It's also that time of year when people who think they aren't hipsters flock to town, decked out with badges, wristbands and skinny jeans, operating within a social caste system of platinums and golds that befuddles and loots in a manner similar to AIG's $480 million in bonuses.
I'm talking about South By South West. Also known as "SXSW." And, I think for perhaps the first time but I can't quite be sure, now also known on the Tweeter as "#sxsw."
Last year during "South-by," I was deep into my three month sobriety kick (what on earth was I thinking?), and I became my friends' most convenient and free taxi ride throughout the event. I found myself circling the block, listening to The Who, nearly mowing down the all-black-clothes-wearing hoodlum standing outside the Austin Children's Museum waiting to get in to an after party. An after party at the children's museum? Is that legal?
But aside from the invasion of the skinny jeans, and the occasional bout of road rage when traversing all major thoroughfares in Austin (note to self - do not traverse major thoroughfares in Austin during SXSW), I felt like I could usually distance myself from it pretty well.
That was back when things were good, when a shitty economy hadn't yet been defined in billions of dollars and there was no way to be mad about not prosecuting the crooks because they hadn't been caught yet. That was also before Karl Rove had a Twitter.
My twitter following and their hash-mark #SXSW-yness is driving me insane. I wake up and I see they're "headed to #sxsw coffee." I slave away at work and see they're "in Ballroom A listening to great panel #sxsw." I brush my teeth and they're "getting confirmed for the #sxsw tech afterparty! woot!"
I cannot escape. #Help.