I know, I know, apparently it is illegal to use the letters “s,” “x,” “s” (again), or “w” in any combination this week unless you are officially sanctioned by the folks at SXSW. And so here I sit, risking some Midnight Express fate (did you see how I worked not one but two “s’s” and an x into Express) because I am going now wax poetic on zen and the art of SXSW. First, a brief history of Spike and The Festival. I got to Austin late ’91. My first SXSW was spring ’92. I was a waiter at the Magnolia and so my baptism was by fire as the place was slammed with all those badge wearing assholes. I became a badge wearing asshole a year or two into my Austin tenure because, as I like to remind y’all, I am so popular. Sometimes I got a badge for performing (back when they still had a poetry venue for SXSW) and sometimes for being a reporter. And suddenly, I understood that sense of entitlement I once loathed back when I was pre-badge. I pitied the fools who had to wait in long lines when I could simply sashay to the front of any line, Japan night being a favorite. more ›