Oh yeah, I said it. And I mean it.
First off, let me say how much I luv my STFL and I’m glad she’s playing SXSW this week. However, for the most part, I hate this festival, and here are a few reasons why:
Price Gouging: I loathe the fact that the majority of Austinites are priced out of SXSW. The average wristband sells for the cost of 15 CDs. People that are making a trip out of this festival consider it a reasonable cost as part of their “vacation” (as I see my $400 spree to see DMB for two nights in Vegas… completely worth it in my eyes), so I understand, kinda. But for the average Austin citizen, it’s a lot to pay to see people in your own town plus put up with the upheaval. I can’t even get into shows without wristbands. DUMB.
Traffic: You tools coming to SXSW ruin my ability to get home every night from work. Jerks. They shut down all the necessary roads downtown, making the other roads even more congested. Suck!!! I want to get home at a decent hour.
Posers: This is a t-shirt and jeans city. Justin and I went and had dinner at Eddie V’s the other night for our anniversary, a pretty upscale restaurant, and there were a lot of people wearing jeans. But the infiltration of total posers means stupid girls dressing like sluts and guys trying to dress, well odd. Oh, and then all the people proudly displaying their badges like they are in some kind of cool crowd. Get over yourselves, posers.
There are other reasons, mainly me being grumpy and about to ride the crimson wave, but I’m telling you, I’m not the only one that feels this way. The music is so loud, that I am in my cube on the 25th floor, and I hear music. How am I supposed to get my work done?!
After thinking about that for a bit, why am I complaining about not getting work done? Sigh, I just want my downtown back, where the only weirdo I see is Leslie, the cross-dressing homeless man with Bluetooth technology. I don’t even have Bluetooth technology. Oh, and he also has his own line of “Dress Leslie’ magnets on sale at BookPeople. I need to check that out.
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