Thursday, March 12, 2 a.m.: my bedroom

Already behind schedule. Great!

2.56 a.m.: Clinch Avenue

Here we go! 16,400 miles on my car.

5 a.m.: other side of Nashville

We retrieve Karly from the Flying J. Thomas has logged 200 miles. My car sits at 16,600.

7 a.m.: I-40 West

100 miles outside Memphis, Mamaw calls to tell us to turn back due to flooding in Austin. We drive on, but it rains like hell over the Mississippi River in Memphis.

Thomas and Karly sleep, and I nearly kill us all in Arkansas when I fall asleep behind the wheel in the furthest western point I’ve ever experienced. Each gravel under my tires or 90s hit song Karly and I sing brings me further away from my known and into the wet, sticky unknown.

Thomas took a muscle relaxer and refuses to wake up. What did I expect?

I log 250 miles but miss the ever-important anniversary of my car’s 16,666th mile. Karly takes over, and we are sick to our tummies thanks to no food, all caffeine. We are quick pissers at rest stops. 16,900 miles.

10 a.m.: other side of Little Rock

Finally I have made it to the coveted backseat of the car. Relinquishing control of my vehicle in such shitty weather is a test of will power. Remaining oblivious in the backseat is much harder than it might seem.

Now would be an opportune time to inform my devoted readership that it is during the rain when I have endured my least favorable auto experiences. When I was 16, I totaled my car and shattered my right lower leg after an early summer rainstorm. The day before my 20th birthday on our way to Chicago, my boyfriend-at-the-time totaled my car in a hurricane. Thus my anxiety.

I haven’t slept in 26 hours, but we are over halfway there. I have to sleep though—I have to make the final drive into Austin in less than 7 hours. 17,000 miles on the odometer: 400 more?a


12.35 p.m.: past Texarkana

Official news: Texarkana is the worst part of the U.S. I barely got an hour of sleep during our miserably bumpy ride through its neverending awfulness. I awoke to find us just shy of Texas, and I can’t say how nice it feels to be less than 400 miles away. My backseat has become a nauseating prison: I can’t tell if I’m excited, hungry, insanely tired, or simply carsick. I stick my head out of the window as we barrel down the interstate at full speed. Rain smatters intermittently on our chariot. It’s filthy in here. 17.129 miles logged.

3 p.m: 60 miles east of Waco

I thought we had been driving for 12 hours, but I forgot to factor in the time change. Turns out, we’ve been on the road for a full 13 hours. That means there’s only 2 – 3 more hours until we reach our destination. Obstacle 1: staying awake.

These roads are abysmal, and in any exit now I will have to resume the drive. Splash my face. Drink some joe. Man up. Carry us home. Deliver us. Sweetly. Finally. Do it, you motherfuckers. 17,293 miles down.

7.30 p.m.: The Airstream

Here we are—and how we got here: Austin, the state most likely in The Union to flood, had not received a drop of rain all year, but we heralded the end of their drought. As we wagged through the barren wasteland of Central Texas, the clouds mimicked only our moves. Despite any changes in the direction of our current interstate, gross black weeping crushing rain clouds destroyed my car’s grip on the road and my grip on my own sanity. Thoughts of careening off the road into cars, killing me, my friend, and innocent men, women, children, and animals pervade my mind.

So I wept behind the wheel. I could not surrender my drivership to two of the people I trust most in the world. The endless buckets of rain obscure my vision nearly as much as the hot tears. We are not driving; we are floating. The water stands high, and the inordinate amount of trucks in Texas slosh through the new river running straight down I-35 without a seeming second thought.

The last 40 miles were unbearable. I prayed often to the Lord Jesus Our Savior in Heaven to deliver us soundly from the torrential downpour. It took ages to surmount the miles leading us to our Shady Lane locale.

And after many tears and supplications to a nonexistent Messiah: we arrive.

Only pictures can do justice to our digs, our hosts, our lives together in this nearly-antique Airstream camper. Kim and Mark Wieland open their home to us…

…their home just happens to be a totally ramshackled marsh at the time we arrive. It takes two phone calls and three door knocks on two different doors to extricate Kim from the house, but then we unload into the Airstream. I have a place to put all the silly masses of clothes and hygienic accoutrements I have brought with me. At this time, however, the birdbath of a shower is backing up into itself.

Snacks, linens, and head shop recommendations are provided by our hostess before I finally convince the relatively well-rested Karly to come out for the evening.

11.20 p.m: 6th Street, Austin, TX

And out we are. After indulging in Vietnamese at Mekong River on 6th Street (where our amazing waiter Philip offers to give me go-go lessons based on my pink rain boots), we find Colin by our car. Here we all sit at the martial arts-themed bar called Jackelope’s/Cucharacha. Bruce Lee with nunchaku in tow poses behind a red-lit bar adorned with black velvet paintings of naked girls. We secure a voyeuristic booth after a tumultuous adventure in the bathrooms. Now I am being forced to leave, but I know I shall return. I already know: this is my future hometown.

Wednesday, March 13, 12.30 a.m.: The Airstream

Since Austin is awful and closes down alcohol sales at midnight in stores and 2 a.m. in the bars (and also because we were already tired of spending money at the bar), we brought Colin and a case of Bud Heavy back to the Airstream. At home, we find our previously disheveled home-on-wheels in immaculate condition. Not only did Kim make our beds and put even more food in the kitchen: she organized the bowl.

Now we play spoons and talk. Surreal Knoxville/Austin reality goes down in this foreign town.

3.24 p.m: Chuy’s, South Austin

Finally, we awake. Colin slept on the floor, and by noon, I was up first per usual. Many messages were left for Steve, the Airstream’s regular denizen. I down my first beer before putting my feet on the ground for the first time today. I type up the blog but lost the internet connection, and thusly, we lose an hour and half’s time.

We make our way to Chuy’s (which is rife with amazing kitsch) through the drizzle… but not before we run into our purple velour-clad hostess with a shivering old gray stray puppy dog in her arms. She is such a kind soul in the most genuine sense of the phrase. She is also fucking crazy (but aren’t we, also?). She is involved in children’s theater, of course.

Time to eat my fish taco with Colin. Sounds filthy; isn’t.

5.30 p.m.: Buffalo Billiard’s

“I’m so tired of even just looking at snap button shirts.”
-Colin, after seeing our $12/hour billiard table neighbors (after beer #5)

Thursday, March 14, 12.20 p.m.: the Airstream

Yesterday was what it’s all about, I think. I had my first beer before getting out of bed, and we didn’t stop drinking for TWELVE FULL HOURS. We had really expensive but totally delicious Mexican food at Chuy’s, and then we found an even tastier parking spot by the convention center.

We were turned away from Canada’s Day Party because we didn’t have badges or wristbands, but so went to play terribly expensive pool at Buffalo Billiard’s instead.

At my behest, we got in line “too early” for the 4AD show at Emo’s, but it turned out to be perfect. We drank High Life tall boys on the streets of Austin with our linemates, Erlene (SuperDeluxe.com/NYC) and Arun (AOL/San Francisco). Thomas was crowned Veep (vice president) of the Ugly/Hungry/Only Club by a rather egregious homeless man.

Into Beirut/Blonde Redhead we went (after forking over $20). Erlene with her indispensable Platinum Badge (which granted her re-entry access to the venue) delivered life-saving pizza to us, and we had beers purchased for us because she “remembers what it’s like to be in our shoes.” Erlene and Arun were the most crucial people by which to stand in line.

Beirut was inordinately awesome, and I may or may not have secured us a spot at party with Beirut for Thursday night via Nathan, Tristan, and James who go to school with the dude who plays bass. Blonde Redhead was ancient and perfect, bassy and a sonic dream.

Now I must bathe and prepare for day #2 on the hard streets of SxSW.

7.30 p.m.: UT-Austin Campus

A brief repose by fountain on the idyllic UT-A campus afford me this opportunity to write. For a school double the size of our own UT, it’s terribly dead for the early evening. I pose for a campus publication atop the fountain in my perfect boots and plaid and mullet. I kept that a secret from Thomas and Karly until just now when they, too, read these words just like you, dear reader.

Thomas will go somewhere with a comrade. I can’t imagine Karly enjoying Daughters or Pelican, but she’ll have to deal since her boyfriend is ditching her.

Early, we went into Flatstock to peruse the wares of screenprinters across the nation. Naturally we ran into Brian from YeeHaw Industries, and I bought a pret-ty hysterical shirt at one of the booths. There was also a particularly cute boy at one of the booths.

Thomas and I put our vegetarianism/pesci-vegetarianism on hold by indulging in wonderful BBQ at Stubb’s; chicken for me and beef for T. It was a spoil well worth the lives of our meals. We caught a comedy show at Emo’s which was decidedly less enjoyable than our meat. We hoofed the 20-some blocks to campus, and I can already tell that my cowboy boots were not, despite any song’s claims as to otherwise, made for walking.

Once again, I am being beckoned to abandon my only passion in life at the whimsy of my comrades. I must remember to post a missed connection about the boy I met at the Iskra booth at Flatstock. Serendipity is on our side, and I can’t let that boy pass through my life so easily.

Friday, March 16, 2007: 2.30 a.m.: the Airstream

And tonight: I was on my own. Thomas and Karly skipped downtown and headed back to the hacienda-on-wheels, and I struck out on my own in the false-streets of Austin (I have a hard time believing that it’s this bonkers all the time [and I know it’s not, so I’m reluctant to judge downtown based on what I experience this trip]). I couldn’t find my way into Daughters and Pelican which was a total shame.

I ducked into the first bar I saw without a cover: Shakespeare’s Ale House (I think). There were religious protesters outside, and as I sallied up to the barstool, the bartender asked me and the gentleman to my right, “Can you believe they do that?”

I lobbed into my hyperbolic praising of the Lord Our One And Only Jesus H. Chris, and surprisingly, it was well received. So well received, in fact, that Paul (the gentleman to my right) bought me the first of many beers. Turns out, he was playing in there that night. He was nice enough and his bandmates were even cuter so along with them I went, smoking a joint down the middle of the streets of Austin just like the hipster bible always said it would be. I helped them load their gear, got more free beer, and sat through their show with Thomas and Karly. After the Big Blue Marble show, we ended up at iHop (but not before getting sent on a wild goose chase for an all nite Mexican joint by several evil pigs patrolling the streets). To be fair, it was the cheapest meal of the trip.

2.30 p.m.: Mr. Natural, Cesar Chavez Blvd. ATX

This is the earliest we have gotten up all vacation. We shuttled Colin off to the airport yesterday so I was not kept further entranced in sleep by the extra sleep-vibes in the room this morning. We are eating at a vegetarian restaurant in East Austin that’s what the Co-op could be like if it served lunch. That is to say, there is a sweet natural and veg-friendly food shop on one half of the joint and a bakery and cafeteria place on the other side. Basically you can get the best fucking things you’ve ever put in your mouth such as jalapeño and cheese enchiladas, spinach salad, and… well here: give Mr. Natural some bizness. We’re about to try and invade the legendary Waterloo Records to catch Peter Bjorn & John. It’s on the other side of town though. Luckily we can blaze the whole way.

Also, last night, I didn’t do a very good job of posting a missed connection for that dude (Mat… yes, with one “t”… I know) I met at Flatstock. Craigslist kept delivering a mysterious error message (saying that my post violated terms of service which was a l.i.e.), so I did a little poking around on the ‘net and found the Iskra general email address. Before I started writing this entry, I got a text message from Mat with One T accepting my invitation for going out tonight. So: there’s something to look forward to.

Saturday, March 17, 2007, 12.10 a.m.: Jackelope’s, 6th St.

We found Waterloo Records (after going the wrong way down a one-way street, oops sorry Austin), but goddamn if it weren’t impossible to get inside. The line snaked out of the door and into the parking lot of a mysterious area of Austin with an Anthropologie, Whole Foods, and lots of Vespas. Peter Bjorn & John played (and have yet to play even still) nine million times this festival, so we kept putting them off because of course we were going to see them. We determined that we needed to head downtown to the Pitchfork party where PB&J would be playing in a few hours and after Girl Talk who we also hoped to see because the Waterloo Records situation was a lost battle.

Even though we were hours early for the show we wanted to see, the Pitchfork Day Party was ragin’, as they say, so we spent a good hour and a half in line to get in the door just in time to hear the last notes of Girl Talk’s set (bummer!). Thomas sneaked over to see Deerhunter play while Karly and I contended once again with the port-a-potties before smushing our way into the heart of the crowd.

Peter Bjorn & John really rocked the house, as it were. I didn’t expect them to be so entertaining or energetic considering they were playing 2 – 3 shows per day during SXSW, but they really put on a show well worth all the waiting in line under the sweltering Austin sun.

I ran into Robert Andrews (Goofy) from Nashville in the crowd after the show. We later tried to meet up for the $20 Faint show but failed. Thomas escaped into the arms of his comrade, and Karly and I set out to see The Cheat play + free beer at Fuck x Fuck Y’all a couple of blocks outside of downtown.

Unsurprisingly, it was one of the coolest things I’ve done the whole trip. It’s always so neat to see friendly faces outside of their natural environment. We helped unload the Cheatmobile, grabbed some free tepid beer from beside the goat, I slugged some moonshine, and the twisting began.

We headed back to the Airstream where Karly remained to wait for Thomas, and I here I sit at the bar waiting for Mat to come back from the restroom. I feel renewed in myself for snagging such a fine compatriot for the evening. Like it is with so many things in my life, I only wish it had happened sooner.

4 p.m.: deep in the heart of some interstate in Texas

On the eve of the day we were supposed to leave Austin by 10 a.m., I decided that staying out until 6 a.m. is really, probably, the best thing I could do. Needless to say, my little date with Mat went really well. We stayed out until the bars closed and walked around downtown before retiring to my car where we listened to music until the car battery died and the sun was on the rise. He was a perfect way to end my SXSW.

Karly and Thomas fed me Mr. Natural burrito breakfast (with vegetarian chorizo sausage, yummmm) and now we’re back on the road. I’m settling into a fitful seat in the back of the car. We have a new iPod cord, we’ve only gotten lost once, and I’m sipping on an Icee. Country roads: take me home.

Sunday, March 18, 8 a.m.: my bednook

It’s as of yet undecided what was worse: the drive to Austin or the drive home from Austin. The drive down was anticipatory, but we drove home in an exhausted glow. I managed to sleep for about half the trip (save the time I spent eating or blazin’) which was really fortunate because I drove us straight through from Little Rock to Knoxville. I was kept alert by singing 90s hits (and specifically Third Eye Blind in its entirety) with Karly and chugging French Vanilla cappuccinos from gas stations.

I honestly find it difficult to comprehend that nothing dastardly befell our trip. I live under such duress and paranoia from my one failed road trip that I suspect death and destruction lurking beyond every bend in the road. And even though everything went remarkably well—from the Airstream to our interactions with each other and people at the festival to the music we saw and the boy I met—I still know deep down that we all could have very well perished at any moment.

I wish my anxiety weren’t so heightened on road trips because it’s such a cheap way to travel. I do feel a little guilty for consuming so much gasoline and polluting the air ‘cross the country, but it’s undeniably cheaper than flying. Here enters the debate of time vs. money. Yes: flying is more expensive, but it also saves a hell load of time. How much is my time really worth? And my anxieties aren’t exactly quelled by flying: I’m better at it now than I’ve ever been, but I still get very nervous sometimes (and I’ve yet to experience significant turbulence so I can only imagine what I’ll be like after that inevitable flight).

But I’m just lucky, I guess. There wasn’t a solitary negative thing to happen the duration of the trip. I will, however, say that South by Southwest was (unsurprisingly) corporate.

Obviously: I expected this, but it’s disappointing nonetheless. This opens the entire would-you-sell-out debate, of course, and I realize that my desire to be famous by virtue of my own words will require something dangerously close to selling out. When I quit my job at the Apple store and told my boss that I didn’t want to sell anything as an occupation, he replied, “you’ll have to sell yourself your whole life.” Isn’t that fucking awful?

I simply can’t imagine tackling SXSW with a badge or wristband. We paid a total of $20 to attend SXSW. Running around madly to stand about in lines and the blistering sun in the middle of a street doesn’t sound like my kind of fun. I’m glad we took a relaxed approach to the festival, and I’m really happy with the distinguished albeit short list of concerts we saw.

We went to Austin for SXSW, yes, this is true, but it was also a time for us to try on the city. I’m glad we didn’t stay downtown because that would have increased the sense of false-Austin. We saw campus, East Austin, and some of South Austin, but I’m still a bit enamored with the city planning downtown and could see myself having a lot of fun there if ever I were to move there.

But that’s the thing: I don’t see as that I ever will. As much as I like Austin and hope one day to return, it did not hedge out NYC as the preeminent post-graduation-relocation location. I should have known better than to think a sweet Southern city could conquer the gravity of what remains my favorite city. I have ached for years to be in the folds of New York, and as much as the cost of living, pretense, and cold should deter me, I can’t turn my eyes away from that metropolis.

I am thankful for every single moment of this trip. It is the first and sadly last Spring Break trip I’ve ever taken, and I couldn’t have hoped for a better time.