It’s been a long time since I really enjoyed pro wrestling. I was a diehard fan throughout my Hulk Hogan-obsessed youth and even more fanatical as a high schooler during the Attitude Era. But after a stint in my mid-twenties as a WWE writer – where I saw firsthand how the sausage was made – I walked away less interested and infinitely more jaded.

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2015’s SXSW Music Festival came and went as it always does: in a chaotic and somewhat sweaty mess. Austin, Texas, plays home to what is growing year after year, becoming the epicenter for what’s new and now in the always-evolving music industry. Like a hipster scavenger hunt, I was lucky enough to run around town and catch sets from Run The Jewels, Diarrhea Planet, Unlocking The Truth, Twin Shadow, Brother Ali, Future Islands, Deer Boy, and an impressive new LA pop upstart named Frankie. I felt content with my itinerary, even braving the rain on the last night to catch Ghostface perform with the former jazz students of BADBADNOTGOOD, but I knew, deep down, I was unable to see the one artist that I so badly needed to learn more about.

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Back in January, when Paramount Pictures announced the official greenlight for a Ghostbusters reboot with an all-female cast, it seemed to piss off a whole lot of idiot men. Some guys just couldn’t wrap their tiny, little brains around the idea that a movie they held dear with such childhood nostalgia could be changing (a.k.a. evolving) so drastically. When the brilliant casting choices of Kristen Wiig, Melissa McCarthy, Kate McKinnon, Cecily Strong, and Leslie Jones were announced, you’d think someone told these meninists that someone was peeling the decal of Calvin pissing on a Prius logo right of their trucks. As if the Real Ghostbusters cartoon or Bobby Brown’s cameo in Ghostbusters 2 didn’t already tarnish the comedic genius of the original movie.

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