A More Colorful World

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The first few gigs tonight in Austin were fairly standard for technology industry events……meet-and-greet, a little food, sponsored bar tab and a few press and bloggers running around snapping photos and talking about their projects.

Then it all changed……once I entered the world of film makers, producers and other ‘right brain’ creators.

The bars in Austin are what I would describe as “venue mash-ups;” a mash of nearly everything…….from the contrasts between one waiters’ fashion style and another, to the paintings on the walls, to the music from one hour to the next, to the flooring, tables, the bouncer at the door or the bartender’s jokes.

It’s also a young town, not unlike a lot of university towns, and oh so wild and loud along 6th on a Friday night. Is it always like this on weekends or is it a pre-SXSW thing? Tattoo shops along side cigar stores, which sit along side southwestern bars playing non-southwestern music. They sit beside a retro diner and a bank with a funky ghost town-like sign.

In front of all of this color energy are two policemen sitting on top of horses starring at the crowds, as if waiting for chaos to hit at any moment.

I walk into a billards hall and its not uncommon for a billards hall upon first glance. And then…..I see the billards tables lined up row by row in front of round retro pink and blue lights that protrude from a candy cane pink wall with neon green borders.

The material on the tables is a bright royal blue, which jumps from the center of this dim-glowing disjointed room, now in dramatic contrast to the pinks, greens, and did I mention the small red flickering lights that are part of some silver disco balls but not others.

On the ceilings, flashing white christmas tree lights dance in between the disco balls; they distract me as a large man in a bright red t-shirt and matching basecall cap asks me what film I’m working on. He wasn’t the first nor the last. Every industry has their patterns.

Three men in front of me are all wearing those black square glasses I’d only see in San Francisco five or so years ago. Two are from LA, one is now based in Austin, but originally from Chicago.

He now has a slight southern accent, enough that I noticed. He was surprised by this observation, but then became as distracted by the woman who walked through the door in a bright purple furry skirt as I was by the flashing red lights.

We all have our vices.

I hear another voice in the distance talking about the progress of his documentary, but he doesn’t mention tagging or structured blogging and I’m relieved. I walk up to someone who must be a film maker and so he is…..we talk about his life in LA.

He also does what I do in a way, for independent films. He creates ‘early steps’ right after the birth of the film, promotes it, finds buyers and works with them as they develop their message to Phase II. “Until they’re worth something to someone?” I ask. We relate for a moment despite our disparate worlds.

While I’m not immediately impressed by Austin, I find it charming and inspirational – from a creator’s perspective. I start to see why artists and creators have moved here. It was something I thought San Francisco would invoke in me and yet it hasn’t yet.

I sit down on one of the retro couches to observe and reflect, something I rarely get to do at a technology event. I find myself not wanting to participate in the noise for an hour or so and its refreshing.

Audrey to my right asks me who the actor is to my left. I have no idea and she looks surprised. “You know,” she nods, “He was the main guy in Magnolia and Boogie Nights.”

I continue to look confused and now, so does she. I realize that she knows I’m not part of her world. How to explain what I do? I find I don’t want to, so I say I’m a fashion designer and introduce myself as Cathryn. How refreshing – again.

George from Detroit is a professor of film, specializing in animation, yet, “I absolutely hate computers,” he tells me. “Yeah, me too,” I realize as I quickly remember how much time I spend trying to fix them and it’s not my job to do so.

The opening evening film ends and people start to stroll into the A&E Indie Films sponsored bash, the one that starts at 10:30 pm and doesn’t get rolling until midnight.

There are so many men with long hair who walk through the door that I ask two of them if they want me to french braid their tails. They both smile and one says, “yeah sure.” Some are wearing fabulous hats and there is so much color that I can’t help but to smile too.

I meet Vanessa in striped pants and a circular shirt. She’s wearing a hat that is as much a mish mash as the eye candy and retro furniture around me.

As much as I try, I can’t ignore the set of three comic strip cut-out 3D-like paintings on the downstairs wall. In front them are more rows of billards tables; this set wears the traditional green material, but the back-drop is still out of place.

I try to make sense of the black and white rolling visuals that don’t really match anything else in the place. It’s refreshing against so much color and yet, it’s all so delicious in an odd kind of fairy tail way. Vanessa, Audrey, George.

I try to ignore the cigarettes too but its hard when your lungs have become spoiled. Everyone is lighting up around me……..everywhere: in front of me, behind me, beside me. I can’t seem to escape the smoke. Have I forgotten what it was like to live in Europe? Has it been that long?

I ‘still get to observe,’ I realize. I still know no one and no one knows me. Where are the over thirties I wonder? Then I start to see several, but we are still in the minority. I quickly pull my hair into a pony tail and in a dark room with neon lit shades, I realize that perhaps I can pass for a younger lass.

The dialogue continues. I ask one 31 year old actor what he wants to be doing when he’s 40. He seemed surprised by my question, “the same thing I’m doing now, of course, only I hope to be making a lot more money doing it. Isn’t it the same for everyone?”

At 31, I pondered the thought of living on a boat off the coast of some non-American country drinking fabulous wine and writing a book or ‘something.’ I think my ex-husband probably is.

Everyone is hungry, the kind of hunger you get after a night out dancing or a movie, and yet the midnight movie was still on some people’s schedules. Not mine. I decide I want to explore. I crave more inspiration and I figured at this point, Austin would not disappoint.

I wander up 6th and I’m amazed at how much activity there is, despite the fact that its midnight on a Friday night. It feels like New Orleans used to at certain times of the year, although not anymore. I jump on a bus and while I’m not exactly sure where its going, it seems to be heading in the direction I need to go – eventually.

I pass a white truck with a ‘kitch’ sign and an open back. He is wearing a white chef hat and making hot dogs – people wait in line to be served. I’m craving a french crepe and have no idea why.

A restaurant waiter is closing a high-end restaurant along Congress. The tablecloths and napkins are set for the next day, which tells me its a dinner restaurant only. I watch him fill the salt and pepper shakers and travel back in time to the countless places I did that around the world. Your feet were swollen after a double shift, your legs aching and you smell like the kitchen rather than the dining room.

A few musicians have set up ‘shop’ in closed doorways; money for a hat, a bowl, a bucket….’we take credit card,’ said one with a smile. I pass a diner and think of small American home towns around the country, each one has a story; each one could be the basis for a tear wrenching movie. Or a documentary. Or something…

I pass a trading post and catch a glimpse of Indonesian shadow puppets in the window. I’m reminded that I need to write about Indonesia one day; a haunting reminder. “Why haven’t you started?” a voice asks. It’s a familar voice but I can’t make out who it is.

It grows quieter as I make my way to 4th Street on Congress, leaving the roar of 6th Street behind me. By the time I reach 2nd, the noise level drops to near silence, except for a man who stops me and asks for a dollar. I’m still thinking of the Indonesian shadow puppets when a flurry of teenage boys ride swiftly past me whistling and screaming. Silence is broken.

I see the river ahead of me and know the hotel is close. Part of me wants to fall asleep by the river but I know its too cold to do so and besides, I want to write.

Tag: Austin Tag: SXSW Tag: SXSW 2006

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