Trying to recap our whirlwind trip to SXSW would be like trying to describe the horrendous stench that sometimes escapes from my husband's nether regions — I could tell you about it, but unless you witness it in person, you can never really appreciate its awesome power to overwhelm.
Like this:
Friday we arrive in Austin, check into the hotel then drive downtown. We find a miraculous parking spot (thanks to my lucky coldsore — yeah, don't ask) near the fest and we just start walking randomly down the street.
We hear bands from every direction. Bill says, "Let's go over here, it sounds cooler."
Then we find ourselves standing outside Stubb's. Bill cocks his head like a Golden Retreiver listening for the sound of a pheasant hitting the dirt and says, "That sounds like Pete Shelley" and he marches over to the guys guarding the entrance Stubb's garden.
Guess what? It was Pete Shelley and the rest of the legendary Buzzcocks. They were playing just yards away from us.
Bill tells that guy at the gate that he's just got to let him in and the dude did ... and us, too. Just like that, we were standing there taking it all in. I thought Bill was going to bust at the seams.
As soon as they finished playing, Bill says, "OK, I don't need to see anything else and I can go home a happy man."
The whole trip was so much fabulous fun that I'm still trying to take it all in.
You can read more about our show Saturday night here.
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