I want to thank everyone for showing up for the 48 Hour Film Project Meet-and-Greet at Ruta Maya. We had 15 people show up. There were five team leaders. The skies raged all over the county, and I’m glad we had such a nice turn out. Also, thanks so much to Catarina Velasquez and Angel Mena of Ruta Maya for hosting our group.

We’re moving along. We now have 13 teams!

More than just working toward the 48HFP, I think we also gave a chance for the local filmmakers and some actors a chance to meet one another and network, perhaps for future projects. Personally, I met 4 new folks. Lorenzo Lopez, who is signed up as Team “Zovision.” Also, there was Ricky Moreno, I believe he plans to sign up a team of his own. And I had a chance to meet actors Stephen Brogdon and Janett Jaysek.

Brandon and Laurie, who I believe will be crewing on Andy’s team (Team “Felonius Sloth”), were extending their invitation to many of us for the red carpet premier of Brandon’s new feature, “Where’s Chloe?” (Brandon was even more hyperactive than usual — I suspect it is nothing more than a basic mental breakdown from busting his ass on his current project. Nothing to worry about, I’m sure.)

I didn’t get a chance to talk much with Andy, but it looks like he’s got a solid team. And lord knows he has plenty of equipment. Also, he seems to have close ties with some excellent actors.

Carlos Pina (who will head Team “Haunted House Studio”), showed up with his friend Adrian (who was working the room like an excited puppy).

Nikki and Chadd (who will be heading, of course, Team “PrimaDonna Productions”), came out, mostly to show support and meet new show biz folks. I say that because they know as many cast and crew people as all the teams combined. My only problem with Team “PrimaDonna” is that I can’t rope Nikki in as a MC for the night of the screening. Oh, well.

I saw a couple of people I know who were just dropping by for coffee. I guess, after the three or four years I’ve lived here, I’ve finally arrived. I’ve a fighting chance to know people is I find myself out in artsy locals. Gisha, one of the teachers from Say Si (a youth arts program), was there having coffee with a friend. And later, Natalie Goodnow, a teacher with the summer performing arts program at the Guadalupe Arts Cultural Center, dropped by with a couple of friends. She was on the other end of the leash of a black Labrador at least as large as she.

I hope we have even more people show up next Tuesday, for another meet-and-greet.

I’d begun a blog about Saturday night’s NALIP screening. But it was rancor-heavy. I screened the first ten minutes of Heartcore. And I’ll leave it at that.

Actually, the most memorable thing about the evening was when Adrian (Carlos’ 32 year-old perennial punk rocker friend from the Valley — he who is known by his alternate moniker, “Vile Bastard”) was introduced to the woman who owns the gallery in which the films were screened. She offered her hand. But instead of shaking the woman’s hand, Adrian brought it to his lips and kissed her hand. Long and lingering and wet. The mature sophisticated lady was charmed and repulsed at the same time. I damn well should have snapped a photo. Oh well. It is at least etched, indelibly, into my memory.

I’ll cram in some photos of the NALIP CAM Slam:

Here are two cool artsy works in the Blue Star parking lot — installations for CAM (Contemporary Arts Month). The weird fake tree is prettiest. But the real tree, tethered with monofilaments, is my favorite.

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Again, my hats off to George and Cat Cisneros for the espresso machine. Today I had the first home-made cappuccino I’ve had in months. And I make damn fine cappuccinos, second only to Ruby Jo Madrid of El Polvo, Texas.

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I have been through the fires of the NALIP Meet-the-Makers film screening. A frightful ordeal, which, for the attendees (whose lack of x-ray vision missed the sight of acidic gastric fluids burning through my stomach’s lining), was a rousing success. I did managed to screen a film I love, wrangle a road trip to my favorite region of the world, and collect a curator fee. However, I have mixed feelings about the whole thing.

And then there was the Josiah Youth Media Festival. That monkey’s finally off my back. I should state that (like the Meet-the-Maker series) I believe in this festival, and wanted it to be the best it could be. But I did find myself stressing out for different reasons along the way. Ultimately, it turned out pretty good. The films submitted amazed me — there are so many talented kids out there. But because Josiah overlapped with the difficulties of MTM as well as the 48 Hour gig, I found myself scrambling and trying to figure out how to prioritize my time.

Now that the first year of Josiah has ended, I’m still pissed off about the attendance. We should have had all those seats filled for all three nights. The schools in this city with film programs (and there are quite a few) should have snapped to attention — every last one of them — back in the spring when I tried to inform their instructors and their students about the festival. The level of apathy still burns. And those schools (and non-school youth programs) from whence we had submissions…. Well, many seemed disinclined to notify the kids. True it’s summer — but I’d like to think that schools and teachers are in the business to be advocates of kids. I mean, dammit, I’m lucky if, in any given year, I make over 11,000 bucks. And here I am running myself ragged, trying to contact these kids, who I don’t even know, that they have films in the Josiah festival. Clearly, I’m not doing it for the money.

And what about the film teachers who failed to show up to support their kids? I’m at an absolute loss.

I used to think that the biggest problem in public education was this whole teaching to the test. Now I know that the apathy of the teachers runs a close, cramped second place.

My desire for a full house on all three nights of the Josiah festival was not just to help justify my project-management stipend, but on a broader level, I became enamored with the idea that we were creating an arena where kids from all over the region could get together and network. Maybe they could begin working on projects on their own, independent of their schools or the arts programs where they did their work. Because, as Wikipedia has it: “San Antonio and Bexar County are served by 15 separate independent school districts.” That’s madness. But the idea of getting kids from all the districts interacting seemed laudable, and there was a point where I was really stoked.

I guess that’s a harder nut to crack than I’d thought it’d be. We’ll see what next year brings.

But the screenings were great. The kids and adults who showed up were great. And the Saturday workshops were a blast. So I think we have a solid foundation for the years to come.

More outreach is clearly needed. And, personally, I guess I should stop all this bitching, and just do what it takes to make these sorts of things work.

And now, I’m drifting into the belly of the 48 Hour Film Project.

This is my third film event I’m organizing this summer. All this sort of stuff is better handled by my friends Nikki or Deborah. But for various reasons they have fallen upon me. And I do need the money (I mean, really, the alternative would be to find a job — and, as I’ve whined before, I don’t know how to do one of those).

I thought this would be a breeze. I know scads of filmmakers (yep, I do). I really don’t need to bust my ass with too many press releases, postings, and email blasts. Just concentrate on my people.

Easy, in theory. But “my people” are just like me. They work at their own rhythm. If they’re interested in signing up for the 48 Hour Film Project, they’ll take their sweet time. Actually, this is the San Antonio way. No hurry. No rush.

But the problem is that the national honchos are getting antsy. They saw that I had only a measly 5 teams signed up. I was given fives days to turn that five teams into ten. In a panic (my stomach positively frothing as the gastric acid laid waste to the mucus membrane on the midnight side of my tummy), I began a phone campaign. I tried everyone I know who had claimed interest. Some promised to sign up by my personal deadline. Some said they had to wait until a particular date (the teams have to pay $125, so I can understand the reluctance, or the waiting on a paycheck).

And so, by late this afternoon, my number ten came in. Great! Now I can worry about other matters. Like sponsors and promotion … and, well, signing up more teams. But we seem to be in a stable stage.

But pass the word. Even though I have a verbal agreement from eight other potential team leaders, we can easily accommodate 25 teams. So, don’t hold back.

And again, tomorrow night (Tuesday), we will be having a Meet-and-Greet at Ruta Maya coffee house, downtown San Antonio. 6 – 9 pm.

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I stopped by Deborah’s space over at Blue Star. She’s moved her computer back to her studio. I think this is an excellent idea. It means she’s only blocks away from me. And I can pop in on my dear friend whenever I see her car in the parking-lot. And I did just that today. It was like old times. She showed me some of the images she’s working on for her next show. Color photos which she plans to print on canvas in black and white and then hand paint them.

The pieces are great. And I look forward to the show.

But basically we spent a couple of hours bitching to one another about what things are pissing us off; and then gushing about those things going right in our lives.

Two hours of Deborah, and I feel almost sane.

I went home and oiled the chain on my bike and headed out for an hour ride down the Mission Trail.

We have sunshine again here in San Antonio.

Maybe the summer will come to me.

I remember when the sun shone…I think. It's orange and round, yeah?

My summer has been stolen from me. The culprit? Global warming? I donno. But I'm getting really pissed off. This endless rain is beating me down. I can't take much more of this.

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I can't recall how I found my way to Dennis Cooper's blog. Probably through Boing Boing. But for some reason I discovered it. He's a fanatical blogger. I subscribed to his feed. Dennis Cooper is one of the most interesting working American novelists who, I admit with ample chagrin, I had not read. He's written a five novel series, collectively known as the George Miles cycle. I know I have at least two of them in my library stored and boxed up. I need to dip into his (non-online) work. He has all the post-punk sexual-transgressive mojo to fit into my criteria of an author worth exploring.

Anyway, I responded to one of his blog postings where he embedded a YouTube performance by one of those great post-punk Aussie garage bands — either the Scientists or Beasts of Bourbon. And he not only noticed my comment, but he got onto my blog — my website! He lifted three photos of mine (sour punch straws on a plate; the chandelier at the Aztec Theater; and the lovely Amanda Silva surrounded by DVDs. Dennis also placed links to “The short movies of Erik Bosse,” “The production blog of Erik Bosse,” and “The video blog of Erik Bosse.”

It's all here.

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Tomorrow NALIP (the National Association of Latino Independent Producers) will be running their CAM (Contemporary Arts Month) video slam. It will be in the Blue Star Arts complex. Look for the Joan Gronas Gallery. Saturday, July 21, 7 pm.

The maximum length is ten minutes per work. And so, even though me and Russ haven't finished the edit on Heartcore, we'll have a version of the first ten minutes ready for NALIP. I should point out that I sent an email to new NALIP prez Jewels Rio late this night. It's possible that I missed some sort of deadline. But I'll be there nonetheless. And so should you. If you are reading this and are in San Antonio, come on down to the slam. It's like a three or five buck donation. But there is always cool stuff screened at these events. Cool stuff such as the first 10 minutes of Heartcore. 'Cause, if you haven't got the box of CLUE in the mail yet, smoldering actress Laura Evans is reason enough to see any film. Yeah, we got her. We also got Martha Prentiss. And she's pretty cute, too.

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I'm blithely talking about this video slam like it's really going to happen. Maybe I'm fooling myself. Tomorrow, President Bush is handing over presidential authority to Cheney because he's going to get a colonoscopy. Yeah, this is very wise. If he were to die on the table without assigning authority to– What? A fucking colonoscopy? They're going to snake-out the First Man's ass with a lipstick camera on the end of a stiff cable. That's it. Hell, my last colonoscopy, I was treated to a Carta Blanca and a bucket of popcorn. And I enjoyed both while watching the action on a high definition monitor as the little moistened camera inched its way towards my duodenum.

Did I officially sign over my authority to anyone? Hell no. I'd be listening to shit for the rest of my life.

What next? Presidential pedicures necessitating a press release explaining that the commander in chief needs to transfer power to his second banana as he gets his cuticles beautified?

But I digress.

My neighbor Ross might have bitten off more than he bargained for. He’s the gent who, when I found myself in line with him at the HEB, asked what was up with me always making movies. I replied with some vague bromide about artistic expression or some such nonsense. I queried if he’d ever be so disposed to let me or someone I could vouch for shot in his yard or in his house, to which he responded, sans pregnant pause, “Fuck yeah!” Well, now a featured film production has descended on his home. And I have a front row seat of the affair, as I can see it all through my kitchen window. And it looks like he’s dealing with it all quite well.

Carlos stopped by this afternoon to pick up a DVD. I stepped out onto the porch, and we looked at the activity across the street. I ran through the names of people he knew who were involved on this project, “The Dream Healer,” written and directed by Dora Pena. Several people we had worked with together were in the movie. (Hell, Carlos himself had auditioned for a role, and had been, inexplicably, turned down.) I told him that I had seen Gabi Walker earlier in the day when I was returning from some errands. Gabi is one of the greatest actors in this city. And she’s just 12 or 13 or something. I’m awful judging how old children are. She and Carlos shared a scene in a film I directed called “Operation Hitman: Sacrificial Pets.” I adore the girl, and I’m afraid that by the time I get ready for my next major project, she’ll be out of my price-range. This Dora Pena film, in which little Gabi stars, has all the promise to succeed.

Carlos pulled out his new camcorder and showed my scenes from his recent project, a trilogy of shorts (celebrating certain Valley (that’s the “Rio Grande Valley”) sensibilities), entitled, “Chorts.” The scene I watched — as yet unedited — was shot in front of Pete’s house. Carlos was directing, and he was also acting. The scene also featured Kareem, who always gives a solid performance. Also, I got to see Matthew Beales. Weeks back, I’d suggested that Carlos contact him. Ever since Matthew played a waiter (with nary a speaking line) in my short film, “I Do Adore Cream Corn,” I knew I wanted to work with him again. (Matthew is another one of these extraordinarily talented locals who I would never have encountered were it not for Nikki Young, of PrimaDonna Productions fame.) The footage looks quite amusing. In fact, I was on the phone today with Pete. He was running camera for much of the shoot and he said it was all hilarious. Especially Carlos’ prat fall.

After looking at the video, me and Carlos headed across the street to Ross’ house to check out the activity. Dora (or her people) had managed to wrangled a guy with two beautiful refurbished classic cars. One was more in the low-rider tradition. The other was more sedate in its appearance.

Jesse Borrego (a San Antonio actor who has had tremendous success in Hollywood, yet spends considerable time back here in his home town) had just arrived — he waved to the crew, and went inside to talk with Dora. His character lives in Ross’ house. And as me and Carlos were admiring the cars, a young man walked by us.

Carlos cleared his throat.

“What? I’m not good enough for you now?”

The guy froze. He slowly turned around.

It was Matthew Beales. He had arrived to work as a lowly production assistant. He seemed puzzled to see Carlos on set.

“Erik lives across the street,” Carlos explained. “I was visiting him.”

I’m not sure if Matthew remembered me. I offered my hand and told him how great he had been as a waiter in my film. And I said he had done very well in Carlos’ piece. Who could have thought such a handsome, polite, well-groomed young man could make such a great white trash petty criminal. “Yeah, the acting was good,” I reiterated. “But you can’t argue with the power a gimmie cap and three-day stubble can bring to a role.”

“Don’t forget the wife-beater I was wearing,” Matthew said with a grin.

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I stopped by Urban-15 to tie up the remaining loose ends of the Josiah Fest. Also, I had a check coming my way.

It’s sad to know I will be drifting away from that group of wonderful people. True, I’ll be back with them in September to help promote the Manhattan Film Festival (though it’s not a gig with a budget allocated for me, but I’ll gladly volunteer however they might need me). Still, it’s kind of sad, closing down that project. And, you know, it’s funny that I left my video monitor and Beringer soundboard behind. A subconscious action which forces me to return.

When I was over there this afternoon, George, Cat, Amanda, Antonio, Rene, Herman, and Hector broke for lunch. We stood around the island counter in the middle of the huge industrial kitchen making and eating sandwiches. George and Cat asked for a round of applause for all the hard work I’d done. Rene handed me an envelope with the second half of my payment for managing the festival. And then George handed me a pound of Archer Farms organic fair trade espresso whole bean coffee. “Because we know how much you like coffee.” And Cat opened a cupboard and removed a large box. “And something to make it in.” It was an espresso machine. I guess they’d heard me grousing about how both my two espresso machines had fairly recently crapped out on me.

It was a very sweet thing to do. Who couldn’t love these people?

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There’s something very wonderful about the world of non-profit arts organizations in this city. It’s really quite easy to offer assistance and find yourself doing work with them. Sometimes this work pays. More often than not, it doesn’t. But if I could just be able to work the occasional gig with a place like Urban-15, which in this case happened to have a budget for me, and allow that stipend to give me the freedom to work here or there for this group or that group pro bono, I think I could get into this lifestyle. The problem is the absolute lack of financial security. I know I’m not enjoying this rambling existence anyway near as much as I should.

I stopped by Gemini Ink today. They are the pre-eminent literary non-profit group in town. A really well-organized powerhouse in the San Antonio cultural community. And because I said “yes” when Jim Dawes, the chap who runs the free monthly writers’ workshops, asked if I would be interested in running the workshop in July because he was off to New Mexico for vacation, I am now in possession of the key to the Gemini Ink facilities. I’m not a member (because I’m too poor), but, well, they’re just nice, trusting people.

And then there’s Bihl Haus Arts. Because I’m chummy with Deborah and because I try to make it to the Bihl Haus shows as often as I can, I’m now on some sort of committee. The Video and On-Line Media Committee … or something like that.

Later in the year, when NALIP has their Adelante Film Forum, I’ll be there — certainly as a participant — but also as a volunteer photographer. And at the same time I’ll be doing whatever Dar needs me to do as a volunteer for her first annual SAL film festival.

I’ve said it before, I’ll said it again: those who decry the paucity of art in San Antonio are just fucking nuts! It’s everywhere. And I’m quite embarrassed that because I’ve been so focused on running the Josiah Youth Media Festival and trying to round up teams for the 48 Hour Film Project, I have missed out on scads of CAM events. For those in need of a clue, CAM is Contemporary Arts Month. In July, San Antonio revels in contemporary art. The pretentious, the unexpected, the challenging, the brilliant, and the refreshingly naive god-awful crap — it’s all trotted out for the city to see in July. The month is not yet over. I need to get out and about and check some of it out. So, San Antonians, stop bitching. If you’re not swimming in art, your drowning in it. And if you find yourself doing neither, I’ll just assume you live under a rock … most likely on the northside. So, take a chance, squirm on out into the sunlight and check it out.

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I just went over to see what’s going on with “The Dream Healer.” They’re shooting some bright-lit night-time exteriors. Jesse, in character (and in wife-beater), is roaming around with a six-pack of Shiner Bock which has been tricked out to be “Alamo Beer” (Dora can expect a terse email from the lawyers representing “King of the Hill” and/or Mike Judge).

But it looks like they’re doing just fine.

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On a 48 Hour note, if you guys are thinking about signing on as a team, do it right NOW! We need to know if we’re going to have to use one theater or two theaters August 14th at the Alamo Drafthouse. I’m serious here. Sign up this very second!

I’ll get you some prizes, some swag, something … perhaps a gift certificate to a lingerie emporium or a sushi joint. Just, please, get it moving, folks!

Thanks!

Cruise to:

www.48hourfilm.com/sanantonio

And if you are concerned about augmenting your team or roping in actors, not to worry. Every Tuesday until the kick-off (Aug. 10th) we’ll be having mixers at Ruta Maya Riverwalk Coffee House, at 107 East Martin, downtown San Antonio. Join us 6 – 9 pm!

It’ll be fun.

It seems my neighborhood is becoming a movie-making mecca, even when I’m not around. Sunday, while I was on a shoot at Canyon Lake, AJ Garces was shooting a scene from a short film across the street from my place at Jerry’s house. And, this afternoon, as I returned from a few errands, I heard my name called out from a slow-moving SUV. It was Manuel Pena. He said he and Dora were shooting in Ross’ house, next door to Jerry. I walked over and chatted some with Manuel, Robb Garcia, and Ross. Dora stuck her head out long enough to greet me with a smile. I politely made my goodbyes. There’s rarely time for chit-chat during production. I was glad to discover that Dora resolved her location issues.

After some sunny days which almost resembled summer weather (though not hot enough and, still, humid as hell), it’s back to the damn monsoons. I hate this weather. It pissed down from mid-morning to late afternoon. And I really need to do some laundry. I don’t have a dryer, so I need sunshine to dry my togs on the line. Maybe tomorrow?

I decided to check the website of the local NALIP chapter to see when their next video slam will be. I assumed it would by the last weekend of July. Nope. It’s this coming Saturday. I want to get Heartcore edited in time for the screening. Me and Russ are only about a quarter of the way through. I think that’s what we’ll be doing tomorrow.

Last week as I was tying up loose ends for the Josiah Fest, I wandered up to the Urban-15 performance room. George was sitting with Sandra Cisneros. (Sandra Cisneros is no relation to the San Antonio Cisneros — she moved here from Chicago some years back.) For some reason, when I drove into the parking lot just minutes earlier, I suspected that the new black SUV hybrid I parked next to might be hers. I really had no reason to think this. Her usual vehicle is a large black SUV, somewhat similar (I don’t know one brand of car from another, nor do I particularly care). But my suspicions were correct.

George introduced me to Sandra — a woman who, for the last three and a half years I’ve been in this neighborhood, has lived less then 100 yards from me. She was very gracious and sweet. I tried not to make a fool of myself. Around 1990 a Random House promotional booklet found it’s way into my hands. It had chapter excerpts from books slated for the publisher’s 1991 releases. The only thing I recall from that collection was Sandra Cisneros. Her “House on Mango Street” was being reprinted by Random House. I bought it when it came out. I rarely do that with books (having grown up in a second-hand bookstore, I usually wait for the book to be resold). The pre-release snippet had turned me into a convert to the Cisneros style. I let everyone who’d listen to me know how important a writer she was. And when I finally got around to reading the entirety of the slim book, I was only further convinced of her genius. As the years passed, I’d pick up her new books — prose or poetry. I have had the good fortune to have seen her read three times. And when I found myself living in San Antonio just half a block from her house, I felt pretty lucky — you know, just to be in the proximity. I mean, shit, a recipient of the McArthur “Genius” Award lived on my block! How cool is that?

She’s still a beautiful woman — no doubt about that — but a decade and a half back, when she was so easy to find on the lit fest circuit, she had this smoldering sex-appeal that could break a man’s heart at a hundred paces. Now you have to look out the corner of your eye to see that in her. But it’s still there.

George explained to Sandra that I lived on her block. She furrowed her brows.

“I’m across the street from the big house that Carlos and Hope moved into,” I said, assuming that she knew the couple, seeing as they are part of the San Antonio arts community.

She nodded and asked if they had spoken about the ghost in their new house.

I said they hadn’t. Sandra cautioned me against mentioning that the house was haunted. “Well, certainly not around their children.”

George then mentioned that the Urban-15 building was haunted.

And then I listened to another typical San Antonio ghost discussion. Fuck me Mrs. Marple, but this is one haunted city.

“But they’re nice ghost, right?” Sandra asked.

George shook his head and explained that of the original four ghosts, two of the meanest ones had to be exorcised. The remaining two were rather benign.

Sandra seemed to understand the ghost issues. Anyway, I said my goodbyes, and allowed George to give her a tour of the facilities.

I’ve heard ghost stories before at Urban-15. Last year Catherine had told me about the ghost up in the second floor of the dormitory. I expressed mild curiosity (okay — here’s the deal — I don’t believe in ghosts … but I’m a skeptic, even of my own skepticism). Catherine was doing something at the time, and, as an aside, she suggested I go up and see for myself. “The first three rooms on the left at the top of the stairs. That’s a likely place.” And she went back to her computer working on a spreadsheet or something. I climbed the stairs and hung out in the suggested rooms. Nothing.

And so, yesterday, I found myself back at Urban-15 to close out the Josiah Festival. Thank-you letters, filing all the paperwork, and I had to send out the award to the girl from Minnesota who won best experimental film.

Catherine and George were scrambling to make a deadline for an on-line grant, so I didn’t want to be too much of a pest. I asked Catherine if they had any boxes around, as I needed something in which to send the gift bag to LaShae Brooks in Minnesota.

“You’ll have to look around,” she said over her shoulder. “There’s plenty of boxes upstairs in ghost country.”

Ah. Ghost Country. Now the second floor of the old dormitory wing had a name. I’m learning.

Up in Ghost Country I took my time, poking around, keeping my back turned for minutes on end just like Eddie ‘Rochester’ Anderson would do before the spirit-generated histrionics ensued. But, alas, the Ghost Country had nothing to offer me. Maybe someday I’ll talk George and Cat into letting me spend a couple of nights up there armed with camcorder and my most delicate microphone.

Oh, and to move quickly from spooky to nauseous, here’s a picture I took the other day while riding my bike near the low-water crossing at Mission Espada.

Unpleasant? You bet. But you should always carry a camera, you never know what you might encounter. It might not be no ghost, but I’m pushing into the rumor-mill that it’s the skeleton of the rare Northern Chupacabra. Yep.

It’s Monday, now, and I’m on the other side of the Josiah Youth Media Festival. All of last week I was busy running errands, making phone calls, moving chairs up from the basement to the performance area, and generally busting ass. I guess it all caught up to me Sunday morning when I woke up early for the final day of shooting on Christy Walsh’s “Melancholy.” My lower back was all twisted and throbbing. I found myself whining like Dr. Zachary Smith, whose job it was to bedevil the “Space-Family Robinson” in 1960s version of the future. And, dammit, I’m still stove up, and shuffling around like Mickey Rourke in “Barfly.”

The festival was a success. Although, audiences were not what I’d hoped for. One of the problems (which we’ll have to address for next year’s festival) is that some of the local high-school teachers provided us with their students’ submissions. This posed little to no problems for many of the schools. However, a couple of the schools didn’t pass on to us the contact info for their students. For security reasons, no doubt. But when these teachers were contacted with a list of those students whose work we’d be screening, they seemed disinclined to notify the students. I’m convinced that at least a dozen local young filmmakers had their works screened to a paying audience and they STILL don’t know about it. This is very sad. Not only have the kids lost out, but Urban-15 had much fewer audience members than were anticipated.

But on to the positive stuff.

The new screen — a huge motorized contraption — gave a large picture. The 90-something seats all had a nice view of the screen. The sound system handled most all the works admirably … though some had audio issues that even the best speakers couldn’t salvage. (I wasn’t completely happy with the audio last year when Urban-15 screened the Manhattan Film Festival. There seemed to be some problems in the mid-levels. But now, the sound has a wonderful fullness.) George Cisneros transformed the sanctuary space of an old church into a screening room. Herman Lira worked the video switchers for three nights of smooth viewing. He had to deal with DVDs with different menus, various pre-role formats (if any), as well as the audio differences — he worked both the video switching as well as the soundboard.

Saturday we also had our Media Now student workshops.

The morning began with Victor Payan. Victor is an instructor for San Anto, a youth cultural center over on the westside. He is involved with San Anto TV, a sort of video oral history project. He showed up with two of his students, Sterling Abrigo and Julian Moreno. They were key crew members on the wonderful short documentary, “Reverend Perkins: Underground Artist.” The kids were fairly shy, but both were thoughtful and in possession a a playful sense of humor. They’re well on their way to new projects. Victor Payan took control of the first hour of the workshop (allowing me to do other things) — and, from what I had an opportunity to see, the guy’s a hell of a teacher.

Next we had Janet Vasquez from the San Antonio Film Commission. I wanted her to talk to the kids about locations. I’d noticed, during the judging process, that some of the pieces I wanted to see get higher marks, suffered because they were shot in the ugly classrooms around them (and, correct me if I’m wrong: all classrooms in this city are ugly), or, perhaps, the aesthetically bankrupt apartments of an older sibling. I took the stage with Janet, to facilitate her hour. But she could have done it well enough without my occasionally gabby asides.

We broke for lunch. George had bought a bunch of tacos from Farolitos across the street. And he and Catherine laid out a great spread, along with loads of fruit and a huge container of aguas frescas. Everyone loaded up their plates and took a seat to watch the 1929 Soviet masterpiece, “The Man with a Camera,” by Dziga Vertov. The DVD we watched was recently scored by the Alloy Orchestra. The Urban-15 sound system was put to effective use. The version we watched was 68 minutes. And even though I had to step out to answer my phone to keep tabs with workshop folks, I was able to see about 3/4 of the film. It’s an amazing work of avant-garde movie-making. And with great chagrin I have to admit that not only had I never before seen the film, I hadn’t even heard of it. I need to own this. It’s extraordinary.

After lunch, Lisa McWilliams, of the Mobile Film School, walked to the front. She began by engaging the kids in a discussion of the film we had just watched. It’s always a joy for me to watch brilliant teachers do their thing. Lisa, like Victor, had the kids thinking and talking. (I wonder if I would be so agog by teachers like Victor and Lisa had I not suffered through some of the worst teachers that the Dallas ISD had to offer back in the 1970s.) As Lisa segued from “The Man with a Camera” to her work with the Mobile Film School, I found myself out of the room, and on the phone. I had several Josiah-related calls going on back-to-back-to-back. This was really a shame. I’m very interested in the work that the Mobile Film School is doing. They are a new educational outreach program, headquartered in Austin. They provide their services to under-served schools. And eventually, they want to have all their equipment and editing suites housed in mobile vans. The film that won the Josiah Youth Media Fest’s best documentary, “In a Place Like This,” was their very first project. It’s a superb work by filmmakers of any age.

Next we had Nikki Young (of PrimaDonna Productions) and Michael Druck (who works for Calliope Talent). They tag-teamed their way through a very involved workshop on casting. George and Catherine were impressed in their professionalism, and that they never talked down to the kids. And, hey, they’re both excellent actors, so they were very watchable, entertaining, and effective. As Catherine said: “They’re very good together.” You bet. If anyone wants to do a San Antonio version of American Idol (Alamo City Aspirants, I’ll call it), it’s obvious that we only need two judges — Nikki and Druck.

Then we had Sergio and Manny from The Darkness. They are the past-masters of Central Texas special effects make-up. Do you need 17 zombies? A man whose head explodes? Perhaps a two-headed basset hound? The Darkness, my friend. The Darkness. As the guys began unpacking their stuff, I asked who in the audience might enjoy being transformed into, let’s say, a zombie? I scanned a predictable stonewall of shy teens. As I’d hoped. I turned on Raul Flores. He’s a student in George Ozuna’s film program over at Harlandale. He is also a perennial volunteer at Urban-15. And, let us not forget his short film, “Attack of the Killer Burgers 3” that screened at the Josiah Fest on Friday night. Before he could think it through, we had the lad up in the chair. As Sergio gave us a talk about what he and his team does, Manny began Raul’s transformation. We also watched a short video (Sam Lerma’s promo piece for SAL — the San Antonio Local Film Festival — which featured grotty street people made-up by The Darkness), as well as a slide show of a wide range of what The Darkness does.

And then we brought out Bryan Ortiz. He’s just finished principal photography on his first feature film, what I’m calling he “zombie opus.” It’s entitled “Doctor S Battles the Sex Crazed Reefer Zombies.” When I speak with him he seems rather shy and reserved. I was wondering if I should ask Michael or Nikki if they’d like to interview him. I didn’t get around to doing that. But that was fine. If you took two dozen rabid pitbulls and put them through Green Beret training … and then if you were to boil down that frothing, intense madness into a 22-year-old five foot four film-fanatical young man, you’d be getting close to Bryan Ortiz. Slap on a pair of horn-rimmed glasses and a skinny tie, and, man, you’re almost there. He fired up the kids with his Tarantino / Rodriguez “just get a camera and make your movie” screed. I wish we had a video camera on him. The guy needs a grant to visit every middle-school and high-school in this county.

And all the while, Raul was getting zombied-up.

It was a wonderful series of workshops. And when I heard that Raul Flores had gone to Taco Haven (a somewhat up-market taqueria in this neighborhood) with his parents … while still in zombie make-up, well, let’s just say I think I’ve found a new hero. Way to go, Raul!

Saturday night ended with the grand prize (a $500 line of credit at B&H photo and video) awarded to the students from the Manor ISD who wrote, shot, and edited “In a Place Like This.” And, yep, it really is that good. One of the directors and the camera man were their to accept. Lisa McWilliams, their teacher, was there grinning. She leaned in to be the first person to give congratulatory hugs to the two kids.

The other three winners received $200 apiece from B&H.

LaShae Brooks from Minnesota won best experimental film with her “The Spirit Within Us.”

The seven students from the advanced digital video class at St. Mary’s Hall won best animation film with their “The Three Billy Goats Gruff.”

And the best narrative film was won by Remington Dewan for his “First Day at the Firm.” This amazing comedy was written, directed, shot, and edited by a precocious 14-year-old kid from Austin. He’s well on his way to a successful career.

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And then Sunday.

I met Russ, Christy, and Kristen out at Comal Park, on the shores of Canyon Lake.

It was the first time I had seen the costumes and the wig for the lighter side of “Melancholy.” Kristen plays the role of Joy, so it had better be lighter.

The day was hot and humid, but it was beautiful with puffy clouds and just enough of a breeze to flap the red drapery used as a prop. Kristen looked angelic in her white bob wig. And Christy, as always, was beautiful and graceful. The costumes (which I made some lame joke as looking like we were filming Heaven’s Gate conscripts frolicking on the shoreline) actually came out powerfully in photos and in the video camera monitor. Christy and Kristen were wonderful together. I know they were suffering terribly under the heat. But even by the final shot, they moved smoothly and projected expressions of joyous play.

When we got around to the bit where Christy (as Eve) emerges from the water, I couldn’t help but think of Baptism. Especially that sublime scene in “Oh, Brother….” I’m sure the jackasses zooming about on their jet-skies thought we were some religious freaks purifying sacrificial babes in time for the next full moon. By the final take, poor Christy had choked on a good amount of lake water. But it’s over.

Just needs to be edited….

I’ve been on a constant run these last few days. The Josiah Youth Media Festival begins tomorrow evening. We’ve been dropping, on occasion, the “youth” part in some of the promotional material. The idea of a student film festival puts some people off. This is sad. We’ve got some damn fine short videos to screen. This isn’t three evenings of works just to be viewed by kids. I’ve personally found many of the pieces inspiring. Makes me wanna … oh, I don’t know — maybe stop promoting film events and get back to making the stuff. Yeah, that’s it.

This afternoon George Cisneros was over at Radio Shack getting some sort of video adaptor plug to use on one of his video switchers (so we can cue up each DVD like a DJ with two turntables, for a flowing, seamless show). When he mentioned the Josiah Festival to the man waiting on him, the guy said he’d heard of the event. But when George asked if he would be attending, the shackman said he wasn’t all that keen on religious films. George had to explain that the festival had nothing to do with religion — it’s just named after a young man whose very distinctive name happened to make more than a few appearances in the Old Testament.

So, to clear up confusion: The Josiah Youth Media Festival is not specifically religious. That’s not to say it’s irreligious. But wait a minute — now that I think about it, there is no nudity, foul language, drug references, or adult situations (though I’ll admit to not really knowing what that means). We may well have a G rated event. Hmmm…. How did that happen? What’s wrong with the kids today? But, wait! Now that I think about it, there’s a piece that implies suicide. And another one where rape plays an important (off-camera) part. Let’s call this PG-13.

Yeah, baby, yeah. It’s practically filthy!

But I digress.

We had maybe 12 volunteers show up today to help prepare the place. Urban-15 is a rambling, labyrinthine space. It used to be a church, with an adjacent building that housed dormitories and a kitchen. At some point the two buildings became connected. It has about 45 rooms, spread out over three semi-attached buildings.

We needed to make about ten of those rooms presentable to the public. We still have loads of work to do tomorrow (anyone want to volunteer in the morning or early afternoon, call me at 210.482.0273).

Two filmmakers from the San Antonio Film School (the magnet school at Harlandale High School) were there to help out. Raul Flores and Frank Romo. Both have works which will screen.

Around noon Pete came by and helped Hector (recently returned from some sort of Native American vision-quest retreat in Arizona) — they swept and mopped the sanctuary, where we will be having the screenings. And the place looks great!

And around three in the afternoon, I found myself wondering what to do with about half a ton of scaffolding sitting on the second story landing. The high-school volunteers were certainly enthusiastic, but, well, they lacked that brute strength needed. Pete had already headed out. So I thought of who else I knew strapping enough to help out on this task. Russ was a possibility, but I think I might have rubbed him the wrong way earlier in the day when, over the phone, I muttered some dismissive opinions about an idea he had concerning intellectual property — opinions that weren’t mine to make. (Russ, if you do it, man, get the cash up front … at least enough for that new light kit you want). But, of course! Carlos. His daughter is visiting the grandparents down in the Valley this week. He’s usually flexible with his time. And he’s strong, competent, and dependable. I pulled out my cell phone. When Carlos answered, he explained that he was in a Pic-N-Pull on the southside. For those gentle souls reading this blog, a Pic-N-Pull (and, yes, there are variant spellings) is basically a car junk yard. You pick the part you need, and you pull it out. Sometimes the employees do it for you, sometimes you have to do it yourself.

I thought Carlos was getting the starter he need for his Camaro. But he explained that he’d already replaced the starter. Nope. He was there just for the hell of it.

“It’s just something I do to unwind,” he explained.

I understood.

But could be help out some, I asked. He said he could.

An hour later he showed up at Urban-15. He and Hector made short work of the scaffolding.

Herman and George were working hard in the sanctuary trying to get all the kinks worked out of the video switcher. The tech demands are a bit dicey. The sanctuary isn’t wheelchair accessible. So we need to send video and audio signals over to a room in the dormitory wing. And maybe we’ll also provide a third line down to the basement for a third screening room. The signal-splitting is one challenge. The video switching between two different DVD players is another challenge. But we should be able to rise above this. George and Herman created the Somos video mural for the Alameda Museo by adapting a cutting-edge innovative software to run in a hardware environment which the software developers had never considered. And the video mural works just dandy. I know these fellows will get the equipment to do what is needed.

I’m exhausted. It’s midnight. I have to get up tomorrow and make this event happen. I’m going to sleep now.

And, really, everyone, come see the films. You’ll be glad you did.

If this monsoon season doesn't pack up and head out, I'm afraid I will no longer be responsible for my actions. I'm sick of rarely seeing the sun. And I can't stand that I'm constantly dripping with sweat. In the last month the rains have forced me to cancel more plans more than I can count. And on top of all this hot, humid bullshit, the breaker that controls the outlet beneath my single window AC unit is fried. It tripped last night while I was asleep. And I can't get it to click back. I guess I'll have to run a fat, grounded extension cord from another room.

I need to get to the desert before I began to run amuck.

On a positive note, the Josiah judges have made their decisions. We've actually decided to increase the number of prizes. The original idea was to have a prize in each genera: Narrative, Documentary, and Experimental. But we got several animation pieces. In fact, we received an extraordinary animation piece. So, we have four prize-winners. Best narrative, doc, experimental, and animation. Each wins a $200 line a credit at B&H Photo & Video. One of these four will be bumped up to a “best of show” prize, which will actually be $500. So, the breakdown: One $500 prize, three $200 prizes. Once we notify all the winners, I'll list them here. But the grand-prize winner won't be announced until the final night, Saturday, July 14.

The judges met again tonight. They looked at the tabulations, and the judges all agreed with the highest scoring works in each category. But the judging got a bit dicey when it came to the grand prize — that $500 best of show. Each of the four winners had its champions. Each of the four winners had its strengths. We couldn't rely on the raw scores from the previous bout of judging. Some of the scoring points didn't carry the same weight within each category. Such as acting. It's not such an important criteria for documentary of animation. So, what we did was we screened all the four winners and then assigned an over-all score to each. These were tabulated. All the judges were prepared to use another method if this one didn't result in a winner that wasn't unanimously agreed upon. And the judges were pretty impassioned about their favorites. But after that fresh re-screening, and the new scoring, all the judges agreed without dissent that the highest scoring piece was the one.

I couldn't be happier with the four winners. And the piece that rose above them all — it's a damn fine piece of work.

And so, I'll say this again to the readers of this blog. The Josiah fest may indeed be a film festival featuring only work by artists 21 years or younger, but the quality of the pieces are quite extraordinary. The stuff you've seen at Short Ends or IFMASA screenings — yeah, I feel for you. Most all of that stuff leans towards torturous crap (including a few pieces I've produced, I'm sure). But, I guess what I'm trying to say is that you don't have to be a kid to appreciate these pieces. Some of them are shockingly sophisticated. A few are admittedly are mediocre. None are crap. We filtered those out.

In an interview with the press, George Cisneros (co-honcho at Urban-15, along with wife Catherine Cisneros) made an important statement. In essence, he said that the works which will screen at this first annual Josiah Media Festival are a wake-up call for San Antonio. Of the 95 works submitted, probably 80% are from Bexar County. And a huge percent of these local works submitted demonstrate a great deal of skill and talent. So where, George muses, are they to go? Many can't afford to attend film school out of state or even out of town. What do we offer this kids in San Antonio? None of the colleges or universities are prepared to deal with the kids from NESA, Say Si, Edgewood, Harlandale, San Anto, St, Mary's Hall, etc. Many of the kids from these high-school or after-school programs will find themselves in a college program that would be a step back for these kids.

The students of George, Konise, Gisha, Adam, et al, have no college or university program in this city that could challenge them. This is a huge problem. Unless these students get full scholarships to colleges out of town, they have little to look forward to in San Antonio.

It’s pushing midnight on the 4th of July. I have nothing patriotic to say. This is one of those holidays that just screws up my plans. Yesterday I had several things I needed to do — pay some over-due bills, contact some folks about the film events I’m planning, yeah, stuff like that. And then someone reminded me that Wednesday was the 4th. The fireworks are nice. Other than that, I don’t get it. Nationalism (like religion) is a pestilence that seems to do little more than spread misery. And when’s the last time an American, with both hemispheres intact of his or her brain, felt proud of this country? But the fireworks are nice.

I guess I’m pissier than usual because I’m so far behind in all of my projects.

I decided to take a gander at the short film me and Russ shot months ago for Short Ends. And then I realized why I’d pulled away from it. My editing software was having issues with the fact that we shot it in 24pa, and in that dreaded “squeeze mode.” And then there is the mDV deck Russ loaned me. It’s great for capturing (which helped, because my camcorder has been ailing). But I can’t get it to send out-going video and audio signals. I’ve grown used to editing with audio fed into my stereo, and video plugged into my JVC monitor. But it was time — past time — to get on the stick. I stripped my tiny office down, trashing all the clutter, disconnecting all my computer peripherals, and then I put it all back together. I tried returning to my camcorder as a deck — so I could use my monitor and my stereo to enhance the editing process. And then I realized something I had suppressed from my memory. The AV input/output of my GL2 apparently has a minor short. The picture jitters and often goes to black.

The problem with being poor and working freelance is that you never make the sort of money that will allow you to replace the machines you’re wearing out doing the work that puts food on the table and keeps the landlady at bay … and little else. All those cheapo or pro bono video gigs I worked with the hope that someday, someday … maybe I’d get a serious day rate. Start repairing old equipment or buying new equipment. And now, I’m fucked. I can’t carp about how I’ve been taken advantage of, I made a decision on every one of these projects. And I can’t say I didn’t have fun.

Ah, hell, I’d go get a regular job, but I don’t know what they are or how to do ’em.

If this 48 Hour Film Project plays out the way it should, I should have all my event coordinating gigs out of the way. And what then? My biannual car insurance will no doubt devastate what little savings these jobs might generate.

This is a quandary I could have taken in stride in my 20s or 30s. But I can’t pretend to be a kid any more. In the words of my good friend Enrique Madrid, when the enormity of life’s problems become apparent: “What a mess.”

Okay, so he’s holding a kitten. And maybe that mitigates 90% of life’s bullshit. Maybe I need to find a way to move back to Redford …

… where life moves a bit slower, and so many problems can be resolved with cuddly kittens.

And, dammit, I can’t feel so low, because I’m listening online to KEXP out of Seattle, and they’re playing the song “USA” by The Beat (and not that English Beat — I’m talking the US Beat ( Paul Collins, in his heyday, rocked the power pop ass like nobody else).

And, yeah yeah I know, maybe I also need to recognize that I have been able to cruise through this summer without working a traditional job because I HAVE seen a return on my investment of working this city and making myself known to those in the film and video industries. Alright, my whining does seem a bit lame. I’ll shut up for awhile.

I hope folks enjoyed their fireworks, barbecue, booze, day at the dog track, and whatever else we celebrate on this day.

I stopped at Alston’s place this morning. She’s been working on a painting that I can use as a logo, poster, and general image for promotion of the up-coming 48 Hour Film Project. I love the iconic film projector — it is, I believe, a 1940s era Bell & Howell 16mm.

The “Coming this August” bit is something I did with a basic graphic program. The rest is on the canvas. Alston’s painting has developed in some wonderful directions in the few short years I’ve known her. She’s been really busy lately, and her little studio room has some very striking canvases in various stages of completion. I can’t wait for her next show.

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Yesterday I was anticipating our final day of shooting on Christy’s Melancholy dance film. Everyone’s schedule seemed to fit together. And around 2:30, Kristen (the dancer who will be portraying Joy) stopped by to pick me up. We car-pooled to Canyon Lake. The sky seemed fairly friendly. But the further north we moved, the darker things got. As we passed the Snake Farm on I-35 we began to get some rain. Throughout the rest of the drive, it was off and on. I decided to remain optimistic. These sorts of weather patterns are so often on the march, and as such, subject to change.

But by the time we reached Comal Park on the shores of Canyon Lake, it was hard to remain optimistic. When everyone had arrived, we began setting up equipment. And just when it was all set for our wide cover shot, we could no longer pretend that the mist lightly falling had not turned to rain. We gathered up all our equipment, props, and wardrobe, and headed back to the cars.

As we waited, Christy broke out the snacks, and Kristen and Martin headed out to the nearby Dairy Queen. We took our basecamp to a covered picnic table. And when Kristen and Martin returned, they were lugging a couple of beverage carry-cases filled with Blizzards. As I reached for mine, I wondered aloud just what a Blizzard was. Martin gasped, flabbergasted that I could be so ignorant. “It’s simply heaven, that’s what it is!” And as he removed the lid from his cup, he sighed, and whispered to himself: “Simply heaven.” It wasn’t too bad. It’s like an ice cream shake, but thick so you need a spoon. They grind up treats to make it more rich … or, perhaps, more heavenly. In our case, it was Reeses Peanut Butter Cups. A nice combo.

Just as we finished our picnic, the skies began to clear. We moved fast (well, was fast as possible — there were those blizzards weighing us down).

When me and Russ had re-set the camera and found a nice composition for the wide master shot, some motorboat assholes (two big boats) swung into anchor not sixty feet offshore from us. That wouldn’t have been so bad (I understand, folks are curious when they see a film crew), but these boisterous sots were listening to dinosaur rock from the seventies. Loud. Crap that sucked back then. Boston and Rod Stewart. They were shouting to each other over the music. Because we were shooting without sound, we tried to ignore them. But it was hard because, once we began shooting, I realized they were making peanut gallery comments about Christy and Andrew going through their dance moves. Stuff like: “Oh, yeah, that’s what I’m taking about!”

Eventually Russ couldn’t take it anymore. They were fucking with his concentration. He yelled out to them. They pretended to ignore him. So he started screaming, and eventually they had to acknowledge him. The group on the two boats was maybe about eight, guys and girls. And the more obnoxious of the guys didn’t want to look like wimps around the girls, so they finally had to respond to Russ.

He was rather polite. They weren’t. And when the “it’s a free country” came out from the speed boats, I began laughing. That’s the best they can do? They made a few bitchy comments — including a belligerent explanation as to their pathetic behavior: “Hey, man, we’re drunk!” — but finally a modicum of shame crept into their collective consciousness, and they motored off … to bedevil some poor saps elsewhere on the lake. We went back to work.

All the scenes with Andrew have been shot. But, sadly, we weren’t able to get Kristen’s scenes. The rain stole our daylight. We’ll just have to reschedule.

Once the sun was gone, we began to pack up equipment. Martin made sure to get his water bottle which he had filled with live grasshoppers so he could feed the spider who lives on his porch.

And then, Russ had us all line up for a group photo. He finally got to use the timer feature on his new Canon point and shoot digital camera. After a few of these shots, we all got to see Martin grab his stomach and mutter something about how he should have avoided that heavenly blizzard because of his lactose intolerance. Kristen, Russ, and myself — we all exchanged glances — mentioned how we felt so sorry for Christy and Andrew driving back to San Antonio with Martin’s emerging intestinal disturbances, and got the hell out of there.

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This afternoon I stopped by Urban-15, and me and Herman went over all the judging forms from Saturday. We’re at the second phase of a three-stage film festival judging format. By tomorrow or Wednesday we’ll have a list of which films will screen on which days. The nice thing is that each of the three days of the festival will offer a unique program of films.

As I was shuffling through the judging forms, I got a call from Jessica Belasco. She’s doing a piece for a new San Antonio weekly free tabloid. It’s called 210SA. (The same publication did a piece on the last film event I organized.) She asked quite a few questions, and I hope I gave her something to work with. I offered her George Ozuna’s phone number. George was Josiah’s high-school film teacher — and George’s students at Harlandale are well represented in this first annual Josiah Youth Media Festival.

It’s definitely coming together.