unat '04--Day Two

Cisco, TX to Andrew Zilker Park in Austin, TX.
Today's Mileage: 231 mi. Total Mileage: 445 mi.
TT: 5 hrs. TTT: 8 hrs.
QOD: "Sweet Chocolate Jesus!"—S. L. Sanderson
NON: It is recommended that we not bring weapons, spiked jewelry or Komodo Dragons to ACL this year.—Today's Austin American-Statesman

We proceed to the Capitol City with an additional passenger: my enormous hangover, a seemingly bad idea while the various systems of my body are now officially at war with each other (the everpowerful endocrine system seemingly winning many of the battles). Despite forecasts to the contrary, we're greeted with cloudy weather on the drive down. Last year's festival was a balance between cool breezes and light drizzle, but this year we're warned that we'll find the hottest temperatures of the summer in Austin.

Solid planning by the rest of the crew results in a totally seamless hotel and parking transition while I continue to ignore the little voices in my head telling me to put a very sharp No. 2 pencil through my eye to stop the agony. This year, we're using the parking site our Austin contact has found to park Shelby's car near Zilker. We're trekking to the park by 12:30 and are right on schedule. A ticket snafu appears to slow me down when Dexter's skills of salesmanship saves the afternoon, and we're in. Now is usually the time the collective will break into differing groups based on musical taste, but we stay together for The Killers set (which shows solid musicianship without much showmanship. They may "got soul" but don't go to much effort to show it this early in the day. Maybe I shouldn't be to disappointed at their superficiality—they are from Vegas, after all).

Finally, the groups begin to break off. The crowd in the park is typically Friday Light. Little do we know that ACL will reach many of its capacity numbers by the time the weekend is over. As the afternoon wears on, Jefe and I see The Slip, The Pierces and a touch of Neko Case (who certainly bears distinction for being the first act I see at ACL without an article in their name, but doesn't live up to her hype). The heat is starting to make itself known. All of the group (which by this point has become Shelby, Sherman, Dex, Austin Contact & Jefe) reconvenes for Patty Griffin. In spite of the unnecessary play-by-play during the show, Patty does satisfy.

After a catching a couple from Broken Social Scene (I have a rule that I must hear at least three songs from an act in order to say I saw them at ACL), I have to make my way back to the parking place to meet my Dad. He's waiting there when I trudge up the hill, soaked in sweat and afraid he won't be able to get my stench out of his Audi long after I leave. We make a mad dash to Round Rock to catch what will eventually become the Express' final game of the season at the Dell Diamond.

Round Rock's transformation from lazy little town near Austin to enormous suburb (or exurb or whatever) is nothing short of staggering. As we make our way through overwhelming highway construction and the long line of Hooters, Chili's and Blockbusters to the ballpark, I can't help but simply see this as a Twenty-First Century extension of the company towns in the Deep South. Without the Tech Bubble (and the success of Dell beyond it), none of this happens. In essence, I see little difference between Birmingham or Coalwood in the 1930's and Round Rock or Plano today—The Big Mules of Industry have different haircuts but still make the same demands of their employees and still build around them. All that has changed for those employees is that Black Lung or Asbestosis have given way to Carple Tunnel Syndrome. The machine has become global, but the local impacts, the boomtowns, even the corporate ballfields remain. This, of course, is neither good nor bad. It simply is what it is.

The Express fans (including my dad) are a delight and I have the privilege of finally seeing someone attempt to steal home for the first time in my life (although I'm still confused at the decision). I reach the hotel long before the others (they're still attempting to find our Austin Contact's home so that they can pour her through the front door), finally get a blessed shower and fall asleep. Good day—music, baseball, friends and family. Not bad for an unemployed goofball, eh?