SXSW Journal: March 19

The state we're in: Everything we own stinks of smoke and beer. We're eating mostly garbage, very little vegetable matter, too many empty carbohydrates, too much coffee. Not enough sleep. Feet ache. Backs ache. Dirty fingernails. Stamps all over our inside right wrists that never quite wash off. I'm a mess. I'm burnt out. One day left to go.

SXSW Journal: March 18

Not really a good day. I think there was a huge influx of people in time for the night shows, this being Friday, and at the same time it was, as Charlie termed it, industry consensus night. There were about four big shows, and the lines for those snaked down the sidewalks, around corners, and into the blocked-off street. Other venues stood almost empty, the doormen begging for patrons. I spent a good portion of the night waiting in line, deciding it wasn't any used, moving to another show, seeing a disappointing band, rinse, repeat.

Biggest disappointment of the night: Sunshine didn't play. They used what's become the hottest new all-purpose excuse, one I too will begin using: visa problems. Apparently, they can't get out of the Czech Republic. This same problem was had, more predictably, by what is probably the one and only Iranian rock band, 127. I would have loved to see them, but for some reason, they're stuck in Dubai, and there's nobody home at the embassy, and their visas are locked safely inside. Good to know our borders are secure from the brutal assaults of their guitars.

SXSW Journal: March 17

Day 2 of SXSW was more enjoyable than Day 1, if only because no traveling was involved and we had a pretty good feel for the lay of the land. Ate some excellent BBQ at Stubb's (pulled pork sandwich and mashed yams and sweet tea -- oh god) in the company of bands and label execs and a few somewhat-annoyed-but-mostly-good-natured locals.

Attended the Schuba's party at the Yard Dog Gallery on South Congress. Didn't think too much of the art, but I never do. And anyway, the beer was free and cold and the music was good. The people there were mostly Chicago: Charlie walked into the back courtyard/alley where the crowd was and said, "Looks Polish. Must be Chicago." And it was. Lots of semi-familiar faces. A bunch of family types -- as the indie rock world ages, it seems like they bring their kids in with ease. Tow-headed boys playing hide-and-seek in the alley next to the BBQ tent while the Natural History rocked out on stage and Daddy lugged the Crimea's gear.

SXSW Journal: March 16

Disappointed to have missed Mike Doughty, although it's very cool that he drew such a huge crowd that it filled the block. Disgusted with myself for nodding off several times while sitting on the carpeted (!) floor of Eternal's balcony. Amused by the hipster's ability to have entire conversations consisting only of name drops. Further amused by the fashion trend of putting your hipbones on display (this for men and women). Pleased with Austin's capacity for weird. Proud of my fashionable high-tech tracking bracelet.

Nice little scene: waiting outside Eternal as the last shows of the night were letting out, a guy carrying his girlfriend down the block, slung in his arms like he was carrying her over endless thresholds, her drunk and shouting, a free promotional t-shirt dangling from the heel of her boot.

The public transportation system here -- the frequency of busses, hours of service, and availability of cabs -- leaves much to be desired by a cosmopolitan girl such as myself.

Homecoming

I was really afraid that I'd come home from five days in Austin to find a crater where our apartment was, or perhaps Mike passed out on the office floor with an empty case of poptarts by his head. In reality, I've come home to find that he's cleaned the place top to bottom, including those completely awful chores like scrubbing the bathroom floor and washing the thing that goes underneath the dish drying rack (there's probably a name for that, but my mind is working on very few hours sleep and too much coffee). In addition, he's procured a really nice dining room table, something I've wanted for two years. So either he did all this as a way to make up for something horrible I haven't found out about yet, or he's just wonderful. I'm leaning toward the latter.

A complete SXSW report will be up on the web site in a few days, but for now, I will sum up by saying: fun, exhausting, enlightening, amusing, entertaining, and delicious.

Now I need a shower and a nap.

From the Midwest to SXSW

Heading off tomorrow (too early for my liking) to Austin for SXSW. Will be away for a very long time (ok, five days, but longer than I've been away anywhere since my cliched European adventure after college graduation). Will see a mind-breaking number of bands. Will probably drink some very bad beer. Will have immense amounts of fun. Will tell you all the gory details upon my return.

The Anniversary Party

It went much better than expected. Except that my aunt couldn't make it because she's come down with a killer cold, everything went smoothly. No one threw a gigantic fuss about me paying (usually in my family, when the check comes, dinner turns into blood sport). Mom got all teary-faced (without actually crying) when I gave her my present (a "memory book" that I had her and Dad's families write in). It was Sabatino's, so the food was excellent, dessert was on fire, and the waiter was only a little rude. No one lost an eye. It was... well, it was nice. The parents were happy, and that's really the important bit, as it was their 25th anniversary.

I was about to get into a long rambling discussion about what it must mean to be with someone for 25 years, and how rare and wonderful that is, but I'm going to skip it. Sentiment doesn't play that well in cyberspace.

A Less Than Stellar Beginning

The show last night (French Kicks at Empty Bottle) was a disappointment, for the general reason that when you go to a show, you want to see and hear a band you like, and last night, I wasn't really able to see or hear that well.

The hearing part is something you have to expect at EB. They've got the worst sound system/acoustics of any club in the history of clubs. All night, the bands and the audience were begging for them to turn down the drums and turn up the vocals. At one point, Nick Stumpf, looking lovely in portions of a suit and a beard, actually offered one hundred American dollars to the person who would give him some vocals. It got a little better after that, but not by much.

The seeing part would have been much improved if the orangutan in the cheesy leather jacket in front of me (surrounded by three box-blond... let's be charitable and say "friends") had his head chopped off, or a hole drilled through his middle, or had merely stopped waving around like an idiot for the waitress and just gone to the bar like a sensible person.

The highlights of the evening included hearing a really embarassing story about a friend of mine from an ex-girlfriend of his, and running into an old friend's roommates. It's making me worry that coming week can't possibly live up to expectations.

Back to the crazy...

It's Funny Because It's True

When I walked past Lot 37 today, I noticed a photocopied sheet posted to the fence that declared:

Lost: Sense of Humor.

Yup.

Big Binders Ball a Bust

I attempted to go to the First Annual Printer's Ball last night here in Chicago. It was a brilliant idea-- clearly, too brilliant. The concept was to get a bunch of Chicago publications, with their diverse subject matters and audiences, and bring them together at a trendy little club for some schmoozing and schwagging. It turns out, the Chicago indie press is far too for the small Hothouse, the evening's venue.

The line twisted a block and a half long by the time Mike and I got there (maybe half an hour after it started). My friend Sara, wisely, had gotten there on time, but she and her date were only halfway to the door. About ten minutes after we showed up, a very apologetic but firm doorman came out and informed us that the place was at capacity, that we were welcome to wait, but that the people inside seemed to be enjoying themselves and he couldn't guarantee anything. All the hipsters clutching their 500 free business cards and pages of clips groaned simultaneously. At this, I determined it was time to leave, rather than wait for hours in the not-freezing-but-certainly-not-warm outside, with a high probability of never making it to the oh-so-hot inside.

Mike's suggestion, seconded by Sara and boy and myself, was that since there was a Kinko's right there, we have our own little zine party outside. However, the temperature led to a serious lack of ambition, and we dropped the idea quickly.

Disappointed as I am that I didn't get to make it to the real party, it was great to see all the support for local publishing. It gives me hope.

Work in Progress

www.suitcasepublishing.com

Content is about half there. So is my design ability.

More as the weeks go on.