Having lived in Austin, TX for 10 years, and currently engaged in a propaganda war with a few peace weenies on my beloved Austin "women on the web" listserv, I have a personal interest in Fisk's adventures in my old stomping grounds.
Cameraman number two came striding towards us through the studio lights. "I want to thank you, sir, for reminding us that the British had a lot to do with the chaos in the Middle East, " he said. "But I have something else to say." His voice rose 10 decibels, his bare arms bouncing up and down at his sides, his shaven head struck forward pugnaciously. "Yeah, I wanna tell you that the cause of this problem is the fucking medieval Arabs and their wish to enslave us all ? and I tell you that it is because we want to save the Jews from the fucking savage Arabs who want to throw them into the sea that we are about to fuck Saddam."Mr. Aykins, thank you for upholding the honor of Austin, and next time I'm in town I'll buy you endless rounds of Shiner and all the migas you can eat!
There was a pause as Don Darling looked at the man, aghast. "And that," cameraman number two concluded, "is the fucking truth.". . . our nice anti-war chat had been brought to a halt by a spot of redneck reality. There really were right-wingers out there in the darkness who really did want George Bush to zap the Arabs. I asked the guy his name: "Gregg Aykins," he said. "And the FBI can do nothing to me if you give them my name."
As for you, Mr. Fisk, your limited perspective as a condescending British middle-aged Lefty journalist leads you to assume that anyone who takes exception to your tired tropes, especially in the heart of Texas! must be a redneck (not that there's anything wrong with rednecks - unlike you, most of them have more sense than to publicly praise a mob for beating them up).
But you clearly don't understand Austin's potent brew of cultures: indigenous Chicanos, true Texas rednecks, aging hippie good ole boys, home-grown hackers, vigorous pockets of Indian and Vietnamese immigrants, gonzo cyberpunks, Kozmik Cowboys, waves of Californian dot.com millionaires, roots-music fanatic expat sons of eminent British historian poets, and other assorted eccentrics.
My years of Austin living would disincline me to characterize your tormentor as a redneck, as they are more likely to have mullets than shaved heads and tend not to gravitate to the broadcasting arts. If I know Austin, Mr. Aykins is probably a vegan UT Radio-TV-Film major who DJs techno at night, runs a Eutropian website, and writes gaming code on the side, when he's not shopping for leather accessories for his boyfriend. (That's just a guess. If I knew the themes of his tattoos and the locaitons of his piercings, I would have more semiotic clues.) Bill thinks Fisk is exaggerating how many times Mr. Aykins said "fuck." I don't.
I think this is a perfect occasion to tell my favorite Austin joke:
Three guys are in a bar: an Aggie, a Californian, and a guy from Austin. They drink and get a little rowdy. [editorial comment: Aggie jokes are in Texas what Polack jokes are in the Northeast.] Suddenly, completely without warning, the Aggie grabs a bottle of tequila, unscrews the top, takes a good swig, and throws the bottle in the air. He then jerks out a Colt 45 pistol and shoots the bottle, spraying tequila all over everything and everybody.Darn. I miss Austin. NYC is crazy and edgy, but Austin is crazy and mellow. And it's 65 degrees there. I'm going back for a visit real soon. Where was I? Oh yes. Read all of Bill's post - he has many recent nuggets of obtuse Fiskiness on display and chops them up fine.
The patrons at the bar shout, "Hey bud, why'd you waste that tequila?"
The Aggie says "Heck, it's just tequila. Us Aggie's go across the border all the time and get all the tequila we want."
Not to be outdone, the Californian whips out a corkscrew and uncorks a bottle of wine. He pours a little bit into a glass, swirls it in the glass, sniffs, comments on the tart insolent piquancy of its bouquet, sips, tosses the bottle in the air, nicks it with a round from a little chrome plated pistol, and showers a couple of patrons at the bar with wine.
The patrons, upset by the casual waste and general lack of concern for their safety, express their displeasure and astonishment, to which the Californian replies, "Well, I'm from the Napa Valley, and we have more than enough wine where I come from."
The Austinite, a quiet observer until this point, touches the crystal hanging from his neck, checks out his tattoo, flips back his ponytail, and puts down his guitar. He pops the top off a Shiner beer, hammers it back, throws the empty bottle into the air, pulls a 9mm Beretta, takes careful aim, shoots both the Californian and the Aggie, and catches the falling bottle.
The patrons scream,"Why did you do that!?!"
The Austinite replies, "I'm from Austin. We've got too many Aggie's and WAY too many Californians, but glass bottles, now - those can be recycled!!
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