headless chicken

This past September my friend and I had the brilliant idea to go to South by Southwest, the HUGE music festival in Austin, Texas for my Spring Break/he-has-a-real-job-so-he's-taking-a-week-off. We kept talking about it and I kept waiting for my finances to be in order, and finally we bought out plane tickets and booked a hotel.


My friend, this dude, is 25. He prides himself on his ability to dress exactly like Jarvis Cocker of Pulp fame, except no one really knows or cares who Jarvis Cocker is in the United States, with the exception of like twenty people who frequent all twenty Brit-pop dance nights in DC. (Note that each of these people have their own night somewhere in the U-street cooridor.) We bonded over our mutual love of Frightened Rabbit in one of those "have you heard blank? no, have you heard blank. no, have you heard... conversations. For those that haven't listened to them, they write the absolute saddest, most pathetic, yet catch love songs that all come together to form two perfect I-just-went-though-a-horrible-break-up albums. He and I have spent way too much time listening to Poke: