didn’t know i wasn’t breathing
I was told this morning that perhaps I was getting too old to party like a rock star, seeing as how I’d been out all night Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, and it was then after 1pm on Sunday and I was not yet what you would call “functionally awake”. I considered the possibility; for indeed a very large part of me just really wanted to crawl back in bed and turn the day into one giant nap. But no – I had a wristband dammit. And there was music to be heard. And as far as the rock star thing went; well, I was supposed to have breakfast with the closest thing I have to a rock star and he didn’t get his ass up until after 5pm, so I’d say I’m doing okay with the partying like, tyvm go fuck yourself.
Today’s schedule was gonna be super easy for me. No OMG must-see acts, and in fact the only acts I even had songs from were all on stage 1, starting with Islands at 4:50 (loved, btw). I could literally plant myself right there and never move. The only exception to this was St. Vincent, which conveniently enough fell at the same time as Dr. Octagon, which Gus was wanting to see. So I move once… maybe twice, to end the night with comedy instead of Clap Your Hands Say Yeah (it’s the voice; it gets to me).
What wasn’t easy was the wind that had picked up. I hadn’t noticed the dirt in the air yesterday really. When looking at pictures from last night while at Mugshots, I assumed all those spots were something wrong with the camera lens. No no, I was told – it’s from all the dust blowing around. Million times worse today. I didn’t even bother bringing out the camera. It looked like a bankrobbers convention with everyone going around with bandannas covering their faces; we briefly pondered if perhaps they all knew something we didn’t and we should really be more concerned about getting the dust on us; then decided eh, fuck it, it was too late by then.
These are the darkest wash jeans I have. Normally a deep deep blue. That is quality Austin dirt there my friends.
Once 10pm rolled around I was about ready to call it quits. Tired, sore, exhausted, worn-out, wind-blown; whatever. The festival was winding down, and we felt one rain drop, then two, then a few more and took that as our cue to exit.
Came home, pet the dog that I haven’t really seen in four days (he hates music festivals; loathes SXSW), and collapsed in bed. But first, the cutting:
Completely unnecessary really; you could slip the thing on and off easy. [the chick who puts on the SXSW wristbands could teach a thing or two to the chick who puts on the FunFunFun fest wristbands.] It’s a ritual for me though.