ACL Fest: Day 3

The day begins with what we’re told is a no-pressure, no frills barbecue at Lady Refined’s house. GWH and I get lost on the way there. We’re an hour late and they’ve sat down to eat when we arrive. The casual affair, for which we’ve dressed casually—read: bikini for me, coverup, cowboy hat; swim trunks, shirt and cap for GWH—appears to be a sit-down affair in the formal dining room with china. There’s a bar with an array of drinks including Bloody Marys and mimosas no one appears to be drinking. Is this a test? I’m totally overwhelmed. I want to leave. I ditch the cowboy hat with my bag in the formal living room.

In the kitchen, which overlooks another living room, I find several plates of food and GWH looking equally overwhelmed.

“I want to go to Polvo’s,” I say under my breath.

“Don’t even say it,” he moans.

Even the seating arrangement at the table is weird: Lady Refined and her husband are at opposite ends of the table, with Pumpkin and Superficial on either side of him. Then next to Superficial is Irish and an empty seat, which I chose. Across from me is another friend of Pumpkin’s named Supa Skinny who seems to hang out with Lady Refined more than she does with Pumpkin. Is this weird or is it just me?

Because, as always, everyone has to check in with me about being vegetarian, Pumpkin brings up a friend of hers who cannot eat protein and how she drinks a special powdered milk which provides enough protein for her to live. She brings up how difficult it was to get the medicine when they were traveling overseas together. They had to go to some city in Italy to get a refill on the medicine. And then they explain that we can thank the Kennedys for discovering the mysterious disease and testing people for it. I cross my eyes at GWH across the table. He nearly loses it.

The talk turns to politics and I want to slide right out of my seat. Lady Refined explains her theory about why people don’t vote. Dear God. Now I must refill my plate. Yeah, yeah, no one has seconds around here but I don’t care!

When I return to the table, Lady Refined, Skinny, GWH and I are forced to make small talk. I think I’ve said one sentence so far: “I’ve been a vegetarian for five years.” So I listen politely as Lady Refined tells yet another political story and then she and Supa Skinny have a good laugh about how upset her mother got when they dropped the piano. Oh, what a sad story…the baby grand gets dropped right after the floors have been redone. Really sad story, lady.

Who are these people? Clearly I don’t belong and I just want to get the hell out. GWH joins me outside by the pool and whispers, “I love you.” I ask him if we have to whisper around here and he thinks yes.

“Do you think they have sex around here?” I whisper back.

“No way.”

The drive back home to ol’ dependable South Austin is filled with my laughter as GWH makes fun of the rich people. Oh boy. Lady Refined and her husband are nice, but we have nothing in common. I’m sure I’ll fade from her memory. In fact, I prefer it. She’s probably making fun of us like GWH and I are making fun of her.

The temperature is sitting at 103 when we take our third and final jaunt down to the festival grounds with Irish, Pumpkin and Superficial. Our group splits up during the walk, though, and we decide to catch up with the group later. Arriving at the grounds, GWH and I seek shade and a place to sit on the bleachers outside the Capital Metro Stage. Hey, this Ruthie Foster is pretty good. GWH and I chug water and fan each other with Heineken fans. Dude, it’s hot. Really hot.

Apparently the weather isn’t the only thing that’s hot. I spy a strange white-haired man wearing a skirt. He’s holding a camera and staring a hole right through me. I’m busily ignoring him when he approaches us and asks if he can take our picture. GWH shrugs. “Sure.”

“Well, what I want you to do is pose, see,” Skirt Man says.

I’m looking at GWH in a bit of a panic. Tell this guy to go away, I say in my head. Whatever he’s thinking this pose should be cannot be good. I mean, GWH missed the way he was checking me out.

“Yeah, open your legs and hold the fan in front of them, that’s what I want,” Skirt Man says.

“Um, I don’t think so,” both GWH and I say at the same time.

“Are you that big of a fan of the beer?” Skirt Man says, as if that really would be my objection.

“Um, no, it’s more like it’s kind of scandalous,” I explain.

Skirt Man finally moves away, but his girlfriend/wife/partner person is still sitting in front of us. Later, she moves to sit somewhere else but makes sure to come over and ask us to tell him where to find her if he returns. GWH and I exchange glances.

“Swingers?” he says.

“Oh yeah.”

Damn, we are hot. A few minutes later, GWH’s buddy Ace shows up with his new girlfriend Prez and her friend Airhead. We truck over to Bob Mould Band. Despite the fact I’ve never heard of ‘ol Bob, I’m kind of enjoying his music. Well, I’m trying except that Airhead keeps talking. And talking. And talking. It’s sort of reminding me of Superficial. There’s some story about a couples wedding shower, and instead of having a regular party, the shower was a dove hunt. I want to say, “Really? I’m a vegetarian and I hate hunting,” but I just smile and nod instead.

Um, more beer please.

By the time we sit down in front of Jack Ingram, the heat has lifted. Now it’s just really really dusty. But Jack rocks pretty hard too. He describes his music as country but I don’t agree. It’s much better than country!

From there it’s time for the The Black Keys. I know everyone loves this band, but they don’t really do it for me. I’m pretty sure Airhead is still talking at this point but I don’t really listen. I think she might be describing skinning the doves. I go to get more beer.

Coldplay is last. We load up on beer and find a spot. We’re supposed to be meeting up with Irish and the gang, but they are so far into the crowd that we give up. Coldplay has improved since the last time I saw them. I think Gwyneth has been giving frontman Chris Martin some acting lessons. He’s very dramatic during his songs!

And then it’s over. We’ve survived! Good night, Austin….

-Shakira 10.04.05