Background:

I’ve been attending the South by Southwest Interactive Festival as an attendee since 2000, a speaker since 2003 and an advisory board member since 2005. Since 2008 I have hosted Fray Café, a storytelling event on the Sunday evening of the conference. Fray Café has been at SXSWi as long as I have.

In that same span of time, South by Southwest Interactive has grown from a few thousand attendees to nearly 25,000 in 2012. In 2011, it surpassed SXSW Music, the organization’s oldest and signature festival, in numbers of badge holders. What was once a conference occupying 1/2 of one floor of the newly-built Austin Convention Center, now includes 15 “campuses” all over the city. Many of the friends I first made at SXSW no longer attend as doing do is too expensive, too focused on "making it" rather than making anything in particular, no longer relevant or all these reasons combined.

About 500x that many attendees have never known SXSW outside of what it is now--Huge corporate-sponsored parties, companies and products getting “discovered” that week in Austin, long lines at everything and a breathless sighting of Pete Cashmore. Their experience is no better or worse than mine, just different.

Every year when I return home, I take stock of what I learned in an essay called 10 Things I Learned at SXSW (previous years: 2011, 2008, 2007, 2005, 2004, 2003, 2002). This year’s version is below.

10 Things I Learned at SXSW 2012:

1. Justifying it.  I have a book due in June. And a lot left to write. That needs to be my focus right now and a week of staying out late and eating migas three times a day in Austin is a distraction. A lovely one, but still. Plus neither my wife (a conference speaker this year) nor I have a full time employer to whom we can pass along the cost of attending. That cost could buy you a very nice vacation or set you back until mid-July.

So how to justify the expense and time of going? Moneywise we got lucky and made cutbacks where we could. Timewise I borrowed a card from attending more businessy, less "bring-on-the-migas!" conferences (like this one).

I booked breakfast meetings. I went over the the speaker's list and then my social media rolls about 3 weeks ahead of time to see if there was anyone in Austin who I had a) communicated with virtually but never met or b) met in a business context but would like to get to know socially. Know some of these people better might benefit me professionally someday. Making new friends is always a benefit on multiple levels. 

Since I'm almost 40, I don't stay out as late as I did at my first few SXSW's. So it's easier to get up in time for breakfast and grab coffee and toast with someone before morning sessions begin. About 1-3 of those meetings in the morning and I felt ok spending the remainder of the day screwing off. 

Meetings also have a cosmic momentum of their own. At nearly every meeting this year, I would get a couple of text messages from someone else asking if I had a moment to meet. This isn't because I'm Mr. Superstar or something. I think you put that energy out and the universe can sense it.

2. Panels.  This strategy felt ok with me because, the more I attended throught the week, the more I felt like panels (with few exceptions) were a waste of time. It wasn't lack of content but way way too much content to keep straight and sort. Hundreds of sessions, talks, conversations and panels means an attendee either a) spends several hours pre-conference deciding what they'd like to see knowing full well they'll get to maybe 20% of it  b) plays it safe and only goes to panels squarely in their area of interest or c) plays it equally safe and only attends sessions put on by famous people. The last option means waiting in long lines, punting on other sessions in order to wait in long lines and running the very real risk of being crowded out of the room anyway. 

Those options all kinda suck. SXSW has hit a point when the attendee must either be uptight, myopic or a star fucker to derive benefit from conference sessions. The solution lies in certain tweets user experience, something South by Southwest, for all its talent firepower, has never been  that good at. 

What if somehow the conference could take a list of interests and preferences you supply and spit back a list of sessions you'd probably like? And what if you could tweak that list based on what what hotel you're staying at, where you'd like to eat lunch and how much time you'd like to walk between sessions? 

That's probably harder than I'm making it out to be. But if anyone has access to the talent for it, it's this conference. Or they could confer their blessing/assistance upon Sched.org or Plancast or some other company that has already built most of the technical infrastructure for such a thing. 

And even though I've said it a thousand times, a clear, systematic approach to recording and podcasting sessions would go a long way towards solving this problem. SXSW has largely rolled out recordings unannounced, haphazardly, and buried-deeply-in-its-site-1996-hide-and-go-seek-for-the-user fashion.  

If I knew what was being recorded, how and when I could get it, I could make smarter decisions about what panels to see now and what to wait and catch up on at home.

If I've paid for a conference badge already, what's the harm? 

3. Annoyance. SXSW Hassle is now an annual ritual. Every September I try to reserve a hotel room for and am asked to surrender my right lung for the right not to sleep on the street during the festival. I then find myself saying "1000s of dollars, 2 hour waits for lunch and endless jostling by hordes of strangers because my friends can no longer afford to attend. This is the last year I will submit to this nonsense, SXSW! Good day to you sir!"

And every year I come back and it's not as bad as I thought. The crowds and inflated prices are now a fact of life. I can be mad at them or I can not go. Thus far I have still managed to spend time with the people that matter to me, make a few new friends and attend and produce events that make SXSW so special to me. The Red Eyed Fly, home of Fray Cafe for the last 8 years, gives us the room at very favorable terms. Ditto the site of my last-night-of-SXSW dinner, a 9-year tradition. And my friends old and new still manage to find enough places to eat, have coffee or meet up that haven't been so totally overrun as to make them unbearable. 

4. Must Haves. As a result,this year was the first time I put it to words my list of Must Haves. There may very well come a day when not enough of my friends can afford to attend or venues can't afford to cut us a break or I can't spare the time or the money or the headspace anymore. At that point, South by Southwest and I will have lived out our meaningful life together and will part as friends. I take things a year at a time. Minus Fray Cafe and 20x2, a critical mass of friends and the opportunity to make 3-6 more, SXSW will not have enough for me to return. That hasn't happened quite yet. 

5. Fragility. I would be an idiot to not to keep in mind how fragile this all is, how easily jobs or kids or the economy or the passage of time can keep anyone or all of these wonderful things from happening. And how that is no one's fault. South by Southwest is wonderful but it is not life. It is a ship-in-bottle-sized version of the spirit we want our lives to have--inspiring, loyal, supported and real. But to get angry when life interferes, when someone must stop going or can't go this year or a venue closes, or new people show up or an event is simply not possible is yelling into your own pocket, an angry, myopic, silly waste of energy. 

SXSW is a growing/evolving thing as we are. The challenge is to accept that, move with it and STILL make it special. 

6. Newcomers. "Every year is someone's first SXSW" my wise friend James McNally said, which I take to mean "Don't be the schmuck moving the goalposts and saying 'everything was awesome when I first got here. But now that YOU'RE HERE it's not anymore." 

Put another way, to an entire generation of attendees, South by Southwest is about loud parties and waiting in line, and seeking out venture money and free beer. And they would look at my friends, with our out-of-the-way gatherings, and paying our own way and say "Why?"

They are entitled. They're entitled to have the experience be anything they want it to be. As am I. It's pretty easy to stay out of each other's way and no one is hurting anyone else just by being there. 

7. Newcomers Part II. New comers are inspiring. They remind me that South by Southwest is an experience that can give over and over, to diferent people, at different times in life. And there are always more looking for the rewards I have found from it. 

In the weeks leading up to SXSW, I heard from at least a half-dozen acquaintences that they were coming for the first time. I invited them to everything I could, advised where appropriate and tried to meet individually with as many of them as I could. I can say that now most, if not all, are friends.

That's the beauty of that second week in Austin. You get to know each other quick. And yet it feels 100% real and usually endures.

8. Breaks. On at least 3 occassions, I took a long walk with an old friend I'd run into on the streets of Austin. I was probably missing a panel or a free taco or a spotting of Sean Parker but whatever. Those things will happen if they are meant to. Time with an old friend in this midst of that chaos is a precious gift. And a needed repose when you are no longer the 25 year-old adventurer I was my first year at the conference.  

9. Shoring up. Footnote to #5. Just because certain things are fragile doesn't mean we should be content with them staying that way. So after I turn my book in this summer, I'll be putting in some hours to make sure the parts of SXSW I care out have solid home bases and enduring legacies. 

10. Take off and go. I crossed the half-way point of my book right before we arrived in Austin. I've a ton to do before my June deadline. SXSW was both a break from it (I didn't write while there) but also a reminder, a reminder that I am excited by the path I am on, incredibly lucky and grateful that I still get to do this each spring and feel as though my relationship with it gets different but better with time. 

SXSW and I are in the long game for now. There are many adventures left to be had. 

I was fortunate to be an Artist-in-Residence at the Ragdale Foundation this past January. I was luckier still to be in residency with a really great group of other artists. One sat down next to me at dinner the first night and asked me, without a hint of irony, "Kevin, would you tell me about your artistic process?" I didn't know I had one, but I felt pretty dang honored to be included. 

Each of these folk is very good at what they do. Consider my mentioning them her an endorsement as I'd happily recommend reading/listening to/watching their work anytime. 

Here they are...

• Jennifer Rose is a poet based in Boston. She's published 2 collections and won a bunch of awards. By day she works as an urban planner. Mid-residency, we took a long walk and talked about reading, about Boston and other residency programs (she's a vet, I'm a rookie.) 

• Scott Onak is a novelist from Chicago and the first person I met at Ragdale. We hit it off immediately. Scott is an instructor at Story Studio Chicago. 

• Young Joon Kwak is  Korean performance artist and sculptor based in Chicago. Young Joon worked best at night and would stay up late in his studio making the rest of us look like sloths. In singles and pairs, he invited each of us to the studio to see his work in progress and watch videos of past performances which was quite remarkable. He's also in a band called Xena Xurner.

• Stephanie Kallos is a novelist based in Seattle, but everyone called her "Stevie." She had been to Ragdale before and shared a few secret keys and passageways with us newcomers. Her room was right next to the kitchen so I'd often run into her while refilling my coffee cup and we'd talk about literary life in Seattle and how much the life of an author has changed even in a few short years.

• Chris Sullivan is a filmmaker and animator who teaches at the School of the Art Institue of Chicago. We got to watch about 10 minutes of his movie Tender Spirits, which was really neat, like Tim Burton without the peoccupation with childhood. Chris also had the best feedback on my reading from my book, which sent me back to rewriting the introduction. In a good way. 

• Melika Bass is a Chicago-based filmmaker and one of those people who is so ridiculously smart that when talking you mostly try to ask good questions of her in an attempt to keep pace. She was working on a couple of audio projects during residencies and spend a lot of time prowling the grounds of Ragdale with a microphone and headphones. 

• Judith Paine McBrien makes films and writes books about architecture. She and I took a long walk around the Ragdale prairie where I learned a bunch about archietecture and did my best to answer her questions about how artists use social media. She screened her documentary "Make No Little Plans" about the architect Daniel Burnham which was outstanding. 

Find and support these artist's work. You'll be glad you did.   

Ragdale was fabulous. I could only stay for 8 days (instead of the regular 2 weeks) as I had commitments in Miami I couldn't change. But 8 days was more than enough to get a bushel and three pecks out of the experience and to want to go back, like real soon. 

The deal with an artist residency is this: 1) You apply to an organization's residency program (according to the Alliance for Artist Communities, there are over 300 such organizations in the US) 2) If you get accepted, the organization brings you to their campus (can be a university, a museum, or, in the case of Ragdale, a famous old house in the woods) and gives you room and board to do your work for a period of time. 3) At some, you are expected to present your work in progress, some not. The real promise is time, quiet and freedom from life's obligations. 

I knew that one of the few perks that comes with writing a book is to apply for these things. In September, I threw my hat in for 5 programs. Since Ragdale was in the midwest (my birthplace and about 2 hours less flying than California) and had been recommended by not one but two friends, it was my first choice. 

I'd never been an artist-in-residence before and didn't know when this opportunity would come along again. And since I only had a little over a week there, I wanted to take full advantage of the time and set myself the goal of 3 book chapters. I reached my goal. 

More importantly though, I felt like I belonged. I've never thought of myself as an artist, creative, yes, clever, sometimes, but not the kind who talks about "my work" or "my process." I still don't feel entirely genuine saying even that but being in a residency program means you are not pretending: They expect you to be the kind of person that creates as regularly as a gardener weeds. 

At Ragdale you're pretty much on your own for most of the day. You pass other residents in the hall or the library but everyone's either headed to work or taking a quick break from it. I spent the better part of my first few days asking myself "Did I take out the trash?" "Do I need to do the laundry?" and remembering I didn't have those concerns at the moment. I didn't have any concerns except writing, which is terrifying, but like a dunk in a cold well. It clarifies your day's purpose pretty damn quick. 

I would write a few hours in the morning, break for lunch then try to finish up that chapter in the afternoon. If I had to read or research, did that. Most nights, I'd pull a few hours after dinner, then read or watch a movie on my laptop before bed. A few times I took the train into Chicago to visit friends. But the routine was write, break, read, write, break, eat, write, sleep. 

On the third night, I gave a quick reading of my book and got some great feedback. The most important: Keep at it. 

Dinner at Ragdale is communal. You eat around a large old wooden table and begin bites ask your fellow residents how their day went, how they feel about their work. As formal gives way to friendly, you talk about families and hometowns, hobbies and trade secrets. There were only 8 of us, instead of Ragdale's normal 12 residents per session. I think we became friends a little easier and faster because of it. 

I'm going to do a separate post about my fellow residents highlighting their work and why I'll be cheering them on. They did the same and more for me. 

Thank you to them and thank you to Ragdale. It's a special place over there in Lake Forest. I hope to come back someday soon. 

So I'm working on a book. It's a collection of essays called "Practical Classics: Rereading your Favorite Books from High School English Class" 50 essays, each one arguing for why a book from high school can be useful to you as a grownup. It'll be published by Prometheus Books and will be available in early 2013. I'm to hand the thing in on June 1. 

I've finished 16 essays which means a) I'm 32% done and b) I have a heckuva lot left to go. And not much time left to do it.

Of course I could turn in the book late (my friend Katie actually said "You'd be the first writer to hand in a manuscript on time. Probably ever." But "Practical Classics" is my first book where every word is written by me. I hope to write about a dozen more before I die and I'd like to set good habbits now. The thought of being 60 and still approaching writing with the dread of an eighth grader completing an essay on "Lord of The Flies" horrifies me.

I know its going to take me a long time to feel comfortable producing words as regularly as brushing my teeth. I'd like to start now.   

I fear this means a lot of long days, nights in and work on the weekends between now and June. I hate this idea. But I don't really see another way. At least from where I stand, about 16 miles from the finish line. 

Between now and then, I'm slated to be a writer-in-residence at two separate programs--The Ragdale Colony in Lake Forrest, Illinois (for 1 week) and the Vermont Studio Center in just-outside-of-Beijing, Vermont (for 1 month). I leave for Ragdale tomorrow (!) and am scheduled to spent April in Vermont. I figure I'll see how well I do at Ragdale and decide on Vermont when I get home in February. 

I am not someone who sees Middle-of-Nowhere as an artistic blessing. Not sleeping in my own bed, not going to the office each morning, being far from wife and friends, scares me. I know it allows me time to just focus on my writing. That's probably what scares me. I've never had that kind of mandate-from-fate to just write before. 

But a blessing it is. There's about 3 perks you get when working on a book and this is one (the other two? Eh, bragging rights and, something I haven't found). It's up to me to take the opportunity and sprint. 

So I won't be on the social media channels much for the rest of this month. I'll be here...

But with snow on the ground. 

Wish me warmth. And focus. 

• In olden times a “Sundown” was equal to a null set of Work. All that has changed.  

• Sales of new (not used) vinyl records are up 25% this past year. 

• Netflix's fatal error (Paid Content). 

• ROI is about a lot more than revenue. 

• In-and-Out Shake. With a shot of bourbon. 

• What's your favorite unhappy movie ending? (AV Club). 

A list I put together for The Hairpin. Examples...

• "Mostly milk, a little cream. You're doing it wrong! Just hand me the sugar packet!"

• "[tongue click] Congress [head shake]"

• "I said, the USUAL."

Complete list at The Hairpin. 

I am terribly sad today. Which on the face of it makes very little sense as I did not know Steve Jobs, enjoyed but did not worship his company's products. He wasn't even a very nice person and I have little patience or time for not-nice people. 

But Steve Jobs represented much of what I value most in the world, much that I try my own life upon--innovation, creativity, usefulness and the power of dreams. He also was an incredible showman in an industry that believed that aesthetics, flair, hell even joy were afterthoughts. Computers were supposed to work, to do things, to solve problems. They were not supposed to be fun. 

Heck with that, said Steve Jobs. He loved computers, loved technology, and saw their potential in all of our lives, not just those who went to MIT or could program. He wanted to share that love with all of us. Yes, he wanted to make a pile of money too but that never seemed to interest him that much. He wore the same clothes everyday, bought two giant fancy houses and never moved into them. He was worth nearly $8 billion but how many times did you read about his hot air balloon races, his antique car collections or other wild excesses? 

Never. There weren't any. Mr. Jobs wanted everyone in the world to have great technology. Business is the fastest most efficient way to make that happen.

I'm an Apple enthusiast as I sumply haven't found a better alternative to living as a citizen of the 21st century than with the iPhone, iPod and Macbook Pro. Those are the tools of my trade. And yes, someone could design better ones someday. But they haven't and probably won't. As magnetic as Steve Jobs is, his competetitors simply don't believe that values like fun, humor, and beauty belong to technology. They are wrong. 

My favorite Steve Jobs moment is the video above. it's 1984 and he is announcing the Apple Macintosh. He is not quite 30 and the computer he's about to unveil will change the world. But he's already done it once with its predeccesor, the Apple II.

He will flip our lives over at least 5 more times in the course of his, with the Laptop, iPod, Pixar, iPhone, and iPad. He will bring the world's attention to Northern California as the center of innovation and entrepreneurship. He will also do it after getting booted out of Apple then returning, as perhaps the greatest second chapter in the history of American business.

And yet here, all of that is yet to come. He is young, handsome, a bit cocky and yet at heart, still a nerd. The "Chariots of Fire" theme he used was 2 year past its sell date by then. And yet it works as it implied speed, triumph, going for it, despite obstacles, despite it seeming crazy. It means tomorrow, as F. Scott Fitzgerald called tomorrow.

"Tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms faurther..."

 Fitzgerald also said most American lives have no second acts. He died in his early 40s having drunk himself into the grave, convinced he was a failure. Steve Jobs spent the last 10 years of life with a terrible illnes and pushed on anyway. He figured he had one of two more revolutions left in him so why not? And then he changed the world with the iPhone. And again with the iPad. 

Steve Jobs had a second act, then a third then several more. He was lucky enough to know what he wanted to do early in life and he then pushed it and pushed it again for all it was worth. Most of us are not so lucky and fall into rather than know our life's mission. But when we find it, go for it, Mr. Jobs said. Run faster, stretch out your arms further. 

Your heart and your intuition already know what you are supposed to become. 

Yesterday and today, there are flowers, candles, tributes being left in front of Apple Stores around the world. One I saw had a cardboard sign, attached to a storebought boquet. The sign read "Keep Thinking Different".

 For a CEO, a businessman. Normally we see these commemorations for artists and heads of state. But it would be wrong to see this as strange.

We do this for our heroes. For people that inspire us to be more than we thought we could. Who saw the world as bigger than we did. 

When Leonard Bernstein died in 1990, his funeral procession drove through the streets of Brooklyn where he was born. A group of construction workers stopped working, removed their hard hats and waved. "Goodbye Lenny", they said. 

Maybe they said it because they thought Bernstein one of them. Maybe they were classical music fans or maybe Bernstein had converted them. I think they related to him, as the son of small businessmen who accomplished something great. But they thought him one of their own because he shared the thing he created. He didn't horde away the thing he loved. He devoted his life to making it more fun, to filling it with joy. 

Steve Jobs did that with wires and microchips. He helped the entire world believe that the future was coming, maybe already here and it would be wondrous, exciting, creative. Fun. 

And it belong to each of us. Each of us with dreams and the willingness to chase them. Chase them fast. 

I heard the news of Steve Jobs's passing and sat down to write. Its the only kind of creativity I know. And I do not have time to waste not working at it. 

That you for our future, Mr.Jobs. We will do our best with it.  

• Found report cards from the 1920s and what they tell us (Slate).

• Oral history of the Uptight Citizens Brigade (NY Mag). 

• Scholarly publishing's business model is all about keeping the general public out. Can this last? (Guardian UK). 

• The documentary "Connected" is pretty damn good. Now playing 

• The Highline in New York City is on twitter (@highlinenyc). 

Location isn't usually important in film comedies the way say, Los Angels is vital to dramas like Chinatown or Chicago to action-thrillers like The Fugitive. Comedies trade in laughs and laughs come from people and situations and animals with digestive ailments. Places don't crack us up. 

Then why do I never forget that one of my favorite comedies--Trading Places (1983)--takes place in Philadelphia? We can thank its unforgettable opening flipbook of the city's icons next to images of ordinary people going to work and the city's poor not having any. The montage is set to Mozart's 'Overture to the Mariage of Figarro,' which we've heard a million times but never quite like this--as an argument for the artistry of comedy rather than an affirmation of its frivolity. Listening to Mozart does not make you smarter. But in Trading Places, Director John Landis and his composer (the legendary Elmer Bernstein) use Mozart as a shorthand reminder that comedies need not make you dumber either. 

The plot of Trading Places has been called a modern update of Mark Twain's "Prince and the Pauper." A rich stuffed shirt (Dan Aykroyd) and a street hustler (Eddie Murphy) are made to switch social places by Ackroyd's conniving uncles who like to conduct social experiments of such things. When the two uncover the uncles' sneaky plan to game the commodities market, they strike first, beating them at their own scam and getting rich in the process. It being the early 1980s, defeating old, inherited money through fleet footed stock trading was seen as the rebellion of youth, blows against the empire, a victory for tweed over eh, tweed. 

Trading Places did great with critics and has endured mostly because its a fantastic silly comedy (SNL veterans Ackroyd and Murphy and a sequence with a horny gorilla made sure of that) that doesn't scrimp on the fundamentals. The supporting cast bench--Jamie Lee Curtis, Ralph Bellmany, Don Ameche and Denholm Elliott--is embarrassingly deep. The script has nary a wasted line. And hiring Elmer Bernstein to score a summer comedy is like hiring Steve Jobs to oversee the launch of a lemonade stand. 

It's in his choice of Mozart to open the film that we see that Landis is up to more than talent overkill. Once you've seen the film (and have a modest knowledge of opera) the choice of 'Overture' is a cheap gold star for the viewer. 'Figarro' is a comic morality play about a servant outwitting an aristocrat, a nod at Trading Places's gentle theme of money not equalling intelligence or even refinement. But one level deeper is Landis's bigger goal: an unsmiling reminder that comedy has as gloried a cultural history as classical music and the grandparents of Trading Places are not pratfall artists and music hall crass but  great cinematic comedians like Billy Wilder and Ernst Lubitsch from a generation before. 

Of John Landis's first 10 films (1977-1988) 6 can fairly be called classics. One (National Lampoon's Animal House) is in the Library of Congress, an honor also held by his contemporary Harold Ramis (Groundhog Day). Throw in the best work of Ivan Reitman from that time (Stripes, Ghostbusters) and you have a body of comedy movies that not only crack you up but used legendary composers who created memorable themes, made room for 40-year veterans in the supporting cast and had stars that later were nominated for Oscars and had 20-30-year careers ahead of them.

This was broad comedy given the time, care and resources of high art. I've no idea if in hindsight we'll regard contemporary laugh factories like the work of Judd Apatow and the Frat Pack the same. I tend to doubt it. 

Musically speaking Trading Places starts big with an iconic Mozart piece. Afterward, Bernstein's score is restrained and sober. There's no lining the atmosphere with pop songs that would dominate the later years of the decade and few memorable musical passages beyond the opening. Mozart is what we're supposed to remember, its inclusion a wink without a smile. Its as though opening a comedy with more than enough fart jokes and gratuitious nudity with the ultimate icon of high culture was a way of saying "Pay attention. What we're doing here has the same craftmansmenship and dedication as when young Wolfgang sat down at the piano."