By Ronia Blake

I rarely back-pedal. I’ll admit, in the past there may have been one poorly thought out move of mine that required an apology or a retraction. More often, however, I’ve done things that just end up being “unpopular”. Though I stood behind them 100%, the heavy social consequences used to make me ask myself if it wouldn’t be easier to take it all back so I could enter bars through the FRONT door again. But all that would do is make me an asshole AND a coward. So these days, as long as I can still look myself in the mirror, I simply don’t give a fuck.

I received a really broad range of reactions to the last TCB. Some people were amused, a few were grossed out, and about 15-20 bass players were worried as shit. Mission accomplished. A couple of people were even pissed off. Even better. Alas, it was a Pyrrhic victory. Turns out that most of it was due to misinterpretation. I’m NOT taking any of it back, but apparently I need to explain how this column is going to go from now on. Hopefully this will shut most of you up in the future and save everyone, i.e. – ME, from wasting precious drinking time.

• Quit fucking asking me the names of the people I’ve nailed in my column. I’m not gonna tell you. End of story.
• Any time I DO use names, I am either joking or the person has given me permission to use his/her name. Case in point: I used someone’s name in the last issue, because I WAS JOKING. Apparently, my humor doesn’t necessarily translate to print. How was I supposed to know that some people wouldn’t find the idea too far-fetched that my email inbox could really be full of death threats for Larry (heh, heh).
• I won’t pursue stories about my friends or colleagues at Rank and Revue. This column is a self-serving, unfair, skewed vehicle for MY opinions and MY observations. I refuse to corrupt its integrity by being fucking objective. Plus, I talk about them behind their backs enough as it is. Any exceptions will be subject to the aforementioned permission rule.

Can I get back to my Margarita now?

Now here’s something you won’t see every day. I want to CORRECT a buzz about what went down at The Red Eyed Fly recently. One busy Saturday night (how convenient), the liquor Nazis (TABC) swooped in and shut down the bar at The Fly due to alleged liquor tax evasion. Of course little information was available at that particular time, so you can imagine how quickly, on a Saturday night in the heart of Red River, the incident took on a life of it’s own. Well, before things morph into a fantastic tale of deceit, espionage, and moral corruption, let’s set the record straight. From the beginning, I figured there had to be some kind of mistake It’s well known that The Red Eyed Fly runs a pretty tight ship. Being a prominent live music venue during the city’s current anti-live music tyranny, I’m sure they’re being especially diligent. As usual, I was right. There was no mob-run money laundering outfit. No barnyard pornography bootleg ring. It was just the Big Boys wasting your hard-earned tax dollars again. No biggie. (!) Yes, The Red Eyed Fly paid their taxes. Yes, they complied with the rules and regulations set up for upstanding business owners. Yes, they got screwed for no other reason than lazy-assed government employees failing to communicate. And, ahh yes, they had to suck up the income loss for having to close for that (Super Bowl) Sunday while our fair city’s finest passed the buck for responsibility. Business as usual.

Public apology time. In a nutshell, a friend had a terrible stomach pain. I made fun of her for being a drunk with probable alcohol poisoning. I told her to suffer so she’d learn her lesson. The next day she called FROM THE HOSPITAL to say that she had to have emergency surgery to remove a NEARLY-RUPTURED appendix. Yeah, acute appendicitis. That shit you can DIE from. I can’t get over the fact that I think I almost killed her. She says I’m being melodramatic. Since that is utterly impossible, I’m making a public apology. What’s worse? I had another friend that had appendicitis just a week or two ago. I didn’t even make the “raging tummy-ache that came out of nowhere” connection. I AM SO SORRY I AM A JACKASS.


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