True Stories From Taco Land
By Yawn Blog
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Alcohol tends to blur circumstances, and I have professed to excess that pilgrimages to Tacoland were the results of binges, rather than the facilitator. Thus most of my memories take place under the floodlight out on the patio and aren’t too clear.
2:30 a.m. we’re in a West Side Tejano bar featuring the marginalized of the local marginalized. I am with a couple of friends who are tripping on mushrooms and drinking beer. Nobody talks to us because we’re white. A man with a missing arm comes by and rubs his stump on one of their legs. Suddenly San Antonio is a very scary place.
Flashback 1 hour.
We’re getting kicked out of Salute over on N. St. Marys. I’m about to kick out their window with my cowboy boots because one of my friends is screwing around in there and we want to get him out and leave. She threatens to call the cops so I dare her to and I tell her to tell them my name. Somehow after 1:51 I still had the sense to give her a fake name.
10 minutes later we’re at Tacoland trying to get in. Some kid (a band member) is wearing a Dead Kennedys shirt and insisting that we pay him $3 each to come in and drink beer even though it’s almost closing time. I’m with Eric and Brian from the Austin supergroup My Education. Now here’s where my memory gets blurry. Brian had words with the guy. Dammit, there was no way in hell we were paying $3 to drink $1.50 beers at 1:45 a.m.!
The conversation ended up something to the effect of Brian saying “Piss off you little punk and take your fucking Dead Kennedys reprint shirt with you!”