While standing in line at the McCreless library for early voting this morning, I was heartened to see that even with eight functioning voting machines and very efficient volunteers, it still took me about twenty minutes to make my way to a machine and cast my votes. And while I was standing there, staring off into space, I suddenly realized how most of the people were quite elderly. Has the voting process become just a habit of the very old? Or was it because I was at the polling place at 3:30 in the afternoon? On a weekday. Maybe it was just a crowd of retirees, with a scattering of the unemployed and the independently wealthy, such as myself. But whatever the case, I began thinking about aging and mortality. At that point it occurred to me that recently I’ve not been overly impacted by the people I know who die. Take for instance a local artist and musician. When I learned of his passing a couple days back, my first reaction was, “good, now I don’t have to keep coming up with excuses as to why I don’t want to work on a project with him.”

Maybe I’ve just become a hide-bound old bastard. Take the last two months or so. I learned that two men who frequently hung out at my father’s book store in Dallas had died. No, make that three. Two of them I knew since I was a kid. The news really had very little impact on me. Perhaps it’s just human nature to detach those emotional bounds from people you’ve been removed from for a period of time.

This brings to mind a passage from a Silver Jews song:

I asked the painter why the roads are colored black.
He said, “Steve, it’s because people leave
and no highway will bring them back.”

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I’d been trying to get a meeting with Victor Payan, my co-chair of the Luminaria media / film committee, but we kept hitting conflicts. You know, like my last-minute invitation to sit on the panel for the San Antonio Film Commission’s October Film Forum.

We finally agreed on Wednesday night. At Joe Lopez’s Gallista Gallery. Victor wanted to kill two birds (roosters?) at one venue. We could meet and talk about Luminaria. And we could also take part in a political rally for Michael Soto. He’s an English professor running for a seat on the Texas school board. He’s a good guy. I hope he gets in.

The event was hosted by local cultural heavy weights, David Zamora Casa and Barbara Renaud Gonzalez. I’ve meet the both of them on multiple occasions, and each only ever vaguely recognizes me. But I begrudge them nothing, as I have such high regard for their creative works as well as all the time and energy they put into education and grassroots leadership. I was also thrilled to be served tequila by the both of them Wednesday night.

Like so many events I attend on the south side and the west side, I felt like family, surrounded by friends, colleagues, and allies. Pocha later showed up to join Victor and me. When a train thundered by and Michael Soto had to pause his speech, David rushed around to pour everyone a shot of tequila. Pocha (with Victor, displaced from California) shouted, over the train, “ah, but I love Texas political rallies!” We all “clicked” out plastic glasses and downed our drinks.

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When Janet Vasquez of the San Antonio Film Commission called me up an invited me be on the panel for the October chapter of their monthly SA Film Forum, I had to say yes. Drew and Janet of the film commission have done so much for me over the years, whether it has been in my role of filmmaker, educator, promoter, board and committee member, or just an overall advocate of film making in San Antonio. I forget, at times, that the film commission in San Antonio is often over-looked. It has the unenviable position of being enfolded within the San Antonio Convention & Visitors Bureau. I have nothing against the CVB–they do great work–but I wish our Film Commission had greater reach and a larger budget. However, from a pragmatic point of view, Drew and Janet squeeze quite a bit out of their shockingly tiny budget. These monthly film forums are great. Also, Nikki Young and her company, PrimaDonna Productions, provide a solid base of support for these events. I only wish more people would attend these free film forums.

But I digress. Janet called me Tuesday morning. The event was Tuesday evening. Quite possibly another panelist had pulled out at the last minute because of a scheduling conflict. Fine with me. If I end up being surrounded by people I like (Drew, Janet, Nikki) I could care less if I’m choice number one, two, or whatever. The topic was something about new technologies in film making, and is it a help or hindrance. Something like that. I assumed they meant shooting with DSLRs. Fine with me. I have experience. And I’m a serious advocate of this current trend (which–cool as it might be–will be seen, ten years from now, as quirky and odd. The DSLR as a movie-making tool will one day be lumped in with the Laser Disk, or the Eight-Track Tape).

My fellow panelists possessed more serious CVs than I (Darren Abate and Eduardo Ruiz-Healy), but I hope I added some useful words. Again, my biggest gripe: the low attendance. Most all of the local film folks (whether hobbyists or those professionally employed) know about these events. They just decide not to show.

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The Mayor of San Antonio, Julian Castro, has created this series of public involvement forums. SA2020. That’s the brand. Check it out at — sa2020.org — and I’m still trying to find out how much of this is genuine, and how much of this is bogus consensus-building. You know, creating the illusion of transparency, yet pushing a pre-established agenda. I’m pretty sure it’s a bit of both. Why? City panning and real-estate development and such as that do indeed rely heavily on data-mining and surveys. And if real human beings (as opposed to fucking north side yuppies) are part of the process, I can tell you the damage will be a bit less that it could be.

The first SA2020 event was really a PR opportunity. Don’t get me wrong. Work (or the illusion of work) got done. But there were many people who appeared either out of curiosity or because they wanted to be seen as part of this process. What bothered me that day was how few people I recognized from the arts community.

However, last night, it was quite different. I want to praise Ethel Shipton (of whom I’m very fond) and Patty Ortiz (and I haven’t yet had the chance to get to know Patty very well). They, as co-chairs of the Luminaria Fine Arts Committee, took it upon themselves to distribute art-related t-shirts. Ethel gave me one. Thanks, Ethel! I was a bit fat for it, but still I wiggled into it. There were quite a few artsy people wearing those shirts at that meeting. Also, I saw quite a few other people from the arts present who weren’t sporting the shirt. People like Dago Patlan (filmmaker and educator), Candi Masorro (producer and casting director), Hector Machado (actor, architect, writer, and director), and several others. We were a well-represented tribe. I was happy to share break-out sessions with friends such as Veronica Potter-Hernandez and Susanne Cooper.

Let’s all hope that these series of public forums / workshops help to improve our city. If you’re interested in being part of the process of shaping the city’s future from within the establishment, there are still a few more of these meetings. Get on to the website.

sa2020.org

It’s funny, but I can’t remember when Ramon, Deborah, and I began talking about Noche de Recuerdos as something serious which we planned on making happen. I do know that we have been actively working on running fund-raising activities for about six months. Most likely we’ve been talking about this event as a group for about nine months. When asked where the idea came from, I can only shrug. Apparently there was a lunch or a dinner or a couple round of drinks that happened–when and where I do not know. I must have been out of town, because I was not present. Apparently Henry de Leon was present. He’s an artist, florist, and major arts advocate. It seems Henry’s been working on this idea for quite some time. But somehow the meme of floating, illuminated altars found its way into the Proyecto Locos realm. I’m not in a position to claim ownership of this idea. Originator or not of this idea, I do have to acknowledge Henry’s important work in helping us to realize this project. He’s an honorary Loco, and one of the truly good guys in this town.

Anyway, Saturday night the event finally happened, as I knew it was bound to. The thing about production is that, after a certain point, there is no way to stop the momentum. You just have to step out of the way, make sure it happens as best as possible, and try not to get run over by the speeding train bearing down on you.

Saturday was a damn exhausting day. I’m still beat and battered, but, damn, things worked out very well. No one drowned. There were no fisticuffs between artists. It was a pleasant, low-key event. Maybe 17 artists placed work in the water. The total number of attendees wasn’t too huge–I guesstimated 150–but if quality is the measure, we had a wonderful audience of laid-back art lovers happy to chill out to a low-impact evening of unique floating art.

When we initially began speaking to people about the idea, we realized what an easy sell it was. In the argot of Hollywood, it’s an easy pitch. San Antonio artists understand the idea of an altar as a work of art. And the idea of self-illuminated works of art floating on an intimate pond in a public park on the west side struck so many people–artists and non-artists alike–as something very special.

And it was very special. Saturday night I heard many people tell me that it was exactly as they pictured it.

This evening could not have happened in this particular manner without Proyecto Locos. And, of course, our sponsor of the event, AIT-SCM (American Indians in Texas at the Spanish Missions), who made things run so smoothy. The volunteers out in the kayaks were great. They placed the altars right where the artists wanted them. And later, when it got dark, the boat boys were out there, mere shadows, artfully repositioning the altars if they drifted askew. We also had a Native American blessing, poets, and Indian music provided by AIT.

I wish I could have taken loads of photos and video, but I was running here and there, making sure things were working smoothly. Also, I had to keep on top of my own altar. It was a dual-layer floating projection screen. I had a mammoth gasoline generator to occasionally baby-sit. It was powering my video projector (which was balanced precariously on a stone retaining wall three inches from the water’s edge). The video was a piece I had created a few years back for the Dia de los Muertos show at Centro Cultural Aztlan, “In Memoria / Wind,” is a short looped video of roadside altars around San Antonio. My floating screen was rather homely, but once the defects were hidden by the cover of night, the over-all aesthetics of the project was not too bad. I only wish I had managed to have my proposed four layers. But that looked like shit. I settled for two. Here’s a photo.

My favorite piece was Deborah Keller-Rihn’s. It was simple and beautiful, and very effective. She used an automobile inner tub as the flotation platform. Inside the donut hole was a floating circle of styrofoam which acted as a platform for about ten of those battery-powered dome lights (you know, stick them on the wall of your closet, press the plastic dome, and, click, it comes on). Set atop the inner tube were two pieces of round Plexiglas (the bottom, translucent white, the top, clear), and sandwiched between, a photo of her parents printed on plastic transparent material. Here’s a picture.

My second favorite was by Oscar Alvarado. It was fucking huge! The floatation platform was a Hobie kayak. Oscar had created a grotto. But it wasn’t made from a bathtub, he used that industrial spray foam. This huge edifice (which enclosed an image of one of his famous ancestors) was supported on the kayak by an impressive outrigger frame constructed from five inch (or larger) PVC. The lights were powered by some no-nonsense batteries and an inverter. Oscar doesn’t fanny around. He makes some serious shit.

There was such a wonderful variety of work. When we, Proyecto Locos, began pushing this event, we never thought there would be such a wide variety of floatation and lighting schemes. Inner tubes and styrofoam were about equally divided as the most common forms of floatation. But there was also Oscar’s kayak, one piece on wood, one or two on capped PVC pipe, and a truly wonderful piece placed afloat upon a platform of empty beer cans taped water-tight.

Here’s a few pictures. I hope others who were photographing the evening will share.

Thank you everyone who was behind us in this event. I don’t care if you were able to show up or not. I’m happy that so many people responded to our Proyecto Locos event with support, good energy, or whatever. If all you did was smile when we mentioned this idea, or perhaps you bought one of our Raspas Locos during the summer.or maybe you came to our “Viva Max” screening at URBAN-15….well, we want to thank you. It was a beautiful and magical evening. And it looks like there will be another Noche de Recuerdos next years.

We hope to see you all then!

It’s really all about power, right? Not that guts & glory road. I’m talking amps, volts, watts. For me, this weekend, it comes down to a matter of 295 watts. That’s 295 watts running on 120 volts, pure American USDA/AC. But because I want to run my NEC video projector completely off the grid via a gasoline generator. Getting the generator proved easier than I’d feared. When I posted my need on FaceBook I received two quick responders. My next problem was that many people cautioned me about the unstable power source off of a generator, even after passing through the power inverter. Not wanting to fry my projector, I opted to buy a UPS. They’re those fancy surge protectors with a built-in battery, so when the electric company yanks your juice for failure to pay just as you’re putting the final touches on your proof of Fermat’s Last Theorem into, I dunno, your EXCEL spread sheet, you will still have time to hit “SAVE” before your brilliance is lost to the ages.

The UPS is a mid-priced appliance. I picked one up for forty bucks. But because I hadn’t researched the wattage needs of my NEC NP500 3000 Lumen projector, I found that the device I got wasn’t up to the task. The battery output topped at a miserly 250 watts. So, back to fucking Office Depot. I shelled out more than I care to admit for a robust 450 watt machine. This should accommodate the projector, and another small device or two.

This is all for Noche de Recuerdos, tomorrow night’s event put on by Proyecto Locos (AKA Erik, Deborah, and Ramon). Please, stop me from ever doing something like this again. Don’t get me wrong. The event’s a great idea. Hell, I see no reason why tomorrow night won’t turn out to be a wonderful experience for everyone. But one of the reasons that the three of us decided to put this event on was that we’d be able to pay ourselves as organizers. There had been talk early on of maybe a thousand bucks apiece (a conversation strictly among ourselves, I should point out). This might have been possible were it not for the fact that each of us sucks at fund-raising.

So, not only am I not getting paid, but I decided to create my own illuminated, floating altar. Once all the receipts are tallied up, it will have cost me about $250 for supplies and such, just for my project, let along stuff I’ve bought for the event itself.

Okay. That’s it. I’ve got it out of my system. No more complaining.

And for those not keeping up with this blog, the event in question, Noche de Recuerdos, is an evening of floating, illuminated altars constructed by local artists which are intended to commemorate important people no longer living. These personal altars have become common this time of year around San Antonio’s art and cultural centers. Dia de los Muertos has quite a hold on this town.

Tomorrow night (Saturday, October 23rd) the little intimate casting pool across the road from Woodlawn Lake will be host to at least two dozen floating pieces of art. But because we’ve put out the word that anyone is welcome to come and bring a floating altar, we really don’t know how many pieces to expect.

Personally I need to concentrate on getting my own piece together and functioning properly. My initial plan was to do a float-test this afternoon at the site. But I was too busy rushing around. It’s all going to happen tomorrow. My altar is a PVC frame which will hold a video projection screen. I’m hopeful that the six 26″ bicycle inner tubes will support my screen. I’ll have three extra tubes as a backup.

The generator I’ll be borrowing tomorrow is a monster, or so it has been described. I think Richard said it has an output of 2,500 watts. This means it’ll be obnoxiously loud. I’ll have to address this issue before the event begins around 6-7pm.

So, please, come on out and check out the altars. We’ll start things off with a Native American blessing. There will be poetry. Indian drum and flute music. I’m also hoping that a certain high caliber actress/writer/performance-artist will treat us to a personal monologue. I suspect there will be a few other surprises.

Drop by and witness the birth of a new San Antonio tradition. We’re financially strapped, so please BYOstuff. This is a family event, so bring a picnic dinner, and hey, don’t forget the kids. And even though the event doesn’t begin until 6pm, feel free to come early and keep the friendly folk who call themselves Proyecto Locos company. I mean, really, we’d love to share some of your BYOetcetera. But, remember, this is the west side, so be discreet, we don’t want la chota shutting us down.

I hit town last night. And, good or bad, I’m back in the belly of the San Antonio art scene. The most pressing thing I need to get up to speed with is Noche de Recuerdos. It’s happening this Saturday. I’m looking at a list of 28 artists who’ve agreed to construct a floating, illuminated altar. Some of them we’ve not contacted in two or three weeks, so I’m a bit troubled that not al will come through. So, we are hoping some last minute folks will decide to make something and join the fun. So, if you’re reading this and think it might be fun to create something, do so. Come on and join us at the Casting Pool across from Woodlawn Lake Saturday afternoon. We will be there at noon. All art needs to be in place by 6pm, when the event begins. At 9pm we will begin removing the art from the water. Let’s hope nothing sinks!

I had planned on doing an altar in tribute to my father. The idea was to get a photo of him, heavily process the image with high contrast until it became basically a two-tone image. I would then send it to a balloon printing place and have them print the picture onto several largish balloons. I’d fill them with helium and attach about ten of them to objects floating in the water (loosely tied together to keep them from drifting too far apart) which would represent some of my father’s passions, such as books, revolvers, beer, coffee, cowboy attire, wrestling magazines, cheese enchiladas, country music, flying saucers, Marie Windsor, etc. But I soon realized I’d frittered my time away and was unable to get the balloons printed in time.

I’ve moved to plan “B.” I’m planting my video projector on the shore. I hope the loaner generator comes through. And I will project a silent film onto a screen which will be floating on the pond.

I was at the Guadalupe Lumber Company over on Zarzamora (the Mother Road here in San Antonio) where I picked up some supplies to construct my altar. I don’t know why it took me so long to finally make an appearance at this iconic San Antonio retailer. And so now I finally feel like a true San Antonian. I’m all stocked up with PVC pipe. I now need to cut it all down and fit the pieces together to make a rectangular frame. 8′ x 5′ x 2′. Then I’ll zip-tie the contraptions to six bicycle inner tubes (double-stacked) as my flotation platform. The frame will be fitted with four layers of hanging gauzy white material, each six inches from the other. The light from the projector will passthrough and hit all layers, giving the piece a sense of depth, while also increasing the level of illumination.

That’s all quite do-able. But I also have to come up with some images to project. I do have some clips I can use in a pinch. But I’d rather shoot some new material.

We’ll see how much time I have to do this.

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My day started out with a meeting of the Locos. Ramon, Deborah, and I met at the restaurant across a side street from the Woodlawn Lake casting pool. I should have made a note of what it’s called. Something like Camarco…. Not Camargo, that much I know. Anyway, they make a damn good chilaquiles plate.

As we were sitting there eating, jawing, drinking coffee, we got a call from one of the local morning TV shows. They wanted one of the Noche de Recuerdos artists to come on their show for a short interview Thursday morning. And so the three of us each lifted a cell phone and dialed who we thought would be a good representative artist. And when the dust settled, the one artist who answered the phone and wasn’t otherwise involved on Thursday morning was Suchil Coffman-Guerra. In retrospect, we all we’re quite pleased. She’s a wonderful artist and will do a great job promoting the event.

After our late breakfast we walked across the street to the casting pool. The water had dropped about three feet since our last visit. The parks department had been out and cleaned up the shoreline. We spoke with a man and his son who were fishing of the raised metal deck. They were quite familiar with the casting pool and they raved about the sizes of the resident turtles.

Here is Deborah looking serious.

And Ramon, unshaved. As an elder to the Tap Pilam tribe of the Coahuiltecan people, even he knows he’s looking fairly un-Indian with his beard.

And here’s a picture of the entrance to the park where we will be Saturday.

We’re going to see you all Saturday, right? Don’t let us come looking for you.

It’s Monday night. I’m back in San Antonio after a week-long gig in Dallas. I was running point on a book appraisal which the auction house I sometimes work for was hired to do. The library in question belonged to a book collector I’ve known for maybe two decades. He passed away some time back and his family is trying to make sense of his large holding, which is somewhere between a collection and an accumulation.

If I can equate my rare book persona with my filmmaking persona, I would have to say that book appraisals are somewhat akin to video-taping weddings. I can do them both really well if I’m allowed to use my own personal process, but almost always there are various family members making specific (and often divergent) demands. Also, I’m such a poor businessman what I always under-price myself.

This appraisal, however, worked out quite nice. The family are pleasant, rational, and understanding. Also, I’m not the one naming a price. The auction house has done that. My week’s work will be billed to the family by the auction house. And the auction house will pay me the rate they normally pay for my services. This is in no way  small fee — they pay quite well — but the truth is I’d rather not know what the family is being charger. The fact is, appraisers most often charge stupefying fees. Back when the family book store was up and running, it often fell to me to do the appraisals. My father hated to do them. He let me set my fee. I realize now I can damn cheap. But, money matters aside, I get a kick out of keeping my finger in the antiquarian book business. Sometimes I forget how much I know about the field…and even though I have a hard time calling myself an expert on, well, anything, there are a few fields in which I can move about with confidence and knowledge, and collectable books is one of those fields.

I did a walk-through of the library the Friday before last. And then I had to head back to San Antonio. I’d promised to help Rod Guajardo on a film. It wasn’t that big of a deal. There wasn’t anything I could do for work in Dallas over the weekend, Sure, I could have spent some time with my sister. But I knew I’d be able to do that once I returned to do the appraisal. And, really, I was interested in seeing how Rod worked.

Rod Guajardo is, I assume in his young thirties. He’s a beginning filmmaker. He has embraced the DSLR as his instrument. And with a collection of relatively inexpensive equipment he has created some very impressive short pieces. And lately he has been working to up his game. He did a very nice music video. He put together a short commercial. He produced a great PSA for VIA (the San Antonio transit folks) for a recent contest. I thought his piece should have won. (Sorry, Nikki. I’m happy the PrimaDonna piece won–’cause, you know, you guys are awesome–but Rod’s piece was more technically polished and informative.)

So, yeah, I had my agenda in working with Rod. I wanted to see how he did such great work. I only wish other folks in the San Antonio film community had the same sneaky agenda as myself. You know, wanting to learn how to make better shit?

Rod is shooting with a Canon Rebel. And it’s a pretty cheap DSLR. But he makes it sit up and do his bidding. He’s researched well all the equipment he’s bought, and he’s learned to use them to the best of their specifications. Rod also has a great eye for composition. Also, he’s a smart guy, who knows how, not only to take a story apart, but how to get the best from his actors. Well, I guess I should wait until I see the first edit of this short film.

The film is titled “Unimaginable,” and it’s written by Cedric Smith. Patsy Whitfield is the producer. And they had enough faith in Rod to bring him in as the director. This is his first narrative project.

We had a short day of shooting Saturday. And an insanely long day Sunday. I was the only person on the crew with any real production experience. And even though we really needed a serious AD (a role I sort of took upon myself, with other roles), we had total commitment from our cast and crew. Yes, we moved slow. But it soon became clear that high quality was what we were pushing for.

I do know that the photography will be superb. But I’m really uncomfortable with the audio. We had a rotating crew of newbies, each teaching the next crew. Because the first two kids were instructed by an audio professional, I held my tongue. But the truth is, I’ve never seen so poorly held boom poles in my life. And we never addressed noise spill from refrigerators, other compressors, HVAC, and on and on and on.

I hope the guy who’s doing the audio edit (and, yes, he knows his stuff) can make this work.

But it was great fun. This was perhaps the most diverse (culturally, ethnically, etc.) film I’ve worked on since “Vaya Con Dios, Asshole,” Cast and crew, well, we were from all over the map. And, you know, we got along just fine.

Whenever you hear about this country being divided, ignore it. We’re doing just fine. Our corporate controlled media, that’s what’s all fucked up. I mean, really, Get it together people. Politically I’m an extreme leftist. “Spiritually” I’m an agnostic (you saw the quotes, right?), and maybe even a full-bore atheist (but I’m not yet fully committed). The truth is, I have quite a few Republican and Christian friends. We get along just fine. When people start talking about the “culture wars” tell them to go fuck themselves. There is no such thing going on in this country outside of the media.

Still worried? Increase your circle of friends. Pull in folks with divergent values. Talk to those people. I guarantee, your worries will begin to dissipate. Because, you know, they’re probably fine folks.

Oh, and you’re welcome.

I make it a point not to mention when things go to shit in my apartment. The problem is that my landlady sends some bottom-feeder of a trade school dropout. The guy is guaranteed to be either an octogenarian who constantly is massaging his arthritic hands as he looks with grim trepidation at his rickety five-foot ladder, or else some grinning and trembling fast-talking alcoholic sweating last night’s malt liquor from shaved scalp to flea-bitten ankles. Last week’s specimen possessed a combination of the less desirable traits of both. He showed up with a very stoned companion (who, during the initial introductions, stood in the driveway cradling a Skilsaw whilst staring raptly at a squirrel grooming itself upon the neighbor’s fence).

Let me back up. Four weeks back my landlady was standing on my porch, bemoaning about how painful it was to evict a tenant (an unsavory task she’d recently accomplished for a deadbeat couple in my building). Her son and daughter-in-law were scoping out the rentability of the unit on the south-side of the house–you know, how much repair needed to be done. It was a hot day, and when my landlady asked how my air conditioner was doing, I made the mistake of telling her it was pretty weak. Not really up to cooling the whole place. And that was all it took. If her star tenant was unhappy, it’s time to jump to action. Before I’d realized what I’d done, she’d yelled at her son to come running. They quickly assessed that I needed a new window unit. My protestations were useless. Early the next morning, the son showed up. Between him and his two sons–teenager and hyper-active pre-teen–they managed to cram the new air conditioner into the window, and in the processed fucked up my window casement on a truly heroic scale. The landlady’s son crossed his arms and stood in my living room looking at the new air conditioner, purring away (the air conditioner, not the son).

“Well, there you go. It’s working like a champ.” As he packed up his tools, I looked at the cracked window pane, the sprung casement molding, and the little shafts of sunlight coming in from around the window unit. Just get this guy out of here, I thought to myself, and I’ll use some gaff tape and that caulking gun I knew I had around someplace, and, hell, it’ll be good enough for me. “Right,” the son said, patting me on the shoulder. “We’ll get some guy over here to fix this all up for you.”

Before I could explain how a little bit of calk and gaff tape goes a long way, he was gone. My window was all fucked up. And I had a shiny new air conditioner…that was as weak and ineffectual as the last one.

This is where I found myself last week. Heckle and Jeckle scarping and sanding and sawing and painting…and playing hate radio talk shows on a battery powered transistor radio (fucking Sean Hannity). I retreated to the bedroom huddled over my laptop with headphones catching up on Democracy Now. And after three and a half hours, I tottered out to the raspy cry of my name.

“What’s up?”

“Well, guy,” the geezer said, slapping on the back. “We’re done here for the day.”

I looked at the window. It looked almost the same. The window sill had been scrapped and repainted with primer. The window was still cracked. The molding untouched. No caulking. I steeled myself for the next inevitable statement.

“See you tomorrow!”

This madness, I fear, will never end. These sorts of situations, I understand, necessitate a proactive stance. But all I could think of involved pistol whipping or a more baroque scenario involving a two gallon jug of blackstrap molasses and a huge nest of very very hungry ants.

Please, friends, rally! Save me from myself!

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The Saturday before last I headed to the SA2020 kickoff.

Because newspapers have become so pathetic and irrelevant, I was out of the loop about this major up-coming event which the mayor of San Antonio, Julian Castro, was instigating to facilitate a new thrust of local city planing.

I first became aware of this event when I received a mailing. You know, mail…in my mailbox! A card arrived. From the Mayor! I was asked to participate in this SA2020 event. Wow! The Mayor knows who I am? Shit, yes! I emailed my RSVP. But when I later headed over to the website–SA2020.org–I realized that anyone could be a part of this event. ANYONE. I mean you could sign up if you were, say, a crack dealer, a corporate lawyer, or even a trade school dropout. What a blow. Maybe I’m not so special after all.

But still I went. It was held at a YMCA over near Brackenridge Park. This was fairly centrally located. And what with the general obesity problem in this country (and in San Antonio in particular), a meeting at a health and fitness center is good politics. When I arrived, 20 minutes early, the parking-lot was completely full. I parked over on a side street. When I entered the facility, I registered and headed towards the meeting hall. And that’s when I saw my friend Elizabeth Moise Gonzalez (actress and local representative of TXMPA (The Texas Motion Picture Alliance)). She said she’d staked out a table up front. As I followed her, it became apparent that the over-flowjng parking-lot wasn’t just people coming to this event. The hall was still only 20 percent full. And that’s when I realized that this was a very popular YMCA. I mean, really, all those people coming in with their yoga mats weren’t part of this SA2020. (However, I should point out that by the time the event began the place wasn’t just packed, but there were people in two other rooms in the facility, as well as an over-flow off-site facility, three blocks away). Anyway, when Liz took me to her table, I was pleased to find my friend Malena Gonzalez-Cid seated at the same table. Malena is the executive director of Centro Cultural Aztlan, and I like her because she’s very intelligent and posses a wonderful sarcastic sense of humor.

Another actor, Ron Bush, showed up at our table. Also we had Mobi Warren, an educator and activist, who does some work with Gemini Ink, the preeminent literary nonprofit organization in San Antonio. Also, George and Catherine Cisneros (of URBAN-15 fame) were seated at our table at the beginning. Though they graciously gave up their seats to move to another table, without such a great front row view. So, basically, ours was the artsy table.

I like our young, charismatic mayor. Voting for Julian Castro was a liberating experience. Akin to voting for Obama. The biggest difference is that Castro has not yet disappointed me. But, truly, the two men have a great deal in common. Youthful good looks, intelligence, an easy and articulate way with the media, and, most unfortunately (to me, at least), a politically centralist position. Neither man has claimed to be a progressive. And, clearly, neither is. I’m not sure if either is actually what could be considered liberal. They’re pro-business fellers, pure and simple, keeping a studied distance from labor.

When Castro finally does do something to disappoint me, it will most likely involve the urban renewal development of downtown. Whenever I hear people harping on about how downtown San Antonio needs to be aggressively revitalized and developed, I’m quite baffled. What I’ve seen, in the eight or so years I’ve been in this city (and a resident of downtown–well, King William, downtown adjacent), is a slow and orderly development. I have witnessed a sane and healthy trend of expanded affordable housing, robust arts and cultural venues (not just for tourists, but also for residents), a clear respect for the ease of pedestrian movement–in short, the downtown area is becoming a healthy center of diversity and inclusion for the local inhabitants; and a well-crafted hub for tourists, whether they be here for the culture or because of some sort of convention. We do not need to aggressively speed up downtown development in San Antonio. We seem to be on a wise and solid trajectory. We’ll see. Maybe two years from now I’ll have a better response to the question of Castro’s efficacy as mayor. And, hell, maybe I’ll have a hand in things through this ongoing SA2020 deal. True the first gathering was purely a PR move. But maybe the process will continue to be transparent, democratic, and inclusive. What I do know is that San Antonio (oft labeled “lame”) is first and foremost an incredibly resilient city. In short, it’s hard to fuck it up. Because, you know, the people are watching each others’ backs. Solidarity? Yep. ¡Sí, se puede, motherfucker!

Finally my paycheck from the auction house in Dallas cleared through my bank. I paid my CPS bill and returned the money I borrowed from my mother (a loan which I needed to pay other bills earlier in the month). I also decided to buy something for myself. I needed some comfortable shows for walking and hiking. My Doc Martins are falling apart. Converse All Stars might look cool, but they’re useless for a two or three mile hike. And my pair of generic sports shoes, which I paid good money for three years ago, have been dropping the tread like a lizard shedding his skin. So, last week I made a morning visit to the Academy sporting good store on the south side and bought a pricey pair of Merrell light hiking shoes. They look like jogging shoes, but a bit chunkier. I wore them on a bike ride today. They are light enough for biking. And I even got off and walked the mile stretch of Villamain from the Ghosts Tracks to Mission San Juan. Very comfortable. I can easily see myself hiking ten miles or more with no problem. Now I just need to walk those ten miles, and often. I’m become horribly out of shape.

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A while back I received an email from the San Antonio Office of Cultural Affairs for an event they were sponsoring. And so, last Wednesday I attended a speech by Randy Cohen, Vice President of “local arts advancement” at Americans for the Arts (a Washington-based government arts organization). He discussed the Americans for the Arts National Arts Index, which is sort of like a censes report for this nation’s arts organizations. It was at the downtown library. Ten AM.

And so on that day I motored by Eddie’s Tacos for a couple of tacos and made it to the library with five minutes to spare.

There were about thirty-five people there, mostly representing local non-profit arts and cultural organizations. I didn’t know them all, but some of my favorite people were there (and I’m not sure all these San Antonio cultural icons even know who I am, but I know them). Malena, Graciela, Steven, Shirlene, Steve, Kellen, Marisela, Diane, Shimi, George, Catherine, Felix, Rafe, and Linsey. I always like going to these sorts of functions. But, really, why do I do this? I don’t run an art / cultural non-profit. True, I sit on the board of the San Antonio chapter of NALIP (a film non-profit); I’m on the steering committee for Luminaria (an arts nonprofit); and I have been head of media programs (more or less) for URBAN-15 (an arts non-profit) for four years. So, on paper I seem to be a legitimate member of any group which would embrace all these great people. But, really, I’m just some guy who helps out. And, truth be told, if there was an idiot-proof and streamlined way to set up a successful non-profit arts organization, I’d probably dive in. But it’s a tough world.

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Thursday I made it a point to check out the Gregg Barrios tribute at Krazy Vatos Emporium on S. Presa. It was held in “la yarda,” the gravel area in back. I first met Gregg a couple of years back. I had signed up for some Gemini Ink class which embraced the concept of November being National Novel Writing Month. The guy running the class, a local published genera writer, had apparently taken a look at my writing sample, and decided I wasn’t good enough to pay for his mentorship. What was up with that? I mean I’m a pretty good writer. Perhaps I shouldn’t gripe–Gregg Barrios was also denied (and he’s better than a pretty good writer). So what did Gregg do? He contacted Gemini Ink and had them contact all the folks who were turned down. If they wanted to get together as a group–for FREE–contact Gregg. And so I did. A group of about seven people met weekly for all of November to share our progress. That’s when I learned that Gregg Barrios is a great guy. And over the months following that November, I have seen him create new and well-reviewed work. Also, I have learned about the important body of work he’s created over the decades. And Thursday at Krazy Vatos it all came together.

Gloria Sanchez

Seven poets and actors read selected poems written by Gregg. And later Gregg took the stage and read some of his new work. Here is a list of the guest readers: Carmen Tafolla, Danny De La Paz (DDLP!), Anthony Flores (AKA, Anthony the Poet), Gloria Sanchez, Greg Hinojosa, Trey Moore, and Ben Olguin.

Gregg Barrios

It was a very nice evening.

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Friday night I headed over to the black box theater at Say Si. It was the final night of the play “Padre: The Story of Hildalgo’s Revolution.” I went because my friend Seme Jatib had been asked to provide some interpretive dance pieces as interstitial devices between acts. I was intrigued when Seme told be about this. Joel Settles’ name came up. I knew that he ran a student theater program with the parks department. I thought this is what the performance was. But now, with program in hand, I’m not completely sure who was sponsoring the event. It looks like this is a new theater program coming out of Say Si. If so, this is great. But they need to more clear in the program. In fact, I believe Joel wrote the play, but an author is not mentioned in the program. Oh well….

What I most enjoyed (beyond Seme’s excellent choreography/dancing (peppered a bit with some Isadora Duncan)) was to finally see Joel Settles do something other than comedy. Don’t get me wrong. He’s a brilliant actor doing comedy. But I was able to see him do a straight drama piece, playing Padre Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla.

It was a good play with some very strong performances. And if this is a taste of more work to come out of a new Say Si theater program, I’m certainly looking forward to future productions.

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Saturday I finally made it to Lisa Suarez’s play, “I’ll Remember For You.” Now I should point out that I don’t know Lisa. But, truly, I know her quite well. I’ve seen her performance a few times at the Jump-Start Performance Company, where she works. But because I’ve “friended” her on FaceBook, I’ve managed to learn quite a bit about her. She’s made no move to hide the fact that she’s the primary care-giver for her mother who’s been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. In fact, her social media postings can be seen as potent advocacy for Alzheimer’s education. She, on occasion, gives unflinching and honest accounts of her daily life–though always tempered with love and humor.

She wrote this autobiographical play about her relationship with her mother. But instead of portraying herself, she chose to take on the role of her mother. Veronica Rogers, an actress I’ve never seen before, did a great job with the “Lisa” role. But, damn, Lisa, as “Mama,” was amazing. I know that there are the occasional yearly awards which are concerned with the San Antonio theater scene. And if these groups really take the craft seriously, Lisa Suarez should sweep the awards. Best performance. Best writing. Those two, for starters, are the no-brainers.

I was afraid that the piece would be pretty gritty and painful and absolutely heartbreaking. And it was. But it was also damn funny. And I consider myself lucky that I went on the night which Lisa’s mom was in the audience. I guess I had a privileged position. I knew Lisa’s story, and because of FaceBook I’d seen photos of her mom and thus was able to know, during intermission, that I was witnessing a very deep and multilayered performance. There was not one iota of the whiff of exploitation. This was all about tribute, honor, love. Lisa bared her soul to not just the audience, but also to her mother. The fact that her mom might not be understanding that much of the piece,and probably won’t remember the evening, this all falls away when, after the final applause, Lisa finally breaks character and asks her mother to stand up. When her mother stands she tells her how much she loves her. All the frustrations, the bullshit, the sacrifices which have been made for a parent slipping into dementia are pushed aside–for the moment at least–and an unapologetic expression of intimacy and love is made.

This show really hammered home my assessment that the best theater in San Antonio happens at Jump-Start.

I was reading a few of my incomplete manuscripts the other day. One, the opening chapter of a sort of bohemian punk rock science fiction novel, seemed to be drifting towards another work, a projected novella which exists only in rough notes. It’s a Christmas story. Maybe I should hammer out that one instead. It’s about a journalist (a combination of Dahr Jamail and the Joseph Cotten character from Citizen Kane)–he’s determined to get an interview with the elusive Santa Claus, a toy tycoon who, in this parallel universe, really exists. Mr. Claus created the commercial element of Christmas in the mid 19th century with his pal Charles Dickens. Santa Claus is 232 years old. He keeps trim and feisty through a regimen goat placenta injections and daily enemas of radium-infused glacier-melt water. His workers who manufacture the billions of toys are all decedents of his original labor pool, inmates of Victorian-era London workhouses. Over several generations these over-worked and malnourished slaves have become diminutive pygmies who rarely live more than a couple of decades. “My little elves, my sweet loyal simpletons,” he’s been heard to call them. The problem our hero has in tracking down his subject is that UNICEF, Amnesty International, Green Peace, and PETA (because of rumored unspeakable and unnatural behavior with reindeer) are all aggressively tracking Santa. He’s become a moving target. Even his massive global chain of sweatshops keep shutting down and re-opening in new locations–deserted Pacific islands, secret east European cavern systems, the calderas of dormant South American volcanos, decommissioned Asian penal colonies, and the old American Motors plant in Kenosha, Wisconsin.

Why not work on this one? The season of giving is just around the corner….

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I remember those odd days back when my sister and I were running the family bookstore after our father passed away. Used and collectable books aren’t the easiest things to sell even in a good economy. It’s a career favored by those whose incomes are subsidized by trust funds. Or, such as our father, folks who are not concerned with amassing much in the way in wealth. Anyway, all those thoughts of my uselessness as a salesman changed significantly on those times (three or four times a year) when I would continue my father’s habit of renting a table at the Dallas Gun Show. He would attend as a book dealer, selling books on guns, hunting, and kindred macho subjects. His main reason was to sell enough books to buy a new pistol to add to his collection of, mostly, single action cowboy-style revolvers. I continued setting up at this venue. But not just to make some money for the bookstore by selling books on blood sport–see, it was also as a place to sell off some of my father’s guns. (Note to those considering turning me into the Feds: currently you do not need to possess a firearm license to sell your own personal gun collection in the state of Texas. There are limitations as to what and how much you can sell. And, by the way, I think many people are surprised that I, a self-proclaimed ultra-progressive leftist, am not overly concerned with increasing this country’s gun laws. That fact is, we have plenty of gun laws. Probably they should be better enforced. But I tend to agree with Michael Moore when he posits that perhaps the high rates of gun violence in this country has more to do with our media’s obsession with violence as well as the United State’s out-of-control military industrial complex which has institutionalized murder of foreign people by Americans in uniform as virtuous behavior…but I digress….) So there I was, selling books on one side of the table, guns on the other. Now let me just say that I place more value on books than guns (and so did my father, ore or less), but, man, if you wanna make money, my friend, sell guns. People–especially Texans–fucking love guns.

This takes me to now. I’m no longer officially in the book business. Now I’m trying to offer my services as a video producer, or, more close to my heart, I’m trying to get the funding to make the film projects important to me. But no one’s biting. The other day, when I put a notice up on FaceBook that I was selling my beloved 2001 F-150 pickup truck, I got two immediate responses. This makes me think two things. I’m selling it too cheap. And, people love trucks (like guns) more than they love art….well, buy art…..

(My father once told me that when he was younger he dreamed of owning a combination bookstore, gun shop, and liquor store. Had he but pursued that dream I don’t doubt my sister and I would have never been exposed to that shocking article of child abuse known as powdered milk.)

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A month doesn’t go by here in San Antonio when I find myself involved in a futile exchange with some naif who’s pontificating on the failings of San Antonio. Because of the people I move around, it’s often about the lack of funding for the arts. Specifically concerning films and the film industry. It usually begins something like this: “San Antonio is the seventh largest city in the United States. We’ve surpassed Dallas, and now we’re the largest city in Texas, after Houston. What’s the problem?” I try my best to tell them about metropolitan population regions. “We got no sprawl. The city goes all the way out to the county line. There are no major cities in the counties contiguous to Bexar County.” It’s a numbers game, really. The economic engine of any city in the US has become highly dependent on the populations and ancillary industries of the cities and towns and communities surrounding the major city in question. The news anchor for a major Dallas TV station makes substantially more money than his or her San Antonio counterpart. It’s a bigger market. Dallas might be a smaller city that San Antonio, but that Dallas-based TV transmitter can reach so many more homes that the same tower here. And if you think that the director of the San Antonio Opera should get paid more money than the director of the Dallas Opera, because, you know, San Antonio is a bigger city, I have to ask: “Really? I mean…really?” In Dallas you got millionaires coming down from Plano, Frisco, Flower Mound, and all those wealthy northern bedroom communities. With San Antonio, we might be able to entice a couple dozen of the more cultured thousandaires from Helotes, Poteet, and fucking Bastrop. There is no comparison. San Antonio, stop whining about those nefarious forces hampering our rise to the status of a “world class city” (whatever that’s supposed to mean).

These people seem incapable of understanding that San Antonio already has a vibrant arts and cultural scene. In fact, that’s why this city is so dependent on tourism. People from all over the world recognize the unique qualities expressed by San Antonio’s creative citizens. But let’s be honest. Tourists aren’t coming here for the symphony, the opera, or the ballet…unless that’s ballet folklorico. The Chicano arts are the best of what San Antonio has to offer–the world has spoken! And these artists and the organizations which showcase them need the full support of San Antonio’s political and economical will. And so if you’re harping about how this city needs to get behind you to make your zombie movie a reality, or to bring greater attention to your paradigm-shifting post-modern installation on the politics of meat, well, sorry, but I don’t really care. And nor should this city’s politicos. My advice? Take it on the road, ’cause it ain’t gonna be tasting like San Antonio. (I will, of course, change my stance for paradigm-shifting zombie movies and the very, um, rare meat piece of genius.)

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I’ve said this before, but one of the things I love about San Antonio is that it’s such a small town. If you live here for a few years you find that you know everyone. You might not know this. But you do. (Unless you live outside of loop 410, in which case you don’t really live in San Antonio, you miserable bumpkin or suburbanite.) This was brought back to my attention the other month when I was working with a local artist to videotape her work at C4 Workspace. The street in front of the place was being torn up, and she’d brought a U-Haul. I was afraid she’d have to park a block away. However, she recognized one of the contractors working on the beautiful old house next door to C4. It was one of her friends. He helped us get her rented truck right up to where we needed it!

A couple of days later, this guy sent me a FaceBook friend request. I, of course, accepted.

And when I made a FaceBook profile posting that I wanted to sell my truck, he quickly responded. The other day he made a test drive. He wants another look-see this week, but I suspect he’ll buy it. The kicker is that my next-door neighbor (who’d also like to buy my truck) has known this guy for years.

Yes, I understand, we are all connected. But forget that Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon separation. In San Antonio it should more aptly be considered as the two-degrees of separation limit. If you meet someone new, and that person doesn’t seem to know anyone that you know, best off not to even bother…unless, of course, you’re involved in some form of endeavor where anonymity is key. (And my advice for those criminally-, extramaritally-, and otherwise clandestinely-inclined, please consider heading north of loop 410. You ain’t gonna know any of those folks. Or their friends. Or their friends’ friends. Well, you might know their queer relations or perhaps their domestic help. So, be careful….)

San Antonio is a city based on relationships. I’m not connected to the rich nor the politically elevated. The local sports mavens have no notion of me. Society girls? Nope. Nor the armed robbers or white slavers. True, I have made myself known, on rare occasions, to a few of the TV personalities and some of the print journalists. And then there is the local art scene. For some reason I have become a known entity in this little tight-knit community.

Luminaria Arts Night in San Antonio is moving towards its fourth year. I was a participating artist for the first year. I also helped out as a volunteer. The second and third year I sat on the steering committee as co-chair of the film component. For some insane reason I agreed to become involved again for Luminaria 2011. Maybe I agreed because I’m so rarely asked to be a part of something more important than myself. My insecurities are far from inconsequential…in fact, they are quite burdensome. However, the more obvious reason is that Susanne Cooper asked. Susanne, the current co-chair of Luminaria, is someone for whom I have a great deal of respect and fondness. Last year she was the dance co-chair. We bonded over a lunch of fine food and the mutual frustration and resulting commiseration which so often comes out of committee work. We both were thrilled with the several works we were able to foster and bring to stage which fused some delightful collaborations between film and dance. And, so much like my decision to work on Luminaria 2010 because I enjoy working with George Cisneros (co-chair of Luminaria that year), I felt confident that being called back with Susanne at the helm could only be a rewarding experience. It doesn’t hurt that Susanne’s partner in running Luminaria 2011 is Richard Rosen, director of Magik Theatre (he and his Magik crew were crucial in keeping things running smoothly back in March.

There are some fairly significant changes for Luminaria 2011. I suspect I should wait for the upcoming press conference before I mention most of these. But I will say that HemisFair Park is a central part of Luminaria again. This might be because there are plans to bring development to this area of downtown. It seems as though there are two major factions. Those who want a mixed use environment, including residential units. And those who want to retain the original Expo feel of the place, with art and culture remaining at the heart of the place. So, it seems to me, that no matter what one’s agenda, this is an important chunk of real estate which people of diverse desires are horny to showcase. It may well be a perfect storm. We seem to have both political will and commercial will to whore up HemisFair Park come March 2011 with outrageous lighting schemes, three-story macrame spider webs, a poetry slam in the abandoned Women’s Pavilion, fire dancers in the reflecting pools, Caló Kabuki under the clock tower, claymation instructional dental surgery videos projected on the side of the John H. Hood Jr. United States Courthouse building, and the Soli Ensemble playing some discordant atonal opus in the playground behind the historic Kampmann House. And, you know, that’s starting to sound pretty groovy. Cram the sausage-on-a-stick concession in the vestibule of the Universidad Nacional Autonoma (San Antonio campus), and we are good to go. See you then!

[By the way, “Caló” is Chicano slang, basically Pachuconese–and let me just say here that “Pachuconese” is unknown to Google. I claim authorship. R. Erik Bosse, September 15, 2010, originator of the the portmanteau word “Pachuconese.” Fucking A! Urban Dictionary (www.urbandictionary.com), you know where to find me. I’m in the book.]

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Here are some photos I took of the Luminaria 2011 steering committee taking a tour of HemisFair Park. I thought it sweet (and, yes, a little weird) that some people brought their dogs.

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Noche de Recuerdos is five and a half weeks away. Proyecto Locos is looking for artists to construct floating illuminated altars in the Dia de los Muertos tradition. This has become a major cultural component of this city’s art galleries calendars. Ramon Vasquez y Sanchez (one of the three core members of Proyecto Loco–which also includes Deborah Keller-Rihn and myself, Erik Bosse) brought the Dia de los Muertos altars into the galleries here in the United States back in the seventies. He realized that this important cultural expressions practices amongst Latinos and the indigenous populations had a powerful aesthetic element. And so he invited these folk artists to show their creations at his gallery, Centro Cultural Aztlan. And so now, Proyecto Loco (in association with AIT-SCM, American Indians in Texas, at the Spanish Colonial Missions) have decided to take certain elements from the decorated chalupas (boats) on the Mexican lake of Xochimilco.

For this first year of the event we are starting small. We are asking artists to construct floating altars, which are self-lighted, no longer than eight feet. These mini chalupas will be set afloat on the casting pool of Woodlawn Lake. Perhaps in a year or two the event can be moved to the lake itself, with larger, proper chalupas.

It will be a relaxed night of art, poetry (calaveras), and music provided by some of the local Indian organizations.

It’s an open and inclusive community event, so we’re looking for all sorts of artists. And if you don’t feel like creating something, please come out and join us. It’s free and family friendly!

Thursday.

I was afraid that my occasional, yet very lucrative, on again off again gig in Dallas at the auction house (rare books department), had finally dried up. I was afraid they’d gathered enough full-time staff to do all the work. But, because this current sale is so massive, I was able to work a week and a half. And as I live fairly frugally, this will keep me in tacos and Topo Chico for a couple of months.

But, really, I probably should get a real job. This living hand-to-mouth is wearing thin. I have to give some serious thanks to my aunt for giving me a new truck after my old one started to fail. And, really, I have been lucky in that several paying gigs (nothing substantial, but everything helps!) coalesced right when I desperately needed the money.

Now I’m back in San Antonio, waiting for those Dallas checks to roll in. The first one might arrive tomorrow…or maybe not until two weeks from now. I’m hoping for tomorrow.

But what have I returned to? Well, there are three arts and cultural events I’m involved in. (Funny, but here in San Antonio, the Arts are almost always associated with Culture. I blame it on the San Antonio Office of Cultural Affairs. They contribute significant funding to most of the local non-profit arts organizations.)

I’m gearing up for the Adelante Film Forum. This a yearly event put on by the San Antonio chapter of NALIP (the National Association of Latin Independent Producers). I’m a member of the executive board. It’s going to be pretty impressive this year. We’ve secured some substantial funding. November 12-14. Workshops, parties, screenings. Come on out!

There’s also the event on October 23rd. Proyecto Locos (AKA Ramon Vasquez y Sanchez, Deborah Keller-Rihn, and I) will be presenting our Noches de Recuerdos. Artists will place illuminated floating alters in the casting pool adjacent to Woodlawn Lake. These alters will commemorate, in the manner of Dia de los Muertos alters, loved ones who have passed away. This event is sponsored by the American Indians in Texas, non-profit cultural organization which (among other things) brings attention to the families in San Antonio who trace their roots back to the indigenous people who helped the Spanish build the Missions which were so crucial to the founding of San Antonio.

And then there’s the mother fucking Luminaria. And by that I mean, Luminaria Arts Night In San Antonio. And I know that that is what the event is called because I’m wearing one of the coveted black t-shirts from Luminaria 2010. How did I get this shirt? I busted my ass on the steering committee. For two god damn years. And I’m back. Yep, I’m the committee again. Luminaria 2009 kicked my ass. I only returned to help out for 2010 because co-chair George Cisneros invited me. I’m very fond of George and I enjoy working with him. So, I said yes. As for working on the 2011 Luminaria, well, I was asked by new co-chair Susanne Cooper if I could commit myself. Well, I had so much fun working with Susanne for Luminaria (especially bringing film and dance together on Stage Seven) that I’d be an idiot not to join her.

And so, after working ten days for, well, you know, money, I now find myself back home having basically opened myself up to six months of pro bono commitment.

I’m not yet convinced that this is a bad thing. A part of me is screaming to stop this stuff. And maybe I’m working my way in that direction. But because I honor my commitments, I will press ahead in this fashion, at least until mid March (when Luminaria will have passed out the south end of my GI tract).

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Friday.

Today I downloaded a copy of MacSpeech, a voice-recognition software program. I am glad I didn’t pay for it. Whereas it’s rather fun to play with, it’s doing a poor job of recognizing what I say even when I speak in slow well-enunciated halting speech. Were I to pay the $200 for a legitimate copy, I would also get a USB headset microphone which would guarantee — supposedly — much greater accuracy. I’m using the built -in microphone of my laptop at the moment, and perhaps because of all of the ambient noise surrounding me, such as this fan and my window unit air-conditioner, I’m having to go back and edit a lot of this text in shape. I usually write with music playing. Loud. I assume that would make this program virtually useless. I’m intrigued with the possibilities and all, but I’m not willing to gamble $200 to buy the software and microphone and play it legit.

Okay, so much for this experiment. I’m going to return to typing with my fingers, and playing loud music.

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My new truck gets pretty bad mileage. I think worse than my old one. Maybe I shouldn’t had taken the super-scenic route back to San Antonio the other day.

My route was even more circuitous than one would expect. First I had to drive to Denton. I needed to turn some books into money, and because no used book dealers in Dallas pay as well as the fine folks at Recycled Books in Denton, I took I-35 north. And they did indeed treat me well. Next, I decided I would drive to Fort Worth and connect with either highway 281 or highway 16. I had downloaded a free navigation app onto my iPhone. It’s an extension of MapQuest. It pretty much sucks. Well, it doesn’t help that my old iPhone 3GS is a sluggish tottering old slug. And, really, I’m wondering if the iPhone 4GS is really that much better. I’ve seen two different Droids in operation. They’re looking pretty damn good. Anyway, I shut off the MapQuest app after the second time it told me to turn a block after I’d left that intersection behind.

It was about one o’clock when I hit Fort Worth. I decided to stop at Kincaid’s and get a burger. This iconic Fort Worth eatery is about seven blocks from where I used to live, some yeas back. The place was much the same. A bit cleaner. In fact, that particular stretch of Camp Bowie road had been licked and polished quite a bit over the last six or seven years. But the whole place still had that laid-back slo-mo cow town attitude. “No need to talk with such a rush, son. Just take a breath or two, lean your elbows on the side rail of your pickup truck and tell me how much rain you reckon fell on your place last night. Then I can tell you what I think about those fellers down in Austin on Capital Hill and what they’re up to. And maybe, if you still wanna, you can expound on your assessments on Fort Worth’s slow, cancerous gentrification.”

One of the things that makes that area of Fort Worth interesting is that the south side of Camp Bowie is generic middle class. The north side is where you can find the millionaires, and a couple of billionaires. It’s hard to tell one from another (the rich and the not rich) when they come in to grab a burger at Kincaid’s. Once removed from their country clubs and their homes, the ultra rich of Fort Worth are pretty heard to separate from the general herd. I suspect that this trait will serve them well. You know, when comes the insurrection.

I enjoyed my nostalgic meal and headed south, through Benbrook, Granbury, Tolar, Stephenville, Dublin, etc. I took highway 16 when it branched off at Comanche. It’s a lovely drive. I ccontinue all the way down to Fredericksburg, and then down 87 to I-10 and into San Antonio. I was itching to get back home, and so I missed one of the more scenic parts of the drive. That would have been for me to continue on 16 to Kerrville. And then on to Bandera. The drive between Kerville and Bandera is, simply put, awesome! Check it out some day.

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“I’m dreading the blind and ill-applied ultra-nationalism which may well infest my day tomorrow. Wave a flag in my face at your own goddamn peril! Somber reflection is one thing, peddling hate and violence (and wrapping it in the flag), however, is another matter all together.”

The above paragraph I just posted on FaceBook. It’s 11 pm tonight, on the eve of 9/11.

I hate every goddamn mother fucking asshole who thinks that the horrendous, unconscionable criminal actions perpetrated on Americans on that day necessitated the illegal and immoral invasion and occupation of two sovereign nations. This is the anniversary of that day that triggered a series of events in which I–with the rest of my countryman and countrywomen–was drawn into a dark era of shameful savagery, a new Crusades, which may well last for generations–and, as Americans, we are all culpable and (if you believe if such things) damned.

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Sunday.

I finally got around to taking in a bike ride down to the Missions today. After having been absent for a couple of weeks, I was disheartened that the construction along the bike and jogging trail from Espada Dam to Mission San Juan de Capistrano is still slogging along with no end in sight. I had to sneak through the construction site. Well, it being a Sunday, there wasn’t anyone where. But, dammit, they need to pick up the pace! This is a very popular place for south side families to come and walk and jog and bike.

After my bike ride, I took my truck to the car wash across from the old Mission Drive-In Theater. New Car Owner Behavior Number One: weekly (at least) trips to the car wash.

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Saturday

I started the day off meeting with my fellow NALIPsters. It was just four of us. Veronica, Robb, Olga, and I. We were hopping Dora would be there, it being her birthday. In fact, Robb had brought a cake. But Veronica reminded us that Dora was involved in some sort of charitable event.

We had some cake anyway. Dora would have wanted it that way…. Or so we told ourselves.

But mostly we talked about the Adelante Film Forum (well, there were the frequent punctuated digressions for the exchange of chisme). NALIP San Antonio has held the Adelante several times. I personally have attended, I believe, four. It’s an annual event, but last year we lacked the funding to pull it off. This year, however, we’ve received more funding dollars than expected. It promises to be a solid weekend of workshops. We’re working on bringing in some amazing people. We’ll have screenings, too. And, of course, great parties. We’ll be making a serious announcement probably by the end of the week. It looks like the earlier bird registration fee will be $50. That’s fucking cheap for a three-day film industry convention. You don’t have to be a NALIP member to attend. And, just in case my ultra guerroness hasn’t already clued you in, you do not have to be Latino/a to be a member of NALIP (the National Association of Latino Independent Producers). Come one come all!

Keep an eye on this blog. We will be making the Adelante schedule public in a few weeks. And don’t worry–the conference isn’t until November.

After the NALIP meeting I headed back to King William and picked up Deborah. We drove to the west side to pick of Ramon. (I’m still the only member of Proyecto Locos who owns a functioning vehicle). We drove to our office on Fredericksburg Road. Actually, it’s a taqueria. La Taqueria Huentitan Jalisco, 2318 Fredericksburg Road. Good honest dependable food. Check it out. The three of us talked about our upcoming event. We will be sending out official artist invitations to our artist friends on our email lists probably Tuesday or Wednesday.

And then I went home for a nap before heading off to the lower north side to have dinner with Pete and Lisa.

I seems like I’m back to my typical San Antonio lifestyle. I just returned from Dallas where I worked every day, ten to twelve hours per day, for money. And here I am, back home, where I’m busy, working on several projects. None of which are paying me money.

I do love this city, but, damn, it doesn’t seem to be doing such a good job loving me back.