Thursday.

I had fun today. It’s always a good thing when you can fill your day with wonderful people.

I started off with a shoot for my video piece I’m working on for the up-coming Jump-Start Performance Party. It’ll be next week, Jan. 8th.

This is a short promo for a fake reality TV show along the lines of “So You Think You Can Dance?” This is titled: “So You Think Your Schick Don’t Stink?”

I wanted two people to dance very badly, and one very well. I knew I wanted Mia. A ten year-old Flamenco prodigy. She’s adorable, insanely accomplished, committed to dance, and still has a playful sense of humor. She was definitely game.

And then ST Shimi agreed to do some half-hearted hoop-dancing. I’d mentioned something about how maybe she’d be hooping and so bored she was texting on her phone. She did that and went further, pulling out a magazine and flipping through it as she did her phony dance audition. I really enjoy working with Shimi–she’s brainy, beautiful, and an all-around solid talent in so many fields, such as dance, theater, performance arts, and, I’m certain, others I’m not yet aware of.

And the third of our dancers — in this case a “dancer” — the incredible Marisela Barrera. I have been in awe of Marisela for years. She’s an amazing actor, performance artist, writer, and theater director. She’s also done great work as the head of the Main Plaza Conservancy — he has managed to bring so much music, dance, art, etc. into the heart of downtown San Antonio. And only because I’d shared a stage with her for the Rudos y Tecnicos event did I feel comfortable to ask her to help out on one of my silly projects. I was honored when she said yes. And, really, I shouldn’t have been surprised that she’d come prepared with an entire realized bit. She did this interpretive “dance” performance where she essentially made love to her accordion as Nortec Collective’s Tijuana Sound Machine played. She was perfectly spay, klutzy, and all the while damn sexy. We were all more than a little amazed.

I feel so very lucky that artists such as Shimi and Marisela, whose work I’ve respected for so many years, have found time to work with me.

I’m also indebted to the actors who came to play my panel of dance show judges. Rosalinda is someone I’ve worked with almost since I came to San Antonio. I adore Rosalinda. My personal personal bias of friendship aside, she’s a solid and dependable actor. I have never seen her drop a line. She always understands every character I’ve ever seen her play. And she’s great with improv. It’s great to work with her again.

Gabe the Babe is an interesting guy. He’s a wrestler, professional mascot, DJ, actor, and I’m sure there are a few other things he does. I know him from his wrestling work. And I also know him as an actor–he’s done work in some of Carlos Pina films. Actually, I’d wanted Carlos to be in this project as an actor, but he suddenly found himself with family obligations down in the Rio Grande Valley. I knew that Gabe could give me a lot of what Carlos does so well. Solid physical acting, natural improvisational skills, and no problem looking like a fool. Carlos, as an actor, also brings some other important skills. Quick memorization of lines. And, damn, he’s always in the same place and stance from one take or one camera placement to another. Editing Carlos is a snap. So, though I was sad to see Carlos unavailable, I was glad that Gabe could come and help out. Today he did some wonderful and solid work.

And then we had Veronica. She’s a filmmaker, not an actor. But she’s Mia’s mom, so I knew she’d be on set. And I love her look — she’s a gorgeous woman. So I told her that she would be playing the role of the only sane person on the panel. So it was all reaction shots to the nonsense spouted by the others. And she did great.

It was a good day of shooting.

We were at the Radius Center. And Frank, who over-sees the space was so helpful in letting us do our scenes in the space. (Now I know that Frank does loads of other things, but I mostly know him as the Radius go-to guy. Frank brought me up to speed on some deliciously tasty chisma concerning an individual who we both know. Lawyers are involved, so I won’t go into it here. But I know I will soon bring much of the information — somewhat massaged — into a piece of short fiction. It’s a hell of a story.)

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After the shoot, Shimi and I headed over to Luke’s, a new downtown eatery. Marisela had said their happy hour was worth a try. Marisela had left before Shimi arrived. So, Shimi wanted not only some eats and drinks, she also wanted to catch up with Mari.

When Shimi and I were walking towards the restaurant, we saw Marisela walking down the sidewalk. She’d already had some food and drinks, but we talked her into heading back with us to Luke’s.

We sat at the bar. I got the shrimp cup, which had a goodly portion of pan-fried shrimp, which was just slightly crunchy, covered with a delicious sauce of mayonnaise and chili power.

We had a blast. Time just melted away. I blame those tasty Belgium beers. When I finally looked at my watch, I realized I’d better scramble to make it to C4 Workspace for the second and final night of the Luminaria Media Arts proposal vetting. So, I dropped Shimi off at her Southtown home, stopped at my place to pick up my video projector, and made it to C4 ten minutes late. But because this is San Antonio, I was the first person there. I pulled down the screen, hooked up my projector and laptop and speakers, and set some chairs up.

Soon all the folks slated for the evening had shown up. We had a good time exchanging spirited comments about the various proposals. It was much like the other group last night. There were some who were strongly advocating for certain artists, as well as some who were rather dubious that a certain artist or production team could truly produce a piece of art which the film and media arts communities could be proud of.

(Parenthetic rant — feel free to skip to the next paragraph. I often find myself talking to folks in San Antonio who make movies or who want to make movies. And I tell them that movies aren’t art. They rail and bitch and moan that the Office of Cultural Affairs as well as various arts organizations — local and otherwise — aren’t bending knees in a besotted orgy of throwing money at filmmakers. Boo fucking hoo. Yes, there are scads of artists making wonderful films, and other less easily defined time-based visual works, but just because you have an HD camcorder and a horny desire to emulate a sit-com, an action film, or the latest YouTube meme doesn’t make you an artist. No. You just want to get paid chingos of money to make shit. Fine. I’ve met stand-up folks who work in the mainstream entertainment industry. Most know that they are whores. They’re not wanting to be called artists. So, unless you want people to wet themselves or laugh milk out there nostrils, please, give some deep consideration before wrapping yourself in the banner of “Art.”)

I’m back,

The last two nights were rather enjoyable. True, I wish we had more strong and exciting media art proposals for Luminaria; but I was able to spend time with people who I respect and whose company I enjoy. Victor and I wrangled a good group for our committee.

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Friday.

I was lying in bed late this morning, curled up with my laptop, watching “Exit Through the Gift Shop” off Netflix streaming. I was also trying to figure out how to shape my day. I knew I needed to do laundry. And that was about it.

And then the phone rang. It was Deborah. She wanted to know if I was interested in joining her for breakfast. She called at 11:30. This should say something about the both of us. I said, yes. It was clearly time for breakfast. Besides, I never say no to Deborah. She said she was on the newly opened stretch of the river walk. It passes about two hundred feet from her new apartment. And the extended river walk passes very close to Eva’s Cafe, one of Deborah’s favorite south side eateries.

I paused the movie. Jumped in the shower. And soon I was enjoying a great cup of coffee and Deborah’s company. I must say that the food at Eva’s has never disappointed, but still, it’s nothing too extraordinary; however, today’s chilaquiles plate was fucking sublime.

We caught up on what we’d been doing during the holidays.

Afterwards, I drove her to her studio. Before she got out I asked what she was doing for New Years Eve. Last year we’d gone to watch the fireworks in HemisFair Park. It was so wonderful. And then we went to Ric Ron’s (a 24 hour dive of a cafe where everyone’s quite nice), and we each had our first cheese enchiladas of the new year. It was a warm and wonderful memory. But, no, this year she had her own plans with other people.

We can’t always have what we want.

So I went home and did a load of laundry.

I decided to go downtown for the early part of new years eve. URBAN-15 was opening the festivities — a free night of entertainment. South Alamo Street between Durango and Market Street was closed off. There were, I believe, four stages in the area. There were carny rides, food and drink vendors, and entertainment all over the place.

I drove to C4 to get a closer parking space. I could have walked from hem, but this saved me about 15 minutes. I got to the stage under the HemisFair arch just as URBAN-15 was being announced.

I shot some stills and some video. But with this new 7D, I’m still getting used to what it can do. I was downtown for about three hours shooting stills and some video. But it wasn’t until the final 20 minutes that I realized I had my ISO set at 100. No wonder the low light was pissing me off.

It was a great vibe. Lots of families. There was a family on the South Alamo Street bridge between Market and Commerce. The dad was holding the camera and telling the three little kids, his wife, and what looked like two grandparents to squeeze in. And then he stopped, and peered around his camera. “Could we get rid of the Bud Lite?” The camera guy’s wife turned to the middle-aged man beside her. “Ay, Raul! Hide your beer!”

Oh, and there was another sweet moment which was so San Antonio. An older Mexicano couple (maybe on their young sixties) were near the main stage. The old guy had a nice DSLR camera. He held it up and pointed the lens at two Muslim women. One was maybe in her 50s or 60s. The other was about 30. “Hey,” said the man with the camera. “Smile!” The two women turned around. They both had their heads covered with tightly wrapped scarfs. And they also had the lower portion of their faces covered by another scarf.

So, they saw these two smiling aging Hispanics, one with a camera. What the hell. They posed, arms over shoulders, hugging in tight. I assumed they were mother and daughter.

I heard a click. The guy with the camera took his shot. His wife was thanking the women and reaching for the camera. But, no. Camera man said to the women, “I didn’t see you smile. Let’s do another.” The women were still engaged, laughing. The older woman was not going to expose her mouth. But the younger woman had no problem. She pulled the veil down and gave a big broad smile. She even noticed me, standing off to the side, grinning and laughing, and she laughed along with me. Picture taken. Everyone happy. I love this innocence here in San Antonio. It’s beautiful. When I hear people here being snarky or sarcastic, I just walk away, They are not what San Antonio is about. We’re about inclusiveness. Warm honesty. The real and honest people of San Antonio will ask to take your picture because you don’t look like anyone they’ve ever seen before. And that’s weird and wonderful and exciting. They haven’t started judging you, because they don’t know you yet.

I walked over to the Alamo. Checked out the Arneson River Theater. And I walked over to La Villita and the stage there. There was also a stage at the Convention Center. I stopped at the DJ area where Gabriel Velasquez was spinning discs. Ramon Vasquez was also there. He and Gabe are good friends. And Ramon’s mother, Gloria, was also there. I like Gloria. She’s smart, brave, and has a disarming sense of humor.

Here’s a photo of the Monkey Maze.

After a couple hours I headed back to C4. I realized I needed to hit the grocery store — if it was still open. So I got in my truck and made a run to my La Fiesta on S. Floras. Yep, they were still open. After getting some of life’s staples (corn tortillas, homey, grapefruit juice, yams, onions, chilies, eggs, and a bunch of those huge cans of Foster’s beer) I headed home.

And so now I’m back home. The laundry’s down. I’ve cleaned up the more obvious typos of this blog which was written yesterday. And at this very moment I’m listening to my Blip.FM channel — “John E. Smokes” by the Butthole Surfers. And so, yes, I’m alone, drinking, and feeling sorry for myself.

It is currently 11:41 in the pm.

Actually, I don’t so much feel sorry for myself, as I wish I had one of the shrimp cups from Luke’s.

And then I think, wait, I just came from the grocery store. I haven’t yet stowed away all my purchases. But, the question is, did I buy anything worth eating?

I think I’ll have another beer and give it some thought.

Happy New Year, everyone. See you all on the other side. 2011 is gonna kick ass!

Tuesday.

I was in Dallas last week working at the auction house. Made some serious scratch, enough to survive another month. I’m hoping I can get back in early January and put in another week or two.

One of the very few nice things about driving I-35 between San Antonio and Dallas is the 45 minutes or so when the Austin college radio station comes in clear. This is where I first heard Joanna Newsom several years back. And driving back Sunday night, during some world music show, I heard two songs by bands I feel a need to follow. Choc Quib Town, from Colombia. A nice smooth afro latino hip hop song called “San Antonio.” And then there was Dr. Israel. Rasta dub jungle. I forget the song. But, back home, I got onto Blip.fm and came across this great track by Dr. Israel. “The Doctor Vs. the Wizard.” It’s got that old jungle drum and bass beat. A nice slice of Jamaican dub reggae, circa Lee “Scratch” Perry. And the guitar power chords and the vocal stylings are pure Black Sabbath. If you find the thought of Tony Iommi joining a drum and bass outfit intriguing, here’s your chance to check it out.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UVCSvK0qes0&fs=1&hl=en_US]

These punctuated gigs in Dallas help to subsidize all the volunteer and pro bono work I do. This auction house work is an amazing opportunity, but I don’t know how long it will last. This new year I plan on cutting down on the volunteer stuff and freebies for others. I want to put most of my energy into work I can be proud of–my projects, as well as those collaborative projects with artists who inspire me.

The truth is, I could have stayed in Dallas for several more days. But I left because of several commitments. None of which pay … however these are projects I’m looking forward to.

First is the judging for the Luminaria media proposals. Victor and I are bringing our committee together Wednesday and Thursday at a super secret location (my office at C4 Workspace) to make some decisions … to cut some lame critters from the herd.

And then there’s my video piece for the 26th Annual Jump-Start Performance Party.

Back in January of 2010 I was asked to take part. As a huge fan and booster of Jump-Start Performance Company, I was very honored to be part of all these amazing talented people. And for this show on January 8th, 2011, I’m just as excited and honored to be part of the celebration.

The problem is that I might have come up with an overly ambitious concept. Oh, well. I’ll just put down my head and push onward. And just today I learned that my friend Carlos won’t be able to help out. He has family obligations down in the Rio Grande Valley. I hope everything works out well for his folks.

Rosalinda is on board. And Gabe the Babe. Amanda expressed interest. I hope her schedule can mesh. I think I’ve got ST Shimi to make a cameo.

Tonight I shot the scenes with Jay Pennington. He’s the fictional programing manager of Channel 26. He introduces the promos of the three fresh shows of the new season of Channel 26. Now I need to shoot those promos.

Jay did a great job. I wanted him to play it absolutely straight. And also with a homey laconic delivery. He was perfect. And because he’d heard of my appreciation of Fat Freddy’s Cat (from the great comic book series, The Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers), he brought along a copy of a Fat Freddy’s Cat paperback signed by the artist, Gilbert Shelton. Shelton had drawn an original Fat Freddy’s Cat under his signature. Pretty cool.

I also need to get some footage of Shimi in the can. We’re working on a collaborative dance film project.

And, best case scenario, it’s back to Dallas, January 10th.

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I’ve been having fun playing around with my Canon 7D.

Because it shoots in several frame rates (like other DSLRs) it’s well suited for slow motion. The 60 frames per second setting is the highest. When you shoot thusly, you import the media and drop it into a timeline on your editing software set up for, say, 24 fps. And suddenly you have true slow motion. It’s smooth and beautiful, and not choppy like when you just slow down normal video.

The truth is, it’s not that simple a procedure, but I found a great tutorial video on Philip Bloom’s website. He makes it seem easy.

And tonight, while shooting with Jay Pennington, I plugged my 7D into my computer so as to have a larger monitor screen than the camera itself can provide. This is very convenient. The inconvenient thing was that the 7D does shit with an externally introduced audio source. True, I knew this when I bought the camera. But it wasn’t until I did a simple test of plugging in one of my wireless lavs, doing an audio test, and then importing the material into FCP ad listening to audio and looking at the wave forms. Absolutely unacceptable for dialogue. I knew that even if I had used my pre-mixer, it wouldn’t have been much help.

So, I ended up using a mDV camera as an audio recorder. I hope to be able to afford a decent solid state audio recorder in the next few weeks.

But, image-wise, the camera is great. I love how it performs … especially with a very fast lens.

Here’s a screen grab of Jay.

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Wednesday.

I was hanging out with some film folks tonight. Victor and I met with three fifths of our media arts committee tonight (tomorrow, the other two will meet with us). We went over the 30ish Luminaria proposals in the media category. They ranged from the borderline brilliant to the proto-naif.

The vetting process continues.

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I took some time this afternoon to walk along the southern extension of the river walk. I’ve been down it before, but only recently has it become officially open to the public. I’d been scofflawing my way down the trail in the past.

The truth is, it’s not really open. You can take the trail from Lone Star Blvd. all the way down to about a hundred yards shy of the Mission Road bridge. Now there’s already a bike / jogging trail which begins at Mission Road and the San Antonio River. They really need to link these two trails together before “opening” this new trail, which, currently, just dead-ends.

One of the sad sights was seeing Anne Wallace’s lovely low-key art installation on the footbridge at this dead end. It’s really rather fucked up. The piece features imprints of flora and fauna in the cement of the bridge itself, as well as ornamental stone work on both sides of the bridge. But because of all the heavy earth-moving equipment crossing over this little footbridge, there are unsightly cracks running through her imprints. I sure hope someone fixes this.

Here’s a couple more photos from my little excursion.

Well it’s on the far side of midnight, and I have a shoot tomorrow. So it’s off to bed.

I headed to HemisFair Park Monday afternoon for a Luminaria meeting. I crossed paths with Barbara Renaud Gonzalez–she was dropping off some support material for a Luminaria proposal. A day with Barbara in it is always a winner.

The Luminaria meeting seemed a bit rushed. Probably because we had decided to adjourn to the bar at the top of the Tower of the Americas for Happy Hour. Monday, December 13th, was an important date for this upcoming Luminaria 2011. It was the deadline for artist submissions. When we met, we knew that there would still be more submissions to come, because artists could add stuff online until midnight. But, still, we all seemed happy that the numbers were healthy. And I, for one, was happy with the quality of submissions within the media division. It will be hard for the media committee to make its decision. We’re going lean this year. Quality over quantity. This is fine by me. There are filmmakers I know and whose work I even like, but when I tell them that Luminaria is the time when they can experiment, stretch their wings. You know. Make art. And then I get something uninspired and safe…? What the hell? It’s Luminaria ARTS Night in San Antonio, folks. Art? Yeah! Check out Guy Madden. Maya Deren. Jodorowsky. Matthew Barney. Bill Viola. Sally Potter. Karl Krogstad. Barbara Hammer. There’s a shitload of stuff out there. Get outta the multiplexes, people, and soak up the weird and wonderful!

I will say, it was fun hanging out with cool artsy folks 550 feet above the historic HemisFair Park, atop O’Neil Ford’s iconic phallic churro.

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I enjoyed something of a windfall. Money came my way. I probably should have used it to pay bills. Get a medical check-up. Put something in savings. But I pissed it all away on movie-making equipment. I’ve been wrestling with some important life questions. Like, do I really want to make films? There has been no financial gain in the years I’ve claimed to be doing this sort of stuff. I get little scraps here and there. But mostly I have to scramble, looking to other sources. But, hell, I went and did it. I hopped online and asked, not Santa, but B&H and Amazon, for a new camera, computer, some pricey software, and the pesky miscellanies that this sort of work necessitates. I’m embarrassed and not a little bit ashamed to say how much I’ve spent on this stuff. However, it will all be legitimate business expenses. I just hope I can figure how to make money off this stuff….

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So, there I was, back on Saturday night, at the Hindu Temple way the fuck out past Helotes. I’d been asked to video-tape this amazing young dancer. She is not of Indian heritage, but she loves the form and presentation of classical Indian dance. She gave a solo dance recital which lasted over two hours to a packed house of more than 600 people. I’ve seen her perform before, so I knew she was serious and very focused on her work. But I didn’t know just how amazing she was.

It was a paid gig for me, but I felt so very privileged to see her dance, especially to such a large audience of amazed and supportive members of the San Antonio Indian community.

My problem was that I was expected to appear as the “Minute Man” at the Rudos y Tecnicos show south of downtown between 7:30 an 8:00. And I had thought the recital would go 90 minutes, tops. It lasted two and a half hours. I really couldn’t complain. The performances were flawless, breathtaking. But I was quietly freaking out thinking that the Rodos y Tecnicos event was waiting for me to show up.

As I rushed back to downtown, I tried to call both Victor and Pocha, but they weren’t answering their phones. No surprise. They were almost certainly on stage. When I was getting onto I-10, Melissa Marlowe called me. She wanted to know my ETA. This meant that she was able to join the festivities. That was good to hear. She’s an awesome performer. I told her I was 30 minutes away.

When I got to Joe Lopez’s Gallista Gallery, the place was packed. I lugged in my tripod, camera case, and some costume & prop items.

Unfortunately the Minute Man piece had come and gone. Some other guy took my place. And even though I’m far from a ham, I was rather interested in giving it a shot. I’d worked up a basic routine in my head on the drive down. But I still found myself pushed onto the stage. I went out with Melissa Marlowe. She was the fictional head of the DRT (Daughters of the Republic of Texas (one of this town’s — hell, this state’s — more high-profile cadres of stuck-up sticky butts)). She burst on stage and pronounced to a densely packed room of chiefly chicanos that she was here to claim the building as a shrine to John Wayne, and everyone had better vamos. My role was as Queen DRT’s husband. So, with my straw hat and red, white, and blue sequined jacket, I shouted invectives at the crowd and hurled American flags at them.

In retrospect, I feel quite honored to have shared stage with Melissa. It was a blast!

The event was a huge success. I’m so happy for Victor and Pocha. I know they worked their asses off for this show.

Veronica’s multi-talented daughter, Mia, was there as an I.C.E. Elf. She made periodic forays into the audience with Migra Mouse (a guy wearing a huge Disney-esque papier mache head), in search of suspicious people to deport. Here’s a photo I took of her in the camouflage elf costume. You don’t want to mess with her.

And here’s a bit of hasty video I shot with my little Lumix from the side of the stage / ring. The one in the mask is the brilliant Mari Barrera.

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Tuesday night was the San Antonio Film Commission’s Holiday Party. I think I missed it last year because I was out of town. But other then that, I have made it a point to go every year. The local production scene is pretty fragmented and cliquish, but this is the one time of the year when we all come together in a neutral space and truly enjoy one another’s company (or at least pretend to).

The winners of the San Antonio 48 Hour Film Experience were announced (this is our local film contest put on by our film commission, not to be confused with the national organization of a similar name). I was one of the judges. And I was happy to note that the first, second, and third place winners were all in accordance with my scores. And that great film helmed by Pete Barnstrom not only won first place, but also won the “audience favorite award.” Just as it should have. A strong piece, playful and well structured. Also, because all the audio was done in post, you could actually hear what the people were saying.

My new Canon 7D had arrived earlier in the day. I got it to shoot HD video, sure, but I also plan to shoot stills with it. I took it with me to the party with the idea to learn how to use it.

It’s a hell of a camera. And, true, the cheaper Rebel does almost everything that the 7D does, But I have to say I love the heft of the magnesium alloy body. (The following day I was showing the camera to Deborah. She picked it up. “Oh, a real camera,” she said, commenting, I have to assume, on the weight. And, really, this needs to be in the advertising. “And the girls just love the heavy and rugged magnesium alloy body!”) I still like my little Lumix GH1, but the 7D can be cranked up to insanely high ISO settings with no apparent visual noise. Add to that the 50mm lens I bought which, at f1.4, is pretty damn fast, and you can do so much in very low light conditions.

Here’s the thing, though. This fast lens with a very wide aperture is appealing for shooting still or moving images because you can push a shallow depth of focus. When you put your subject into sharp focus, but everything else is soft or even very muddy, you are able to manipulate the audience, in essence, visually tell them what they should be looking at, what’s important. Of course, you don’t want to go overboard, where all the cool shit the location scout or the art department has provided has fallen into gauzy diffusion. This shallow depth of focal field is really just another tool to convey visual story-telling. Though with it, I feel like I’m getting back to the basics. I learned to shoot (stills and cinema) where the DOF was a genuine consideration. The old style of shooting movies on film is, in a way, returning. When running film through a movie camera you have some serious inflexible parameters. Your film speed is locked to the film stock you are using. You can push your ASA (ISO) in post, but you can’t switch, willy nilly, like a still camera with all it’s ISO settings. And the shutter speed is an absolute–it’s locked into the frame rate. So, there is just the one mechanical camera setting to worry about. The aperture. The problem is, an aesthetic-minded cinematographer doesn’t dick around with the aperture just to make sure the film isn’t over- or under-exposed. Nope. He or she uses the aperture to control what objects, in the frame, are in focus or out of focus. This is why lights, reflectors, and ND (neutral density) filters are so important when shooting movies on film. And now, with the rise of these DSLRs that shoot HD video make use of large sensors and allow for faster optics, it’s back to relying on filters–especially if shooting daytime exteriors. You might be tempted to crank up the shutter speed, but that’s going to take away from the filmic look you probably want (you know, where the action is somewhat blurred). Bring in the ND filters. Back to the basics. The old is new again.

I digress.

For the Film Commission party I was just shooting stills. It’s a new camera, and I mainly wanted to learn where all the settings were.

Here are some photos of the night. I particularly like the first one. It is, of course, Jessica Atzìtli Torres.

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I shouldn’t have stayed up so lateTuesday night, and I definitely shouldn’t have been drinking. I’d been invited by the Office of Cultural Affairs to attend a sort of professional development seminar about small businesses which was sponsored by the Hispanic Chamber of Commerce. Crack of dawn, Wednesday morning.

When I first received the invite, I noticed that it was sent to all the Creative Capital alumni. The registration costs would be covered for us CC folks, we were told. Like a scholarship. I felt so fucking special. But then I started seeing emails bouncing around, asking ANYONE to come and show up for this free event. Dammit! I want to be special!

The bottom line is that when OCA calls, I always respond. I like what it is they do. And, who knows, maybe if they see me often enough, one of my proposals will be taken up. I could happen. I also like the staff over at OCA. Good people.

But registration began at 7. In the morning. Fuck! Tuesday I’d called Deborah to see if she wanted to go with me. She thought she might be able to drag her way to my place even at such an unreasonably hour. I also was talking with Seme. She said she’d meet us as well. She was a bit taken aback by the early hour.

It was a weird foggy morning. Deborah rolled p to my house while I was sitting on my porch, playing around with my new camera. We got in my truck and drove the half mile to HemisFair Park. It took quite some time for us to find the section where the event was set–the Henry B. Gonzalez Convention Center is massive.

When Seme arrived, our little group moved to a balcony overlooking the plaza in front of the Tower of the Americas. Deborah, Seme, a textile artists (Lisa Kerpoe), and I chatted and enjoyed coffee and juice.

Much of the event was horribly dull. We suffered through a series of self-congratulatory speeches for breakfast (a sad “continental” affair of bagels and croissants), including a video speech by Gov. Rick Perry. Man, that guy’s sounding and looking more and more like Geo. W. Bush. (We, of course, are all doomed.)

The following breakout sessions allowed for three different tracks. Financial; marketing; media. Something like that. I chose media. I thought Seme was on the same page as me when she said that the media track seemed most likely to have crayons on the table. Maybe she was being facetious. She, Deborah, and many other artists went of to some other room. In the session I attended all we really got was a sort of Intro to Social Media 101. And then I remembered why I hate (HATE HATE HATE) when social media is used as a craven marketing tool. That’s when I defriend (unfriend?) people. In fact, that’s why I left Twitter. Too many people, shilling their shit.

After a quick break, we were given our next choice of sessions. I was drawn to another one on media. The title included the phrase “mobile media.” Sounded cool. I talked Seme into joining me. When we walked into the room, we saw Dora and Gisha in the back corner (this is where you should always sit in these environments, so as to make a quick exit if it’s too much bullshit), but the only seats were way up front. And so there we sat. The guy running this session was some sort of marketing director for a company which apparently owns the San Antonio Fox affiliate. Something like that. He was wearing this retro dark pinstripe sharkskin suit. It might have worked on someone hip. But he was more Herb Tarlek (of WKRP fame) than a guy from Mad Men. Actually, he reminded me of a cross between Rod Blagojevich and Rick Perry.

He started off asking what each of us did. Those of us who said “artist” seemed to confuse him. But he smiled affably and went on to the next.

When he really got into his talk, he said something like: “Television is still the central medium. And, local broadcast TV is the best place to get your name, your brand, out there.”

I turned to Seme. She was as confused as me. “How weird and exotic,” I whispered in her ear. “He’s straight out of the 20th century.” And when he began using, as an example of successful local TV advertising, the Ronco Pocket Fisherman, I knew the man was a time traveler from the 1980s.

One of the other people who had self-identified as an artist (and I had been watching his horrified expression as this Herb Tarlek fellow had been praising anachronistic marketing schemes while using Borsch-belt attempts at humor), made good his escape when Herb’s PowerPoint stalled. I envied him. And when I was trying to figure out how to also escape, Seme poked me in the ribs. “Let’s go!” she hissed. There was no longer any handy distraction. But she was adamant. I stood and we quickly walked to the door…so far away. Herb made some comment–“Oh, it looks like the artists are all leaving.” I wanted to turn and say loudly, “Is it any wonder?” But I just wanted out.

We ended up in another room where the panel was being led by Lionel Sosa. He’s a big time local Latino success story. But, really, I have a hard time not seeing him as another millionaire Republican who works in the fucking advertising / PR world. Oh well. He may well be the devil, but at least he’s a smart and charming speaker, and not trapped in the past.

The next (and final) segment was an endless series of more self-congratulatory wankery during the lunch session. But, hey, the lunch rocked. Some damn fine tamales!

Here’s a picture of Gisha. She was at one of the OCA tables, where we artists were hanging out.

The very end of the lunch session was devoted to the creative community. Chuck Ramirez’s sister gave a short but very moving speech about her brother. I think it was the only time during the whole event where someone spoke with depth and honesty. I do know that her words connected with me.

Because I was sitting up front and hadn’t turned around, I had no idea what the size of the crowd behind me was. Well, I knew it was huge when the luncheon began. But I was pretty sure that everyone who’d finished their lunch had hurried away. I mean, the event was advertised in the program to close with this praising of the San Antonio creative economy. I was pretty sure that the pro-business drones connected with the Hispanic Chamber of Commerce (and I direct the same ire at all Chambers of Commerce, and their bottom-dollar diplomacy) had already slipped out, now well-fed. And when Felix Padron, of the Office of Cultural Affairs, was asked to take the stage, I actually saw some of the VIPs who were sitting at the tables in front get up and walk out. Felix gave us a great speech. But when he ended it I finally got up the nerve to turn around and look at the now almost empty ballroom. Shit! He’d just been preaching to the choir, us artsy types.

Those bastards! I sat through so much of their circle-jerk business bullshit. But can they stay to the end, where the topic shifts, for just 20 minutes, to the arts? Hell no!

Oh, well. The tamales were pretty damn good.

I’m back to making red chili gravy and putting it on every fucking thing in sight. My mother informed me that I should cut out all gluten because of a probable genetic intolerance passed down to me. I could find out for myself, but I barely have the money to buy gluten-loaded products, let alone expensive medical tests. I gave quick thought to what I’d have to cut out. And I mean completely. Pizza, flour tortillas, sandwiches (which aren’t encased in some sort of silly gluten-free stunt bread), and, yikes!, tacos. (Taco Note to those who live elsewhere: San Antonio, and much of La Frontera–USA and Mexico–is heavily fueled by flour tortillas. And when in a place like San Antonio you say you’re getting tacos, it’s usually something folded in a flour tortilla. True, with the growing presence of taco trucks offering taquitos in the estilo of Mexico, you gonna get corn tortillas, in keeping with the street food vendors so ubiquitous to every town in Mexico. And, yes, you can ask for a taco in a soft corn tortilla in the neighborhood cafes in San Antonio, but you do at your own peril. If they don’t make their own corn tortillas by hand, you’re fucked. There are few things on this planet sadder than a store-bought corn tortilla.)

Where was I? Oh, yeah. No more pizza. Fuck! I’m fucked!

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Wednesday I attended the latest community forum of San Antonio Mayor Julian Castro’s SA2020 consensus-building extravaganza. There have been, if I count correctly, four so far. I’ve attended all. And, cynically, I think they’re of questionable value. But I’ve gone this far, so I’ll keep going. There”s another in January. And that is either the last or the penultimate of these forums. The idea is for the public to add their voices as to how they would like to see this city ten years from now.

We met in the indoors basketball court of St. Mary’s University. It was an evening meeting. The Food Bank was the caterer. (They also fed us at the last one, where the breakfast tacos were accompanied by, not salsa, but one lone bottle of fucking Louisiana hot sauce.) All I can say is that no one would freak-out over civil irresponsibility of money being pissed away on sushi, prime rib, or churning chocolate fountains. We were lucky to find a paper napkin in out styrofoam boxes holding the sandwich of choice, veggies, cookie, and fruit cup. It was similar to being on Southwest Airlines, however there was slightly more legroom to enjoy our repast.

The space had been divided into about eight regions, each concentrating on a different issue. Transportation; education; crime and public safety; economic development; shit like that. I was hanging out at one of the tables in the Arts and Culture section. Each table had a facilitator. I was lucky to be at the table where Felix Padrón, the director of the Office of Cultural Affairs, was facilitating. I like Felix. He has a playful sense of humor, but he also gets things done. I was also sitting with three other people from the arts community who I know well and respect: Rod Rubbo, Liz Moise, and George Cisneros.

There were eight of us at the table. We each had a copy of the “vision statement” concerning where the arts in San Antonio should be in 2020 (this is something which had been created through the previous meetings). We were supposed to come to an agreement on what would be the two primary trackable indicators by which we would know that this vision, this desired outcome, was indeed coming into being. And then, four secondary indicators. A list of possible indicators had also been given to us. This list came from input from a previous forum. Things got pretty heated at our table. We eventually came up with a list. I’m not sure how democratic this process was, but I knew that it wasn’t so important as the next step.

We took a break. And then each division gathered around a central table and shared their notes. We had maybe eight tables in the arts. When the indicators with the most advocates were written down on a large pad of paper, we began the process of taking turns to shout out our reasons that this or that was most important. It was essentially grassroots politics (and as I’ve remarked at least once before in this blog, what the fuck has happened to Robert’s Rules of Order?–it’s supposed to make things like this move more smoothly….). We eventually came to a consensus. But I have no memory of what it was.

I walked out with Victor Payan and Sandra “Pocha Pena” Sarmiento (they were sitting at the table beside me). When we entered the lobby of the sports arena, Sandra walked over to the tables with the remainders of the boxed dinners. She mentioned the names of a couple of artists she and Victor would be seeing later that night. They scooped up about six boxes. I’d have got some for myself. Hell, I’m unemployed. But, dammit, gluten. And, double dammit, I realized at the moment that I had just eaten two slices of bread from my boxed dinner a couple hours earlier.

This isn’t going to be so easy.

I followed Victor and Sandra to their car. They’d told me that they had extra copies of the SA Current. And I wanted one. I was curious how the group photo for the upcoming “Rudos y Tecnicos” show came out. I was in that photo.

Well, the photo looks pretty good.

Sandra said that there was a Flickr stream from the shoot, I checked it out. Erik Gustafson is the photographer. He’s a damn fine shooter, not to mention a very sweet guy. Here’s a photo of me.

The girls are, from left to right, Jessica Torres and Sandra Torres. Daughter and mother. (I have been, and will continue to be, a staunch advocate of Jessica, who is an important San Antonio filmmaker–and because she sometimes reads this blog, I want to see more work from you Jessica! You need a camera? Borrow one of mine. Just get out there and do some new stuff, why dontcha?)

Maybe a year ago Pocha had asked me to take part in a photo shoot. I was to play the part of a redneck Minute Man. And Jessica and Sandra would be Minute Maids. This is Pocha’s playful concept of passive resistance against armed bigots on the border. Send in sweet and polite Mexicanas with aprons and feather dusters. Pocha’s photo series — her photo novella — was apparently used at some conference on border concerns or feminists issues. I think Pocha will be projecting the photos before the three of us take to the stage (the ring), thus putting this into context.

And so, Jessica, Sandra, and I will all reprise our roles. My outfit has been upgraded to this absurd red, white, and blue sequin jacket with “USA” on the sleeves. This is all for Saturday night where we’re going to be acting. I’m no actor. And to ask an introverted anarcho-communist to be a big-mouthed nationalistic racist, is quite a request. Well, we’ll see. At least I’ll be surrounded by friends.

Rudos y Tecnicos. Gallista Gallery. 5-10 PM. Saturday, December 11. I believe the theatrical skits will begin around 7:30. The problem is, I have a paid gig video-taping a dance recital at the Hindu Temple of San Antonio, which is way the fuck up past Helotes. I hope I can make it down into the S. Flores region in time to make a grand fool of myself.

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Back on Tuesday was the screening of the San Antonio 48 Hour Film Experience. I’d given some assistance to the team led by Rod Guajardo. But, because his film hit some technical difficulties, it was not allowed into the judging. So, when Drew Mayer-Oakes, the director of the San Antonio Film Commission, asked if I’d be a judge, I agreed. The team I worked on was out of the competition, so there would be no conflict of interest.

As a judge I have been given a DVD to watch the films. And even though I attended the screening back on Tuesday, I won’t take the judging seriously until I watch the films again, with an eye to detail.

I will say this. I was somewhat disappointed. There were two or three teams who should have kicked ass because of the smart and creative folks on the crews. But–yikes! Great? Not hardly! And then there were a couple of teams who I had no hope for because they were being helmed by, let’s face it, imbeciles…or so I thought. It was truly a night of surprises!

And so, I guess it was a success. The teams which I thought would succeed and, didn’t, were off-set by those who I thought would fail, and didn’t. The fact is, things can go bad fast in these sort of quickie productions. But, it seems, things can also go unexpectedly well.

Before I sit down and watch these films again, I want to say this to the three or four San Antonio filmmakers who read my blog. If you ever do one of these film races, take my following advice. Give your writer (or writing team) at least ten hours to write the script. It’s probable that their first idea is shit. This is why you should give them the gift of time. And in this ten hour period, make sure they edit the piece into a simple yet damn strong script. Have them prune it down. And spend that same ten hours allowing the pre-production team to hover there, breaking down the script in progress. Because when the project moves into the production phase and the camera has actually been removed from its case, there damn well better be storyboards, or at least the most rudimentary of a shot list. What I’m getting at is: don’t monkey with the script during production! I know it’s tempting because of expedience. But, trust me, you’ll hate yourself later.

My biggest problems with the films which screened Tuesday night? I had no idea what the fuck was going on in most of them There were several pieces with some strong production value. But even those made me think, wait a minute, what the fuck is it that these characters are doing? When the script has been locked, DO NOT dick around around with it. It’s 48 hours, folks, and I guarantee if you treat your script and storyboards cavalierly, the whole structure will fall apart. Of course I’m talking about making a GOOD film in 48 hours. The truth is, you can break these rules left and right if the project is one of those meta self-referential intentionally bad videos. This is more in the realm of a mockumentary, and these projects come with their own set of potential pitfalls. Enter at your own risk.

These speed film contests are shit. No one can make a decent movie in 48 hours. I’m philosophically opposed to them. But, dammit, I wanted to do one myself. My problem: I was hoping that an important well-paying job in Dallas would materialize. See, I desperately need money. But the job didn’t happen. And I also didn’t make my 48 hour movie.

So, my grousing is partially sour grapes. The truth is, I respect the courage and commitment of all the people who participated in this project. And my hat is off to Drew Mayer-Oakes and the San Antonio Film Commission for creating and fostering this wonderful grass roots local contest. It does a wonderful job of bringing so many of us together in the spirit of camaraderie and respectful competition.

And, yes, I hope I can do it next year.

I’m essentially an introvert as well as a recovering social phobic. And thus I’m constantly shocked by how well (at times) I can navigate social landscapes. Back in my early twenties I wrote a fairly autobiographical short story where the protagonist worked a series of jobs in the service sector during the graveyard shift so that the only people he had to interact with were mentally ill or seriously intoxicated. The ending left the central character dubiously and most certainly ineffectually trying to convince himself that the world at large is nothing more than an extension of those familiar spaces in which he is already comfortable moving through. Nothing more and nothing less than rooms leading into other rooms. It took a couple of decades of me trying to make sense out of the adult world to finally embrace that concept as a reality. And, certainly, the city of San Antonio makes this worldview so easy. I know a lot of folks who live here (natives, and transplants, such as myself) who move through this city as though they are welcomed everywhere; and every neighborhood, every business, and every institution is filled with family members. This is a tightly interconnected city. And, honestly, if someone doesn’t know how he or she is related to you, it assumed by all that a very short conversation (which may or may not happen) will clear it all up. And so it is la familia, all around. San Antonio is clearly the city where everyone is considered to be related. And even if all evidence points to the contrary, we all just assume it’s simply a lack of digging deep enough.

This week’s been fairly busy, with me moving from room to room filled with people whose lives, in so many different ways, I’m intertwined.

Highlights included:

A little volunteer gig at URBAN-15 where we did a tech-run with the newish A/V equipment they have purchased from a recent grant. About twelve members of the drum ensemble were present, as well as about ten dancers. We were set up in the sanctuary. The URBAN-15 Studio building used to be a church, and so this is what they call the biggest space, which is used for dance rehearsals, performances, movie screenings, poetry readings, laser shows, etc. The old choir loft had been, at one point, converted into six little offices. Four of the offices have windows which look down into the sanctuary, and they are part of a sort of mezzanine level. One of these offices is where the TriCaster has been installed.

I’d never worked with a TriCaster before. This is a video switcher on steroids. It’s a device a bit bigger than two shoe boxes. It takes multiple video and audio feeds and allows you to mix them in real time. The resulting signal can be stored on the machine’s large internal hard drive, shunted to another hard drive, sent to a monitor, a video projector, or streamed live in the internet (using a wide variety of A/V compression formats and codecs); or, do all of the above. It also works as a standalone video editing suite, as it comes bundled with NewTek’s robust and intuitive video editing software, SpeedEdit. NewTek is a San Antonio company. Their TriCaster doesn’t come cheap, but it’s a real workhorse. For the past few years, mega-churches have been the primary market, as they have some serious in-house production and live broadcast needs. But as more organizations are thinking of broadcasting via the internet, the market for these boxes is steadily growing.

Jonathan gave me a crash course on the system. We were doing a very simple test. Two camera’s, both standard definition. One was the remote-controlled robot camera which was mounted on the north wall. It was also purchased with the grant monies. Catherine, the artistic director of URBAN-15, has a habit of naming everything, from pets, ghosts, hard drives, and, yes, remote-controlled robot cameras. This guy’s Klaatu, from The Day the Earth Stood Still. Now Catherine knows her way around science-fiction films. She may well know that Klaatu, in that film, was the humanoid (played by Michael Rennie), while the robot was named Gort. I’m pretty sure I knew this once, but I had to head to Wikipedia for a reality check. And even if she made a mistake, it just makes it the easier to give a name to that second remote-controlled robot camera which will be purchased and installed once another grant comes through. But I digress. The second camera was my DVX, parked on a tripod down on the sanctuary floor and hardwired into the TriCaster via a very fucking long s-video cable. For the moment, the switcher is the space bar on the keyboard hooked up to the TriCaster. The controller to the robot is much more interesting. It has chingos of presets. But best of all is the joystick. It allows for incredibly smooth zooms and pans. This works great with Klaatu, as the camera handles low light quite well. It’s widest angle is maybe equivalent to a 35mm or 45mm lens. Could be better. It does, however, hold a clear image when it’s zooms in tight. I was able to read an URBAN-15 volunteer signup sheet on a clipboard 30 feet away from where the camera is mounted on the wall.

I had a lot of fun running that little production studio as we ran through three numbers several times each. The whole setup has a great deal of promise.

Highlight #2:

“Rudos y Tecnicos.” This is a performance created by Victor Payan and Pocha Peña, AKA Aztec Gold. Pocha y Payan have been working on this collaborative project for several years. They began Aztec Gold in San Diego (or so I assume), and they continue it here in San Antonio, as well as any place they can go and work their magic. The core concept is a series of videos, presented in TV magazine style, where the host, Lou Chalibre, a masked wrestler, does run-and-gun interviews. He’s been seen talking with folks such as Jack Black, Los Bros Hernandez (they of Love and Rockets fame), and even San Antonio icons like Monessa Esquivel.

This “Rudos y Tecnicos” show is something they’ve done at least twice before that I know of. The basic idea is to get local artists to develop wrestling personae. Masks are encouraged. The artists are expected to come up with socially relevant issues against which they are struggling. Mexicano issues are most pressing. Immigration, drug trafficking, language and cultural cohesion, questions of nationalism, queer identity in a minority setting, etc.

A quick note on the name. In the world of Mexican wrestling, there are bad guys and good guys. The bad guys are los rudos, the rule-breakers, the brawlers. The good guys, los técnicos, follow the rules and they are proud of their sophisticated understanding of the elaborate moves of proper, traditional wrestling.

This dichotomy allows Pocha y Payan to consider the metaphoric subtext. They ask the question: “Are you a rudo or a tecnico?” And because this is culture-jamming performance art, they extend this metaphor all the way down to the chaotic backstories of the Mesoamerican mythos.

I’m very found of Victor and Sandra (AKA Pocha Peña), and when they mentioned, months ago, that they wanted me to be a part of this “Lucharrific San Antonio Extravaganza,” I of course said a very encouraging “maybe.” And sometimes my noncommittal “maybe” become clear in the ears as “hell, yeah!”

So, the other day, I found myself attending the photo shoot at Gallista Gallery. The photographer was from the San Antonio Current. And it seemed that this Lucha thingy will be the cover story. So, of the various photos being snapped, one would, I assume, be splashed on the cover. Perhaps one featuring myself.

I was there to help out however I could. Artist Jim Haught had built a stage / wrestling ring. I helped him assemble the roped stage. And so I watched the stars of this project gather: Marisela Barrera, L.A. David, Adan Hernandez, David Zamora Casas, Joe Lopez, Sandra Torres, and, of course, Jessica Torres.

Victor and Pocha were wanting me to reprise my role as the Minuteman from the photo novel Pocha did of me playing the role of a white bigot. I had held up a sign — “America for Americans” — and these Minute Maids (a concept Pocha developed as an absurdist way to fight these white supremacist armed assholes) would be there, on the front line, trying to deflate the tension via a sort of comedic form of non-violent interaction. The slide show we’d done some months back involved me being harried by Sandra and Jessica Torres, a mother / daughter team whose diminutive stature made me look like a threatening giant…a giant who was placated by their maidly domestic skills of removing lint from my gimme cap, brushing my face and glasses clean with feather dusters, and offering me a refreshing glass of orange juice.

So, me playing Santa was switched to me as a big-mouthed white bigot.

The idea is that Pocha’s original slideshow with me and Jessica and her mom would be screened, and THEN is when I’d take stage. So, I wasn’t given a mask. Just this insanely weird red, white, and blue sequined jacket that Victor and Sandra had found at an estate sale which would not have seemed unusual on Evil Knievel…mutha fucka! (And when Payan pointed out to me that “these colors don’t run,” Jim Haught responded: “But they sure do clash.” This man, Jim, he needs a fucking agent!)

This means that if the group shot is used as the cover of next week’s Current, I’ll be one of the few people not wearing a mask.

Whatever the outcome, the whole afternoon was great fun.

But it DOES mean that I need to come up with some sort of schtick….

Highlight #3:

I’d been requested to video tape the First Friday show at Jump-Start Performance Company. Often for First Friday they will do some free performance in their large window which looks out onto the wide alleyway in the Blue Star Arts Complex. For December the show was called Behind the Mistletoe, a Christmas burlesque show which would be just as sexy as one would expect from a free and publicly viewable event. There were to be two performances, and this was good for me. I would be able to cut material from each show into something more closely resembling a multi-camera shoot.

I got there early and made the rounds of several galleries and studios. Talked to several friends. And finally got to meet artist Chicken George (AKA, George Zupp), who I’d only ever know via FaceBook emails.

The Jump-Start show was broken into two levels. A warm and homey domestic set outside, where ST Shimi sat in a comfy chair next to a Christmas tree and roaring fire enjoying a hot toddy. She was wearing a long and flowing silk robe which I was pretty sure would be tossed off before the evening was over. Twice. With a pre-recorded voice-over narration, she pretended to read from a gigantic book (presumably of sexy Christmas stories). And then we’d transition to some curvaceous bombshell in the window divesting herself of various holiday costumes–elf, reindeer, toy soldier, etc. Eventually Annele Spector, dressed as a very very sexy Santa came out and danced around with Shimi.

They both walked into the theater. And then, Shimi was up in the window, taking her turn at the striptease. All very sweet and innocent. And of course, sexy.

(This new Burlesque is far from new. It’s right out of the fifties and sixties, fairly devoid of raunch. Though I do like all the tattoos and the wide range of body types. It is a far cry from the hyper-raunchery of my time as light and sound man at a sleazy “burlesque” theater in New Jersey decades ago. The dream job for a 19 year old kid–I was that kid. I remember when Hyapatia Lee came to perform for a week. The regular girls were in awe. “This is real, old school burlesque,” one of them said to me. And she was good. Classy in comparison to the other girls, barely a rung above the “go-go dancers” of whom they were so contemptuous. Hyapatia had props, like a giant champagne glass she’d climb into. And when on tour her husband would take over the lights and sound–they had this super-cool rotating glass disk of technicolor clouds with a powerful light shining through it stage-ward. Naive at the time–call it youth–I wasn’t aware that she was also a fairly big name in the porn movie market. All I knew was that what had become tiresome bumps and grinds had shifted to, for a week, at least, something almost classy. The real burlesque of a time gone by.)

Highlight #4:

This weekend was the San Antonio 45 Film Experience. I’ve wanted to run my own team. But I was in a holding pattern concerning a job which may or maynot happen out of town. It didn’t. But I didn’t know that until the last minute.

I had two requests to join teams. Drew Mayer-Oakes. And Rod Guajardo. I kept them in the “maybe” limbo, because, truly I didn’t know my schedule.

But Friday night, while I was between the two burlesque shows, I noticed I had a text message on my phone from Rod. He was still wanting some audio equipment. I called him and said he could borrow my shotgun mic, boom pole, and shock mount, if he still needed them. He said yes he did. He also wanted my assistance as a general crew member. They were going to start shooting at ten o’clock. That night. I suggested that I might be able to make it in the morning, but not tonight. He said, fine.

And so, Saturday morning, I drove out to a large horse ranch — one of those places where privileged girls who own ponies, board their critters. It was a great location. Loads of production value. I mean, fucking horses, hay bales, barns, and shit like that. Can’t go wrong.

The first problem was that my audio equipment was useless. Both of my long XLR cables have shorts. Really, I should just shell out the thirty or so bucks to get a new one, but I tend to spend all my money on rent and food. I’d thought Rod was going to bring a cable, but he’d forgotten in the rush. Anyway, they’d been using a Rode microphone plugged into a tiny Zoom solid-state recorder–all using mini plugs, so perhaps it was best that they kept using that set-up for continuity.

Ultimately, I don’t know if I was really much use. I held the slate. Made a few suggestions. Oh well. I hope it comes together. I had a lot of fun. Many of those people I’ve worked with before. A great cast and crew. But I get somewhat uncomfortable when I’m on set and can’t find a single complete copy of the script. Sometimes you can get by with winging it without storyboards and shot lists, but, why risk it? It’s easy to gin out basic plans even when on location.

We wrapped on time. That was impressive! And Rod and a couple others headed off to begin the editing process. I headed home and thought no more about it.

Sunday evening I realized I didn’t know where my phone was. I checked in my truck and found it. There was a message from Rod. He called around 4:30. I didn’t hear the message after seven in the evening. The deadline for turning in the finished edit had passed, I presumed. His message led me to believe that he had been having problems printing to tape. I tried to call back, but just got voice mail.

This has come up in past years. Not just with the San Antonio home-grown 48 Hour film race, but the national one as well (which I used to work for). There are people out there who make movies, particularly amateur filmmakers, who have never worked with Standard Definition video. Their work originates on HD, either tape or more commonly files on hard drives or removable cards. And because these folks never work with media which originated on miniDV tape, they just aren’t used to providing a finished product in this manner. I understand the frustration of hitting a wall with a deadline looming and what you thought would be easy, just isn’t.

Someone I know was bitching on FaceBook about this whole miniDV tape issue. Her problem was why would someone demand that a movie which was shot on High Def be delivered on SD mDV tape? Well, contest, festivals, movie races, and so on should be treated as clients. The rules say the deliverables have to be on miniDV, so don’t make a big deal out of this. Take some time in advance to learn if this is something you can do. Also, if you’re shooting and editing in HD, you’d better find out how long it will take you to create a standard definition NTSC file on your editing system and your computer. And then know that you can hook up a camera or deck and record that file to tape, and budget your time accordingly.

Bitch all you want to. But I’ll back him up. If Drew wants the finished short films delivered on miniDV tape it’s because this is a stable and standard format. When he gets around to making the master tape or DVD for the eventual screening, he’s already burdened with a variety of frame-rates and aspect ratios. My suggestion is that if you want to bitch and kvetch, please spend some time programing a film festival before you toss stone number one.

All this aside, I’m looking forward to seeing the films that were hastily cobbled together this weekend.

Oh what the am I saying. Most of them are gonna suck.

People, it’s supposed to be fun. Not good.

And when it’s both?

Bravo!

I’ve been in a holding pattern of vagueness and ambiguity. The auction house in Dallas which provides me with the lion’s share of my meager income (allowing me to live this rather carefree wastrel lifestyle) is currently working on brokering a large acquisition. If it happens, I might be asked to travel to Dallas to help catalogue, research, etc. Or not. But as this punctuated gig has been so lucrative, I feel a need to be able to jump when called.

I had wanted to run my own team for the San Antonio 48 Hour Film Experience, but there was no way I could commit to the responsibility of contacting crew and actors. However, two different teams contacted me to help out. But even being a crew member on another team was something I didn’t want to commit to. Okay, so that now it’s looking like there’s no Dallas work this week, I’m wondering, do I want to throw myself into a stressful weekend? And if so, on which team? I mean, there might be some local jackass on one of these teams–you know, some guy or gal with whom I’d never work with were I getting paid. That’s sting, you know, suddenly I find myself with one of these clowns…working for free.

I’m conflicted.

Anyway, today I did make commitments to two other free video gigs this week. Thursday I’m out at URBAN-15 working on a tech run involving their new TriCaster (an impressive piece of production hardware developed here in San Antonio by NewTek). It’ll be a two camera shoot. I suspect I’ll place my DVX on sticks and feed it’s signal, via s-video, into the TriCaster up in the A/V booth of the URBAN-15 performance space. There will also be a feed from a wall-mounted robot camera which can be shifted and zoomed from a joy stick. I’d better get there early, because I think I’m expected to run all this myself.

And on Friday, I’ll be video-taping the First Friday performance at Jump-Start Performance Space. They’re doing a Christmas burlesque show in the window of their theater. It should be pretty good, seeing as they have quite a few sexy company members.

Speaking of Jump-Start, I just received my email invitation to be part of their annual performance party. The Jump-Start company is a tight and rather incestuous clique. I am in awe of most all of them. The work which comes out of Jump-Start is, in my opinion, rather uneven. But, hands down, this is one of the few places in the city where true art happens. Jump-Start is the crown jewel of theater in San Antonio. It pushes boundaries, it is inclusive, and it is clearly aware of what is happening in the community. The mere fact that people there know who I am is exciting. And that they are aware of my work and find it of value, that’s pretty sweet.

So, I guess I need to make a short film in December. My idea is a faux newscast. My maximum runtime is 7 minutes. I think I want to use it all. I guess I’d better start working on a script.

And then I have recently been made aware that I’m part of Payan y Pocha’s “Rudos y Tecnicos: a Lucarrific San Antonio Extravaganza.” It’s a Mexican wrestler performance piece which will take place in the back courtyard of Gallista Gallery, where a real wrestling ring will be set up. This is what happens when I tell people “maybe” when they ask me for something. There are quite a few folks who know that when I say “maybe” I mean “no.” Oh, well. No huge problem here. I’m very found of Victor and Sandra (AKA, Payan y Pocha). And even though I am no performer, I guess it won’t kill me to put on a Mexican wrestling mask and come up with some sort of shtick. I’ve got until Dec. 11. There had been some talk of, um, having me as some sort of Lucha Santa. Obviously because I’m so fat. This is actually when I turned on my “um, well, let’s say MAYBE,” reaction. I mean, wouldn’t you? But there is something rather appealing about being the worst and most villainous asshole, who just happens to be Santa Claus…wearing a Mexican wrestler mask.The problem is that I can only offer my obesity. I’m no actor.

We’ll see. I’ll have to give this some thought.

Okay, so here’s when things get a bit strange with my November Novel (i.e. the manuscript I’m working on for National Novel Writing Month). The tentative title is “The River in November.” And there is no way I’m gonna make the requisite 50,000 words by Tuesday, midnight. I’ll be lucky to reach the 35,000 count (this is about where I reached the two other years I tried). Now the conceit, the concept, the foundational structure of this “novel” is that I would write it journal style, with daily postings. Each day would be a fairly accurate account of my real life (first person narration). Sure, there’d be some embellishment. And eventually I’d go back and change the names of my friends, enemies, and acquaintances. There is also a sleuthing plot which is 100 percent fictional. A magical realism story line where I (aided by a fictionalized version of a well-known local artist) try and track down a mysterious homeless illegal alien who may indeed hold the secrete key to blah blah blah. Right?

So I mentioned it gets a bit strange. Tonight I read an excerpt of the piece at the Gemini Ink free monthly writers’ workshop. How meta! And so now, tonight, I need to write the penultimate fictional journal entry for “The River in November” with a description of the fictional “me” reading a passage of the journal at a writers group. I hadn’t intended for a self-referential interlude. I’m not sure how deep I want to delve into some of the other writers who showed up. This monthly group is ever-changing. And often, like tonight, we have some real shit. There was a guy who showed up with an “outline” for a science fiction novel or perhaps a comic book. I felt like throwing the sheet of paper back in his face. “What the fuck is this? This is just a bunch of random words. They don’t mean anything.” However, in his defense I will say he seemed to know how to operate spell check. And, to be honest, that’s further down the road than so many other “creative” people I know. And then there was this Christian writer. A woman–and they almost always are. I wanted to crumple up her four pages and throw them back in her face. “God damn it! Don’t you people know that religious fiction can never be true literature because the only subtext it can allow is pre-existent in the bible? And, unless you’ve never read the books of Old and / or New Testaments, you should be quite aware that these ancient books are crap as literature. The characters’ motivations are all irrational, and what passes for conflict is puerile and two-dimensional. The only interesting character in the New Testament is Judas. Forget Jesus. Judas, yeah, there’s your inner conflict.” Oh, well, I will admit that this Christian woman was very nice and had a good grasp of descriptive prose.

But I digress.

My November novel.

I would like to say to those few individuals who read this blog and know me personally: “Thanks for giving me stuff to write about!” Well, this only applies if we hung out or spoke or texted or emailed during November. And don’t worry, I’ll try not to make you appear too fat or overly petty (unless you’re, well, you know who you are).

So, the fact that I’ve been working on my November Novel has kept me from adding to this blog. Two reasons. One, I’ve been otherwise engaged in writing. Two, because the manuscript is also in a journal form, so I feel I’ve already captured my November life elsewhere.

So now, g’night. I’m off to add to my word count.

And because I should embellish this posting with something, here’s a random picture of a salt shaker I took at some event recently.

I’m about a third of the way through the 50,000 word commitment I’ve made as a participant of the National Novel Writing Month. This is the third time I’ve done this. The two previous attempts never got beyond the 35,000 limited.

The working title of this is “The River in November.” What I’m doing is essentially keeping a journal of my day to day life. Sure, I’m inserting a fictional plot–I mean, I would like someone else to want to read this. I plan to have this fictional story line become increasingly bizarre in that slip-stream or “new weird” manner.

November is a strange month generally in San Antonio. It kicks off with Halloween, and then moves into two more days of macabre costuming and behavior what with Dia de los Muertos. In fact, many of the Day of the Dead stuff continues throughout the month, with many galleries keeping the work up until December.

November is also a rather busy month for me this year. Thank god I don’t have a job. How do you people manage? I mean, Monday, November 1st I attended the Luminaria press conference. The night and the following I video-taped three performances by URBAN-15. There’s been a series of committee work for Luminaria, as well as the Adelante Film Forum–this will finally be over next Monday, as the forum is this coming weekend. I have pre-production work for at least two film projects I want to do this winter. And on and on. But there is something intriguing about allowing this rather hectic month to serve as the backdrop to a novel. There are people and organizations who seem to be moving to the foreground, if for no other reason than that I’m currently working on projects with them.

One of the things about working on a piece of fiction in this manner is that if you let the real world freely enter into the fiction, you find yourself going in unexpected directions. The most obvious situation so far this month is the tragic death of Chuck Ramirez. I’ve known of Chuck for at least as long as I’ve lived in San Antonio. That’s seven or eight years. We had many friends in common for quite some time, but I never met Chuck until we both found ourselves on various Luminaria committees. I have to admit I know more about him since his death back on Friday night than I ever knew before then. I’ve been seeing all the impassioned and heartbroken comments on his FaceBook page, and so many were sharing personal stories. I also watched the series of YouTube clips from a SAMA artist conversation between Chuck and David Rubin.

The more I learn about the guy, the sadder I get. It’s awful to learn that you really like someone, but it’s too late. Chuck was my age. He has more people who love him than any of us could ever hope. I plan to head over to Blue Star for his memorial Thursday night. The gallery and the parking lot will no doubt to packed.

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Years ago I did something similar to this current fictional experiment. There was a time when I was 21 or 22. I keep a dual journal.

Each night I would write two pages. I was using my beloved Royal standard manual typewriter with 11 point type. I had the habit in those days of pushing out the margins and allowing no spaces between lines. I forgot how many words I was able to cram on a page, but it was impressive. The first page was a run through of what I did that day. The second page was what I believed I would do the following day. This experiment allowed several things to happen. One was for me to see if by writing that I would do something which I might be uncomfortable doing, would it happen? It also let me track how much of what I planed to do each day did or did not happen. I also occasionally tossed in some very unlikely incidents…none which happened.

What I find interesting about this approach of twining journaling and fiction is this question: will I decided to do certain things over other things because this one thing is much more interesting for the fictional character Erik to do. Actually, this helped get me out of the house Friday night to walk downtown for the the Latin Music Festival at Main Plaza. I knew it’s be something to write about.

And now I’m thinking to use this as a rational as to why I don’t want to do certain things.

“What? Oh, no. That won’t do at all. I can’t help you. See, I’m writing a first-person non-fiction novel, and unless you expect an alien invasion, dogs wearing laser guns, or live sex acts, I can’t. It sounds just too dang boring. But have fun!”

I guess the same rational can be given if you’re a blogger.

“The fuck you asking me to do? I’ve loyal readers, man. There’s no way I can take such banality to these people. Shame on you. Shame. On. You.”

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Here’s the photo section.

We begin with some shots from the Dia de los Muertos performances at HemisFair Park, Nov. 2nd, 2010.

And here are some detailed shots of a cool Dia de los Muertos altar at Centro Cultural Aztlan.

And, several days later here are some photos from the Latino Music Festival at San Antonio’s Main Plaza.

The food court.

The incomparable ST Shimi, hooping it up.

And Nortec Collective Presents: Bostitch + Fussible, who were fucking outstanding!

Program director Marisela Barrera is the heart and soul of Main Plaza. Sure, she’s a crucial part of the San Antonio theater and performance art scene, but if all she did was book incredible events at Main Plaza, she’s still earn a star on my boulevard. And I’m still kicking myself for missing Marisela’s performance at the last W.I.P. I’m such a heel…..

[Written Nov. 1, 2010.]

Oh, November. The beginning of the bullshit holidays and the coming of the dreaded winter. I’m not much of a fan of Halloween. I think I should be. I have always loved the whole;e morbid graveyard motif. Maybe I just feel it’s embraced by a bunch of fucking amateurs.

Anyway, I managed to keep a low profile during Halloween on my block. I received a text message from Mistress Kat, my dominatrix friend with whom I used to celebrate Halloween. But she fell in love, went off and got married. Probably divorced by now. But what do I know. Love rules supreme…for some people.

Here are my neighbors on Halloween with a Wizard of Oz motif.

This morning I got up and hammered out some questionable verbiage….I’m doing the National Novel Writing Month thing again.

And then I headed to URBAN-15 to pick up Catherine’s Flip-Camera and so I could borrow her monopod. I was asked to video tape their November 1st performance at the Instituto de Mexico in HemisFair Park.

A busy day for me and HemisFair Park. I had that 4pm press conference under the clock tower. Me and my Luminaria brethren were there with our mayor explaining to god and everyone why this new improved 2011 Luminaria Arts Night in San Antonio would make all our whites whites and our colors more colorful.

As press conferences go, it seemed quite successful. Some members of the press showed up. Maybe four. And we had so many more artists than for last year’s press conference (when we had, what, one?). Anyway, we had some great entertainment. The very talented and very young dancer and aerialist Julia Langenberg. She did an ariel dance performance on silks hung from the clock tower. I spoke with her afterwards. She’s an amazing and articulate young woman.

We also had, as entertainment, Hyperbubble, a high-energy retro future duo who should be the soundtrack to the brilliant Paleo-Future blog.

I was happy to see so many artists there. Many of my friends came down to fly the flag of San Antonio arts. Film was well represented by Victor Payan, my co-chair in the film / media committee. He was chosen to speak. Veronica Potter-Hernandez, wonderful filmmaker and my Luminaria co-chair in 2009 was present. We also had one of our film committee members, the very talented Jessica Torres, who, though still a teenager, has won many awards with a series of weird and wonderful and very smart short films. When Susanne Cooper (co-chair of Luminaria) asked for committee members to come and stand in front of the stage, I was proud to be up there with my fellow co-chair, Victor Payan, as well as committee member Jessica, both whom I consider to be my colleagues and friends.

After the press conference, I headed home to take my laundry off the line.

And then, a couple of hours later, I was heading back to HemisFair Park. URBAN-15 was preforming for the Instituto de Mexico’s Dia de los Muertos celebration.

I parked just south of Durango Street in front of my office. I grabbed a shoulder bag with my camera, batteries, a couple of lenses, and a monopod. It was starting to get dark, and I was afraid I might be running late so I hurried to the meeting place.

I join the URBAN-15 dancers and drummers in the parking lot of the Magik Theatre. I pulled out my camera and shot some footage of the troupe suiting up in their elaborate costumes–the women were in white full skirts decked out in flashing LED lights and glow sticks. The drummers favored black suits, spats over shoes, and fedoras.

Once the performers had secured their calaveras masks–the ones who didn’t have their faces painted as skulls–we all walked to the pedestrian concourse in front of the Instituto de Mexico. (I had been in that exact place just three hours earlier for the Luminaria press conference.) I shot some more scenes of the performers going through last minute instructions. They would be following a more traditional folkloric dance group from the Guadalupe Cultural Center. I broke away and went to shoot some of their work–the performances were outside, in the Plaza de Mexico. But I wasn’t there just to watch the other folks, I also planted Catherine’s little Flip-Camera on a tiny tripod hidden on a statue. The audience was smaller than last year. But then I remembered, tonight wasn’t the Day of the Dead. It was tomorrow. And there is be another performance then. I’d be there. I just hoped a larger crowd would as well.

When the Guadalupe group ended their story of life and death and the dead behaving as the living, I pushed the start button on the Flip, and marched into the middle of the Plaza to shoot URBAN-15 as the marched upon us with swirling taffeta, flashing lights, and hypnotic drumming, loud and urgent. You heard it your chest, with your feet and fingertips answered back that primal call.

They played four pieces. The first two were intense, with the dancers moving in a large circle as the drummers stationed themselves along the back wall of the Instituto. The next two numbers were intense, in a different way. More Dionysian, more inclusive. This is when the dancers began approaching the audience and dragging them into the circular dance. It’s mainly kids and women. But some men. Before I began working with URBAN-15 I recall having been pulled up on my feet on a couple of occasions.

After the show in the Plaza, the dancers and drummers headed into the Instituto’s galleries. I followed along, smiling at Gabriella, the director of the Instituto. She’;s a wonderful and warm woman who still manages to run a tight ship. Her eight employees–all Mexican Nationals like her, I presume–seem to adore her. URBAN-15 moved through all the galleries, on both floors, and they must have performed and addition four musical numbers. I was exhausted just watching them.

Shit. What am I doing with my life? I awoke mid morning on this beautiful Saturday. The world was full of promise. I had but one small obligation. I needed to be at the preeminent San Antonio literary nonprofit, Gemini Ink, to sit in on my filmmaker friend Dora Peña’s screenwriting class. Two to four in the afternoon. Well, fine. I still could have done all sorts of stuff. Sadly all I managed to accomplish was to get lunch from the drive-in lane of Eddie’s Taco House (the woman waiting on me was dressed in her Halloween costume, a fairly fetching Dora the Explorer outfit). And then I just lounged around home surfing the internet and watching live video feeds from Jon Stewart and Steven Colbert’s Washington, DC rally.

The other Eric Bosse (writer, filmmaker, etc, currently living in Oklahoma) was in attendance. As well as a trio of San Antonioans I know: Shimi, Oscar, and Craig. It looks like it was a lot of fun.

But, really, all I was able to carry out today was my short appearance at Dora’s gig at The Ink. (That’s Dora Peña, not that explorer kid.)

I was invited with two other local production people–Nikki Young and Veronica Potter-Hernandez–to give feedback to Dora’s students when they began pitching their script ideas. There were, I believe, eight students. They ranged in age from 18 to 65. The fact is I have no idea if any of them can write. All we got were their pitches, heavily condensed versions of their scripts, verbally conveyed. Of the eight, there were only two who I am almost positive are clueless of story structure, and thus are wholly unsuited to write. But if my intuition can be trusted, two poor writers out of eight is pretty damn good.

There was a point when Dora stressed the importance of networking. She told these writers that they needed to get out where producers, agents, et al. congregate. These people are hardly ever found in San Antonio. Conferences, festivals, and wisely planned trips to LA are the best things for screenwriters living in backwater towns. But the truth is, one of the great screenwriting festivals / conferences is held every year up in Austin, Texas, presented under the guise of the Austin Film Festival.

But Dora also pointed to us, her three guest panelists, and explained how networking opportunities can be had even in such a small forgotten city as San Antonio. She said that at any important San Antonio film event, you’d most likely see at least one of us. I realized she was right. Dora had invited three people who are very busy out there networking for their own diverse reasons. In fact all three of us were in attendance at the last San Antonio Film Commission’s SA Film Forum. And the three of us will also be in attendance for the upcoming ¡Adelante! Film Forum. I tried to stress to these folks the importance of getting out there and meeting people. My illustration was explaining that while early-voting on Friday I noticed local producer Ralph Lopez in line behind me. We chatted, of course, but I let Dora’s students think of it as an important networking opportunity.

What I was trying to express was that it’s best to make friends with everyone. Because, well, you know, they are everywhere.

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Monday begins National Novel Writing Month. I guess I’ll jump in again. Maybe actually finish something this time around.

I’m not sure what I want to work on this year. There is a novella I began quite some time ago and let languish about a 40 year-old woman, recently released from prison for armed robbery, who becomes a record producer for an under-appreciated aging country western singer; however, to secure the funds to properly promote his work, she needs to start robbing banks again.

And then there’s the novel I began last month (just half of the first chapter) about a bartender working in the seedy town of Corona, New Mexico, circa 2060. It’s become a port city, because of the space center nearby. He learns that the corporation controlling the space port as well as the Martian colonies are in communication with an alien civilization, yet this information is being withheld from all Earthlings. So, the bartender and his friend, a brilliant failed rock star who’s addicted to designer drugs, sneak aboard an off-planet freighter and begin to check things out.

Also, there’s Planet San Antonio, a screenplay idea I’ve mentioned before. And here I should point out that whatever I end up working on during National Novel Writing Month, I won’t be plying around with screenplay format. I’ll be doing what ever I chose in good old fashioned prose format.

As for the topic, well, I’ve a day to think it over….