unat '04--Day Four

Andrew Zilker Park, Austin, TX
Today's Mileage: negligible Total Mileage: 445 mi.
TT: 1 hr. TTT: 10 hrs.
QOD: "PornStarch" –S.L. Sanderson, or, "Car Wreck! Hurt Myself!"—Mr. James Brown as interpreted by Jefe.
NON: None

At breakfast, I run into a meeting of the WWII China-Burma-India League. I can't resist hollering "Are there any "hump pilots in the room!" at them (which may have been unwise, given their advanced age). I get a wave. My grandfather was a member of CBI and I get pleasure that morning from being reminded of him. More huge weekend crowds wander toward ACL. Sunburns are in abundance. I've gotten lucky, with only one intense red strip where the collar of the "Pedro" shirt rubbed my excessive applications of SPF 30,000 off. Sherman has decided to forgo the sunscreen altogether today, proclaiming it an even match of "me versus the sun."

On My Being Middle-Aged At a Music Festival—One would expect my Outer Curmudgeon to intensify surrounded by the young people at this event. A reactionary response to the rampant drug use, the clothing, the wanton "WOO!"-ing. But instead many of these "kids" strike me as smart and able to view ACL in a centered context. As if to support my notion, most of the stupid things I see people doing are being done by those closer to my own age. Often I believe that distaste with those less advanced in age is a manifestation of jealousy on the part of the observer. "Youth wasted on the young," and all that. After spending a year returning to college, I find the moments that American Youth puzzle me more of an extension of my own ignorance than their insolence.

Oh, and my knees really hurt.

To MoFro and Mindy Smith—On the last day of ACL, I was afraid that I would not find anything new to stir me. Thanks for proving me wrong. MoFro can play any party I have in the future (when I'm a millionaire, of course). It was dirty, loud and appropriately funky. Ms. Smith has the potential to surpass Mary Chapin Carpenter. And sorry about your mom.

On Elvis Costello (not his real name)—He rocked. He made the crowd very happy. Jefe wonders if he's going to a costume party as the Joker after the show.

On Ben Kweller (shouldn't be anyone's real name)—Pleases half his audience with a half-hour solo 'emo set, then the other half with the fun of the new album and a band. And the entire audience muses on the talent of a fourteen-year-old.

To Wilco—Rehab or no rehab, Jay Bennett or no Jay Bennett, every live performance from Wilco sounds alike. Your last album informed me that you were done with the fans—allow me to reciprocate. Oh, and I didn't get the Yankee Hotel Foxtrot joke until today. Hooray for me.

On the Austin City Limits Music Festival—It's good to spend time with friends and a consistent barrage of quality live music. It's good to get some sun (though, perhaps the amount we got was medically dangerous). It's always nice to see Austin, be insulted by its residents and shell out sixty-four dollars for eight ounces of water. It was a pleasure to smell 215,000 other people. To boost my courage, I generally approach the Port-O-Sans on Sunday with the pluck of a National Institute of Health Emergency Team worker entering the Hot Zone. Yet with all these selling points (found on the ACL brochure if you know where to look) I had a great time and think that 215,000 other people did as well. It is important to note that the Austin American-Statesman reports that there were NO arrests the first two days. (Am I making a leap of coincidence that it took Sunday's arrival of Pat Green fans to finally give the cops something to do?) ACL is not only a test of your musical choice-making or your friends' patience but an actual physical trial—a concert fan triathlon, if you will. I may see Zilker Park for a day in September in the coming years. I doubt I will see it for a full three-day weekend ever again.

We return to the North Austin hotel for one final night. There we find: 1) That Mexican-American weddings are fun in any city (and LOUD); 2) My ex-girlfriend's brother is still an undependable goof (don't worry, John, Sherman isn't standing in front of the hotel anymore); 3) ESPN seems to have an aversion to showing the at bats of former Texas Tech Baseball standoutss on Sunday Night Baseball (sorry, Mr. Ginter) and; 4) the guy at the only other table at Bucca Di Beppo will NOT get laid tonight.

Tomorrow is half time for the journey (in spite of the fact that there are actually eleven days to go. The trip back tomorrow...on a very special episode of unat '04.