I also wonder how many years of my life this trip has taken. I’m not worried or anxious or concerned about that last wonder, whatever the answer may be.
It was worth it.
. . .
East 6th Street is finally clear,
free of the barricades that have blocked off the seven-block stretch between North Congress Ave. and I-35. Traffic is allowed to once again drive through. I almost walk in front of a car or two because I’ve grown so accustomed to not looking both ways before crossing this street.
It’s quiet and birds are chirping. There is no music playing yet. The Austin Convention Center is closed. It’s empty outside and the SXSW lanyard-wearing tourists are gone, along with all the promoters that only yesterday lined the street, passing out whatever they’d been sent to sell. Patrons are finally on their way home.
Today is also St. Patrick’s Day. I stop back at the Chupacabra, the second bar I stopped in on my journey. It’s kind of fitting that I’m back here.
March Madness college basketball is on all the TVs. I think about asking my bartender if we can watch the Bruins game, but don’t. I have an unfair, and potentially false, assumption that no one down south watches hockey.
Next time I go to SXSW I’m bringing a pedometer.
I wonder how much I’ve walked this week? Feels like it’s in the 30 – 50 mile range. My legs and feet are killing me. I also wonder how many years of my life this trip has taken. I’m not worried or anxious or concerned about that last wonder, whatever the answer may be.
It was worth it.
My voice is shot from howling at the moon all week. I wish I could’ve seen Ghostface Killah, the Meat Puppets, and Grey Sky Appeal, but you can’t see everything, and I am not willing to wait in every line against that unforgiving sun burning the sky. Hell, even the Justin Timberlake-RJD2 collaboration would have been amazing.
Ode to my friend, the loyal bartender. You’ve been good to me all week.
Thank you for all the Lonestars, your state’s beer. I don’t want to know how much money I literally pissed away in alcohol.
My friend told me he is having a party outside of town sponsored by Four Loco. It’s the good stuff too, the kind that used to make college kids have heart attacks and lose their minds. They even have topless bartenders for the event. I have to miss it.
I’m afraid that all good things have got to come to an end.
I’m killing time watching the Knicks at the Clippers. Cute girls are walking around the Chupacabra handing out free samples of tequila along with free promotional shwag. I end up having too good of a time and for a moment forget that I need to go to the airport.
Airport security sends my bag through the x-ray four times until they finally find and confiscate my bottle of The Sword hot sauce I was trying to bring home. I’m early and it’s still St. Patty’s day. I go straight to the airport bar. After living in Boston for several years now, this holiday is engrained within me.
You can’t walk through the Austin airport without seeing someone wielding a guitar case or some kind of crate for gear. The plane is filled with SX attendees and a green mob of celebratory Bostonians. We’re flying back to the Bean at 666 mph,
and I cannot wait to make SXSW a yearly staple in my recreational calendar.