SXSW Music bonanza

Last week was South by Southwest, an insane ten days that starts with a film fest, a game convention, and a music festival. 1800 bands storming a city is best described as an industry conference. The musicians are here to learn from each other, meet agents, get signed, and get publicity.

Every day I got a good taste of music at lunch, which I spent popping in and out of bars to see what free line-up they had. At night, it was much of the same. More places charged admittance so I spent much of my time at the Blind Pig Pub. On top of the music, it was St. Patrick's Day. Though there are no parades like Chicago, I went to Fado for a U2 tribute band followed by a legitimate Irish band.

The week of music was capped by two shows. I stumbled upon a secret warm-up concert of Metallica. Me and a half-dozen bystanders watched them unload from their SUVs into a tour bus, then start rehearsals. One guy on the street ran over and brought us all signed guitar picks. Then I was front row for Erykah Badu at Auditorium Shores. Though she was an hour late and only played a few songs, it was great.

Monday I had gone to an improv show at Spider House, of people from local Cold Town Improv. It was followed by a very impressive, very funny show from two Chicago dudes, TJ and Dave. The documentary about them premeired at SXSW. Because my improv teacher Tom is their pal, I got to rub elbows with them and many other comedians after the show. Though I often feel like an outsider, Tom was the key to introducing me to a ton of people. I think he has unknowingly become one of my Texas ambassadors.

I tried to see one of Tom's improv shows, and that of another guy I met on Monday. Alas, it was cancelled. But Ellen, the Houstonite from work, and I stayed at the Hideout. The improvers were conversing in peak form. I'd give details, but most of the jokes were dirty and involved props.

Which leads to this week. Tom's roommate, who I met at the TJ and Dave show, invited me over for a dinner party. I thought about not going, but after several requests, I gave in. By the end of the night me, Tom, and another funny guy were sitting around playing accordions.

When everyone is a stranger, it leaves lots of room for recreating yourself. I find myself jumping into the unusual with little hesitation. Needless to say, playing in the accordion trio is the strangest moment I've had this year, so far.

Rhinestone Cowboy

Last Sunday I went to the Austin Rodeo with a new co-worker who is acting as my ambassador of all things Texas. Originally from Houston she taught me a few new terms for my Tejas dictionary:

1. cholo - (this one seems derogatory, but I'm not sure) a girl who emphasizes her Latina looks by drawing in thin eyebrows and outlining her lips with dark pencil. I've seen the look for years but never had a name for it.

2. Kikkers - named after Houston radio station KIKK, kikkers are people or apparel that is very country cowboy. Like: the line of men wearing elaborately embroidered cowboy boots, wrangler jeans and large cowboy hats were a crowd of kikkers.

3. bull fighter - the politically correct term for a rodeo clown, because even cowboys succombed to sensitivity training.

Yes, I know that bulls buck from having their balls tied to their stomach. Yes, I agree that it seems cruel. No, I can't explain why this knowledge didn't stop me from watching the bull riding. A few more fun facts about bull riding is that riders must keep one arm free and in the air to score better. They must stay on the bull for eight seconds in order to score. Not many riders scored.

I felt more sorry for the riders, these guys in their twenties who are thrown around on the bull back until flying through the air. The riders seem fine because they walk out of the ring and the announcer tells them to suck it up and leave like men. However, the announcer also points out that this rider just recovered from a spinal injury last summer, and that rider maybe broke his ankle in the last round but he's still going to give it another try. Some wear hockey masks, some don't. They limp away, and by the final rounds they move like men ready for retirement.

One rider was slow out of the ring, his arm hung dead at his side and it was clearly dislocated, maybe broken too. The announcer quipped, "Just dust off the dirt man. Dust off the dirt." Apparently there is no empathy in rodeo. I could see how cowboys earned their 'no sissy' reputation.

The cowgirls came out in full rhinestone, sparkling, high-wasted outfits. The pagaent princesses of the rodeo gathered in the ring to hear the winner of the coveted, diamond encrusted, rodeo queen's buckle. Their big hair, white teeth and heavy makeup is what you would expect from any pagaent, but these girls were also rated on their horse-handling abilities so I guess there must have been dirt beneath those acrylic nails.

Kids got into the show too. There was a bucking-sheep riding competition for kids under ten. They were trampled as much as the bull riders, though I imagine sheep hooves hurt a little less. Either way, it is hard to imagine myself as a five year old getting strapped to the rope harness of an animal intent on throwing you off their back. It looked painful but hilarious!

We watched piglets racing in an Indy 500 style course, watched an old west shoot-out, and drank margueritas from plastic boots. I ate the best corndog I've ever had, and enjoyed my first deep-fried Snickers bar. It was beyond anything I ever thought I'd do in my life, and beyond any expectations I had for the rodeo. I've already re-written my resume to include newly acquired lasso skills. I mean - that's useful in all parts of life - maybe.

The favorite moment of the day though was when a seven year old boy showed me how to hold a baby goat. He asked "Where you from?" Chicago. "That's up north, ain't it?" I nodded. "Betcha don't see a lot of goats up there, huh?" I think he felt sorry for me, like he was meeting a kid who grew up without a TV. While holding a baby goat that cooed and wriggled in my arms, growing accustomed to the sweet smell of manure, I could understand if he felt that way.

The Male of the Species

Last Saturday I watched the Texas Independence Parade on Congress. It was not well attended despite warm weather. I was the lonesome, dorky, adult-child waving to cowboys and shamelessly collecting candy. My favorites were the lawn chair drill team routine and the UT band playing "Deep in the Heart of Texas".

Men in uniform are instantly more attractive. If you then put that man on a horse, he can easily reach hot-biscuit status. Maybe it's because horses make people look taller.

I'm still tripped-up by Texas men. I've tried to buy male friends drinks after they buy me drinks, but they flat refuse. Either I look desperately poor, or there is strong non-dutch behavior. So if no one will accept my drinks, how do I say, "Thanks for inviting me out" or "Thanks for driving me on an errand"? Chivalry can be a little inconvenient.

I wait for people to get off the bus before I get on because that is proper bus etiquette. Yet if there is a man, or men, getting off the bus - they wait for the ladies to get on the bus. Which means the driver waits longer while I skootch around the men in the aisles. Or if I am leaving a store and hold the door open for a man, he will walk halfway through the door, then grab it from me and try to hold it for me even though I'm going the other way and suddenly have to crouch beneath his armpit to get past him. It makes no sense!

I'm charmed by the gentility, really I am. But in my experience, when you let someone treat you like a princess rather than holding your own, they do eventually call-in their chips. I keep a wary eye on this southern etiquette, lest I accumulate too much debt to one entire gender.