Last week I heard about an event at Club Status in Houston’s Midtown district where Chingo Bling would be hanging out. You probably know who he is, but in case you live with your mom and listen to Foreigner albums all day, Chingo is a prolific rap artist who has corroborated with Nelly, Chamillionaire and Paul Wall, and he happens to live in Houston, Texas. His most recent album is titled “Me Vale Madre“.
I wanted to be prepared for this moment, so two days before this endeavor, I bought a $15 pager from a little shop on Bellfort. Out in Channelview (on my way to Karanchos), I picked up two strips of Black Cats and a length of fuse. If you’re a mercenary like myself, you know how handy Black Cats can be in a tactical situation of importance such as this.
If you live in Houston, you know how Yellow Cab is. There may seem to be other independent cab services, but they’re all owned by Yellow Cab, and you can never depend on a ride. To counter this, I forged a relationship with a Yellow Cab driver I’ll call “Bob”, since that is his real name. He talks too much, but he’ll pick me up anytime I want, 24 x 7. In return, I have to play harmonica along with whatever album he decides to play. Which is cool unless he’s in a reggae kind of mood. It’s really hard to burn up a blues harp to reggae music, I’m just saying.
Chingo Bling and Roxxi Jane
Bob brought me to the joint around 8 or so, and I waited for Chingo Bling to show up. The bar was blue, and when I turned around and looked again, it was red. It took me a while to figure out that the bar changed colors. Freaky. There weren’t any barstools at the color-changing bar, just an array of VIP sections against the wall.
Hector the bartender explained that the silver buckets were for champagne, and no, I could not use it as an ice bucket for my Lone Star Beer.
Chingo Bling arrived with an entourage of several beautiful women, and four giant bodyguards that looked like they ate a bowl of bullets for breakfast and seasoned them with pepper spray. I was prepared for the bodyguards, because I was on a mission, which I’ll share with you.
If you don’t know about #TTC3, the Houston Chowhound’s third annual Taco Truck Crawl on April 10, you must be playing Mass Effect at your sister’s house and trying to figure out why nobody is interested in sharing the box of 50 Chicken McNuggets you fervently saved up for. Hell, you’re probably asking for that godawful barbecue sauce. You probably own more than two cats. Get a hold of yourself, cat man.
Long story short,my plan was to get Chingo Bling to hang out at TTC3, hell or high water.
Once Chingo seemed somewhat approachable, I dialed the number to the pager I had given Bob. He lit the fuse to the Black Cats and tossed them underneath one of the nice cars that the valet guys tend to park up close to the front of the joint.
My plan was for the bodyguards to go nuts and fly out of the place so I could get Chingo Bling alone long enough to make my case. The firecrackers started popping. Instead of freaking out, the seasoned and wary bodyguards, who surprisingly knew the difference between gunshots and Black Cats, casually stepped outside to check it out. All but one.
Steph Marie and Chingo Bling show me the correct way to throw dueces.
Anyway, this was my chance. I approached Chingo, and as the Incredible Mexican Hulk stood in my path, Chingo called him off in Spanish. I proceeded to introduce myself to Chingo. He took his sunglasses off, ordered me a Shiner, and gave the group of hot chicks a dismissive motion so we could have a private chat.
He came closer so I could hear him over the thumping dance music.
“What’s with the Black Cats, dumb ass?”, he politely inquired .
Another bodyguard appeared about five paces away on my right.
I considered explaining, but decided to get to the point.
He cracked a smile and introduced me to the ladies.
Roxxi Jane (@Suprlatina on Twitter) is a dance/pop singer who has recently been working her way to the pop charts. You can listen to her mixtape, or wait for her widely anticipated album, Everybody Loves Pink. Our conversation quickly went to taco trucks, and she told me about some of her favorites.
I was also happy to meet Steph Marie Tunchez (@OStephy), a mariachi singer and violinist who I’ve been following on Twitter for some time. She also knows her tacos, and she suggested a few places that weren’t on my map.
Tuco Benedicto Pacifico Juan Maria Ramirez is a greedy bandit, a real piece of work.
He’s been found guilty of murder, armed robbery of citizens, state banks, and post offices; the theft of sacred objects, arson in a state prison, perjury, bigamy, deserting his wife and children, inciting prostitution, kidnapping, extortion, receiving stolen goods, selling stolen goods, passing counterfeit money, and using marked cards and loaded dice.
He’s also a precision sharpshooter. In fact, he killed more guys in the movie than Clint Eastwood did. His gunsmithing skills are unparalleled as well. In one scene, he went into a gun shop and instead of just stealing a pistol, he disassembled three different pistols and built his own in about a minute.
Most people who watch the movie see Clint Eastwood’s character, “Blondie” as the hero. Me, I’m a Tuco fan.
I sometimes wonder how a man like Tuco, who refers to himself in third person, would get by in today’s world. He’s not a simple drug dealer or thug- he is a tactician. But how would he operate in a world of freeway cameras, electronically scanned drivers licenses and Nancy Grace?
For someone as resourceful as Tuco, you’ve got to wonder- if he had an IPhone, which applications would he use?
Thanks to Twitter and the amazing Houston foodie scene, I’ve been nominated for the Shorty Awards.
If you’re not familiar with The Shorty Awards, you’re not alone. I just found out about it a week or two ago. Basically, it’s a big award ceremony in NYC for the best Twitter users in certain categories.
“Hollywood has the Oscars. Broadway has the Tonys. Now Twitter has the…Shorty Awards” - New York Times
The image below shows the top 6 in the running for the Food category. (Yes, I know David Archuleta is on the list. Don’t ask.)
When I was a rotten kid in the cassette era, I found this amazing album in my dad’s old record collection. I’d never heard of the guy, but wow, he was playing a really cool looking guitar. And that’s important.
Earlier this month, I posted about a quest I’ve championed over the last few months- an effort to get Chamillionaire, the successful Houston rap artist, to follow me on Twitter.
Many people have given me some great suggestions on how to pull it off, some of which I am comfortable employing, and some of which are outright insane. Since Chamillionaire is very tech-savvy, he has a web forum dedicated to his fan base, also known as “The Chamillitary”.
I thought I would dig into this web forum and see if I would have any luck garnering enough support to get Chamillionaire himself to notice. Read the rest…
Facebook, MySpace, forget it. I started a Facebook account a week ago and I already hate it.
Twitter’s my thing. My name is @GunsandTacos, and with Twitter, I’m not forced to ‘reconnect’ with people I avoided back in school, or to help anyone move into a 2nd story apartment. I can be a big mystery if I want, and that’s the way I like it.
Twitter’s easy. All you have to do is talk a lot, and refrain from mentioning anything about loved ones, kids, politics, religion, boners, or pets. (especially pets).
When I discovered Twitter, the first thing I did was remove all of the Twitter-default celebrity followers, mostly because I didn’t know who they were. A lifetime Houston resident, I thought I’d lean toward Houston celebrities.
Politicians are boring, so I scratched them off of the list.
Artists are too cool to use Twitter.
Gun nuts like myself don’t use Twitter, because we are generally too busy stockpiling ammo for the upcoming zombie apocalypse to deal with these frivolities.
Sports? I’m not really into sports that don’t involve guys who are shooting, stabbing, or at least punching one another.
Musicians? Same category as artists. If they do tweet, I’m going to assume they’ve got some hot groupie tweeting for them. Yawn.
After ruling out each of these, I found a Houston celebrity that fits none of these categories: Chamillionaire.
@Chamillionaire has more followers than @JesusChrist Himself. No really, look it up.
The country of Argentina is a great place, but it has this one problem.
Millions of Eared Doves darken the skies in shapes, patterns and layers, devouring over 20% of their corn and grain crops in the Cordoba area. They don’t migrate as other species do. Years ago,the Argentinian government even sanctioned programs to poison the birds at their roosts, but this had disastrous effects all the way down the food chain.
Incidentally, wingshooting is about as much fun as a gunslinger can have, and Argentina is famed for its fine steaks and Malbec wines. I thought I might step up to the plate and help Argentina out a bit.
In-Flight Tetris. Suck it, American Airlines.
SYC Sporting is a world-renowned outfitter, known as a favorite spot for Tom Knapp, a world famous exhibition shooter. My dad and I booked three nights at Estancia El Cortijo, a world-class hunting lodge, built of local timber, with a magnificent thatched roof and furniture made from lacquered woods and cowhide.
They even had one of those things in the bathroom that European guys use to squirt water up their ass.
The overnight trip from Miami to Santiago, Chile was on a massive jumbo jet (LAN Airlines) with free beer, wine, and liquor for everyone. We each had a console where you could watch movies, listen to a categorized library of music, or play Tetris, the perfect game for being stuck in a tiny seat for an extended period of time. The stewardesses were these cute, trim, polite little uniformed robots that shuffled around and brought us stuff. And we were flying coach.
An agent from Estancia El Cortijo picked us up from the airport. We changed into our hunting attire, which included a recoil pad that straps onto your shoulder and around your midsection. You know, like a bra.
“I don’t need one of these. I’ve done this before”.
“You’ve been dove hunting in Texas and Mexico. You haven’t done this before”.
I reluctantly strapped on the goofy-looking recoil pad.
Closeup of the Benelli Montefelto 20 gauge.
I chose a 20 gauge Benelli Montefeltro, known worldwide for its durability and performance. Cordoba dove hunting is a wingshooter’s opportunity of a lifetime, and since thousands of shells would be running through the shotgun, I wanted to minimize any risk of firearm failure to avoid the necessity of performing repairs or maintenance in the field.
Not that I know how to replace shotgun parts or anything, but that sounded like a cool thing to say.
The Birds
When we arrived at our spot, waves of doves peppered the sky, flying quickly and erratically. Simply stated, if you have never been to Cordoba, then you have never seen this many birds at once.
Let’s put this into perspective. When shooting dove at a hunting lease in Santa Fe, Texas, I would go through one or even two boxes of shells on a good day. In Mexico, several boxes.
In Cordoba, you’ll go through two cases of shells in one hunt, easily. There are twenty boxes in a case. And you’ll be hunting twice a day. Do the math, that is like over a billion shells.
Birdboys Lalo and Cesar.
The Birdboy
Basically stated, a ‘birdboy’ is a hired hand whose job it is to retrieve the birds you shoot down. From my experiences dove hunting in Mexico, it will usually be a teenage boy or young man working for tips. Additionally, a birdboy will point out the location of incoming doves, by yelling out the “o-clock” number in Spanish, or yelling “Alto” for high, and “Bajo” for low.
In Cordoba, there is no need to point out doves.
‘Birdboy’ is a misnomer in Cordoba, because the birdboy role is taken to the professional level. The “birdboys” at Estancia El Cortijo are skilled armorers, and they are grown men that could probably kick your ass.
I’m not saying they could kick your ass personally, but they could certainly kick Daniel Craig‘s bidet-utilizing ass. Just wanted to clear that up, Ace.
Their main duty is not to point out birds, but to reload your shotgun for you as quickly as they can. Since we’re talking about thousands of rounds of ammo here, the bird-man will sometimes have tape wrapped around his thumb as he repeatedly shoves the shells into the loading port while counting the falling birds with a clicker they wear around their neck.
Put those ducks back, you idiot. We're dove hunting.
Shooting Scores of Birds
Remember “Duck Hunt” on the Nintendo?
It’s not like that at all.
Mostly, they fly in groups. Unlike other dove species, these tend to spot you a little better, so proper camouflage is necessary. More importantly, you need to find some kind of cover, such as brush, trees, or cacti. A swarm of birds will fly towards you from the fields, and they split into two directions when they see you. Decisiveness is key. Once you draw your line of sight on one bird, stick with it, even if an easier shot places itself in your sight picture.
It takes a few tries to get the hang of it, but once you do, it is a load of fun. The shotguns are of the semiautomatic variety, so if you miss a bird, you’ve still got a chance to hit it a second or even third time. The birds just keep coming, and you just keep knocking them down.
After a morning and an evening hunt, I had harvested 1,325 eared doves, and my dad yielded a slightly lower number (He’s the better shot, but he enjoys exhibition-style trick shooting). Dad was right about the recoil pad. Even with the thick padding, my shoulder was bruised and sore, and my hands and fingers were almost numb.
Returning from the evening hunt, we were greeted with an open bar and food for kings. Some hunters from Chile were also in attendance, and we thoroughly enjoyed swapping hunting and fishing stories with them.
The coveted “1000 Club” plaque rests in the dining room of the estancia, and both of our names were added. At the top of this board was a famous Spanish bullfighter, Paco Del Amo, that had harvested over 4,000 doves in one day (apparently, his record has held up for years).
How in the world did he do that?
Our translator and host Marcello Janik explained as he uncorked our third bottle of Malbec.
As the story goes, the bullfighter showed up at the estancia with a entourage of beautiful women and partied until sunrise. When he started his hunt, he requested that two shotguns stay loaded at all times, and had two birdboys that continuously loaded one while he fired the other. He was brought to the fields early in the morning, and stayed there shooting all day long, until the sun went down. What a badass.
I found it amusing that as Marcello told the story, I immediately pictured the dude in the Dos Equis commercials. (I tried to Google Paco Del Amo, but only found an hombre on MySpace that likes Freddy Mercury and LOLcats. I’ll assume he’s the wrong guy).
My Thousand Dove Club certificate. Somebody's going to have a problem with this.
Volume dove hunting in Cordoba was an unforgettable experience. Stay tuned for the next post, where I’ll show you a few photos of the food and wine at we enjoyed Estancia de Cortijo.
