It was as if there's been some type of disaster or nuclear holocaust and we, the five survivors, were so traumatized that we didn't know what else to do but come into the office. One by one we filed in to confront the vast emptiness that surrounds us.
Our comrades in publishing and media have all departed for Austin for the annual South by Southwest music conference. It's the biggest deal of its type of the year. It seems as if not just the offices of Filter Magazine have been emptied, but also those of our entire industry as record label reps, writers, photographers and of course every band in the world is converging in central Texas for one big hullabaloo.
Someone has to hold down the fort. As the die hard and diligent, though, we have the fortitude to take this head on and, in the Filter spirit of things, make the most of it.
Planned activities: dance off, broom hockey (if we can find 2 brooms), old school rap karaoke, scare the mailman. Friday may be "wear a lucha mask to work" day.
And I'm going to take all the CDs that come in the mail to Amoeba to fund a big ass party Friday night.
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