South by Southwest: Or How I Learned to Hate it Before it Even Started

We are submerged, under attack. The city of Austin is pushing through Day 1 of the South by Southwest Festival.

Typically having been interested in attending the festival in years past, I immediately mentally disengaged the second I began reading the official and non-official schedules a few weeks ago. Then seeing the armies of Angelenos and New Yorkers trudging the streets with their badges in strategic placement around their chests, I decided it was best if I stayed home and sat in my underwear watching reruns of shows I've seen at least 8-10 in the past. My own little private SXSW.

What has happened to me? Instead of going to the countless parties I got invited to last night, I stayed home and died my hair (a hazy dark blonde bordering on swamp green that I'm not so sure about). Have I become that jaded? Had I already gotten my fill of industry parties and festivals a few years ago when I was a personal assistant in Hollywood?

So far I've managed to stay away from all the hubbub. I work on the east side, and though this area will have it's fair share of parties, so far there is no sign of any agonizing traffic caused by road blocks and clueless teen drivers from Dallas or Houston...

Fuck...Just as I write this, a band has begun playing in the loft space next door to us. The walls are insulated by ceiling tile and nothing else, so needless to say, it sounds like the band is sitting in my lap. I guess I can't escape it. The insanity begins...