Sunday on South Congress.
This city is starting to feel like home. Our sundays are spent wondering up the stip, picking at tex mex and wondering if it is too early for that frozen margherita yet. The answer is that it is never too early for a frozen margherita. The sound of steel guitars leaking out during the lunchtime slot at the Continental are a reminder of what this city is famous for, but all around us are clues as to why people keep on coming here. Across the road the costume shop sells masks depicting characters from trashy 70s slasher movies you’ve never heard of, while a 6 foot post-op transexual chats to dudes in trucker caps eating wings outside the San Jose hotel, which infamously hosted a secret Wanda Jackson show a couple of weeks back. ‘Keep Austin weird’ Stickers litter the many lamposts, upon one of which sits a lime- green Monk Parakeet, a bird native to Austin since a bizarre breeding experiment back in the 80s. If any of this is to go by, it will be a long time before those stickers get peeled off.
It was such a pleasure going down across the border into mexico this past week. The shows were some of our best and the kids at them were what made the whole thing so special. Central america has gotten such a bad rep these past couple of years will all the cartels making peoples life a misery, but the hype created by the media should not be putting bands off going down there and showing their fans that they care.
We spent our day off climbing the ancient pyramid of the sun and drinking mescal along the avenue of the dead at Teotihuacan. As disparaging as our tour guide appeared, it was agreed amongst us that the Totonac and Zapotec people would have approved.