A Fe(a)st of Sorts
I remember, back in college, I pined to go to this. Though I was a DJ and music director at our little independent radio station, we were never able to raise the funds to participate in the event. Austin, TX, seemed a million miles away from the Hackensack River, and even during high-tide, we'd never make it there.
Later, in the dreamy days and drunken nights of Multi-Purpose Solution land, I longed for the band to actually play at SXSW. We'd destroy them all, I thought, and be signed in no time. Typically, we couldn't find a stamp for mailing in the entry application.
These days, SXSW just doesn't turn me on like it used to. Which is not to say I wouldn't like to go. I would. I would like to go. But for an entirely different reason. It has very little to do with music, and nothing to do with getting signed.
Anyway, music fests are often like all-you-can-eat buffets. Enticing, in theory, but painful in reality. Who really needs that much bad food anyhow? Plus: the lines are too long and the silverware's always dirty. And everything I really want can be found right at home. I'm happy.
Speaking of food, Robert is presently doubled over onto the back of a black office chair, artfully mimicking his SXSW state.
"Boy, that Mexican food, I can taste it already. I can feel the enchiladas sliding down my gullet."