Famous

“Gee shucks, there sure is a lot of fam-ous people here in Austin for south by southwest!!!”

I know, I know, if you are reading this and you live in certain parts of the US (i.e. New York and Los Angeles) you’re probably thinking “yeah, yeah, yeah…” but when you live out in the cuts in a glorified truck stop / state school, you don’t often get to see in person the people you see on television, in movies or on album covers. For us yokels it’s usually kind of a thrill. A cheap thrill, but a thrill nonetheless.

But certainly there exists a healthy contingent of people who are decidedly not impressed, and seeing celebrities up and close is no big deal. I feel kinda caught in the middle. Most famous people, I’ve found, are very nice and appreciative of your attention (as long as you don’t push it and remain kinda mellow. No kissing Mike Patton on the hand or anything…), but there’s always the chance that someone you admire is in a bad mood and is being a total dick to you, Mr. Lou “jerkfacepoopyhead” Reed. And that can honestly ruin your love of their art a little.

But still, for the people who look down on the starstruck and make fun of gawkers, they can right fuck off. There is nothing wrong with showing gratitude to someone for them making art that you have enjoyed, or has influenced and inpired your life. That’s called respect. For some of them, that’s what keeps them going.

For me, I still get a little bit excited when I run into someone I know, famous or not. But honestly, it’s better running into someone you do know, especially when it’s unexpected. Like when I ran into Seattle’s Iceage Cobra on the street corner. On Friday, following my Joseph Arthur interview, I stopped for one second to get my bearings and remember where I was supposed to be going, and whamo! I run into two totally rad dudes, who lead me to another rad dude. I’d rather run into a bunch of excellent friends than Elijah Wood, Michael Stipe (who is apparently gay SURPRISE SURPRISE WOW I NEVER SAW THAT COMING…fucking christ, duh…) or Lou Reed any day of the week. Cheers! Oi! Oi!

The woman at the airline counter furrowed her brows. “Let me see if we can do that.” Four canvas bags, stuffed to the brim with magazines, candy, guitar picks, buttons and CDs, and I was attempting to get it on our plane. She eventually accommodated my request, hoisting the swag bags into a plastic bag. I crossed my fingers that it would arrive safely. But on the other hand, it didn’t matter. All that shit was free (except the case of guitar strings I bought from GHS for a steal). Free, free, free. Not to play to stereotype, but my Judiasm really came in handy when considering that if I didn’t take it, and it wasn’t going to be properly utilized, it was just going to go to waste and they would have to throw it away….and that’s the REAL crime. (Wait, isn’t that the same reasoning behind how the state of Israel was founded? BAM!)

[Grandma is not going to like that last aside.]

You know, I’m still dead ass tired, so I will get into the environmental implications of creating so much needless garbage in the next day or so. In the meantime, let me nap, then wake up and roll around in my swag like a pig in its own filth.

I kept hearing about them during the first two days of SXSW - Cool Kids this… Cool Kids that - it really seemed like they were the buzz artist to see at this year’s SXSW. Once they went onstage at Emo’s I instantly knew why. Overall it was just an incredible lineup between Kid Sister, A-Trak & Clipse (photo’s from The Clipse portion of the show are here) taking over Emo’s main room and the Cool Kids fit right in and without question played an amazing set that the crowd was completely feeling. Cool Kids also played the Red Bull Moontower - video footage from that will be up pretty quick…

I was pretty clear on what I was about to write until I got back on the dock and realized that my 24 hour $11 internet connection had prematurley expired, so we are free balling this one.

First and foremost, however, BALLS. Bollocks, if you will.

Sadly, Jill (whom I mentioned from a previous post) never made it to the dock for our tentative cigarette/wine date. The pleasant news, however, is that following Saturday night’s Spin/American Spirit SXSW after party featuring my new band I’m in, Soundtrack of Our Lives (I hope to get more into that bit later…), I ran into Karen (formerly indifferent) and Al (formerly cunt-y) outside the venue. Karen was far more warm, and Al was absolutely chagrin about his behaviour the night prior (”U” intentional, they’re from the UK, after all). Al was sweet, sheepish and apologetic for his caustic discourse. I gave him a bit more good-natured ribbing and once Jill appeared from the closing venue, we all walked back to the hotel together, quickly figuring out we were staying on the same floor. I was drunk….very drunk….and decidedly less charming than the previous night. Still, Jill asked if I was married, so I took that optimistically as a good sign. We made tentative plans to repeat Friday’s late-nite dock circle.

I feel a bit sick at the moment. My Synthesis compatriots have left me by myself on the dock hours ago, a slave to insomnia and the hopes of a brief snogging encounter with one leggy British heart-thief. Regardless, I still just had a rather cathartic ending to my SXSW, 2008. No, not the bats underneath the bridge (though they were pretty spectacular), but the crashing destruction of a former life.

Way back when, I used to own and operate a car windshield repair service, GlassMan out of Sacramento, CA. I fixed rock chips and installed new windows on cars and trucks. As I lay on the hammock behind the 8.5 Weeks Hotel (formerly the 4 Seasons Hotel…we really trashed the joint and brought the place to an all new low) I watched on as a dozen men manipulated a 15′ x 12′ glass window to its new home. As I chatted with one of the glass workers operating away from the action, I heard the thunderous and sadly familiar roar of hundreds of pounds of glass shattering to the concrete. Though unfortunate for the glass company, that Shiva-approved demolition of clear, perfect glass proved to be the perfect capstone to the most prolific (personally) SXSW I’ve had the pleasure of participating in. And that shattering destruction wasn’t even caused by me, though I had momentarily considered launching my mostly empty bottle of Japanese plum wine through its flawless double-planed beauty.

Victory or Death my friends, victory or death. I am sure I had more to talk about, but the post is long and mainly without original pictures…fucking broken camera.

Oh, and for the record, Shannon at Touche bar on 6th street is the radest provider of libations I’ve ever met. Sorry Duffy’s, you’ve been served. /pun

OOOh, I just saw a bat………. And I just puked. First time during sxsw08. Glad Jill didn’t make it after all to see me in this state. Drunkorexia!!!!!!!!!!!!1!111!!!!danieltaylor!!!111!!!

Chiodos performing “Bulls Make Money, Bears Make Money, Pigs Get Slaughtered” Live at the La Zona Rosa at South By Southwest 2008 in Austin:

For the second year in a row, Playboy and C3 put on a late night party at SXSW, and for the second year in a row, I was lucky enough to attend.

While last year, the party was housed in a giant warehouse-type thing in the middle of nowhere, this year’s event was right downtown at a giant warehouse-type thing at the corner of 3rd and San Jacinto. The line circled the block and even the media entrance was swarmed by 11 PM.

Inside, there seemed to be a new adventure tucked into every corner: free barbecue; free drinks; a room full of Port-A-Potties that also housed a Rock Band hooked up to a television the the back of a car and a well lit area with a backdrop for crucial drunken photo seshes. The people were fascinating to watch:

• There was a surly red-headed bartender. She admonished people for taking too long to order their drinks; allowed her “regulars” to skip in head of the line; and when a particularly douche-y party goer knocked over her stack of plastic cups, she fixed him with a steely glare and lectured, “Really dude? Really?” Yeah, dude. Really? One day I’m going to marry that girl.
• There was a couple–or just two like souls who found each other in an instance of pure serendipity–who boogied toward the back entrance. He was dressed in a low-cut, V-neck, red velour with white racing stripes. His humongous, curly hair was accented by a white headband, and his face wore one of the sweeter ironic moustaches I’ve seen during the trip. She was wearing skin-tight striped hot pants that could barely contain her luscious booty. Their choreography consisted of moves that my have been stolen from the Torrance Community Dance Group, and they were pretty darn fabulous.
• And I think I saw Elijah Wood.

There were bands, too. The Heavy played some songs, and they were kind of whatever. MGMT gave me a headache, but not in an awesome High on Fire sort of way. Justice started off at a throbbing cacophony and just started cranking shit louder and louder until brains started frying. That’s when shit really started going off. Moby played a DJ set, but I missed it (I’m kind of bummed about it now since we’re totally bros now), and by the time I got back (around 3:45 AM), the venue (slowly clearing out) was pumped so thick full of smoke (and I was so pumped thick full of whiskey) that my eyes started tearing. Cutting through the haze was difficult, but there were a ton of people on stage, how many, and who was actually DJing, I couldn’t tell. It looked like a lot, and they were back lit, which made it kind of creepy.

Luckily, they were still serving whiskey, and back by the photo sesh area, a woman with sweet guns (in addition to other things) interviewed Spencer. Swag included: a wristband, guitar pick, free magazine and a couple other things I’m not allowed to mention because they may be incriminating. Good time had? Oh yeah.