It was always my dream that if I started up a website and posted continuously for 3 years, something cool would come out of it. When all I got was a snack cake from Jason Looney, I almost gave up. Luckily (or unluckily), I didn't. I persisted. Like Sylvester Stallone training to fight Dolph Lundgren, I continued to chop wood and run uphill in the Russian countryside. Then, suddenly, it happened: someone finally recognized the incredible, life-changing experience that is cp.com, and decided to weasel me and Dean into a fancy-pants SXSW party in reward. Now that I've had a few days to recover, I will say that I love the weaseling lifestyle.
When the SXSW schedule came out, one party captured my attention. It had a really impressive line-up (Of Montreal, Nada Surf, What Made Milwaukee Famous), the refreshments were free, and it was at a good time of day (Friday PM). Unfortunately, it was an invite-only party. Double unfortunately, it was for Jane Magazine. There were a lot of things not going in my favor there. First, I had no idea what Jane Magazine is about, except that it's for the ladies. Second, I'm not a lady. Third, not only am I not a lady, but I'm not cool, and you usually have to be a cool, bling-bling, cash money millionaire to get into these invite only things. I had but one thing in my favor: a little thing known as Goulash.
One cool thing about the site is striking up correspondences with people who email me. One of these folks is named Jeff and I knew that Jeff has something to do with publishing and lives in New York with all the other asspod publisher people. I knew I didn't have many chances here, so I set to work on Jeff. After some impressive email whimpering, Jeff told me I was on the list. I didn't expect my pleas to work, and I started to worry a little bit. Maybe in trying to get me on the list, he accidentally signed me up to clean the Jane bathrooms on nights and weekends? Or maybe I read the party description wrong and it was just a group of people giving each other wedgies and pelting themselves with garbage? I worried.
Darby and I went anyway, and boy, I am glad we did. We were actually on the guest list (score one for Jeff), and once inside, we really sucker-punched the crap out of that party. One minute, the place is full of cool people, looking pretty and discussing international affairs with a bunch of indie rockers. The next, Dean and I are camped out at the keg, yelling out puns about silverware. Continue for six hours, periodically interrupting ourselves to meet the bands, freak out the lady working the keg, and terrify Carl Newman from the New Pornographers. I cannot imagine that at any point, some Jane honcho saw us and said, "Whoever those guys are, they're coming back next year!" They probably didn't say that, but I did. Powell 1, SXSW 0.Posted by Cody at March 20, 2006 06:40 PM