The Meaty Efreeti








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Thursday, March 30, 2006

Heh Heh heh... Hahaha Hahahaha HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!! He can't possibly be the same guy... j.s.

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Yes, it's a Wednesday, and I'm suffering from a wicked hangover. Don't judge me... I see you judging me. Last night was my editor's b-day party at "The Dirt," a signless, windowless bar at I-10 and Yale. (It simply has a neon "222" atop it.) We rolled up a little after 9, and wander in. And the first thing I noticed was how dark the place was. The floor, walls and ceiling were all painted black, and the only noticable light (aside from the red votives and pendulum lamps along the bar), was from the artwork that was being projected on the walls. It was like a Numbers & Absinthe frappé. Interesting place. Their indie rock sensibilites I'd heard so much about were...no. No, I'm not going to complain. Atreyu, Eagles of Death Metal, Panic! At the Disco, Arctic Monkeys, The Caesars Jack's Mannequin, and Motion City Soundtrack all played...form your own opinions. At least I didn't have to listen to a single jejune thump of rap and/or hiphop...which is an ultra-rare blessing in this city. So we step up at the bar where they're lining up Rimjobs (it's a shot Pervy), we toast our editor, down the shot, and I ask the bartender for a Newcastle. He grabs it, and when he sets it on the counter he pulls a silver dollar out of his pocket, flips it in the air, then slams it on the counter with his palm and looks at me. "Call it." I grin, and in my best Gary Oldman/Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead voice I say, "Heads." He lifts his hand off the coin. Heads. "Nice. Beer's on us." "Re-really? Awesome!" It works out like this. Every Tuesday at The Dirt is "Customer Appreciation Night." When you buy a beer, wine or "simple" drink (gin and tonic would probably work, but Tanq and tonic wouldn't), the bartender flips a coin and if you win, the drink is free. Thus combining drinking and gambling into one incredibly simple activity. Ingenious. Many coin flips later, we close down The Dirt, and decide we're famished. So we head over to La Tapatia for late night Mexican food. Now I have no idea what it was that our photographer ordered, but I can say that it was awesome. I wish I could remember what it was called. All I recall about it was that it was spicy, had tortillas and eggs in it, and was eaten by chopping it up with a fork. Doesn't really narrow it down, I know. But any guesses as to what it was would be appreciated, because I'd kinda like to go back and try it again. So we finish eating, and people start to head home. The photographer guy and I, however, end up standing outside the restaurant and talking about music, the magazine, and the Houston scene in general, until almost 5 in the morning. As a result, it's possible, though admittedly still a bit of a longshot, that I'll be interviewing Tiësto for the cover of the May issue. And while the prospect of getting not only an interview with Tiësto, but also a cover story is insanely exciting, I'm honestly expecting it to fall through, so don't get too congratulatory just yet. Anyway, I'm kinda dragging ass today as a result of last night's festivities, so I'm going to keep this short. Besides, I think it's time for an omelet and some garlic bread. (And why that particular combination sounds good to me I have no idea...but absolutely nothing else will do right now.) See you tomorrow. j.s.

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Could be a crackheaaad! The guy in camoflage near the end of the video is, without question, the black version of "Walter" from "The Big Lebowski." And how 'bout that amateur sketch, huh? Welcome to Mobile, Alabama. j.s.

Monday, March 27, 2006

Hi there. It was the best of weekends, it was the worst of weekends. Hah! Eat your heart out Ben Domenech. That was a combo theft of both word and sentiment, the former from A Tale of Two Cities, the latter from DailyKOS. Top that one kiddo. [[For a concise linky review of the WaPo Blog saga, drop by Sampo.]] This is very quickly going to jump the shark, so I won't harp on it too much. But I will say that watching the blogosphere bitch-slap a foaming-at-the-mouth Neo-Con (who was given a job writing for the Washington Post, yet can't discern when to use "than" or "then" in a sentence) and send him scampering apologetically back to his RedState.com crawlspace is, simply put, warm sand to the happily wiggling toes of my soul. Because not only do we get to snicker at the general idiocy and lawlessness of the Right that he so aptly represents, but citizen journalists as a whole get the added happy-fun bonus of coming out on top of yet another "respected" news source. The "Grand Ole Press" seems to be wincing quite a bit over this one. And it's a truly beautiful thing. But now, let's get down to what you really came here for...tales of my drunken meandering over the weekend. So Friday I went to see "V for Vendetta," and thoroughly enjoyed it. I can, however, see how Johnny America might have trouble with a "terrorist" as his protagonist, but only because he lacks the basal ganglia fortitude to recall the discussion of the Boston Tea Party at the beginning of the film, and to draw parallels from there. Although I suppose all revolutionaries could be considered terrorists, simply by advocating that greatest of human fears, change. Anyway, I liked it a lot. And can give it a blanket recommendation to everyone that drops by here (which is a pretty varied bunch), simply because it will either give you something to agree on, or argue about, after it's over. And verbiage among the vox populi is a valorous and vital thing, verily. (How's that one Ben?) So, after the movie, I went out with Danny to Harp for a couple Bass. We talked about the movie, parts we liked, parts we didn't, and tried desperately to ignore the vacant mating bleats of the sorority girls and frat boys that surrounded our table. Yes, it was that bad. To quote, when discussing going to her 5-year high school reunion, one particularly Wagnerian voiced girl shouted: "I looked at all those people that I hung out with, and was just, like, That's God you know? That's God right there. Hey guys, it's my birthday month! WOOOOO!!!" If vicious looks were capable of physical damage, there is abosolutely no way she would've been able to walk out of that bar. Fortunately, I was saved by the beep of [TGFTP's] text message, and left to catch up with her at Rudyard's for a bit. Charmed, as always. Saturday, after a brief jaunt early in the morning, I returned home and slept until around 10. Then cleaned myself up and headed out to Katy to hang out with my Dad for a bit. Stuck around there until the evening, had some dinner with them, then returned to the city. And, just as I was about to make the turn onto Studewood to head home, I decided to call Danny, just to see what he was up to. "Where are you?" "Um, I'm about to turn onto Studewood to head home. What's up?" "Come over. Now." "Right." So I take a right, instead of a left, and go to his place. We hang out there for a bit, then decide that Cecil's is our best bet for the evening. First it's just 3 of us. Then 5. Then 7. And I think we capped at 9 or 10, I don't recall. Many delicious Basses had been consumed by that point. See? We close the bar down, and head back to Danny's place, where apparently I was engaged in illicit behavior with an inflatable dinosaur. "I have no recollection of this happening Your Honor. I may have been leaving the room at the time the alleged dinosaur was allegedly fellating me." And, just before going home at around 4ish, I posed quickly with the awesomeness that is a Dixie for this gem: Yay! Sunday was a Nothing Day. Meaning I did absolutely nothing but lay on the couch and recover from the night before. Still feeling it today a little actually. Rough. I think it was exacerbated by the lack of sleep on both Thursday and Friday nights, but I can't be sure. What I can be sure of, is that it caused me to utterly refuse the urgings of my alarm clock this morning, set at its new "get the fuck up you lazy bastard!" time of 7am. So as a result, I'm batting .500 since I started this little experiment last week. We'll see how tomorrow goes. And on that note, I'm out of here. Take care, j.s.

Friday, March 24, 2006

And if this adorable little guy isn't enough reason for you people to make the switch to Firefox, then I don't know what is... For you bibliophiles, check out the Literature Map, with which you can finally see the (floating) parallels between Hemingway and Dave Eggers. Fun stuff. j.s.



There are Three Words to describe an experience of shock, disgust and horror. An inescapable moment where we want desperately to take flight, yet we know it's too late, and, stifling nausea, we resign ourselves to simply suffering in revulsion. You're at work. And it's kinetic bowels time. You wander into the executive pissoir, check the stalls for feet, and findng none you shut and lock the flimsy "aluminum foil on hinges" door, giving the illusion of privacy. Requisite seat wiping ensues, since there always seems to be a ravine hair or two left behind [ZANG!] on the lid. Trou is dropped, cheeks meet white plastic and then...The 3 Words. Warm. Toilet. Seat. Still moist and dewy from the Butt Thermal Units (BTU's) created by the straining of whatever horrible creature perched upon the throne before you. Now I hope I'm not alone here in saying that the mind instantly creates a horrid mental image of a morbidly obese, hairy neanderthal man with syphilis, scabes, knee crabs, and some kind of anal mites currently unknown to scientists who study things like anal mites, who was squatting on that very seat mere seconds before you showed up. Carl from Aqua Teen Hunger Force in an ill-fitting navy suit is pretty close to what my head envisions. And specifically, Carl's two enormous, ghostly white, stretch marked, hairy, acne-pocked ass globes, oozing over the sides of the bowl like swelling flesh waves, frozen in mid crash. Every synapse in your head is disco strobing the words "Get the fuck up!" in a cerebral light show...and yet, you stay. Because it's too late. Any attempt at relocation would result in an awkward, pants-to-ankles, shuffle, like a penguin dong the Charleston, and leaving your current spot in such a state would undoubtedly cause the entry of a respected colleague, at the precise mid-point between the two stalls. So you sit. And do your thing. Hoping against hope that your own BTU's will override the burning ring of fire you've fallen into. (Sorry Johnny.) No such luck. Which in turn makes you wonder if the person who was there before you had a fever or something... The horror! You finish as quickly as possible, and give a cursory attempt at cleaning up, which in turn relocates your legs into areas they haven't touched yet. They're just as warm as the rest of the seat. This causes even more spine-twisting disgust, as now you're sort of "rubbing it in." Flush. Wash. Run. And as you sit back down at your desk, your ass still uncomfortably warm, you harken back to the days of Jr. High when you were assured by your health class teacher that you wouldn't catch anything from a toilet seat. Then you realize that you too have a degree now, are roughly her age, and she was just a fucking Jr. High teacher anyway and probably had no idea what she was talking about... WebMD to the rescue. j.s.



HaHA, tricked! I did, in fact, wake up early (or earlier anyway), today. However it has come to my attention that the wi-fi in Onion Creek Dyson-sucks. It keeps assuring me that it has a "very good" connection, however repeated attempts at opening my Del.icio.us page have prompted pert little "ding!"s, followed by a rather smarmy error box which informs me that Firefox couldn't find what I was looking for, and that perhaps the error is on my part and I shouldn't I really be double-checking my spelling before wasting its time in such a fashion? Trust me little computer; my spelling pwns. So, I'm sure you're all terribly interested to hear about how I feel about this early-to-rise thing? And the answer is... I have no idea. I am rather enjoying lounging here at this little wooden cafe table, the rising sun casting a long, Red Stripe-bottle-with-flowers shaped shadow across the ruts and carvings from nights past and onto the sleeve of my SXSW tee. I'm also listening to Tullycraft's "Stowaway" on my iPod, and, of course, typing into Notepad on my Alienware (pre-Dell-takover) laptop. Basically I'm rolling so hyper-hipster that I look as if I might explode into little sneering, elitist and disaffected confetti bits at any moment. "You mean you've never heard of 'Arctic Monkeys?' Pshh...this conversation is ov-BOOM! fanfare On the other hand, my face looks like death microwaved on "reheat." I completely forgot to shave and apply face lotion after showering, and I can easily store my keys/loose change in the bags under my eyes. Seriously. I look like Vince Vaughn after a 72-hour crank binge. One can only hope that I'll get better about being cognizant in my morning beautification routine, prior to 10am. I can also tell you with complete assurance that the girls that come into O.C. this early are infinitely cuter than those that straggle in at around 11. Not sure why that is...but it's a phenomenon that I'd enjoy researching more if they'd just get their wi-fi poop in a group. Okay, the coffee cup has been drained, which means it's time to go to work for a few hours. I'm actually bailing early today to check out the Bayou City Art Fest downtown. (Go ahead...seethe with jealousy that I'm allowed off for such things.) I'll drop you a line afterward. You specifically. Yes, you...the one staring blankly at your monitor with the grin. j.s.

Thursday, March 23, 2006

So I've decide to give give the whole "get up at 7 like a normal person, have coffee and a bagel, and blog for a bit" thing a test run and see how it goes. Ahem, but if you're reading this (and if there's no post above it), then my grand plan toward becoming more of a "morning person" has failed miserably, and I'm probably still asleep. Guess we'll find out tomorrow. j.s.



snarls HERE is a comic giving both the work and home numbers of Sen. Bill Napoli. (The senator from South Dakota who helped push through their statewide ban on abortions.) I've already called twice today. The first was a voicemailed request to put a rider on the legisation that requires my girlfriend to perform fellatio every morning. (Dammit! I totally forgot to say "on me.") But by the time I'd decided to call him back and ask if he knew a good place to get discounts in bulk on scarlet "A"s, his mailbox was full and his home line was busy. I fully encourage you to try it yourself however. j.s.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

Hey. I don't have a whole lot in the way of time since I have to finish up a couple articles for next month's issue by tomorrow. (Part of my desperate scramble to catch back up after being gone for so long.) To be honest I've basically finished writing them, I just need to tidy their hair and straighten their ties a bit before I send them off to work. Should take me no less than an hour or two tomorrow afternoon. I s'pose I probably should've been at home working on them tonight, rather than spending my after-work hours sipping Chimay at Agora...but like Mr. Furley used to say, "Kay Sarah Sarah," you know? I've also come to the conclusion today that I can't go out for lunch everyday like I have for the past few years. It's just become prohibitively expensive, and skipping it seems to be an easy way to keep my bank account from going into the red. (As it has been way too oft of late.) So D. has come up with a brilliant plan of going to Sam's Club and picking up metric tons of peanut butter, bread, Lean Pockets, Turkey Dogs, and other such speed-balls of sustenance, and stocking up his place for our daily lunch excursions. Good plan. Talk to you tomorrow. j.s.

Monday, March 20, 2006

Here I am. Promise fulfilled. So I did hit the proverbial wall on Saturday night, and couldn't bring myself to go out for a ninth night in a row. (I know. How badly do I suck?) I even tried a Red Bull & Mandrin, the defibrillator of hangovers, to get me going. Alas, after just one sip I felt like if I continued all of my internal organs would unionize and perform a "walk-out." So instead we watched Frogs, a 1972 horror flick that cost me $5.00 from Albertson's. And that, my friends, was an Abe Lincoln well spent. We all crashed out early, and Sunday was mostly spent gathering up all my clothes/electronics/swag and moving it down to the Jeep in preparation to head home. Hugged Bryan goodbye, and I probably thanked him roughly 6-8 times for letting me squat in his spare bedroom for 10 days. And if he happens to read this, thank you again Bryan. That was ridiculously awesome of you. Got back to D's place at around 8ish last night, recanted tales of my week in Austin, then decided I was too tired to drive home and just crashed out over there. Today I think I've identified some SXSW withdrawal symptoms. First, I'm used to having a badge around my neck. And I feel kinda naked without it. I'm considering utilizing the Flava Flav clock for a week or two, just until I get over this need. Second, working doesn't seem to make sense. I mean, I'm doing the exact same thing as I was...and I already know how to do this job. There's nothing new about it. Where's the new stuff? The stuff I haven't heard about yet? Also, I want to skip to the head of every queue that I run into. I expect to be able to take advantage of "Badge Lines" at the bank, grocery store, Jason's Deli, gas stations, etc. "What do you mean I have to wait in line with everyone else? I'm platinum over here. Look at my clock foo!" Okay, I'm tired...and I'm quite interested in what it's going to feel like to be in bed prior to 3am. Gah! And, after just seeing a commercial for the "Larry the Cable Guy" movie, I'm now going to trudge dejectedly into my room and smash my head against the wall until I fall unconscious. *thunkthunkthunkthunkthunk* j.s.



I have returned to the city of grime and mugginess, and returned to work as well. So I'll have to wrap up the whole SXSW thing later tonight. Til then... j.s.

Saturday, March 18, 2006

HERE is the Bruce Sterling address, in case you're interested in such a thing. j.s.



SXSW - Day Nine Yesterday's Set List Love is All RJD2 Art Brut Mohair Rainer Maria Lucero Ted Leo & the Pharmacists And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead Okay, I think it's finally arrived. Complete. Sensory. Overload. And it hurts more than I'd imagined...although that could be the result of the small lake of Lone Stars that I've imbibed. Okay, so after I posted I caught up with Danny, who came up for the SXSW Wrap-up parties. Had a couple beers at Lovejoy's, then we smuggled him into Red 7 for the Lucero and Ted Leo show. (I actually missed all but the last song of Lucero. Sounded really good though.) It's at this point we decide to make the jump from beer to Red Bull & vodkas. Ill advised, I know. Few more drinks down, and then Ted Leo et al went on. And the people who've raved about his live show are right...he's really good. He wasn't as great as I'd hoped, but I think he would've had to spontaneously combust into green flames and party streamers during his encore to live up to my much-hyped expectations. One caveat: Ted you really shouldn't allow people up on stage to sing (and ruin), what is one of my favorite songs of yours. ("Walking to Do.") That was really irritating. After the show, I wandered out the back exit and happened upon the final few songs of the "And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead" set. And they sounded really good. Although I can see them becoming the next band to be embraced by the MySpace sect, a la "My Chemical Romance." Check MySpace's "10 Most Popular Searches" sometime. I guarantee you MCR will be in the top 3. They also just won Spin Magazine's "Your Favorite Band" readers' poll. (Behold the power of online press.) After "And You Will Know Us..." I was headed back to the Jeep when I got a call from Danny. (He'd mysteriously disappeared during Ted Leo's set.) He wasn't sure where he'd been for the 2 hours since I'd seen him, and I don't press the issue. We decide to catch up at Whataburger, which sounded like an absolutely brilliant idea at the time, but in practice was almost as bad as switching to Red Bull & vodkas. (Danny had actually already stopped at Wendy's and had a value meal there, then bought another one at Whataburger, along with 4 apple pies. And as a result, I'm sure he feels much worse than I do today.) We get back to Bryan's place and crash at around 4. I drag myself out of bed at 10 this morning, shower, and head back into town for the final day of the festival. At noon I dropped in on the ridiculously titled "Blogs Gone Wild" panel. I'd thought this might be interesting since it was technically part of the Music discussions, and therefore might feature a slightly different viewpoint on blogging. And "interesting" would be the wrong word for it. "Unimpressive" is a better one. And that sentiment can pretty much be applied laterally across all of the music panels. Unorganized. Stale. Pedestrian. All these would work too. Their moderators really need to get better at actually moderating their speakers, specifically the longwinded rants of the creepy man-boy at the "Blogs Gone Wild" panel. (He probably weighed 250-275, wore thick glasses and admitted to only recently moving out of his parents' basement...thus the apogee of what people expect when they talk about bloggers/web geeks. Sigh.) They really should've covered the relationship between bands and blogs more, perhaps covering the love/hate relationship that ebbs and flows between the two mediums? For example, I imagine that bands have come to appreciate blogs for their grassroots earnestness and their ability to immediatly share music buzz between friends. Not to mention the fact that they're free press. On the flipside, I can also see how artists might have an aversion to blogs since they're almost too independent and uncontrollable. And there's always that pesky file sharing thing to consider... This is a dichotomy I would've liked to see explored a bit. Nothing doing though. The only marginally interesting person on that panel was the News Editor from Pitchfork. And she really didn't talk much. And unfortunately that's my last panel this year...too bad it had to end on a down note. (I might've been spoiled by the genius addresses earlier in the week though.) Okay, I'm off. I'm going to catch Rogue Wave here in the auditorium, then heading back to Bryan's place to rest before going out tonight. Although I'm not sure how down I'm going to be with wandering around in the rain, hungover and broke this evening...we'll see. Talk to you later. j.s.

Friday, March 17, 2006

SXSW - Day Eight - Post II Hello my lovelies. As you'll no doubt be able to tell by the typos that will litter this post like syringes on a Compton basketball court, I'm a wee bit tipsy. I started drinking at Emo's dudring the RJD2 set at around 4, and haven't stopped since. burp Hi. Anyway, priorr to RJD2 coming on, a band called "Love is All" played. Can't say much about them. Genero-popp with a squeaky and discordant little girl as their lead, who alternated between mashing her keyboard, and vigorously whacking a cowbell. Can't say as I was much of a fan really. RJD2 was good, and I laughed and pointed my Lone Star in the general direction of 71mm3r5 in Charm City when he mixed an Electric Light Orchestra song. I left there during the...er...Alto Brut? Aldus Brut? Art Brut? Something "Brut" set, which I didn't much care for either, and ran over to the Driskill Hotel to see Rainer Maria play. And I don't mind saying, their noew album is going to be genius. Watching them play makes me really happy. Graet set. They duoed with "Mohair" on their last song, and did an impromptu cover of "Taxman" by the Beatles. Serioiusly awesome stugf. On teh docket for the rest of the evening are Lucero early, and Ted Leo & the Pharmacists later...whom I cannot fucking wait to see. I've heard so much about how strong Ted brings it when he's playing live that I'm giddy to be able to check them out. Yay! oOkay, I'm off to catch up with some people I met earlier in the week. Hope you're having an awesome St. Shamrock Guiness thingy. j.s.



SXSW - Day Eight Last night's setlist: Beastie Boys The Weepies Zox Flogging Molly Dirty Pretty Things Clap Your Hands Say Yeah So after finishing up the blog posts yesterday, I got a call from someone I'd never met in person (only online), who informs me that the Beastie Boys were playing an unadvertised "secret" show at Stubb's. I hop in the Jeep and speed over, only to find a mighty queue, and chaos beginning to erupt outside the venue. People were scaling brick walls to get on the roofs of nearby buildings, just to catch a glimpse of the show. I eventually get in, smack dab in the middle of "Fight For Your Right." You know, their live show almost made up for the exercise in jackassdom that was their audience interview. No really, they were good. Worth the price of admission...which was to say, nothing. After that I stuck around with the people who'd led me to see the B. Boys, and we all wandered over to the convention center to pick up a show guide and play with their Legos. After building a rather phallic rocketship, we walked over to Maggie Mae's to catch "The Weepies," a band I'd heard a couple songs from and kinda dug. Turned out they were way too folky for my tastes live, though I do still really like their "The World Spins Madly On" song. And their lead singer has the most adorable little girl voice that I've ever heard. I wanted to pat her on the head, smile condescendingly and tell her "okay, go play now." After about 30mins of their set we take off and head to Emo's to see Zox, some rock honkies from the motherland (aka: Rhode Island), who were in essence a speedbump on our way to Flogging Molly. Had an electric violinist rather than lead guitar, but surprisingly their sound wasn't all that different from any other tradional ROCK band out there. They wavered between punk and powerpop, but didn't do either all that well. A note fellas, you should never attempt to cover Bjork without a.) a female singer and b.) loads of talent. The set ended, and Flogging Molly came on...who were very, very, very good. They also seemed the perfect band to toast Russell to, so I wandered back to the bar, picked up a shot of Jack, and as I turned to raise my glass the band launched into "If I Ever Leave this World Alive." And it all kind of came together like that. I still really miss that kid... deep breath Okay. So I take off from Emo's, walk the folk that I've been hanging out with back over to Stubb's so they can catch "Gomez." I leave and head to Eternal Nightclub (aka: Dagobah) to catch Clap Your Hands Say Yeah! But first up, Dirty Pretty Things. Dirty Pretty Things (or "DPT" as they called themselves), were obviously the result of British governmental experiments involving the splicing Neil Gaiman's genes to create clones. The three front men obviously escaped from the genome lab, and formed a travelling band that should've been called "The Limey Toadies." Not good. They also apparently went too long, and had to be almost removed from stage by force from three rather large bouncers. More waiting. Now we're at 1:30 and Clap Your Hands still hasn't gone on. At this point, the guy in front of me becomes irate, grabs his denim jacket and storms out. Turned out it was David Fricke, the writer from Rolling Stone that looks like Joey Ramone might if he were wearing Mr. Ed's dentures. (You might remember him from the Wilco documentary.) Clap Your Hands come out, do their own soundcheck as quickly as possible, and still put on a pretty good show, all miserable circumstance considered. They're definitely worth going to see live, when they come to your town. 2am arrives, the band tries to play one last song but are also stopped by the Gong Show Bouncers. People leave, tempers are running hot, the booze is pumping. A couple girls outside get into a fight, so being the naturally chivalrous gentleman I am, I stop to take a picture. Then I head back home, with a pitstop at Whataburger for a chicken sandwich. Which also happens to be the first thing I've eaten in over 24 hours. (Three hotdog buns from the Turbonegro party was my prior meal.) I really need to remember to eat things other than coffee and beer... And I just got a call from the cute girl from that same party (the one with the boyfriend) who wants me to come check out her friend's band. I think this could be a very bad idea. But I'm going anyway. See you 'round. j.s.

Thursday, March 16, 2006

SXSW - Day Seven - Post II Back. So yesterday I spent the early part of the afternoon in Halcyon Cafe, writing for you cookies. At around 3:30 I bailed and headed back to the convention center to see the Beastie Boys Audience Interview...which was unbelievably ridiculous. An hour of sophmoric answers to utterly banal questions, and a complete waste of time. For example when asked whether it's important to stick to one sound that sells to your fans, rather than experiment with sounds you're into at the moment, AdRock simply said, "I dunno. Just try not to make some wack shit." The repeated references to "Purple Rain" and Mike D's Pampers.com sponsorship deal, were funny the first couple times, but quickly became stale and tired. You know, I also couldn't help but notice the stark difference in the Interactive crowd vs. the Music peeps. The hordes of hyper-hipsters, rock n' roll cliches (and "cli'she's) and dull-eyed, money focused business people, trying desperately to monetize the creativity we've been talking about all week. And the endless bobbing sea of hair product here should be a Christo work. (Or deemed a major fire hazard.) Anyway, after the B. Boys interview, I walked across the street and got to flex my "press" status a bit at the "Canadian Blast!" party tent, where I'd been guestlisted by the magazine. While I was there I not only was treated to free Jack n' Cokes, but also got to check out "Magnolia Lane," a trio of cute Canadian girls who sounded like Hole might if they were doing Animal Collective songs. (Reference Twister score = 5) And they were actually pretty good, all things considered. Then Bryan called and invited me along to a Turbonegro house party. I agree of course, and he came by the convention ctr. to pick me up. When I jumped in the car and looked over I see Bryan, a 6' 6" man who probably weighs around 230-240, wearing Daisy Duke shorts, a black sleeveless tee, and a black engineer's cap. (Sorry about these pics, it was kinda dark at the party.) After the laughing subsided we met a couple of his friends, hopped into their car, and headed to the party. (With a pit stop to pick up a couple 6-packs of Lone Star beer in cans.) The party wasn't all that well attended, though it was still a pretty good time. Saw a band called "Black Earth" all of whose songs sound eerily similar. (There were so many "Oh Yeah!"s that I thought Kool-Aid Man was going to burst through the fence and serve them with copyright infringement litigation.) After killing off the 6-pack of tallboys, Bryan sprung his super-secret surprise on us...his mesh banana hammock undies. He is a very, very strange and funny man. As the soiree wound down, I met a cute girl who kept telling me over and over how awesome and hot I am. (This is one of my favorite conversational topics.) "I bet you're a metro too, aren't you?" "Errr...well that's kind of a wide brush..." "Because metros are hot. And they really know what they're doing..." "...annnd it's a brush that I'm entirely comfortable with." grin So I'm starting to get interested in this girl, right up until she mentions her boyfriend is also at the party. Sigh. "But if I didn't have a boyfriend I'd be so totally into you right now." "Oh. Well. That's...nice." "Can I have a hug?" "Sure." After this her boyfriend decided it was time to go, she however came back no less than 5 times to hug me over and over before finally leaving. We took off shortly after as well, and Bryan dropped me off downtown where it was finally time to get the Music part of SXSW rolling. First up, The New Pornographers at Stubb's. Awesome show. I love those guys/gals. Even picked up a shirt while I was there. After that show I debated sticking around for Mogwai, but the lure of The Go! Team proved too much, and I headed over to Exodus to catch them. And I'll tell you folks this, I won't ever come to SXSW without a badge. Those wristbands are for suckas. Most of the poor wristbanded masses just sat there in lines all over town while the badgeholders skated right by them with ease, and into each club. If I wasn't so giddy about the VIP connotations of such preferential treatment, I would've actually felt bad for them. So The Go! Team came on around 1am, and unfortunately they only played for about 40 minutes. But it was an awesome 40 minutes. Super high energy happy-happy band, jumping around and doing high school cheers with rock instruments, set atop interesting electro backbeats Good times. Headed home to crash at around 2:30, but not before getting a ring from Jenny who delivered the news that a friend of ours died earlier this week in an avalanche while boarding Snowbird. Pretty strange stuff. Similarly, today marks what would've been Russell's 26th birthday. As such, I'd like to recommend that you all go out later and toast him with a shot of Jack. I certainly will. Take care, j.s.



SXSW - Day Seven Nnggh... This is a serious hungover. But let's back up a bit to the end of the Interactive fest, which concluded with the 'snap' of Bruce Sterling's laptop being shut. The audience applauded, then made their way out to the hall. And it was interesting to see everyone's face change. We'd all gotten used to going from room to room and having a timed schedule for listening to bright people share ideas. But that was over. No more panels, no more interviews, no more keynotes. And you could see people's expression sadden a little when they realized it. Our collective digital swell had crested, peaked, then crashed in silence. It was now time to go home. Hugs were exchanged along with RSS feeds and podcast links. Handshakes given side by side with email addresses and blog URLs. Sad smiles with IRC rooms and IM names. These new ways in which we stay close to one another are truly amazing. We're a generation of people who have the ability to stay in closer contact with each other than any that has precluded us. What's truly interesting is that so many of us still feel alone and isolated... And I feel - I feel like the maelstrom of creativity here had built into a whirling imaginative mass, and if it continued any longer we'd start destroying things. Come to think of it, I suppose that's exactly what a lot of us are going home to do. To hack, tinker, reverse engineer, and break. To smash existing programs and applications, and assemble the bits together in new ways. To push deeper and deeper into codes, to see what lies at the next level. That's the point. That's what we do. Any inner-subbacultcha cattiness that might've been felt has faded now. (Yes, even toward the FaceBookies and MySpacers.) Because when it comes down to it, we're all the web. You. Me. The people we know. The kid at home playing World of Warcraft. The grandmother learning how to email her grandkids. That guy across from you on his laptop at the coffee shop. The girl at home surfing porn. Corporations, charities, universities, cities, governments, entire fucking nations... We're all a part of this collective medium where the rules change by the hour, where everyone is equal if they make the effort to be so, and where the only entrance requirement is curiosity. It's where we're going. It's what's next. The trick now, is not to disconnect from this feeling. To bottle this passion and fire, and take it home with us. Don't allow the drudges of your life drag you back into the murk of easy complacency, robotic arm clock punching, rush hours and happy hours and dinner hours and bedtimes... I don't mean to make that sound easy. Routines are comfortable. They're safe. And they're the death knell of creativity, since their very purpose is to allow us a sort of mental auto-pilot. To let us travel through the day without having to think. (We don't have to. We've done this so many times...) Learn to abhor the routine. Because the time you have holds only the value that you lend to it. And the world ahead is only as scary as you let it be. Don't be afraid. Go do something. [[And before I get angry emails, you should know that when I was feverishly scribbling all of this into my notebook, it was directed solely at me. I only shared it here because I liked it.]] Okay, the flowery and idealistic prose is done, let's move on. I left the convention center around 6ish and ran back to Bryan's place for a delicious dinner of Saltines w/ peanut butter, and lemonade. After this I jumped back into the Jeep and drove over to the Alamo Drafthouse on Lamar to catch loudQUIETloud It was...okay. Yep. Just okay. I mean, I thought it was really interesting, but I'm also a fan of the band's music. And if you aren't then I can say with complete assurance that you shouldn't bother with it, because the stories told in the film weren't so interesting as to merit mass appeal. It won't be the "March of the Penguins" of indie rock. After the movie I dropped by the after-party at Beauty Bar for all of about 30 seconds. And I left partially because they weren't equipped to take credit cards, partially because there were about 7 people there, but mostly because the bar was absolutely terrifying. It had sparkly pink wallpaper, bright yellow neon behind the bar, stained concrete floors and there were fucking mannequin heads everywhere. Think "Big Top Morgue for Guillotine Victims" and you'll be on the right track. I couldn't handle this, so I called it a night, and headed home. And now it's time for a break. When I come back, I'll cover the beginning of the music conference, a ridiculously sophmoric panel by the Beastie Boys, Turbonegro (or the lack thereof), Lone Star, and banana hammocks. See you in a few. j.s.

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

SXSW - Day Six Mawnin'. I have found that my Hipster Quotient, or "HQ," is growing out of control as the days here progress. For example, my first day here I wore a solid button-up and jeans and was relatively smartly dressed. Today, I look like this: If this trend continues, by the end of the week I'll have a fauxhawk, tight-fitting canvas pants, a stained and torn "Broadcast" t-shirt, and a messenger bag covered with buttons and stickers in which I carry my iMac, iPod, iPhone and iSmokes. iNeed to curtail this trend immediately. Okay, I don't have much going on for the next hour, so I'm going to sit right here at Halcyon and get as much as I can of this out. I'll pick what I've missed up later. So the Burnie Burns (from Roosterteeth.com, the guys who make Red vs. Blue.), address was not at all what I'd expected. I had assumed it would simply be a primer on machinima, and cover a few licensing questions about selling DVDs using recordings from a Microsoft product. And before I give you the wrong idea, I would've been completely content with such an address, since I think machinima is kind of an interesting genre. Instead, he launched into a terrifying (though really funny) "harbinger of doom" address in which he predicts that the two major phone companies will begin charging web application houses for the use of an infrastructure that Ma Bell spent billions to create. Most of us have seen the business models that involve the "Internet Cloud" right? (HERE's a very simple example, in case you haven't.) Well, that "cloud" is basically the phone lines that the internet runs through. And guess who owns those phone lines? Right. So, to keep things relatively simple, let's say AT&T is pissed that Google is making millions upon millions of dollars using their telephone network, and they aren't reaping a dime of that money. (They are pissed btw.) Pieces are already being slid into place to build a business model where AT&T and Verizon can charge companies like Google and iTunes for the amount of bandwidth they use every month. Now you can forecast the implications of this as far down the pipe, so to speak, as you like. It could crush web apps like Flickr and iTunes. Hinder VoiP development, since it's in their best interest to keep people using existing phone services. (After all, they own them.) Stagnate web development since small houses won't be able to afford to pay exorbitant "network usage fees." And what would happen to Google in such a market? ("Google. As far as I can tell their mission statement is, 'Let's not make eggs.'" -Burnie Burns on the ridiculous amount of different apps Google is releasing-.) This becomes even more insidious when you involve proprietary download web apps like VCast. Suddenly Verizon becomes a 5-ton yeti in the music download market, since they're part of the organization who owns the phone lines and would thus have priority access to the network. Scary stuff. He also covered the fact that TV and film are losing profits from people who are using the web, and they're coming. And they're quite pissed as well. Anyway, it was an interesting address. Hopefully it'll be podcasted either on the SXSW site, or on Roosterteeth.com. Moving on. The last interactive panel I attended was "The Secret Sex Life of Video Games." I sat down, picked up my Moleskine and readied myself to take a couple clever notes when I felt someone looking at me. I glance over... Fuck. It's Freddy Mercury from the Blogger party. He gives me a twiddly fingered wave and a smile. I wave back and busy myself by rummaging through my bag, searching for stray marmots for 5 minutes. The panel was okay, though kind of a let down after the heady nature of the earlier discussion. Lots of Second Life talk, the seriously twisted world of Sociolotron, some predictions about linking teledildonics to games, furries, vores, and other such forms of what, essentially, boil down to "dirty typing." The giggles from Apple kiddies seated behind me bugged me throughout the panel. And as it turns out what they were sniggering about was that didn't understand what it meant to "use the engine from Alien vs. Predator in our design," and thought that meant people actually played AVP, and hooked up/cybered through that. (I'm also going to wax elitist prettyboy here for a second, and note that I'd bet long on the odds that the majority of people seated in that room had never had sex.) And then, the closing speech. Bruce Sterling. He had the demeanor of a CEO sitting down at the head of a conference table, about to deliver profit losses. But then he launched into his speech, and while he wasn't much of an orator, the things he said were remarkably interesting. Here are a few notes. I apologize for the jumbled format, but I was pretty enthralled and wasn't paying much attention to scribbling down notes: - The coming internet of corporeal "things" rather than simply data. "I no longer have to get out of bed and look for my shoes, I just Google them." - Commons-based peer production models have moved us into a web 2.0, and we're creating things the likes of which the world has never seen. (Flickr and Wiki for example.) - "Our administration is turning America into a Banana Republic with rockets." - How he no longer is a resident of anywhere, crossing national boundaries as if they were speedbumps, and he now lives out of his laptop. - Quoted crowd favorites like Neil Gaiman and Warren Ellis when discussing the Muslim outrage over the recent satirical Mohammed comics. - This "war on terror" is in fact a "culture war." A war on honor and morale. Where everyone strikes from the shadows, and at its cessation will leave no one proud of what transpired. Indeed the victor will be both despised and distrusted the world over. - He covered his own buzzword ("spime") for a technology that hasn't been created yet. (This seemed like a shameless attempt to capture similar notoriety to Gibson's "cyberspace.") "Spimes" are defined by having: 1. Interactive chips (bar codes/RFID) 2. Geo-locative systems 3. Search engines (auto-Googling object) 4. Cradle to cradle recycling 5. Created solely by 3-d modeling 6. Rapidly prototyped. ("Fadject" or "Blogject" extensions) He is convinced that we'll interact with these "Spimes," these "theory objects," in a way that is currently unimaginable. Now sure, this is a fun thought to ruminate over, but I couldn't help the feeling that it was a little tacked-on. - He covered Milosevic's life and death a little. - And then launched into what I felt was the strongest portion of the diatribe, quoting Carl Sandburg's poem "The People, Yes," which seemed remarkably contemporary for something written in 1936. (I suppose that is as poetry should be.) The People, Yes The people will live on. The learning and blundering people will live on. They will be tricked and sold again and again sold And go back to the nourishing earth for rootholds. The people so peculiar in renewal and comeback, You can’t laugh off their capacity to take it. The mammoth rests between his cyclonic dramas. The people so often sleepy, weary, enigmatic, Is a vast huddle with so many units saying: “I earn my living. I make enough to get by And it takes all my time. If I had more time I could do more for myself and maybe for others. I could read and study And talk things over And find out more things. It takes time. I wish I had the time.” . . . The people know the salt of the sea and the strength of the winds lashing the corners of the earth. The people take the earth as a tomb of rest and a cradle of hope. Who else speaks for the Family of Man? They are in tune and step with constellations of universal law. In the darkness with a great bundle of grief the people march. In the night, and overhead a shovel of stars for keeps, the people march: “Where to? What next?” Beautiful. Okay, after I regain feeling in my hands I'll wrap up the Interactive Fest, and cover the loudQUIETloud documentary film on the Pixies reuinion tour. Talk to you later, j.s.

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

SXSW - Day Five (Wow, it's day five already? Damn...) Good morning. Back in the Plat Lounge, listening to The GO! Team and trying to ignore the guy next to me who's hiding his face behind his SXSW information book and looks like someone out of a really bad spy movie. See? So I've decided that the rest of my life should be spent in this exact kind of experience. Listening to people who have remarkably interesting information and views, and exchanging ideas with them freely with the hope that they'll actually do something with it rather than "steal" it. It's just an amazing environment that fosters synapse-baking amounts of creative thought, entreprenurial ventures, and innovation. Today, for example, I started off at the "Adding Video to Your Blog" panel, after which I immediately started browsing for cheap videocameras that support the MPEG-4 format since it would be awesome to add some videos here to further document the ridiculous things I do, and so my grandkids might someday watch them and marvel at the complete and utter jackassdom that they share a chromosomal relation to.) If you're interested in such a thing, the general consensus on the panel is to avoid hosting services like YouTube or Google Video since when you sign up with them they own the rights to reprint your videos for their own commercial gain, and there's nothing you can do. Instead use things like BlipTV who operates with a several levels of Creative Commons licensing to protect your stuff. There's also a great tool for creating embedded video code called Linkmaker. "Rules only make sense until they're stupid." - Michael Verdi, talking about litigation over incidental use of copyrighted material that is merely ambient to what someone is shooting. After that I headed over to "The Future of Radio" panel which was interesting, though the moderator irritated me a little. It was a personal thing, and I'm sure it had little or nothing to do with him or the panel. He was just one of those people that I instantly dislike. And speaking of things I dislike, does anyone else think it's kind of crude (not to mention pathetic), to pimp your own site under the guise of asking a completely jejune question to a panel? I mean, you're sitting in a room full of relatively ad savvy people mate, and if you're the kind of person who would do such a thing, then there's little chance you're smart enough to disguise your agenda. Irritating. Anyway, that panel was okay. I left with what I thought was an interesting idea for an online music business model, but I think I need to hold hands with it for a bit before I ask it out. (Pete and Tim, I'd' be interested in hearing what you think about it, since the idea kind of originated with the combination of some things you've been doing with what the panel guests were talking about.) Okay, it's almost time for the Burnie Burns keynote address, and I want to get there a bit early so I don't have to sit in the overflow room and watch him on video. Will post later. j.s. [[Oh, and I'd like to apologize for my writing voice for the past four days. I haven't had much time to post in between panels, so I'm sure my words have come out pretty fast and loose as a result. Sorry.]]

Monday, March 13, 2006

SXSW - Day Four - Post Three So, for those of you who didn't get my rampant text messaging earlier tonight, after the conference I went to the Blogger party at Club Deville. We did have to stand outside for a little while as they readied the sushi plates, cheese trays and cases of Newcastle, but eventually we were admitted and given a free beanie for our troubles. Behold my excitement. The free drinks flowed. Friends grouped together in happy bunches. Dooce sat at one of the tables with her husband. (I think she's stalking me.) And the music was absolutely terrible. (With the notable exception of the "It's Peanut Butter Jelly Time" song, which is always awesome, no matter the occasion.) The only problem with the scene was, I was the only guy there who came by himself. So I stood around sipping my beer, shuffling my feet, and scanning the crowd every now and again with an expectant look on my face, as if searching for people I had come there with. Eventually I tired of this game, and resigned myself to leaning in a corner like a load-bearing wallflower, and polishing off a few complimentary beers before going home. It was about that time when some guy wanders up and says, "Hi there." "Hi." "Having a good time?" "I am actually. Thanks. Although I do wish I'd come here with people though..." "Oh really? What kind of people?" "Er...well the kind who're friends I guess..." I say, narrowing my eyes a bit since that seems like an odd question. It's also at this point that I notice his Freddy Mercury-in-training moustache. "Oh I see. So where are you from?" Blah, blah, blah. I find out he's a web designer from L.A, I explain I'm a magazine columnist from Houston up to do a few pieces on SXSW. "So, have you ever been to California?" "Yeah, once a long time ago. Went to San Francisco and L.A." "San Francisco, realllly??" This is when it dawns on me that he's become confused, and is trying to pick me up. So in an attempt to set the record straight [ZANG!] I explain that I went out there with my girlfriend at the time. "Hmm..." he says, and pauses for a moment. "Are you still with her?" I laugh, because I can see this about to become shameless. "No. No I'm not with her anymore. We broke up a long time ago." "Well that happens you know." He smiles. "Yes, I suppose it does..." I steel myself for the big finish, "infidelity being what it is and all. It's pretty fucked up actually." His smile vanishes, and I can see the uncomfort steal over his face as he thinks I'm about to launch into a personal tale of woe and betrayal. "Yeah. Right. Well it was really nice meeting you Jeremiah." And before I can get out "Same to you, have a good time." he's gone. Again, I am very flattered that people find me attractive, no matter their gender. But goddammit man...when is some cute female web designer going to wander up to me at a party in such a fashion? Yeah, you're right. That's supposed to be my job isn't it? Anyway, I stuck around there for a couple hours and then headed back to Bryan's place, which is where I am now. And I'm thinking I'm going to crash out now, so as to not miss the early panels tomorrow like I have for the past 2 days. G'night kids. j.s.



SXSW - Day Four - Post II So I'm sitting in the Plat Lounge again. I just left that interview with Craig from craigslist.com and Jimmy Wales from Wikipedia, where they discussed the global implications of censorship on the internet, with particular attention to Google's new Chinese search engine. The Wikipedia guy is a bit critical of their endeavor, whereas Craig wants to believe that they're setting the groundwork for future social change. I could listen to that kind of thing all day. Anyway, after leaving the interview I dropped by the EFF and Creative Commons table again to talk about their event tonight, and to briefly discuss how their current litigation with AT&T's mass release of customer information to the NSA is going. And right now, sipping a beer in the chair next to me, is Neil fucking Young, sporting a cowboy hat, shorts and tie-dyed socks with brown Docs. SXSW is truly a surreal vortex of cool. Tonight is the Blogger party which I feel obligated to attend partly because I've been using their software since the inception of this little page, and partly because I've been getting a 100meg of free website space for 2 years that they've simply forgotten to charge me for. And what better way to repay them than by drinking lots of their beer? Catch you tomorrow. j.s.



SXSW - Day Four Shalom. So where did I leave off? Hrmm... I think it was the Kottke and Armstrong keynote, so that's where I'll start. Jason Kottke and Heather Armstrong of Dooce.com were the keynotes yesterday, and while they weren't bad per se, I was a little disappointed considering how highly revered their blogs are. When they weren't harping on the subscription model vs. ads dichotomy for blog revenue, they were trying to outline where they draw their boundaries for subject matter. (As in what they refuse to blog about, and what is fair game.) What I found most amazing were the loyal army of sycophantic women who lined up at the microphone to gush praise, in a shaky and nervous voice, for Heather. "You're amazing and brilliant and funny and pretty and OMG I just love everything you do. I love you!" Now, while I can appreciate being a bit star-struck when talking to a writer that you really dig, getting up and wasting precious panel time by asking who was watching her dog is an exercise in jackassdom. "Live the content, then write it," was a wonderful soundbyte though, kudos to Armstrong for that one. After that I wandered over to the "Bloggers in Love: Intimacy, Technology and Mask-Making" seminar, which was really very cute, and the podcast should be used for saccharine-sweet online dating commercials. Most interesting was the moderator's spot-on rebuttal to people who say that "online relationships aren't real, since you don't ever actually see or speak to that person." She countered with the truism that real feelings can and do get hurt when emailing/IMing/posting online, and that's real enough. It's an interesting thought, and I could sit here and bore you for hours about my take on whether online interaction is a valid form of interpersonal communication or not, so we'll move on. Derek Powazek, a member of that panel, is a very funny man. You should go check him out. He actually reminded me a bit of "Bitterness is a Drug Against" that occasionally drops by here. I had a couple hours to kill after that presentation, so I went over to the Platinum Lounge to hobnob with the SXSW l337 and ramp myself up into a state of caffeine overload on complimentary coffee. While I was there I talked to a guy who reviews the accessibility and functionality of websites via a team of cognitive psychologists, which seemed like an interesting gig. Then it was time for the SXSW Web Awards, which is a sort of "Oscars for Websites," with categories like "Best Blog," "Best CSS," "Best Amusement," and "Best Flash." (If you're interested in such things you can check out the winners HERE.) Now I'll ask you, how much of a surly geek does one have to be to be seated in a prime table of the center of the ballroom during such an award show, and still have people refrain from sitting with you? Even webdorks wouldn't sit with me. Jeremiah's eyes tear up Alone! So alone! Eventually a couple and their friend did sit down at the table with me though, and I felt a little better about the whole thing. And when they played the Leeroy Jenkins video I felt much better. Afterward I bolted back to Bryan's place where I introduced him to the wonder that is hamburoni, then we crashed. For whatever reason, my cell phone alarm didn't go off today, so I didn't get up until 9:00, missing my first panel again. growl Sat in on the "Building Buzz for Your Website" seminar after that which was good, although I apparently left the cap off my pen when I left yesterday, and the ink reservoir dried up overnight. Sigh. Okay I'm going to head toward the "Craig Newmark (of Craigslist fame), keynote. Post again later. j.s.

Sunday, March 12, 2006

SXSW - Day Three Ahoy. So after I left you yesterday I ended up skipping lunch and dropped in on the keynote speakers, Jim Coudal and Jason Fried, both of whom were quite funny, although they didn't really discuss anything that I'm into. (It was mostly relatec to webapp development.) Good presentation though. Had a couple interesting points about the importance of stretching your time. After that was a "Making $$$ with Blog Design Skills" seminar, which was nearly a complete waste of time. They could've just said "you should all use Expression Engine and/or WordPress" and then thanked us for coming. The only interesting thing that came from the speakers was their admission that business blog design is a wide open market, and that their companies couldn't keep up with the demand. (4 of the 5 of them also mentioned that that they were hiring. So there you go, you potential bloggy paycheck seekers you.) I dropped by another seminar covering ways to finance a web app start-up, but left when they started delving into accounting software recommendations. I break out in hives when people start discussing A + L = E. So I headed back to Bryan's place, which turned into quite the long night. We went to "Anchor & something or other", a bar right next to the UT campus, which, while lacking in comfortable seating, more than made up for it by employing one of the world's coolest door guys, Sully. In all likelihood, Sully probably wasn't his name, however Bryan and I felt that the universe doesn't have nearly enough guys named "Sully" working at bars. So Sully it was. He sported stained and frayed cargo shorts, a camouflage tee with white silkscreen that'd been spin cycled to a garbled unreadability, and a round gut that looked like he was involved in a Mexican pilates ball smuggling ring. We watched in a mix of shock and amazement as he covered a quarter pounder w/ cheese with roughly a pint of tabasco sauce, and set about crushing it into his mouth, all as he bussed empty pitchers from tables. It was fucking amazing. Anyway, after a while Bryan brilliantly maneuvered a couple of girls over by spying on them to see the brand of beer they were drinking and buying them each a round without having to ask what they wanted. We talked for an hour or so with them, doing the whole self-aggrandizing resume/rhetoric thing. I explained that I'm a fashion writer from Houston, and from their expressions it was obviouis that they didn't buy it. You know, I simply never tire of that incredulous look I get when I bring up the fact that I write a fashion column. It's as if anyone who writes about style can't possibly wear things like, oh I don't know, say a Red Sox cap, oversized jeans and my "I Am Ten Ninjas" t-shirt. I mean c'mon people. So we finished off a couple pitchers and headed downtown to gawk at the trainwreck of humanity that wanders through Austin's 6th street at 2am: Two smartly dressed girls held up what was was left of a tiaraed bachelorette as she slowly dribbled vomit down her chin and into a trash can on the sidewalk. (Heavy hangs the crown...) A little farther down the streetwe bumped into something that we originally thought to be a fight between a some asian guys, but in actuality turned out to be some kind of group hug/bounce thing. Your guess is as good as mine. And a panhandler so lazy that he just stood on the corner playing rap music on a portable CD player, nodding his head, and expected people to pay him solely based on his musical preference. Come to think of it, that isn't far off from DJ'ing actually... So after a little while, we notice that a lot of people seem to be congregating around a pair of elevators. Intrigued, we stroll over and watch as cadre after cadre of beautiful girls pack themselves into these lifts and ride up to what we have decided is no doubt an after-party of bacchnailian proportions involving oceans of Tanqeray, New York style pizza, and lingerie pillow fights. So, ever so surreptitiously, we mingle among the crowd and board an elevator. The cutest of the girls in the group asks me to press "6," which I promptly do and then nod to Bryan, a semaphore conveying, "we too are getting off, so to speak, on the 6th my friend." Ding. 6th floor. They exit. We follow and turn the corner... And it is at this point that I burst into uncontrollable laughter. It's a parking garage. All the people that were piling into these elevators were just heading to their cars, and going home. When I the embarrassed laughter finally subsides (and after we've leaned against the rail for a sufficient amount of time so as not to feel like complete morons), we ride back down to ground level and head back to Bryan's place, finally crashing at around 3:30. As such, I was a little late in arriving to the convention center today. I narrowly missed the first panel, so I instead wandered down to Halcyon to have a cup o' joe with my aunt, 'Liss, and her fiancee, Sean the + 1. (Someday I'm going to have to stop calling him that. Today isn't that day.) We chatted for an hour or so, then I had to take off to catch the Henry Rollins interview, something I was surely not going to miss. And he was every bit as interesting and lucid and forthright as I'd expected (and hoped) that he'd be. He covered the Bush administration, citing an interesting corollary between times of oppressive government and the resurgence of new and innovative art. His rationale for this was that controlling regimes incense people into action, as opposed to being contented and torpid layabouts while the world/economy is chugging along with vigor. "I don't want to see assholes like Letterman and Martin Sheen talking about government. I want to see the generals and the politicians talking about it. I wanna see the guy who blows the ink dry on the legislation that's fucking me." Apparently he's been doing quite a few USO spoken-word shows, in an attempt to convey to the soldiers that anti-war protesters aren't angry at the men and women who are fighting in Iraq, they're angry at the people who put them there. When the interviewer made mention that he'd spent the majority of his career being an angry "tough guy," he was quick to quip back, "I'm not tough. I've met tough, and I'm not tough. I am angry though. If you're American and not angry, then you're sleeping on the job." Bravo. On a personal note, the thing he talked about that resonated with me the most was this, "If you're up there putting yourself in front of people, and you're doing what you want to do, don't expect a placid lake to paddle across. People are going to get pissed. The slings and arrows are gonna come your way. So you better either get thicker skin, or grow a Mark Twain sense of humor." This has been one of the things that I've quietly wrestled with, both in my writing for the magazine, and to a lesser extent, on here. Feeling trepadation toward the magazine makes sense when I think about it, since not only are my words being thrust unwillingly upon people who aren't necessarily seeking them out, it also represents the first time I've had a steady income for, as I've said, something that I'd otherwise do for free. The Meaty is different however. And the difference is you. As small as it may be in comparison to Hank's, I do have an audience on the Meaty that I adore and appreciate. I'm incredibly thankful for you folk who make it a point to come by daily and read the tripe I have to say. And while I can honestly say that you aren't the main reason that I've been doing this for 3 1/2 years (coughpure egocough), you do come a very close second. And on that note, I'm going to head over to the Hilton to catch the Web Awards. Coming up next (as soon as I find the time), will be a recap of wandering through the convention booths, talking to the EFF and Creative Commons peeps, the Jason Kottke and Heather Armstrong keynote, and a panel on Bloggers in Love, which was as adorable and geeky as it sounds. See you in a bit. j.s.

Saturday, March 11, 2006

SXSW - Day Two Good afternoon. So not only was nothing stolen from the Jeep, a friend came to my rescue last night at around 11 and extended an invitation to both his spare bedroom, and his beer. Thank God for awesome and altruistic people like him. We hung out and watched some online dating show on the Lifetime network until around 1:30, then crashed. Today I crawled out of bed at 8, made myself marginally presentable, and headed to the Austin Convention Center. Milling about were the early risers, Starbucks cups in hand, cell phones pressed to purposefully touseled heads, and iMacs bouncing in colorful messenger bags at the hip. All of us buzzed happily around the lobby, rejoicing in an environment where we know the person next to us is a kindred spirt, simply by their presence. A comrade in an exciting and relatively new medium which we all adore, and that has only recently begun to be accepted and embraced by the rest of the world. We're not Facebook kiddes or shirtless MySpace clones. We're blogdorks. Joy is found in discussing things like Mozilla, MovableType and metatags. The masks of name and norm are dropped, and we're free to chorus together about the online culture that we each share a love for. So, the first panel I attended was "Better Blogging Brainstorming," a forum that warmed everyone up for what's ahead and mostly covered unapologetic blogging. It was a collective justification for publically exposing your everyday life, despite the apprehension of family, friends and employers. A call to go ahead and be an ass...and to revel in it. What I've noticed, however, is that bloggers don't make very good panel guests. We're all so adept at discussing ourselves that our anecdotes often become longwinded and sound self-aggrandizing when spoken aloud, rather than written. (Especially the moderator for the "Brainstorming" panel.) The sole exception to this was Tony Pierce, who also happens to be the speaker whose opinion I've resonated with the most so far. Pierce doesn't seem to take his blog, or himself, too seriously. I've no idea if I'll like his stuff (I haven't read much of it yet), but I liked him. Afterward we took a quick break in the lobby, where the conversations around me ranged from transvestite porn to Technorati tags vs. Flickr to online identity branding while trying to retain a personal "self." Love it. I then went in to the "We Got Naked, Now What?" panel, which wasn't at all what I was expecting. =] It covered a lot of business blogging, and featured two women who apparently had lost their job because of their blogs. Interesting, but not really what I'm interested in. Also, I can't help but wonder if blogs have become the new race/relgion/gender card when attempting to self-rationalize why you've been fired. It's easier to blame your online journal for the boss's decision to give you the axe, rather than own up to any failures or incompetence on your part. (To back this up, none of the people on that panel had concrete evidence that they were let go as a result their smarmy online swipes at their employers. They merely think that's the reason.) Dooce has made it fashionable to have been booted from a job as a result of what you've written online. shakes head Lovely. What has been a pleasant surprise so far has been the ages of the bloggers here. Sure most of us are in our 20's and early 30's, but there is a surprisingly large number of people in their 50's and 60's that have taken to online writing. And that, is awesome. And, on an almost completely unrelated note, I really love writing with a fountain pen. I've been taking notes for my articles all morning and the tips of my fingers are stained with black ink. It just somehow feels like I'm more in contact with the page as I'm scribbling, and that the line between what I'm saying and where I'm saying it becomes blurred. It's...hang on. Okay this crazy old woman just sat down next to me on the floor and wanted to discuss non-Euclidean geometry and how a parallel and a curved line translate into infinity. (Have I mentioned how awesome this is?) Okay, I'm going to leave this softly glowing orchard of Apple icons around me and head downstairs to get something to eat. Talk to you later. j.s.

Friday, March 10, 2006

SXSW - Day One Hello there Meatylings. It's official, I've arrived in Austin only slightly the worse for wear. Have already enjoyed a delicious Bass, and am now sitting at Halcyon having what can best be described as a coffee Big Gulp. But let's backtrack a bit. Bailed out of work around 3 and ran home to finish up switching my laundry around and get packed. Turns out my landlady had already moved my clothes from the washer to the dryer. She is teh aweschome. So I scurry about the house, throwing power cords, toiletries, and what I hope is 10 days worth of raiment into a duffel bag. And on the way out I make sure to grab the windows to the Jeep. Into Ms. Charlotte, fill up her gas tank, and this young man heads west for a week of God-knows-what. The ride is uneventful, spent mostly listening to pre-season Red Sox games on satellite radio, and I pull into Austin at around 7. I find a parking spot downtown relatively easily, and I set about putting the top up and preparing the Jeep to be locked up for the first time since mid-December. I pull the roofsail up, then pull the front windows out and slide them into place. Now the back windows... The back windows... Fuck. The back windows are sitting on the floor in my kitchen. I forgot to pick them up. This becomes more distressing when I consider that I can't possibly carry my messenger bag, a duffel and my bedroll around the city with me all week, and I'm going to have to rely on the kindness of homeless strangers to leave my blanket and clothes alone, since they'll be sitting on the floor in the back of the Jeep. This is a little distressing, but I've resigned myself at this point to the karmic hope that, since I'll be screwed if they're stolen, it simply won't happen. I just hope Krishna and I are as tight as I think we are... (I parked right next to a church too, in a shameless attempt to cover more deific bases.) So I grin to myself as I lock the doors, and head over to the convention center to check in and pick up my badge. Fortunately the line isn't long at all, and I stroll up to the long-haired indie kid who's busying himself by stuffing partially melted Reese's Peanut Butter Cups into his mouth. "Hi." "grrmpff..." "Was that a 'hi?'" swallow "Yeah, that was a 'hi.' Sorry. Peanut Butter shots man...awesome." "I bet. I guess I need to check in." "Right. Right. ID?" I give him my license, pick up my badge, and he explains that I need to go check in at the press tent as well, and points toward the other end of the hall. "Awesome. Thanks man." He nods a couple times and mutters something unintelligable as he stuffs his mouth with the other Reese's. And I can't help but think that this is already hyper-cool. So I check in at the press tent, a very cute writer-type girl looks me up and "clears" me, then explains that I need to go downstairs to pick up my bags. "Bags. Right." Now what the cute press girl didn't explain, was that these "bags" are in actuality two mule sacks of random swag that weigh about 15lbs. each. (Bottled water, Clif Bars, newspapers, several magazines, tons of ads to shoot my movie in Oregon, Florida and/or Nevada, and lots of random CD's that I haven't looked at yet. (I'm supposed to pick up the Music bag on Tuesday, so these were just for the Interactive and Film fests.) So I shlep them back to the Jeep, worry for a few minutes more about the safety of my bags as I rummage through them, then give a mental shrug and head into town to have a beer. 4 blocks later and I'm on 6th street, wandering along with a ridiculous grin on my face as I step back for a moment and really consider what it is that I'm doing. I've just travelled to another city on assignment for the magazine that I work for, picked up a press pass that has guaranteed me entry to any and every event/panel that I'd like to attend, and I'm about to perform what I refer to as "Urban Camping," Which basically just means I've nowhere to sleep, outside of the vehicle I used to arrive in the city, and will be utilizing public restrooms for all necessary hygenic maintenance. Any stoned hippie can pitch their tent in Yellowstone, crack open bottles of water and heat up a instant meal over their Sterno. It takes true talent to find a place where I won't be mugged while I sleep in a city that I've only been in a few times, and find bathrooms where I won't be harangued if I decide to splash-shower/shave/apply deodorant at their sink. It isn't for the faint of heart. Anyway, I head over to Lovejoy's, have a beer, call a few friends and relate the Jeep window story and how irritated I am with myself for forgetting them, and then decide that getting sauced would simply be adding another unnecessary challenge to my first night here. So I leave, and head over to Halcyon, which is where I'm sitting now, writing for all of you at this tiny table, sipping at the aforementioned coffee trough, and slowly nodding my head to the U.N.K.L.E remix of Folk Implosion's "Natural One" which is humming it's bass heavy way through the speakers overhead. My first panel is at 10am tomorrow, "Better Blogging Brainstorming," after which I will use my improved blogskillz [You have become better at Blogging!(74)] to to give you an update on how tonight went. Til' then. Hare hare, hare rama... j.s.

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

Do yourselves a favor. Click Here, and save these documents to a folder on your hard drive. They're beautiful, they're moving, and they're important. After all, how long has it been since you've read the Declaration of Independence? In other news, Microsoft has an interesting new homepage builder at Live.com. I'm using it now (it supports Firefox) and so far I'm digging it. Enjoy. j.s. [And no sooner did I pimp Live.com than it completely screwed up and keeps bringing up a blank page. It is still a beta however, so expect some bugs if you decide to try it...]

Monday, March 06, 2006

ReCAAAAAP!

Friday

Did nothing. Stayed home. Was awesome.

Saturday

Got up and went to Ft. View Cafe for brunch with D. This was cut short however, as the octogenarian next to us kept making horrible phlegmy noises as she coughed things up and, rather than spit them out like a normal disgusting old person might, she instead stuck her tongue out, with the egg & muskmelon encrusted lung remnants laying atop it, and swiped it off with a napkin.
It was, without doubt, one of the most disgusting things I've ever seen.
I'm getting nauseated just thinking about it.

So we left, and wandered around the Galleria for a while, chatting and looking down our noses at the spring fashions.

Afterward I headed home, and quickly realized that it was too beautiful a day to spend inside. So I called Luis to go throw the softball around for a bit.
Felt great to knock the rotator cuff dust off. (Although I'm paying for it now.
Lifting my right arm is a little painful.)
After this, we lounged on his couch watching Aqua Teen until it was time to get cleaned up for "Suit Night."

Suit Night, for those of you who don't know, is when 6-10 guys get dressed up in some of the most ridiculous/loud/hideous suits that you can possibly imagine, and go to Drink Houston to dance to 80's music all night.
I, for example, borrowed a white 3-button suit, black shirt, and black tie.
(Other suit color examples would be fire engine red, a cool blue-purple, and salmon.)

All told there were about 10 or 12 of us I think, and we started the evening at Danny's place, having Tanq n' tonics on his front porch.
After a sufficient buzz was achieved, the designated drivers carpool us over to James Coney Island for a dinner of hot dogs and fruit punch.
Don't ask.
It just had to be done.

From there, we head for the club, and after a couple more Tanq n' tonics we end up dancing for most of the night.
Good times.
I know I always say this, but I forget just how much I love dancing until I go out and do it.
I really should do it more often. You know, aside from just around the house and those occasional public tap dances that bubble up from within me and demand to be let out.

Also met a very cute girl there who, aside from being a great dancer, eventually turned out to be both LDS, and married.
*throws hands in the air*
I mean seriously...

Anyway, we close the place down and head back to Danny's.
And, after a brief and ill-advised foray into the after-hours scene, I head home.

Sunday

Spent most of the day in recovery on the couch. Until the Oscars came on...

Jeremiah on The Academy Awards: 2006

Now to be honest, I only watched the first half of the event, since I decided to go have coffee with my mom later.
But what I did see I liked.

Rachel Weiss, for example, whom I don't care much for as an actress, looked beautiful (pregnant or no), in black Narciso.

Clooney. What can I say about Clooney? He's the closest we have to the classic cinema style of Grant, Bogart, or Peck. Tux was perfect. Hair was perfect. Acceptance speech was perfect.
Bravo.

Ziyi Zhang still makes me weak. And while I didn't care all that much for her silver Armani, the addition of that black ribbon choker made me tremble a little.

Matt Dillon. Classic Prada worked perfectly...and I don't mean that in an Eddie Haskell kind of way.

And Salma. My God.
Tingles scurried their way up and down my back as I watched her announcing the Best Score in that teal Versace. Proof that a naturally beautiful woman can make any designer look good. (Donatell-pwnt.)
Ooh...and there they go again.

Ben Stiller made me laugh, a feat he hasn't performed since Zoolander.

Hell, even Ludacris didn't look bad.

There were fewer fashion catastrophes this time around than last year...though they were out there.

Naomi Watts for example, whose dress was obviously involved in a horrible accident involving a paper shredder and pistachio sherbet vomit.

Or Charlize Theron, who'd raided Scarlet Monastery and was wearing Herod's Shoulder for the event. (For you non WoW people, that isn't going to make any sense. But trust me, it's funny.)

I think that Dolly Parton has hit the plastic surgery event horizon of horror. Any more and he

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SXSW - Day Nine

SXSW - Day Eight - Post II

SXSW - Day Eight

SXSW - Day Seven - Post II

SXSW - Day Seven

SXSW - Day Six

SXSW - Day Five

SXSW - Day Four - Post Three

SXSW - Day Four - Post II

SXSW - Day Four

SXSW - Day Three

SXSW - Day Two

SXSW - Day One

SXSW 2006 schedule

Jeremiah on The Academy Awards: 2006