The Drunkening: Sponsored Parties with Alcohol Sponsors
by Joshua Heller
At a desk in the press suite, I told everyone that I was going to observe the transition of technology nerds into punk rock party animals. A film critic said he was happy to be leaving because he hates “all those hipster douchebags.” Another critic said there should be a booth for loosening tight pants. I felt uncomfortable, as I was wearing a pair of Pacific Sunwear “Skinniest” jeans.
I am also wearing a button-front light blue striped shirt and very tight jeans. I chose to wear sandals this morning, because I couldn’t find my shoes. I am wearing the exact outfit that I wore out last night.
* * *
We waited for Jeff by a school bus that had been converted into a wagon, used to cart around Phish-heads. A man with a bible asked if he could read us a scripture. We said “no” and jumped aboard. We took the submarine party bus to the “LOL Reblog” party.
The ship had Lonestars on ice and a digital jukebox. I jokingly requested UB40’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” As a digital marketer from Minneapolis booed, I realized I actually like that song. It’s ripe for a dubstep remix club banger.
The bus was all guys. Someone said it was like we were in the Marines waiting to drop down on enemies. Do the Marines also pound three beers in transit?
We got to the Tumblr/FunnyOrDie party at the Highline, a bowling alley/karaoke parlor in a strip mall adjacent to a movie theater that serves beer.
We got inside; the Black Label and Cokes were refreshingly free. I ate some apple and manchego canapes, which is a glorified term for quesadillas. I ate little crusty flaky pastry balls full of cheddar and bacon, and some mushroom paté.
People introduced themselves by their Internet handles.
In a karaoke booth with furry walls Amir and I reprised our performance of Smash Mouth’s “All Star.” Our version consists of screaming “SOMEBODY ONCE TOLD ME, THE WORLD WAS GONNA ROLL ME” for the duration of the song.
People wanted to go somewhere for more dance-type partying. I wanted to stay but by the time I had built my argument we were walking north on Lamar. I convinced them we should walk to the power plant we’d partied at the night before.
The previous night we went to Nikon and Vimeo’s party at a reformed power plant. Diplo performed to a crowd of hundreds. It was the most impressive party I’d ever been to in the USA. (I once went a similar party at a dock in Buenos Aires; coincidentally Diplo also deejayed.)
En route to the powerplant we stopped at a “California-style” Mexican restaurant. I hoped it’d be like La Salsa or Baja Fresh, but it wasn’t. They’d made a mockery of my region’s cuisine by turning it Tex-Mex.
Tex-Mex food is the worse. It’s like:
“You like Mexican food?”
“Yeah.”
“You like like American food?”
“Nah.”
“Well here’s your hotdog wrapped in a tortilla.”
* * *
We got to the power plant as crowds were leaving. Jeff knew of a party sponsored by Durex and Thrillist. We danced to a techno remix of a Weezer song, then a Jewish rapper named Kosha Dillz handed me a CD. I told him I’d go see him perform. I lied.
Our hand-held devices told us about an after-party at the Vimeo estate.
* * *
Later I was sitting in the lobby on the first floor of the convention center.
PR guys, digital strategists, marketers and people wearing mass-produced nylon flannel shirts were filing out. Stylish older women and hip hop professionals wearing Phat Farm jeans and collared shirts began to enter. A guy with sparrow tattoos has an asymmetrical haircut to pretend that he isn’t balding. A girl with an English accent who’s flying off through Dallas said, “I couldn’t do another day of this.”
Previously: A Temporary and Equitable Technocracy: SxSW’s Hunter-Gatherers