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Crossing Over

Music has no borders.

Dear Mexican: At a weekly Doors tribute-band gig, I've noticed that 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 that 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. Other rock groups that enjoy substantial Mexican followings include Morrissey, the Cure, Depeche Mode, 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 that laziness is behind this soft bigotry, but I'm more than open to other theories. By the way, if you want a more serious analysis of why Mexicans love Morrissey, you'll have to buy my book. Its Amazon.com ranking is sinking faster than the prospect of amnesty this year!

Dear Mexican: After watching the Dallas Cowboys lose to the New York Giants, I wonder if wetback quarterback Tony Romo's off-week, south-of-the-border fiesta is to blame for him being downed more times than a bottle of tequila. Or are gabachos just mad that 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.

Raiders Nation

Dear Wab: Here's my message for 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.

Dear Mexican: Why do your people often hold a public car wash after one of your homies gets killed? What's the connection between having a clean ride and death? Do the neighbors' cars need to be clean in order for your amigo to get into heaven?

Pinche Cabrón Gringo

Dear Gabacho: Better destitute Mexicans raising funds through suds for funerals instead of sticking a gun in your rib cage, ¿qué no?

 
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