Which is not to say that yours truly was experiencing a certain crisis of cynicism. It was quite the opposite. Simply put, Austin is a veritable head trip for those who have never been. Nestled in the middle of Rick Perry's Texas, Austin stands out as the lone bastion of Blue Dog liberalism. This city is where mechanics with PhDs play hackey sack with rockabilly hairdressers and sweat-knotted construction workers. Where Tejas BBQ and Mexican cuisine join in the holiest of unions to produce the BBQ brisket taco - a confection so rendolent of Mama's home cooking, never mind if while growing up, your own Mama was a Chinese accountant whose idea of home cooking was instant noodles with bok choy thrown in. A city so celebratory of live music that guitar murals abound on public buildings, while city officials clad in their "Keep Austin Weird" tie-dye shirts bob their heads in unison to The Latest Indie Band You've Never Heard Of (tm).

And yet, in this hotbed of youthful optimism, this delightful little gem of America where small businesses not only survive, but thrive... all the tell-tale signs were present. Behold, Bluetooth Man, barreling down 6th Street, barking orders at some hapless flunky on the other end that "it's not a fucking rights issue per se, it's more of an IP issue." Bluetooth Man was ubiquitous, multiplied, even, in various incarnations. Sometimes sporting The Hipster 'Stache, usually clad in artfully faded corduroy and topped off with a jaunty felt hat. But there was no denying it - Bluetooth Man was a mid-level corporate hit man. And he was everywhere.  With this chilling realization came the inevitable shock of recognition. Interspersed between the  no-name banjo players and doo-wop harmonists, was the semiotic labyrinth of corporate logos. Apple, Whole Foods, Virgin, Heineken, Miller, eSurance, Doritos, American Airlines, Chevy. For a city that purportedly eschews Big Business for the grassroots Mom and Pops, almost every single VIP wristband looped around my wrist had its low wage paying tentacles wedged in a Chinese or Indian sweatshop. Or was currently involved in a heated labor dispute, its PR machine working overtime to blame, deflect, and deny.

That's the fucked up thing about epiphanies. A common axiom dictates that once a truth has been seen, it cannot be unseen. In Austin's case, the growing presence of large corporate sponsorships signals an inevitable paradigm shift to the mainstream. Corporations, the tastemakers for most of America, have a nasty habit  of streamlining, watering-down, turning everything original and fringe and edgy into prepackaged, bite-sized pellets, the better to use in a Dodge Durango commerical.

Those were the thoughts that percolated as I watched the throngs of fellow music lovers, their eyes half closed, taking in the sweet Southern twang of The Audreys. How long more before the gritty can-do, DIY attitude of Austin buckles under the weight of corporate interests? How much time do we have before the lobbyists show up at City Hall meetings, clamoring for a bigger, tax-incentivized piece of the pie? How do we stop this tidal wave from happening, not just in Austin, but in Everytown, America? Is this even possible?

Who the fuck knows? The idealistic side of me wants to believe that to truly Keep Austin (and Everytown) weird, all we need to do is keep buying locally, vote in the interests of small businesses, and show up at City Hall when Big Business does, looking for a fight. The pragmatic side of me wants to shrug and say eh. Enjoy it while it lasts.