Light my fuego, Tony Romo
At a weekly Doors tribute-band gig, I’ve noticed the majority of the crowd is Mexican. I swear, sometimes it seems like the crowd missed the exit to the Lupillo Rivera show or a Maná concert. Never realized Jim Morrison was the equal of Morrissey and Charles Bronson among other Mexican güero icons.
—Güero Riding on the Storm
Dear Gabacho: Let your letter be the last time any gabacho expresses amazement that Mexicans can enjoy music that doesn’t feature a tuba, accordion or funny hats. Yes, America: many Mexicans love the Doors, and other rock groups that enjoy substantial Mexican followings include Morrissey, Elvis, Led Zeppelin, Metallica, Beck, the Beatles … see where this list is going? Nowhere, man. Good music, like a good Mexican, doesn’t recognize borders. A more inexplicable musical mystery is why gabachos usually recoil at the sound of Mexican tunes—and I’m not even talking about the bandas sinaloenses, conjuntos norteños and mariachis that’ll remind them too much of Lawrence Welk. Seriously, gabachos: where is the love? We sell out arenas in Mexico for many American acts—why can’t ustedes bother to iTune some Café Tacuba or El Gran Silencio? The Mexican theorizes laziness is behind this soft bigotry, but I’m more than open to other theories. By the way, Güero: if you want a more serious analysis of why Mexicans love Morrissey, you’ll have to buy my book. Don’t have it yet, everyone else? Buy it already, cabrones! Its Amazon.com ranking is sinking faster than the prospect of amnesty this year!
While I listened to a politician commiserate with a reporter about the impending crisis in day care, house care and lawn care, I became very concerned. How could I support future victims of the upcoming devastation? I had heard about the problem before, but my personal experience in this area is limited. Everyone I know uses family, friends or licensed day-care facilities. My elderly neighbor pays a neighborhood kid to mow her lawn. My mom used to clean houses, but since she is not legally challenged, it doesn’t count. But when I looked into the eyes of the forlorn politician and saw the strain lines on the reporter’s face, I understood. Who will run the country if the politicians call in sick due to lack of child care? Who will tell me the latest about Britney if all of the reporters collapse in exhaustion from the strain of caring for their own homes and lawns after work? The devastation will be incalculable when the xenophobes cruelly tear away the legally challenged domestic servants from the politicians and reporters who employ them. I am even more determined to help than ever. My senator responded to my pleas by form letter. I think he is too overwhelmed with his impending domestic-help crisis to offer any real solutions. You are my last hope. As a representative for your kind, please let me know how the community can begin to prepare for this crisis. As a member of the media, what will you need from the community to help you survive should your nanny, housekeeper and gardener be deported?
—A Very Concerned Gringa in Oregon
Dear Gabacha: Better reader sarcasm.
After watching the Dallas Cowboys lose to the New York Giants, is wetback quarterback Tony Romo’s off-week, south-of-the-border fiesta to blame for him being downed more times than a bottle of tequila? Or are gabachos just mad he’s dating an All-American Daisy Duke gabacha like Jessica Simpson? Michael Irvin’s cocaine-stripper parties never stopped “America’s team” from Super Bowl stardom.
Dear Wab: Excuse me as I write this to Tony: Dear Antonio Ramiro Romo: Pinche puto pendejo baboso. You perpetuated some of the worst Mexican-male stereotypes with your Cabo San Lucas sojourn—siesta taker, gabacha fetishist, capable of vacationing only in Mexico—yet could’ve shut up the haters with one simple fourth-quarter comeback against the lowly Giants. Instead, interception. Thanks for pulling the biggest Mexican choking act since Over Her Dead Body.