SXSW: The Aftermath, Beginning With Day 1
Denver International Airport, March 17, 4:30 p.m.: In The Cowboy Bar, the only watering hole on Concourse A, three rollergirls ease rum and Cokes from a weary bartender's hands, hoping to drink away lucidity in preparation for a flight they've arrived two hours early for.
Denver International Airport, March 17, 6:30 p.m.: Approaching Gate 24A, the girls are overwhelmed by the incorrect presumption that they're the only ones from Denver flying to SXSW. Just as they become enamored with the idea, they realize the plane has already boarded, the doors have closed, and they'll have to pray that ten sticks each of Big Red can suffocate what will prove to be rum-and-Coke-laced pleas to board the flight.
With lots of rollergirl luck and one sympathetic Frontier employee on our side, we got on and slept until we were greeted in Austin by a driver holding a sign for Fasnizzy Manslaughter. Naturally I assumed I was Fasnizzy and we three loaded our bags and roller skates into the trunk of a sleek Lexus before planting our quickly-sobering-up asses onto its leather interior. We eventually found what would be our home for the next four and a half days and quickly dropped our bags off with the boyfriend of a Texas rollergirl sweet enough to host us. He (the boyfriend) extended what would be our first dose of many of Southern hospitality by encouraging us to phone him any time of the night if “any fucked up shit gets fucked up and you need me to come down and fuck it up.” We thanked him, he hugged us each, and we got back in the Lexus and charged a ride downtown on someone else's credit card.
My SXSW cherry was popped by Emo's--where we met up with one other rollergirl and vishvakarman.
I liked Emo’s immediately. There was a band on the stage, an outdoor part of the bar, an indoor part, and toilet paper in the restrooms. You could listen to the music if you liked, get some fresh air if you wanted, or find a vacated table upon which you could fairly arm wrestle should the urge strike. Without ever leaving the bar.
Convinced that the lack of altitude in Austin would make us immune to alcohol, we resolved to consume only shots for what little was left of the night. Instead we drank shots and enough beer to ensure that even if Austin where below sea level, we'd be sauced. Good lessons are always learned on the first night.
Next we went to Maggie Mae's on 6th street (which looks like the setting of more than a few Girls Gone Wild episodes) and began Skate Corner Death Match, whereby any beer not consumed quickly enough would be crushed.
We were quickly ushered out the door and onto the street, where the most drunken of us illustrated brutal blocking techniques on a completely-sober Vish who, despite taking some hits, was kind enough to let us pass out in his car while another drunken rollergirl--our hostess--guided him to her house. Once there, Vish took an early leave and the four of us girls smoked cigarettes and caught up even though it was the first time we’d all met.
And that was Day One, which was really just night one, which was really just a few celebratory hours of being thankful that I’m not in my cubicle, or worrying about laundry, or getting The General’s oil changed. Just a few drinks sacrificed here and everywhere to the Gods of Getaways who dictate that it doesn’t matter how far you’ve gone, you’ve escaped. If only temporarily. And with worries out of sight and mind, you’ve carte blanche to have a good time. And that we did.
Denver International Airport, March 17, 6:30 p.m.: Approaching Gate 24A, the girls are overwhelmed by the incorrect presumption that they're the only ones from Denver flying to SXSW. Just as they become enamored with the idea, they realize the plane has already boarded, the doors have closed, and they'll have to pray that ten sticks each of Big Red can suffocate what will prove to be rum-and-Coke-laced pleas to board the flight.
With lots of rollergirl luck and one sympathetic Frontier employee on our side, we got on and slept until we were greeted in Austin by a driver holding a sign for Fasnizzy Manslaughter. Naturally I assumed I was Fasnizzy and we three loaded our bags and roller skates into the trunk of a sleek Lexus before planting our quickly-sobering-up asses onto its leather interior. We eventually found what would be our home for the next four and a half days and quickly dropped our bags off with the boyfriend of a Texas rollergirl sweet enough to host us. He (the boyfriend) extended what would be our first dose of many of Southern hospitality by encouraging us to phone him any time of the night if “any fucked up shit gets fucked up and you need me to come down and fuck it up.” We thanked him, he hugged us each, and we got back in the Lexus and charged a ride downtown on someone else's credit card.
My SXSW cherry was popped by Emo's--where we met up with one other rollergirl and vishvakarman.
I liked Emo’s immediately. There was a band on the stage, an outdoor part of the bar, an indoor part, and toilet paper in the restrooms. You could listen to the music if you liked, get some fresh air if you wanted, or find a vacated table upon which you could fairly arm wrestle should the urge strike. Without ever leaving the bar.
Convinced that the lack of altitude in Austin would make us immune to alcohol, we resolved to consume only shots for what little was left of the night. Instead we drank shots and enough beer to ensure that even if Austin where below sea level, we'd be sauced. Good lessons are always learned on the first night.
Next we went to Maggie Mae's on 6th street (which looks like the setting of more than a few Girls Gone Wild episodes) and began Skate Corner Death Match, whereby any beer not consumed quickly enough would be crushed.
We were quickly ushered out the door and onto the street, where the most drunken of us illustrated brutal blocking techniques on a completely-sober Vish who, despite taking some hits, was kind enough to let us pass out in his car while another drunken rollergirl--our hostess--guided him to her house. Once there, Vish took an early leave and the four of us girls smoked cigarettes and caught up even though it was the first time we’d all met.
And that was Day One, which was really just night one, which was really just a few celebratory hours of being thankful that I’m not in my cubicle, or worrying about laundry, or getting The General’s oil changed. Just a few drinks sacrificed here and everywhere to the Gods of Getaways who dictate that it doesn’t matter how far you’ve gone, you’ve escaped. If only temporarily. And with worries out of sight and mind, you’ve carte blanche to have a good time. And that we did.