New York/New Orleans."

Hip traveler friend: "Oh, you've got to see the River Walk/High Line/Part-of-town-where-tourists-are-safe!"

Already on the table is the perfectly awful SoDo, as in South Downtown, and, seriously? "Let's go to SoDo!"

So no. Plus it's confusing, given the nearby SoHo district in Hyde Park.

Channelside is obviously out, since the name carries the unmistakable whiff of decay from the so-named archeological dig of an entertainment complex Vinik plans to resuscitate.

Speaking of which, the iconic busty beer-and-wings restaurant that somehow managed to survive and even thrive at Channelside prompted the suggestion they name the new development Hooterville. (Hey, there are even railroad tracks nearby.)

But seriously. Even with changes to make a downtown that's already coming alive into something even bigger, ours is not a glitzy burg. My vote: Tampa Portside (or Portside Tampa) — a nod to the city's port-town roots and the actual working port nearby, the busy tugs and boats and massive cruise ships going to and fro.

Speaking of a city growing up, Tampa now boasts at least three — count 'em, three — restaurants near downtown patronized by workday regulars at which actual reservations for lunch are a good idea: Ava, Ulele and Oxford Exchange. With progress comes maybe having to wait for a table for your okra fries.

Then, there are things that never change. Campaign signs are sprouting in front yards across Tampa like mushrooms after a rainstorm. Look closely at a familiar name on one, and you'll see a sign of true political frugality.

Charlie Miranda, longtime don of the Tampa City Council, has been getting himself elected since the 1970s. ("I've never lost an election," he will tell you, "I just sometimes never got enough votes.")

This time around, Miranda, 74, is leaving the District 6 seat because of term limits to run citywide for the District 2 seat against candidates Joseph Citro and Julie Jenkins. And his signs do indeed say "District 2." Except if you get close enough, you'll notice the "2" is a sticker, the kind you buy at Home Depot to put your address on your mailbox. Those stickers are affixed to signs Miranda carefully saved from previous runs for office.

And this will surprise no one who remembers Miranda's protest on behalf of taxpayers on the hook for Raymond James Stadium, and how he dressed in black and refused to set foot inside.

"I don't throw away anything I can reuse in life," he says — which actually wouldn't be a bad campaign slogan for a guy who's been a part of Tampa politics for so long. But if you happen to be looking for those stick-on numbers at your local Lowe's, don't expect any twos.

"Fifty-eight cents," says Miranda.