Austin Texas Muthafucka
Category: Travel and Places
*snort* so what am I doing on a gorgous Thursday evening in party-town, TX? Catching a reading? Shaking my ass off? Grooving to a killer blues band? Whooping up with my hostel-mates? lol. As if. I blew them all off (they're going to a reading then shaking their asses off to a killer blues band) in order to take notes on William Langland's 1387 opus Piers Plowman. Yes, I am that fucking cool.
I spent 4 hours this morning, volunteering for the writers conference. My job was to sit by the sign that tells everyone where the registration desk is and tell the writers (who presumably also read) where the registration desk is. My presence was necessary, I kid you not. I also had to keep the writers from going up the wrong escalator to a musician's conference being held in the same building (it is very important to keep the writers and musicians separate). The escalator also had a sign...*sigh*. Explaning that the SXSW sign didn't mean AWP challenged me in ways that truly thrill and tickle. So cool, you could see the sweet dears coming a hundred metres off...slowly peeling from the stream of people like leaves from an autum birch and inexoribly drifting to and past the sign that told them where not to go. With hope, that will be me someday. BTW, a mind blowing percentage of people limp, here. Not Austinites; the writers from across America...more than half of them have stumbling, uneven gaits. Weird.
But I digress...it's time to get my ass back in gear and quit stalling:
In a somer seson whan soft was the sonne,
I shope me in shroudes as I a shepe were,
In habite as an heremite vnholy of workes,
Went wyde in Fis world wondres to here.