Wednesday, March 14, 2007

I happen to be from Austin, Texas, folks. “The Live Music Capital of the World.” So, I’m thrilled that this week’s topic is Music. What I’m about to tell you is a true story. The Austin City Council actually wanted the official city slogan to read: “The Live Music Capital of the Universe,” because apparently, being the “Capital of the World” seemed a tad limiting. But seriously, what better time than March to tell you about the South by Southwest Music Festival happening in Austin, Texas. We’re talking about international bands you’ve probably never heard of flying all the way to sleepy ‘ol Austin, Texas from Japan and Scandinavia to play a quick 30-minute set in front of a few music executives. And you thought getting a publishing contract was difficult!

Which leads me to my biggest problem with music festivals. The dreaded Port-o-Potty. My novel: The Men’s Guide to the Women’s Bathroom features the culture surrounding women’s bathrooms – why we women love our pristine bathrooms. Now, don’t get me wrong, here. I love attending a live music festival and sloshing around with a bunch of beer swillin’ Texans. I love wearing my wrist band – my proud talisman of admittance. I love eating nachos in 100 degree weather while watching The Killers play songs from their new album. I HATE PORT-O-JOHNS. They are like a bad car wreck. We hate to look, but we always end up looking, don’t we? We end up peeking down into the black hole for a brief second, holding our noses and thinking, “Please don’t let me fall while I’m balancing in this thing!”

Have you ever been to any music festivals and worn high heels into a Port-O-John? Do you have any hilarious Port-O-Potty experiences? Please feel free to email me at: