← October 2003 | Main | December 2003 →
November 29, 2003
Hey Ho Let’s Go
Tomorrow the city of New York is dedicating the corner of East 2nd Street and the Bowery to Joey Ramone. Hereafter it shall be known as Joey Ramone Way.
Posted by pogo at 12:13 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
November 27, 2003
Gobble
Go see Afro-Punk if it’s showing anwhere near you. It’s good.
Also, happy Thanksgiving. I’m thankful for pie.
Posted by pogo at 10:29 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
November 19, 2003
I Can No Longer Shop Happily
What the fuck is wrong with people in Texas? What on earth makes them think they have the privilege to approach any other person in this city and say whatever pops into their damn fool minds? Where are their damn manners? Sometimes I think everyone around me was raised by a pack of wolves. I’ve been cornered and asked some idiotic and infuriating things before as I walked to the bus stop or some such, just minding my own. But what I saw today took the whole damned cake.
I’ve just returned from the Fiesta Mart. Today is my free day and I’m going to try and make a Oaxacan-style red mole (hooray!). I needed a few things from the store and the trip was mostly painless, until the checkout line. As I was standing in line, in the next aisle over were two young women, probably 20 or 22 years old, heads covered, trying to get through the line as effortlessly as possible, all the while trying to hush a screaming two-year old boy, organize groceries and avoid a thousand swerving carts. I watched, stunned, as a man a couple of lines over shoved his way through the crowded registers and approached these two women. “Are you Shiite or Sunni?” he asked, apropos of fucking nothing. No hello. No acknowledgement that they were even fellow humans. Just like that. There was a long and weighty silence, and I grew afraid.
“Um, why?” the bolder woman asked.
“I’m just curious. Which are you?”
“We are Sunni,” the woman answered back, tough as nails.
She didn’t look surprised at all. She looked weary. And I was furious and embarrassed and disgusted.
The man then proceeded to scramble his way back to his own line and talk to the man next to him, spouting off some stuff and nonsense about how Sunni Muslims are superior to Shiites, but still terrible people, how all they do all the livelong day is degrade women and look down on the African-American male and generally be just plain bad. He was saying all of this so loudly!
He then went on to say, “Me, I’m a Christian! I believe in Jesus! Look at my crucifix!” (as though you could miss the fucking giant, shiny gold-plated thing hanging from his neck.)
I just wanted to scream about all the ugly things done to women and black men by so-called Christians, and all the ugly things done to all sorts of people all over the world in that name and defy him to show where in the fuck in the Koran it commands to live out any of the ugly things done it its name and also just ask what the hell was wrong with him, that he thought he had the right to approach two total strangers, make assumptions about, judge and denounce them and ruin my fucking good mood all in the time it took me to get through the grocery line.
Instead I meekly paid for my papaya and chiles and came home and furiously smoked. And scowled. And grew sadder.
Posted by pogo at 03:31 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
England’s Dreaming
The Guardian is running a series of letters, inviting 60 Brits and Americans to say whatever’s on their minds to George Bush as he makes his visit to London. A particularly good one (from Mickey, age 12) contains probably the best letter opening I’ve ever encountered:
Dear George,
I would just like to say how much I hate you.
There’s really nowhere to go from there but up, is there? Also good is:
Dear President Bush,
I’m sure you’ll be having a nice little tea party with your fellow war criminal, Tony Blair. Please wash the cucumber sandwiches down with a glass of blood, with my compliments.
Harold Pinter
Playwright
and this one:
Dear Jorge,
Look out! Behind you!!
Hahahahahahahaha, only kidding.
Love,
DBC Pierre
Novelist
Posted by pogo at 12:35 PM | TrackBack
November 05, 2003
Wine Me Up, Turn Me On and Watch Me Cry For You

I learned the saddest thing yesterday. Don Walser has retired.
Ever since I moved to Austin, he’s been a fixture. You could hear him Tuesday nights at Jovita’s, Wednesdays at Threadgills, Thursdays at the other Threadgills as a jazzy combo and countless times over the weekend at the Broken Spoke. When I worked at Jovita’s briefly a few years back, Tuesdays were my favorite shift. Even though I’d come in bone tired from my day job and knowing I’d have to withstand asshole comments from the clientele (not to mention a few of the other waitresses) I didn’t mind because I also knew that there would be Don. There would be Don and his voice like a holy honky-tonk angel, and his wife Pat at the front table with a stack of 8x10 glossies of the Pavarotti of the Plains himself, which he would happily autograph in between sets. When I was first living here, and a little uncertain whether or not I was in the right place, I would go see Don for free and listen to him play his guitar and open his mouth to let that amazing yodel come out. I would listen to him play “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain” and think of my daddy so far away (who used to play that song when he and my mama would sit around playing their guitars) and I would furtively tear up, still feeling lonesome, but feeling a little less far away.
Don seems like everybody’s daddy or granddaddy. He’s round and smiley, and you can tell he’s a little shy, but that he’s tickled to death to be playing his music for so many people. You just want to give him a hug and tell him thanks real quick before you politely shuffle back to your seat and let him take care of the real business at hand.
But it seems that is all no more. A quick glance at his website says that he’s officially retired. A wash of sadness fell over me when I read that. There’ll be no more Tuesday nights at Jovita’s when Karla comes back from Japan. No more being able to count on seeing him almost any night of the week, and being able to have some sort of combo plate while doing it. No more comforting from a sweet, otherworldly cowboy’s voice.
If you go to his website, he asks that you email him and let him know your thoughts. There are also a bunch of Real Audio clips (sorry) to listen to if you’ve never had the distinct pleasure of seeing him in person or on record.
Posted by pogo at 10:56 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack