SOUTH BY SOUTHWEST: INDIER THAN THOU

Or: ABJECT MISERY ON $900-A-DAY

Worst. Vacation. Ever. We went to South By Southwest last week. Here is a rundown on the relentless parade of stupidity and aggravation…

CAB DRIVER KNOWS A LOT ABOUT SHATNER, NOT ENOUGH ABOUT GETTING TO GODDAMN AIRPORT

When you get up at 4:30 a.m. to catch a flight, the last thing you really want is a talkative cab driver. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had some interesting conversations with cab drivers, but most of the time I just want to sit in silence and get where I’m going. Previous bad experiences in cabs – e.g., super-religious zealots, an anti-establishmentarian who almost hit two police cars, and a scary guy that relayed conversations he had had with his knife – failed to prepare me for the gregarious guy we encountered on Wednesday morning.

He went on and on about anything and everything, but mostly William Shatner. Amy occasionally politely laughed or added some remark, but I just sat there, silently assessing the viability of hurling myself out of the moving car.

To make matters worse, this guy took backroads to f***ing Dulles Airport, which is a good 30 miles away. This maximized the time available for conversation.

HOLDERS OF EXPENSIVE CONFIRMED TICKETS TOLD TO “FEEL LUCKY [THEY] HAVE SEATS”

And they flung the boarding passes at us.

AIRPORT BACON, EGG & CHEESE BISCUIT COMBINES SOYLENTS RED, YELLOW & WHITE INTO SAVORY ROOM-TEMPERATURE TREAT

We were both starving and stopped in the airport Wendy’s for a quick breakfast. They were out of actual biscuits, so they were just putting everything on hamburger buns instead. I’ve never had anything so flavorless.

MUSIC-FESTIVAL ATTENDEES SEEK REFUGE FROM ANY AND ALL FORMS OF MUSIC

At some point around lunch on our second day in Austin, Amy refused to enter a bar because there was a band playing. It seemed silly because, after all, we were in Austin to attend a music festival. A day or so later, however, I felt the same way.

ANNOYING BITCH AT SHOW TOLD TO SHUT UP

Going to see a band has become a little like going to the movies: invariably there is some idiot that distracts me and keeps me from enjoying myself. Once I notice the person, I just obsess over it.

We had flown out to Austin largely to see Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. We had to arrive at the bar at 8 p.m. to be sure we could see their 1 a.m. performance. This meant waiting through no fewer than 5 other bands.

It also meant encountering a stupid, annoying bitch who started talking loudly around the time that the first band started playing and showed no signs of letting up. Amy and I began exchanging glances; it was going to be a long enough night as it was.

“Um…[fake cough]…SHUT UP!”

The talker glared back at me. Amy responded, “Yeah you.” The girl kept making nasty faces at Amy, which is a complete mistake. Right or wrong, Amy does not capitulate. Eventually, the loud talker actually said, “I’m sorry.” At this point, I would probably say “oh, that’s okay” and maybe explain what the problem was. But Amy just beamed with a combination of victory and indignation and said, “Thank you.” It was hilarious.

MYTHICAL SPAWN OF E.L.O.’S JEFF LYNNE AND TUSK-ERA LINDSEY BUCKINGHAM SIGHTED

Also at this show was a guy with a huge white-guy afro and unkempt beard wearing a leather vest. An absolute anachronism.

INDIE POSER’S HAIR-WASHING-to-HAIR-PREENING RATIO NOW ZERO TO FOUR DECIMAL PLACES

One of the loud talker’s friends was this generic scrawny indie guy. He looked like he had not showered in a few days. What was amazing was that he kept preening his generic indie bangs and sideburns. He just kept doing it. He wouldn’t stop. We quit watching the bands and would occasionally remark, “Oh my god, he’s still doing it.” If you care so much about your goddamn hair, why not include lathering, rinsing and repeating in the ritual?

HOTEL PATRON UNWILLING TO CALL FRONT DESK FOR “THE RINGER”

Ultimately, the combination of irritation and fatigue drove us back to the hotel and we didn’t even see the band that we most wanted to see. I was in the mood to watch a stupid movie, and Johnny Knoxville’s “The Ringer” (in which he pretends to be disabled to compete and win at the Special Olympics) sounded perfect. But the TV ordering system wasn’t working. I burst into laughter when I realized I had thrown the remote in disgust at not being able to see the movie. The screen said I could call the front desk to order the movie, but I wasn’t about to do that.

CONVENTIONEER ASKS WHAT AYN RAND’S MUSIC SOUNDS LIKE

I’ve been on a big Libertarian kick lately and donned my Ayn Rand t-shirt while out in Austin. Some indie kid asked me what her music sounded like.

WHITE-HAIRED LOON THREATENS TO HAVE HIS OWN CHANNEL BY THE YEAR 2020

Another source of irritation was the continuing legal education program that I attended. The CLE itself was fine, but there were a couple of irritating lawyers in the audience (which could pretty much be said for any audience, I suppose).

One was this woman who only seemed to be there to make broad, irrelevant generalizations and promote herself. She insisted that you had to have a copyright registration to file a lawsuit, but I pointed out that, in fact, you can get at least get into court in some jurisdictions with just a filed application. She insisted I was wrong, then at the break she asked where I worked and then asked why I had come. I thought (but regrettably did not say out loud), “I’m from the future. They sent me back to kill you.”

The other irritant was this crazy white-haired guy that sat in on the session about podcasting. He had a video camera and a recorder and, although he was not on the panel, acted as if he were carrying on a private conversation with them, constantly interrupting and interjecting inane remarks. By the end of the hour, the actual panelists were audibly sighing into their microphones. At some point, the guy was going on about how in 2020, everyone will have their own channel. I leaned over the person next to me and said, “If that guy gets his own channel, there’s going to be an on-air suicide on mine.”

HARD TO TELL FROM BED ON 25TH FLOOR, BUT THRASH METAL BAND PLAYING AT 2 A.M. MAY FEATURE ACTUAL WALRUS ON BASS

Our hotel room in Austin cost a fortune. Unfortunately, bands were playing outside until at least 2 a.m. every night, which tended to diminish the quality of our guest experience. The last night was the worst. We were so tired of hearing music by then, and this band was playing so loud that our bed -- 25 stories up -- was vibrating. All we could hear was some atonal bassline and drums.

“VICE MAGAZINE” EMPLOYEE’S TALES OF DEBAUCHERY A COMPELLING CASE FOR EUTHANASIA

We headed to the Austin airport about 4 hours before our flight to simply get the hell out of there and away from the music-industry types. We pulled into an airport bar and had a few drinks. It was fine until these two tools came up and started talking to a guy that had previously been sitting quietly like us.

Anyway, this one complete tool -- who made it repeatedly clear that he works for Vice Magazine -- was going on and on about the wild, cool time he had at "South By," as he called it. And he laughed about how the woman whose house they had rented was going to be upset because: (1) they drank all her old champagne; (2) one of the band members staying with them had shit the bed; and (3) all of her dogs and cats were missing. Number Three was the kicker. We paid our check and left.

Fucking prick.