Okay, I’ve mostly recovered from SXSW. After a week straight of staying up until 2am (well, two weeks if you count SXSW) and putting in 14-hour workdays (which certainly wasn’t the case during SXSW), I’m finally on top of my large and neglected workload. By no stretch of the imagination I am currently involved in at least ten separate projects. My Basecamp account alone lists eight. I don’t know if the incredible self-discipline I shall learn from managing all these projects is the secret to success, but I do know that it is the secret to my current state of reality. Effective? I’ll let you know in June.
Also, my liver doesn’t ache so much, anymore.
Everything that could be said about SXSW has already been said by numerous people far more eloquent than I. Dave Seah’s account is dashingly philosophical, Greg Storey’s is patently cranky, Cameron Moll’s is bulleted, Jason Santa Maria’s is thoroughly-linked, Mark Bixby’s is beautifully terse, and Shaun Inman’s account is completely obsessive-compulsive.
I really don’t know what to say. SXSW was everything I had hoped it would be, and so much more. The panels were inspirational, the parties were epic, and the people were the kindest, funniest and smartest crowd you’ll find this side of the galaxy. I made a ton of new friends, like honest-to-gosh I-really-miss-hanging-around-with-these-people friends, who taught me so much about, well, everything. I mean, at one point I learned all about catfish noodling from one fellow.
Such is the nature of SXSW.