my first day in austin

grrrrrr. i'm behind in posting the good stuff. here i am, sitting on 800 pictures of perry farrell and hipster weiners in skinny pants and all i seem to do to remedy the situation is google search "famous groupies" and "how to become a groupie overnight." Le sigh! Seriously, watch for the next couple days because i will have crackhead stamina in posting the old stuff. yay!

k. back to our long trip to austin.

Downtown Austin's traffic was insane. It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. We got into the area around noon and already the crowds of cuties in jean shorts were chasing musicians in sunglasses and black clothes. But, driving and parking was a nightmare so we slowly left the area and drove around looking for a fine eating establishment, i.e. anything not trail mix. Looky-loo! A hi, how are you froggy! Daniel J, we're so close!

This little guy was the size of my palm. Ugh! Grosso!

By the time we got back to 6th street - the clit of SXSW - simon was already in Parish watching Blitzen Trapper, so we got in the long line to get in. Free admission, of course. Day shows were always free admission or else they were private parties. Srsly, who actually bought wristbands and badges? Answer: Daddy did.

Thursday really was the jewel of the festival for people watching. A ton of people (including meeeee!) were still traveling to Austin on Wednesday so Thurs was the pinnacle of hairstyles and outfits. Of course, everyone was wearing the same exact outfits three days later, but with 34% more jizz stains, smudged eyeliner and hangover hair. So, exactly 34% hotter.

Blitzen Trapper was alright. I recommend downloading a couple songs before you buy their album (snicker. snicker. GUFFAW! who buys records anymore?) They were sort of a gay Bob Dylan sound with a neon laser show and adorable/hot lead singer.

So, you know that feeling when you're at somebody's work party and most everyone there is older than you, but also more drunk than you. hello, who gets drunk on under three beers anymore? And the receptionist and her husband are dancing to Billy Jean while you're struggling to gulp down the watered-down cape cod and pretend this doesn't remind you of the time your parents tried to party with you by drinking bud and watching mtv. You know? You know that feeling?

That was essentially what going to day shows at SXSW was and the only cure was getting completely wasted. No joke.

At least, i didn't know any better and told myself that's why we got completely wasted. Day shows be damned.

gulp. ravage me please.

This bar was pretty fucking cool. We watched set after set of hip hop guys freestyling ... stuff. I DON'T KNOW THE TECHNICAL WORDS! They wuz rapping real kool, OK?

Oh yea, also, we caught the Cold War Kids at another free event at some incredible riverside park. Jelz? Don't be. It took two people, forty-five minutes and the landmark of pink and blue port-a-potty's to meet up with Simon afterward. WALK TOWARD THE BRIGHT NEON 'TACO CABANA' SIGN!!!

sexyback.

this is some damn fine photography. NOT! American Apparel was having a "SALE OF THE CENTURY" down the street. Except it was not a great sale and their piles of clothes were resting on piles of broken bottles and doggy dung.

And then that night, Si convinced us to pay $5 to get into a bar called the Rusty Nail where we all stood around out back so his fellow mates could smoke and drink at the same time. Five fucking dollars so I could inhale cheap ciggie smoke?! Not to mention the bar's back patio was blasting obnoxious techno into my eardrums and a seizure inducing lightshow into my cerebral cortex. I hate to sound 89, but got day-um, all of my senses were throbbing. And not in the good way.

This was my bed for the night. We slept in my uncomfortable car seats in the middle of a Wal-Mart parking lot.

The actual band at the Rusty Nail was pretty terrible no matter how fast I tried to drink my two red bull vodka's. They were the same price as the crappy ass beer Hank Hill drinks on King of the Hill! And then Marc and I walked down to a restaurant bar called Opals, like five hundred miles away, to watch Matt and Kim. We tried sneaking in, but security was tight and we wound up watching the show from the sidewalk. And then we caught local Albuquerque band, Fast Heart Mart, busking on the sidwalk on our rush back to the car.

I really wish we had had our shit together for Thursday, but most of the day became a struggle to understand what happens when and who goes where and basically the same struggle you have the first time you have sex in a car slash the first time you have sex. Whatever. I promised myself I'd find the greatest show EVER on friday. And amazingly, we did.

TO BE CONTINUED ...

guess again man

this was last week.

for some magical cosmic reason the bar was filled with magical cosmic persons. asian hipsters with jagged long haircuts. red-headed teens drinking from whiskey flasks in the girls bathroom. sweating blonde amazons dancing in groups. ghetto wannabe rich kids. gutter punks with scruffy dogs. beautiful lonely blond ian curtis reminiscent guys. chunky girls in skin tight red and pink tube dresses. coke heads screaming in their booths. sadly, no dylan.

pretty fucking cool. like, finally, some diversity at burt's tiki lo. oh, and also, they finally got their neon sign fixed.

in between mgmt and marvin gaye, a shirtless and dripping wet maniac jumped up on that ledge in front of the stage.

the guy: tall. thin. not classically handsome, but makes up for it with lovely grimy air of heroin user. chest tattoos, arm tattoos. like, how you'd imagine iggy pop, if iggy pop were 4 feet away from you and kicking people in the head. swoon.

so there i was, standing next to one of those beautiful lonely ian curtis', trying to chug my tecate. we're watching the punk hanging off the stage light and a crowd of barbacks and the sound guy stand below him, swatting at his neo nazi jeans. burts doesn't have bouncers as much as it has the barbacks who drink on the job. so they grab him and throw his body outside. yawn.

in between the thin hipsters with large neon frames and stoners playing foosball were these guys. the wednesday night hip hop crowd crashed our drooling drunk dance party.

everett came out again. bloo eyes. beard. gulp.

tdog dancing with a brunette beauty whilst 200 year old business man looks on.

floor to ceiling hipster flannel. yeah yeah si i'll post this on facebook.

currently, our group is more bisexual than usual. damn baby. skinny dipping on fri?

travel day thirteen

friday november 28. day thirteen.

black friday so they say. marc and i don't let silly things called black friday (BF) and anti-consumerism control our widely different spending habits. mine: ridiculous, his: almost non-existant. i could go shopping everyday for the rest of my life and stay entertained with the whole process so BF means nothing to someone like me. marc may as well go shopping on the day every major city is destroyed. BF means nothing to him either. black friday is important to television news anchors.

went to target and toys r us for the kiddies. went to the outlet mall for ourselves. marc bought three $8 emerica shirts and i got two $40 bcbg max azaria shirts. i'm going to have to wear the shit out of it if i want to feel remotely ok about buying it. also bought neon pink nailpolish and yellow hair barrets.

somehow this took all day.

oh. wait. i remember why. we used the tom tom and it kept re-routing us to best buy. afterwards, we had coffee and hot chocolate at the beanery where a group of truly hip college kids sat near us and talked loud enough so i could easily eavesdrop on their convo. there was a hip salem simon, hip salem claire, hip salem bill, hip salem G (except had red hair), hip salem tim and they were talking about how hip salem simon should get a pet TURTLE!!! like, EXACTLY HOW WE TELL OUR SI to get a pet turtle too!!! i am not joking. confirm this story with marc. bizarro, huh? hip salem tim and hip salem claire looked to be dating. hip salem bill was sitting in the corner glaring at hip salem tim and hip salem claire.

then hip salem ash and hip salem lane came, both wearing mittens (!!!) and holding hands! they bought a coffee and invited the rest of the gang to join them outside. hip salem G and hip salem simon went outside. hip salem marc (skateboard and joint) and hip salem jay (black dreadlocks) walked up to the group from outside and sat down. i couldn't hear what they were talking about outside though.

so moving on! we were still staying with tami, brian and their kids so we had an early dinner and played hide and seek until bedtime. family time. the time flew by.

into the dark north (aka travel day two. part 3.)

so sorry. i'm writing this like mega way after it happened (i'm currently on travel day four) and of course my dusty memory attic has thrown everything from this day away. i tried to take a nap from san luis obispo to oakland. but woke up when two GENUINE HIPPIES got on the bus. and by genuine hippies i mean they were around 55 years old omg. plus major major pot and defecation smell. i woke up gagging. got into oakland and creepy guy followed me to the bus station "can i get your number?" yea. it's 505-444-4444. byeeeeee! took a bus to san fran and got out in the financial district on market street. ran over to her dorm. hugged rye and took the longest hottest shower EVER. my hair gets greasy if i don't wash it every 24 hrs.

rye was working at the front desk so i sat with her and said hi to everyone. oh god. dorm rats. not only that, they were art. school. dorm. rats. plus r told me her neighbor does meth. is this normal? i always thought meth was a joke? 98% of the guys looked gay or hipster. it reminded me of that lyric 'can't wear skinny jeans cause my nuts don't fit.' the girls were one hundred percent annoying. everyone of them is hip to the point of death. all of them give each other long deep sighs. and their wardrobe is relatively similar to the last time i visited. and of course i'm so out of place. they wear fucked up leggings with holes, men's button ups down to their knees. american apparel camel jeans with blue or black striped jackets. shin boots. lots of strips. i need to figure out how to look like i'm not fifty years old. i'll go dumpster diving tomorrow for baggy shirts.

stayed up til 1am and passed out on rye's mattress with my clothes on. the train traveling was exhausting.

sex sells like bargain bins

mickey avalon show. sunday night. i paid 20 bucks to get in so immediately felt entitled to be extra assy. here we go.
dirt nasty was simon rex. beardo was beardo. they appeared to do coke on the bench during their set. was it real? doing drugs for applause is so equated with strapping a keg on your anus during a frat party. of course the retarded crowd cheered him on. IT'S JUST FOR SHOW you moron.
also, wtf? am i a dorm rat magnet? i was surrounded by a mini crowd of sheltered life fuck-ups, i.e. dorm rats, during the show. one of them was clearly the ONLY ONE who ever listened to mickey or dirt nasty previously. and she kept saying 'uuhhhg don't worry guys, mickey avalon is soooo much better. he's soooo cool. i listen to him when i practice being ethnic in my mirror' etc.

i clearly have a problem with anyone who has to constantly explain why you're hanging out with them. and secondly, WHY WOULD YOU BLINDLY PAY $$$20 TO SEE A GUY WHO YOU'VE NEVER HEARD BEFORE? this is exactly why dorm rats are fundamental fuck-ups. they elect mildly retarded ringleaders. also. note to dorm rats: please figure out by now that it is NOT OK to wear american eagle and old navy. like since 1999. and even then, ew.
whenever i see dormrats i just want to pluck one up and rescue it from their bleak and meaningless future.
mickeeeeeeeeeeee! oh mickey.
a couple classy dancers wearing nylons, bras and neon wigs came out on stage. grinding each other on the bench. on the wall. on mickey. ass to ass kind of moves. my particular favorite was when she was on the ground spreading her legs and had to put her ciggie behind her ear to get up and bend over so the audience in the back could see. so thoughtful!
i don't know. i understand these photos aren't great but i can tell what's going on in them cause i was there. does it just look like black and red objects? i tried to get as much t&a as possible.
is the dj wearing a gas mask? hahahahahhahah!
hot. so hot.
everyone was getting their boobs signed by a sweaty mickey. then his manager shooed us away since we weren't buying merchandise. boo hoo.
unlike the david byrne concert, the dancers made the show better. i think i want to say it's because of the informality of the venue or music but no. david byrne's dancers were fully clothed. these ladies were two broken straps away from a GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS! club. and i think whatever broken libidos were watching david byrne's concert, they would have appreciated a couple dolls like that.