SXSW: Day 1

March 14, 2023

SXSW: Day 1

Panic Shack

Let me tell you...Day 1 has little to do with music and more to do with difficulty. I BARELY made it to Austin. I quite literally didn't sleep because I finally finished our move out of the old place. Cleaned, swept, vacuumed. Threw out all my little jars in the fridge. Then had a celebratory ONE drink at Sunny's bar which always turns into THREE drinks. Then you run into a friend and do some shots of fernet. Then you get home at 2 am and you have to leave for the airport at 5:45 am, so you cut your hair in a fugue state because you should have earlier. THEN, and only then, do you finish packing.

BUT THEN you realize you can't fit your computer in your carry on, so you repack into a duffel. When you make it to the airport at 6:40, less than an hour before your plane leaves, the security line at JFK just happens to be the longest line you've ever seen, snaking all the way back to the prayer rooms (bet you've never seen them). The sign above you says wait time is 45-55 min long and when you ask a security guard what to do if you miss your flight they look at your with pity and tell you to get out of line and rebook with Delta, but you say NAY. I SHALL PERSEVERE.

Miraculously, you some how make it through security by 7:05 and the boarding stops at 7:25. Of course, out of 55 gates at Terminal 4 yours is the 53rd. Which means it's time to run, and you wore your cowboy boots instead of sneakers to save space. And you wore a maxi skirt over your jeans and an overshirt under your jacket to save space. And you brought a heavy duffel with a shoulder strap rather than a rollie bag– to save space.

You fucking idiot.

So you run the length of the entire terminal, huffing and puffing. It feels like a nightmare to reach the end of one long hallway to discover you've only done 10 gates, which means there are 4 more long hallways to kill yourself on. By the time you get to gate 30 your feet are throbbing and the bag you're carrying like a dead body is impeding you from having any hope of making it. The time is 7:20. You beg a man in one of the airport carts to take you to gate 53 and he must take pity on your poor human form because he tells you it's not possible to drive to 53, because it's THAT far it's downstairs, BUT he can take you to gate 41. You hop on and your bald beautiful savior whisks you away on his beige plastic chariot, shooing people aside like you're a king and not someone that is stupidly about to miss their flight. The wind on your face feels like a kiss from God.

At 41 you hop off and run down a flight of stairs, turn the corner and finally come across gate 53. A lone attendant stands behind the desk and your heart drops. She looks up at you and shouts "Austin?" and you gasp YES!!! as you limp to her. She tells you that you just made it. The time is 7:25, the screen reads FINAL boarding call, and you scan your ePass and float onto the plane. In your seat is a woman, who wants to sit next to her boyfriend. You happily take the aisle seat, trying not to breathe too hard in your cool down period. The plane doors close and a radiant, maternal flight attendant hands you a cold cup of water like an angel.

Thanks Katie 🖤

Anyway, so I land in Austin and upon arriving I note the airport is full of NYC musicians because they all dress the same way. Always the leather jacket, always the sunglasses. Always the one tall guy in the band vs the rest. I get to the convention center and pick up my press pass without incident. I forget my camera tag and have to go back later, but first I haul my duffel outside and make it two blocks to Veracruz, where the tacos are more expensive than Brooklyn and not much better (sorry). Then I check my airbnb app for an answer from my host. Zilch. I look for a number to call about dropping my bag off and come across several recent negative reviews about how their host LITERALLY NEVER CHECKED THEM IN. And they had to find other accommodations. I panic and call Airbnb. They escalate. Still no response from my host. Airbnb cancels for me and I now have nowhere to sleep. My duffel is insufferably heavy and impossible to move around the city with. I've been to Austin once but don't know anyone well enough to ask a favor from.

My boss is in town with a friend for the day and they stop by and sit with me outside. I eat one of the expensive tacos I order because I know I should put something in my stomach but I don't have much of an appetite. We joke and chat for a while, which distracts me from my problem. Then G texts me that his friend can put me up until I figure out the next steps. My boss and his friend drop me off at their place which is conveniently located within walking distance of most things on E 6th st. I met S once before, three years ago in DC before a Plastic Picnic show. Now he lives in Austin with this girlfriend. They welcome me with wifi and a place to put my stupid duffel bag down. They have an adorable cat named Halloumi who stares at me like I just said something awful to her. I know we're going to be friends.

Halloumi

After an hour, the Airbnb stuff is sorted and I can finally go see music. S is at Hotel Vegas/Volstead for their showcase and I walk there in a daze. The weather is a perfect 18 degrees celsius (65 for you imperialists) and I pay the 10 dollar cover even though I have a platinum badge that would give me free access to other things. I do this because I no longer feel like fighting and S is inside with friends and I need friends right now. Plus Razorbraids is on the list and you like them. They have a good crowd going inside Hotel Vegas, you've met the lead singer, Hollye before at the V-day/Planned Parenthood bashes at TV Eye in Brooklyn. The band is dressed all in red as usual and they sound really good.