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At the hotel: Thanks for some insight into the building that my friends and I lovingly remember as the Crack Hotel ["This Blows!" by Craig Malisow, February 15]. Until your article, I had no idea that the hotel was originally a Holiday Inn. Back in 1996, when I was 15, a group of Houston DJs called the Hard Drive crew threw a rave there called Alderaan. We were invited to play live music and DJ our own room on one of the floors. The most memorable experience was having the elevator doors open to a floor that was piled high with garbage in every direction and watching a woman nonchalantly toss her trash onto a pile without even stepping off the elevator. I also remember there being bullet holes in the elevator and stairwell, and more toothless crackhead "residents" than we could count. The police shut it down around 2 a.m. along with the fire marshal and a news crew filming an exposé on raves. For a while we actually had a video of us loading our speakers and equipment into my dad's van. Ah, memories.
John T.
Houston
Buzz Off
Nickelback Pigfuckers: What the fuck are you on, and can I please have some? You conclude that the Buzz playing local bands would be a boon to the scene ["Talk to Mee," Racket, by John Nova Lomax, February 15] -- what? Are you out of your frickin' mind? The Buzz? The same 24/7 corporate crap factory helmed by announcers pretending to be DJs? You think for a second that the Buzz playing bands like Sharks and Sailors, Jana Hunter, The Jonx, Gay Marriage or even the Dimes would translate to listeners giving a rat's ass about those bands? Of course not! These are people who listen to a station that plays fucking Nickelback! Nickelback!!!! You know why they listen to this kind of crap? These are people who like prepackaged facsimiles with just the right combination of rock/punk/indie tropes to resemble something rebellious. So let me save you a lot of trouble:
Hey, Buzz fan, if you are enough of a Nickelback Pigfucker to take a daily "hot Carl" from Clear Channel Radio and really enjoy it, dude, knock yourself out, but you know, and I know, that you could give a shit about going to see the Fatal Flying Guilloteens in a smoky bar. So, just take your little rock and roll rebel fantasy shit back to the suburbs while I finish this shot of Patron and finish listening to this Sporatics CD I swiped from my wife.
Ramon Medina
Houston
Back to Burgers
A side of history: I just visited Adrian's Burger Bar, which was included in your piece "Texas Burger Binge" (I am slow, but I eventually get there), published on August 25, 2005 [by Robb Walsh]. It was everything you said it was. However, the most enjoyable part was reading the review you did in 2002. A copy of it is posted on the wall. Much of it had nothing to do with the food being served there, but how the owner, his family and the restaurant have interacted with the community for several generations. It was a history lesson about the culture and traditions in the Fifth Ward. I enjoyed every minute of it. It compensates in some small way for the damage I probably did to myself by eating a whole pound of hamburger meat in one sitting.
Fred Saunders
Houston
