I'm headed back out to the Hotel Congress this evening for what is sure to be another late night. I can't say that I'm looking forward to the times between the bands I want to see, since I'm too tired to socialize properly. But I have to go, since I intend to incorporate reflections on this year's incarnation of the festival into an essay I'm revising. For those of you who need prodding to get out of the house, the things I'm looking foreward to are A) Friends of Dean Martinez, who were awesome accompanying that silent film on Friday (8pm); B) Howe Gelb, because I interviewed him and because he's so crucial to the history of Tucson's alternative scene; and C) the triumverate of Al Foul, the Pork Torta and the Weird Lovemakers, who played the same stage last year and were all fabulous. There are movies tomorrow, too, though I'm not sure I'll have any energy left by then.