I’ve just returned to San Antonio after two weeks in Dallas working for the rare book department of the auction house where my sister works.

I grew up in an antiquarian book shop and I have decades of experience estimating values on obscure titles. I’ve never had any trouble defending the prices I’ve come up with. Simple supply and demand … coupled with enough time to partner the right person with the right book, and, well, eventually, we’ll get the job done. However, with an auction, you lack that component of time. Auction houses have various ways to allow the public to preview the offered items. But there is always a deadline. When the final hammer falls, the item in question either sells or it doesn’t. (True, most auction houses have post-auction purchase opportunities for unsold items, but these are also time-based.) If the item sells, it’s likely to go very low, or very high. If only one person is bidding, it could go for well below the minimum estimate. If there are two or more bidders slugging it out, the item could go for an absurdly high amount. These extremes — whether embarrassingly paltry or irrationally overboard — find their way into published listings. These auction records (be they published as hard copies, e-books, or subscriber-only web-sites) don’t come cheap. This isn’t public information — it’s privileged and expensive. I’ve known many a rare book dealer who uses these auction listings to his and her advantage. Not to price a book, but to explain to the would-be seller that, “Sorry, sport, but it looks like your set of Chalmer’s British Essayists has never realized more than $400 at auction. I can give you a hundred and fifty for it.” He’s not lying. But the truth is, no savvy antiquarian book dealer is likely to sell that set for under $700. This is an example of an item that’s important, yet not terribly scarce. It will eventually sell in a rare book shop. However, truly scarce and desirable books can go for stupid amounts at auction. Especially if they’re unique. Original manuscripts. Or books inscribed from the author to another important person. Or, in the case of one item I cataloged the other day, the last book written by western artist Charles M. Russell with his own bookplate in it. It’s his own copy, dude! I estimated a price for the book at what I felt was rather low, hoping it will get a couple of serious collectors bidding it up. But really, who can tell? Maybe those two serious collectors will never hear about this auction.

What I can say is that I’ve seen some great books go damn cheap, (Sure, this is balanced out by the occasional crazy high prices.) Part of this is because of the shitty economy. But it’s also because auctions have always been places to pick up good deals on collectible books, especially if your tastes are a bit obscure.

Here’s an example. The other day I was cataloging a six volume set on military strategy. It’s in French, so it’s basically unreadable to me. But it’s crammed with wonderful folding engraved plates of battle scenes and depictions of siege engines. Cool stuff! I posted a photo of one of the plates on Twitter. My friend, Sandra, replied, asking how much the book costs. That’s a difficult question. Chevalier Folard’s Histoire de Polybe is a hell of a nifty item. I can’t recall what I estimated this at. Maybe eight to twelve hundred. And if that’s the case, with no reserve, the set will open at four hundred. But is that what it’s worth? You can probably pick up a nice set on the internet for three thousand. And if I had this set, I’d put two grand on it, and not blink. But in the auction world, it’s just not a rare set of books. Lost your chance to bid? Wait six months or a year, it’ll come back to an auction house. And so it has no real premium in the auction records. Maybe it is only worth four hundred dollars. Perhaps less….

The auction world is insane. I’m still trying to feel my way through this new realm. However, why some jackass would pay sixty thousand for a 1st edition of Harry fucking Potter simply grabs my stomach in all the wrong places. Sixty grand? WTF?!?! During these dark nights of the soul I hold the pillow tight with the thought that this likely is one of the signs of the coming apocalypse. We’re all going to burn for eternity … and we’ll deserve it. Fucking Harry Potter.

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As I was leaving Dallas this afternoon, I took the ramp onto the Stemmons Freeway. I politely allowed a big truck in front of me. You see, I had an ulterior motive. I thumbed through the virtual buttons on my iPhone until I had the camera setting open. Dammit, it was fate! The truck in front of me was operated by this Dallas demolition company which has my favorite slogan.

“We Could Wreck the World.”

It’s that snide use of “Could.” Where’s Homeland Security? Sounds like a threat to me.

My second favorite slogan of a Dallas business is a document storage / disposal company (and here I’m too lazy to Google the name) — they suggest that some things are “Better Shred Than Read.”

That about sums up the things I like about Dallas.

Well, wait. I do have family in Dallas. I do indeed like them.

And, sure, there are still some cool places to visit in Dallas. I was pleased to see that Antoine’s sandwich place on Harry Hines is still getting by. And, yes, Joe, the big yellow tables and the po’ boys are as they were back when. A lovely time capsule.

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Thursday morning I’m off to the airport. I’ll spend the weekend in LA, attending the annual NALIP conference. I only wish I were more prepared to pitch projects. I have several ideas to push, but I haven’t prepared the support material.

Speaking of projects:

While in Dallas I received a couple of phone calls advising that I submit a project proposal through the San Antonio Office of Cultural Affair’s website. I’d previously dismissed the proposal because it seemed I was ineligible. Not so, I learned.

And so, last Friday, I sacrificed five hours of good money at the auction house to hammer out an artistic film proposal. It was a messy rush, but I made the 4pm deadline. If the past is any indication of the future, this will be yet another grant that will slip through my fingers. Oh well … you gotta play to win. The truth is, I couldn’t have said no — I have a San Antonio nonprofit arts organization which will act as my fiscal sponsor. You can’t turn your nose up to partnership.

Creating the proposal took some time, sure, but the fact is I did indeed have a project in mind. It’ll run twenty to forty minutes. My current proposed budget is ten thousand. If the OCA approves the project, they will provide five thousand. Yep. Throw some money at me and I can make this happen.

Well, we’ll see.

Watch this space for mention of the experimental short film, “River Quartet.”

I blame those swine at HEB. When they shut down the HEB supermarket on S. Presa they effectually killed a neighborhood. Restaurants and retail establishments in that area have been going out of business recently. And, importantly, the guy who used to set up his taco truck next to the HEB parking-lot has stopped coming. I guess he just had no customers. This forced me to try another taco truck.

Ah, I can remember the carefree photo I shot last week of this quaint and crude signage while the nice fellow assembled my three tacos al pastor. I even sent a Twitter notice, letting my peeps know how I’m down with southside street eating.

Forty-eight hours later, I was, once again, able to face solid foods. If you find yourself in the vicinity of the fruteria on Roosevelt, a few blocks south of Mitchell, do not be tempted to pick up a tasty treat at the taco truck advertising, among other items, “brakfast tacos.” Do not let my warning keep you away the fruit and veggie shop. They have excellent produce. They also have their own taco truck on premises. This is not the one which poisoned me. What a frightful ordeal. It brought to mind that Monty Python sketch about an Australian wine show, where the expert praised one vintage which was “guaranteed to open the sluices at both ends.”

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I was still a bit shaky Saturday morning when I headed out to attend the César E. Chávez March for Justice. It began at the plaza adjacent to the Guadalupe Theater and wound it’s way through downtown to the Alamo.

It’s fairly straightforward to get to the Guadalupe by bus. The #68 stops at St. Mary’s near Durango. So I caught the Blue trolly, got a transfer, and took it down to St. Marys. Walked two blocks. As I was waiting on the 68, an SUV drove by and sounded the horn a couple times. It passed by too fast for me to see who was honking at me. Later, while I was on the bus, I noticed I had a text. It was from Drew. “Need a ride?” The Film Commission offices are near that bus stop, so I assume he was putting in some weekend hours. Don’t let no one tell you the San Antonio Film Commission ain’t out busting its ass.

There was a small crowd when I arrived at the Avenida Guadalupe. Various speeches from activists and politicians. I only recognized three people. They were all on stage. After some crowd-boostering chants and some music interludes, the people slowly started to move out to the street, lining up with their groups. I hung back sitting on a bench. That’s when I heard a familiar voice shout out: “E Boss!” It was Jessica Torres running my way. She climbed the rising tiered amphitheater rings until she was towering over me.

I asked her why she wasn’t lugging a camcorder around. She said that that was last night when she was videotaping the Lila Downs show. I asked here about some of the student video groups she works with — just catching up on gossip. There was one question that had been bugging me about one of the organizations, so I asked. She pulled back and gave me a look of pretend shock, as corny as though she were acting in a silent film. “Let’s just say, I know something you don’t know,” she finally said. “Fair enough,” I replied. “It’ll make its way out. Everything does, eventually, in this town.”

She went off to join her mom. I wandered around, checking out the politicians making the rounds, shaking hands, and trying their god damnedest to be noticed. And then I saw Veronica with her husband and daughters. And, of course, no cultural event would be of note without John Standford, octogenarian communist — you probably have seen him and his wife at art events passing out copies of “The People’s Weekly World.” His wife, Jo, has been having trouble getting around. So John was in attendance alone with his infectious smile and his hand-made anti-war sign.

I sent a couple Twitter updates during the four mile march. And I’m a bit surprised that no one whose twitter feed I subscribe to was in the march. True, this march isn’t as huge as San Antonio’s MLK march (the largest in the nation), but I’d guess we were about 700 strong.

Somewhere near the Alameda, we came abreast a couple dozen tough-looking vatos sitting astride their Harley’s parked in a neat angled row. They saluted us as we passed with raised fists and the deafening roar of their bikes being revved full throttle.

As we filed our way through the barricades into the area around the Alamo, I looked up to see Tonya Drake, Special Events Manager for Downtown Operations. If there’s one thing that San Antonio does well, it’s to run massive events all year round in the downtown area. And Tonya is in the thick of it all, making things run smoothly. She (and all of the downtown ops people) was invaluable during all the planning for Luminaria. Whilst we, the steering committee, were busy patting ourselves on our backs because what we were doing was huge — fucking HUGE, I tell you! — Tonya would be sitting quietly in the corner with a note book smiling indulgently and patiently. She facilitates at least a dozen events every year of the scale of Luminaria or bigger. The César Chávez march is an example. And when she reached out to shake my hand Saturday, she was as calm and in control as usual.

I walked over to the portable stage (I believe it’s called a showmobile). Jaime Martinez, the tireless activist and head of the César Chávez March for Justice was onstage adjusting the microphone. I could see, in the wings, Gabriel Vasquez, architect, DJ, and one of the most fearless and outspoken Chicano activists working to rouse the rabble in San Antonio.

I also saw my friend Gloria Vasquez talking to some people seating in folding chairs. She’s been working with Jaime on the march, so I didn’t want to keep her from the schedule of events. I just called out to her, said the day seemed a great success, and snapped this photo of her.

I stayed for a few songs and a few speeches. Henry Cisneros gave a very smart and rousing speech about the history of Chavez and why the man’s legacy was still important. But I was fairly beat. And around three I decided to head home.

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Sunday I headed out for a bike ride. It’s been a little chilly lately because of a recent cold front down from the north. But we’re back with strong gusts from Mexico, sure to warm us back up. That’s what I had to contend with on the outward leg. A strong head wind. It was also a Sunday, and the parks along the river were packed with families doing what families do. So, I was often down-shifting and riding around on the grass when I came up on sprawling barbecues, families fishing, kids walking frisky puppies on twenty foot leashes, and a couple of truly graceless skateboarders (kids, give it up, you’re like elephants lashed to grocery carts).

I took the low-water crossing at Espada dam, took the road behind the refinery, and then I was cruising along the field where Tom Otterness’ installation, “Making Hay,” has been drawing attention from the locals. I like the piece. Three sculptures surrounded by circular hay bales. The installation draws lots of local families. It has also attracted some vandalism. No real surprise. I have heard nothing which has led me to believe that this installation took into account the neighborhood. I suspect that there was a serious community outreach vacuum, and the local young people see this as nothing more than cultural colonialism. But as I like the piece, I hope there was a healthy budget for repairs. And also, because I love the movie “The Wicker Man” (you know, the original) and I love juvenile delinquents, I rather hope that when the neighborhood kids do the obvious (and, really, I’m not talking about human sacrifice) that someone is one hand to video the conflagration.

As I took a right to loop back around to the main trail, a familiar face flashed by. And he waved to me. I pulled over. It was Drew. Twice in two days. He was out with his wife and two daughters. They were all riding bikes and enjoying the beautiful day. The family had paused to enjoy the art installation. We chatted for a while, and then I waved my goodbyes and continued to Mission Espada.

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Tonight (Tuesday) I attended the Westside Arts Coalition’s mayoral forum at the downtown public library. Five of the nine candidates had responded to the request. Trish DeBerry-Mejia, Diane Cibrian, Julián Castro, Sheila McNeil, and Rhett R. Smith. For some reason, Sheila never showed.

I’m not sure if all the candidates had actually been contacted. Amongst the more fringe candidates, only Rhett had a seat at the table. Trish, Diane, and Julián have all served as city council members — so they have viability. And Trish, well, she has money, and that’s another form of viability.

The mayoral race is nonpartisan. But, man, all these four viable candidates who bothered to show up all sounded like Republicans to me. Nary a progressive nor a Green amongst them. This pissed me off. Sure, we had Rhett, with his quasi-Libertarian ramblings. But because he lacks even the most rudimentary communication skills, I was never clear on his positions. He seems rather intelligent. And philosophically I agree with his aggressive defense of civil and human rights. However, I gather he’s a staunch pro-lifer … yet it didn’t come up tonight.

The candidates had been given the questions in advance. A moderator asked the questions and the candidates were allowed to check their notes while make responses. Most of the questions involved the arts. There were about 120 people in the audience. And they did well holding their tongues. Sure there were the occasional catty hisses and low throaty groans when a candidate said something ill-received. I was rather surprised. Is this the best these folks can do who want our votes? I mean, dammit, you guys are supposed to be pandering to artists. How out of touch are you fuckers? Could it be true? Did none of these candidates understand that 70 percent of the people in the audience aren’t Democrats? We’re pretty much Socialists. Get with the program.

We were thirty minutes or more into the two hour forum. I had already taken a washed-out fuzzy photo and attached it to a Twitter comment. I confess I was getting rather bored. And then a dark hulking figure walked down the central aisle and I glanced up to see a portly man in a cheap suit standing facing the candidates.

I whipped out my iPhone and punched out a Twitter broadcast: “Fringe candidate Napoleon Madrid just showed up, yet he wasn’t on the list. Is there gonna be a rumble?”

One of the guys video-taping the event pointed to the sign-up table at the back of the room, and Napoleon lumbered back to talk to someone in charge.

The candidates continued, though a bit off-balance. Clearly they all knew who that large man was.

My assessment of the candidates:

Rhett is a nut. He may have been the only pro-civil rights candidate there, but his ability to verbalize his thoughts are abysmal. He had made some comment about secularism. And afterwards he came up to talk to Deborah, Rose, Dave, and myself. Dave asked him to explain his secular statement. “Are you advocating a theocracy?” Dave asked. The candidate replied no, quite the opposite. And when the four of us told him that we thought he was pushing religion, he seemed unfazed. Rose even said: “I think you need to explain yourself more clearly.” We were all nodding. But he wasn’t listening. I felt like grabbing him and shouting, “dammmit, we’ve 8 college degrees among us, we’re not idiots, and we don’t have a clue as to what you’re saying.” But we smiled and shrugged and let him go on his way.

Trish. Well, she was just going through the motions. She’s pro big business all the way. She’d just as soon turn the Alamo into a Hard Rock Cafe were the Daughters of the Republic of Texas not meaner and more inflexible and, yes, even whiter than she. She may well have been the only candidate in the room who truly did realize that most of us were a bit to the left of Daniel Berrigan. We were not her constituents. She wasn’t courting our votes. She didn’t give a rat’s ass about artists, and it showed.

Diane. She surprised me. I thought she’d have me gagging on her phoniness. But, as she was seated next to Trish, she came across, in comparison, as a genuine human being. But don’t get me wrong. She’s a phony. But she believes her rhetoric. There’s a sweet honesty about her. I think she has a good working idea as to how San Antonio politics work. But what a ghastly mayor she’d make.

Julián. The last time he ran I voted against him. I felt he was too interested in building ties between he city and big business. I don’t know if he’s changed, but the other two viable candidates seem even more horny to sell this city off to the highest bidder than Julián was last election. I don’t know if he’s taken on a spark or two of progressive ideals, or maybe it’s just that the other contenders are all such vile reactionaries, but I’m going to indorse Julián Castro for mayor of San Antonio. The sad fact is, I’m not so convinced that I’d put a sign in my yard.

We’ll see how he does as mayor. I’m convinced he’ll win. The northside affluent anglo vote will clearly be split between Trish and Diane. We’ll have Julián. And I would like to say that when the candidates were asked about the LGBT question, all of them were unanimous in their rush to decry intolerance. But only Julián had the guts (or political savvy) to use the words GAY and LESBIAN, and in a positive manner. And I was pretty sure he was making eye-contact with those well-known queer folks he recognized in the audience. He’s the only clear queer-friendly candidate. I guess that’s the most I can hope for in this year’s mayoral crop.

In closing, I’ll quote my FaceBook addendum to my Twitter (which is linked to FaceBook) … the Twitter comment which read “Fringe candidate Napoleon Madrid just showed up, yet he wasn’t on the list. Is there gonna be a rumble?”

I followed it up with: “No rumble, but he remained on a slow simmer. I got one of his tri-fold manifestos with densely-packed declarative sentences ripe with typos and inexplicably capitalized letters. I’ll say it again, Napoleon Madrid would be my man if only voting ironically weren’t oh so 20th century.”

Also, in the “better late than never” category, fringe candidate Lauro Bustamante also showed up. But, please, he’s about as exciting as a damp Saltine.

Saturday I received a call from Mr. X (not his real name … not even correct initial … and perhaps, just perhaps, not even “his” real gender). Mr. X will most likely be our new local producer of the San Antonio 48 Hour Film Project. He’s still thinking it over before he gets back with the fine folks at the national offices. I told X to go for it. He’d love the experience and I knew he’d do a fabulous job. I’m confident he’ll take the position. And when it’s confirmed, I announce it on this blog. But for all you who have been wondering if there will be a third year of the San Antonio 48 Hour Film Project, the answer almost certainly is yes.

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Because she’s family, I don’t feel too horrible having my mother do my taxes for me. She’s spent decades doing bookkeeping for various individuals, businesses, and organizations. And to pick up some spare income, she’s been working for H&R Block (by the way, they pay their people shockingly low wages). So, yes, she knows what she’s doing. And, yes, I should learn to do my own taxes. But numbers make my head hurt. I still don’t know my own phone number or social security number. Anything over five digits, I’m lost.

Anyway, I’ve spent Sunday afternoon going over my receipts and bank account activity. I’ve also been browsing my way through my blog. One of the reasons I keep a blog is to remind myself what production gigs I worked throughout the year. An impromptu excursion into my relatively recent past is bitter sweet exercise in that I rather like that chap, Erik, version 08.0, but it seems he never really achieves anything of importance or substance.

I was also reminded that my blogging has declined in frequency and quality.

The past is a weird country, and I never seem to be able to handle the culture shock when I make these visits.

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The wind was kicking up something fierce Sunday. I was sprawled on my couch reading Red Mars on my iPhone (’cause I’m too lazy to go to the library). The windows were open. A warm and constant breeze had the skinny slat blinds swaying.

And when I finally got on to the Mission Trail on my bike, I was just inching along, fighting the headwind from the south.

The parks along the river were packed with families out barbecuing, picnicking, fishing, flying kites, and walking and biking along the paved trail. True, I have an overwhelming appreciation for solitude, but there’s something wonderful about seeing people and families out enjoying city parks. Cities and neighborhoods with empty parks make me nervous. These green public commons are meant to be used and enjoyed.

I took a breather on one of Carlos Cortez’s faux bois benches overlooking the low water crossing adjacent to Mission Espada. Carlos lives across the street from me. His studio is a few blocks away on S. Saint Mary. His family have been making these structures (benches, furniture, bridges, bus stops, etc.) for decades. Faux bois, because of the technique to make concrete look like tree limbs, complete with bark…. Get it? Bois d’arc? For those not so far south, this is a small tree, known for it’s deeply furrowed bark, hard wood, and weird fruit. (I grew up hearing this inedible fruit called horse apples — Wikipedia has it that the fruit is referred to as an Osage-orange. That’s news to me.)

Anyway, this bench on the southside is placed next to a piece of public art, a sculpture by Michael Davis. It’s a collaborative work. Carlos Cortez provided the fake tree trunk base.

I like this piece a lot. It has free-swinging metal panels cut in the manner of papel picado. The wind in from Mexico was heaving these metal panels about, and for some reason, I found the metal on metal squeaking more soothing than grating.

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I received an email from the Sweaty Robots. They were responding to a blog I wrote about seeing their wonderful low-budget feature narrative “Happy Birthday Harry Malden.”

They provided a link to a very affordable DVD of the film.

https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=4151302

Five bucks. I say, go for it. You’ll be glad you did. This is a film you’ll watch many times. Especially if you’re a filmmaker. You’ll be replaying that scene, or freezing on that camera set-up, all the while asking yourself: “Could I do something like this for $50,000?”

Also, head over to see their video blogs:

http://vimeo.com/3427726

They were shooting and editing little vignettes of their recent trip to Texas. Scenes of their room at the wonderfully retro El Montan Motel on San Pedro. And don’t forget to see them riding in a limo with NESA Cinema high honcha, Konise Millender. I also recall seeing some info in one of these video blogs how you can download an even cheaper version of the film from iTunes — two or three bucks.

Guys, here’s my pull-quote you can feel free to use on the DVD box:

“These Sweaty Robots have created a wonderful and sweet film. You will be a happier and better person after you watch ‘Happy Birthday Harry Malden.’ Cheaper and more effective than St. John’s Wort, acupuncture, or a pedicure at Mr. Sebastian’s Hair and More in Leon Valley. I stake my reputation on it.”

–R. Erik Bosse.

Sam Lerma is usually behind the camera as a news photographer (AKA video shooter) for KSATs. But this week he’s been featured in a series of little daily pieces where he’s trying to get by on $5 per day for food. Each day he tries different options … different places.

Back in the beginning of the week Sam posted to Twitter that if anyone had ideas of where to score cheap or free food, to let him know. I posted my suggestion onto Twitter:

“AAA Salvage at 1111 S. Presa sells cheap over-stocked food. Might make for some cool b-roll. It’s wonderfully seedy and botulism-free since 2002!”

For those unfamiliar with AAA Salvage, you owe it to yourself to take a field trip. Make a day of it. Hit both Triple A as well as the Habitat For Humanity store over on Probant, just a few blocks south of La Tuna. Bargains galore. And the stock changes daily. Most likely you’ll not find anything you need. But in this age of Wal-Mart and big box stores, these quirky and funky stores are so refreshing.

What do you know, Sam took my advice. Though it seems that the fine folks at AAA Salvage were not interested in being featured on the news. The funny thing is that Sam actually quoted me (well, miss-quoted me, actually, but I’ll let Sam slide) … quoted me by name. And there’s a bit of video of a computer monitor with my Twitter feed in view. Wow! I’m famous! (Well, “San Antonio famous,” don’t you know ….) Much thanks to Jesus Sifuentes for alerting me to this KSAT clip online:

http://www.ksat.com/video/18963290/index.html

(And, by the way, those readers of this blog who aren’t on Twitter, what are you waiting for? It’s free. Sign up at twitter.com and find me under my name erikbosse, one word. And from there, go through my list of followers to find such local luminaries as Sam Lerma, Mr. Sifuentes, Jade Esteban Estrada, Bryan Ramirez, Theresa Coronado, Todd O’Neill, Michael Verdi, Travis Thomsen, et al.)

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I’ve always been wary of those bicycle pumps that clamp onto the bike frame. Don’t get me wrong, they’re indispensable when you need to patch a flat out on the trail. But they are all designed poorly.

My last bike had Presta valve stems. They’re slimmer than the Schrader valve, which is pretty much standard in this country. Your inner tube’s valve style is established by your wheel rims. If the rim has a tiny valve hole, it’s Presta. Larger, Schrader. What I like about the Presa valves are that they have these lock nuts, which are threaded collars you use to keep the valve stems from retracting into the bowels of the tire when you are trying to attach a pump to the valve. That previous bike of mine had me spoiled. And I hope whoever stole it will burn for eternity. But I digress. The Schrader valve is a pain when you try and lock on one of these little hand pumps. For instance, I was trying to firm up the front tire of my bike Friday afternoon. I was wrestling with this poorly designed Schwinn hand pump, trying to get a tight seal onto the valve stem. And what happened? The stem (because it weren’t no Presta, was wriggling all over the place) began to separate from the inner tube. This sort of shit you can’t even fix with a patch.

I went over to the bike shop above the Blue Star Brewing Company. I bought a couple of tubes. And I also bought a Pedro’s brand stand-up bike pump. It’s got a pressure meter dial and works like a charm.

My advice to someone buying a new bike, if you have a choice between wheels which take a Presta or a Schrader valve, always go for the Presta.

Even with all this tire stuff, I did manage to take in a bike ride. The first day of Spring. Hallelujah! The Vernal Equinox … I knew it’d arrive one of these days.

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There will be a mayoral candidate forum coming up at the downtown library on Tuesday, March 31. It will be sponsored by the Westside Arts Coalition. Without naming names, a member of this organization has asked my input on a possible moderator. Also, I’ve been asked to add a few good questions to ask the candidates.

I’m looking forward to the event. Come one come all. It’s open to the public.

The list of candidates signed up for the 2009 San Antonio mayor’s race is presently at nine. And I believe that most will be in attendance on the 31st. On the ballot we have four absolute wackos (god love ’em); four serious contenders (and not a progressive among them — shame!); and one boring cypher who isn’t even worth mentioning … besides, he’s an attorney, and I’d best not piss him off.

Wednesday I took a stroll to Mad Hatters for the March meeting of the San Antonio Social Media Breakfast. Patricio Espinoza was one of the featured speakers. He’s currently running the website SA4Mayor.com, which is attempting to introduce the candidates to the voters.

Also in attendance was a representative of Trish DeBerry-Mejia’s campaign, as well as a volunteer working for Julián Castro. Most of the conversation dealt with how the candidates are using social media in their elections.

The dude with Trish’s campaign seems on top of all the demographics. I want him on my team when I gear up my campaign for San Antonio Commissioner of Sewers. He is a marketing drone through and through. Doesn’t give a jot about human beings. Hey, they’re all just numbers, yeah?

The guy with Julián’s team loves social media. Understands it. But he’s no number-crunching cut-throat. He’s the compassionate guy who’ll give you a kidney — and I found myself wishing HE was on the ballot … instead of Castro. Please, people, give me something. Anything.

Trish and Julián are serious contenders. They are engage with the media. They seem to have access to resources. And by that I mean money. And they do well on camera.

We have two other serious contenders.

Diane Cibrian. She seems to be holding fairly high confidence ratings in her council district. She’s councilwoman for District 8, a very wealthy region of the city. The problem is, I have yet to meet a member of the press (and I do know a few) who have anything nice to say about Ms Cibrian. Personally, I think she’s on a hair trigger, poised to entertain us all with some awful and unscripted outburst. This means I rather like her. I just wouldn’t want to share an elevator with her … nor would I want to see her continue a life in public service.

Sheila McNeil. Sheila, I believe, is one of the more recent candidates to toss her hat in the ring. She’s councilwoman for District 2. I don’t know much about her. She’s our only African-American mayoral candidate. I’m looking forward to seeing how she handles herself in the upcoming candidate forums.

And the lone neutral candidate Lauro Bustamante, who’s not connected enough to be taken serious, nor crazy enough to be interesting. (Yawn.)

This brings us to the wackos.

Julie Iris Oldham. Again, I’m fairly new to San Antonio. But it seems that this woman has always been running for mayor. Basically she’s an elderly woman with neither fashion sense nor social skills. And were it not for Jesus, she’d have nothing to talk about when the microphone is stuck in her face. She’s a nut. But boring. Away with you!!!!

Rhett R. Smith. He’s Ron Paul’s slower little brother. Basically an American-styled Libertarian, with a pro-life and pro-Christian agenda. I like Smith’s stance on the demilitarization of the Pentagon. He’s good on the Palestinian issue. But, dammit, his fundamentalism keeps popping out, and often, apropos to nothing.

Michael Idrogo. His website is almost as insane as Napoleon Madrid’s. Check it out, it’s freaky and wonderful. I love that he wants to name a library on the southside after Lindbergh, a well-known Nazi-sympathizer. Yeah, that’s gonna go over well in the barrio.

Napoleon Madrid. I know. I know. I’ve already come close to giving this mooncalf my endorsement simply by the shocking number of uppercase words on his website. The talk of perpetual motion machines is just gravy on the potatoes.

In short, I wish we had a progressive candidate. Lacking one, I’m tempted to go with that last fellow. True, he may well be a trifle unhinged. But his heart is in the right place. He’s almost progressive in this weird sci-fi agenda. Of course, voting ironically is not recommended.

The truth is, I voted for Hardberger because he was the only viable candidate who professed a passable progressive platform. And I had a hell of a time convincing myself to vote for a rich white guy to be the mayor of a poor Chicano city.

This time around I got nothing. I don’t even have a Green candidate. Kat Swift, where are you?

Maybe come March 31st, I’ll find that I do have a good choice.

The AtticRep, on their Facebook site, have an open project where people can post stories about their experiences at the Border. And ’round these parts, that usually means the US / Mexico border.

Here’s what I wrote:

Some years ago I lived in Redford, Texas, a tiny town of the Rio Grande in the Big Bend. One morning I received a knock on the door of my mobile home. It was my neighbor, Father Melvin La Follette, the local Anglican priest. Standing beside him was my good friend Enrique Madrid. They asked if I wanted to help transport a goat into Mexico. As I had moved to Redford to work on my novel, I jumped at the opportunity to be anywhere but at my typewriter. I climbed into the back of Father Mel’s white panel truck. Father Mel and Enrique sat up front. As we headed towards Presidio on the river road, I was instructed to hold tight on the rope around the goat’s neck. “Don’t want her jumping all over the damn place,” Father Mel said in his flat nasal Wisconsin accent. As we headed upriver I learned that a man up in Muenster, Texas periodically sent Father Mel money to ship a milk goat to one of the poorer families in the Mexican town of Ojinaga. Enrique politely suggested I sit up on the spare tire, so that if the goat decided to relieve herself, I’d be sitting high above the tideline.

For some reason I’d assumed that this charitable enterprise had been ironed out with the bureaucracies on both sides of the river. But once we crossed over the international bridge from Presidio to Ojinaga, we were asked to pull over for inspection. The Mexican guard didn’t want us to proceed until he had a certificate from a Mexican veterinarian concerning the health of the goat. Father Mel argued loudly in his Wisconsin-accented Spanish. Even though my Spanish is pretty weak, I could tell he was pontificating about charity and international relations. When he paused for breath, Enrique tried the diplomatic approach. Something about the brotherhood of mankind? Perhaps he discovered that he and the guard were cousins. Whatever the cause, the guard capitulated with a shrug. He waved us through, but said we’d need to get the proper paperwork next time.

We bounced down rutted roads towards the outskirts of Ojinaga. And, near the slopes of Sierra de la Santa Cruz, out near the cemetery, we entered into a fenced in cluster of three tiny adobe homes and a weathered single-wide mobile home. The extended family numbered eight. Half were kids. Two toddlers and two babies. We were expected. And everyone was excited as we took the goat out of Father Mel’s van. In the manner of la gente, every one exchanged soft and warm handshakes. I was wondering why the family was deferring to me more than Enrique or Father Mel. Enrique, with a grin, whispered that they thought I was the one who had paid for the goat. “What?” I asked, looking to Enrique and Father Mel. “Because I’m the only one of us wearing a clean shirt?” Father Mel rolled his eyes. He pointed to the young mother walking up to me. She held her baby to me. “Kiss it on the forehead,” he muttered. “You know, magnanimously.” I did. And after another round of handshakes, we climbed back in the van and pulled away from the family clustered around the goat.

“I hope they don’t eat it,” Father Mel said, gazing in the rearview mirror. “It’s a milking goat. Not an eating goat.”

On the drive back, the three of us decided that the next goat would be smuggled into Mexico on a boat. Sadly, I moved away from Redford before the next goat delivery.

Here’s a link to a fictionalized version of this day:

http://erikbosse.wordpress.com/2006/03/11/right-bank-interlude/

[Typed up just after midnight following Luminaria — Saturday, March 14. Edited with very minor changes the following Wednesday night … having achieved full recuperation.]

Whew.

I spent hours today pounding the pavement in the Hemisfair Park. My dogs are barking. My blisters have blisters.

I never really got a chance to check out much of the action beyond Hemisfair Park. I bought new batteries for my little digital camera. I might have taken four pictures.

I’m licking my wounds (figuratively, you understand) and chilling to some Edward Vesala … and trying to decide if I want to cook some dinner. I had two tacos for breakfast and some overpriced parmesan french fries from some vendor this evening over by the Magik Theatre.

There were some unfortunate technical glitches in the film realm, but most people were understanding. What bothered me most was the 25 dollar ticket I found on my windshield from parking in a lot where I was told would be fine.

I shouldn’t complain, really, things went relatively smoothly. It’s just that my feet really hurt and I can’t help but skew bitchy.

So, let me shift gears to the pure upbeat.

It was great to see everyone who came out!

And I want to thank all the filmmakers who submitted their proposals and were accepted. Let me run down the list, in the arbitrary order in which they screened outside in the Plaza de Mexico.

Pete Barnstrom. “The Tower.” Here’s a man who understands that an audience appreciates brevity. It’s a lovely, off-kilter piece. And who would have guessed that Pete would have braved the crush of crowds to put in an appearance? I though he was like me. You know, where “maybe” means “no.” It looks like sometimes it means “yes.”

Kimberly Suta. “Ennis Does Southtown.” What’s not to love? It stars everyone’s favorite lactose-intolerant vegetarian gay cowboy, Ennis P. Degollado, played with camera-hogging aplomb by the ubiquitous and outrageously talented Jade Esteban Estrada. Kimberly was in attendance. As was Jade.

Roman Garcia. “Fast Food.” I could be wrong, but I believe this is Roman’s first film. It’s a sweet little family project staring him, his kids, the family place in the country, and a doomed rooster who encounters a shotgun on his (the fowl’s) way to the dinner table. Not only did Roman drive in from a gig in Austin, he also brought us a back-up DVD player. Thanks, man!

Patty Sandoval Sralla. “Out of Breath.” This is, I believe, another first film. Patty wanted to make a short documentary to draw attention to a medical condition which she’s learning to live with. She roped in the talented Dora Pena to help her shoot and edit the piece. A true collaboration. A solid little documentary. I hope that they can find funding to expand it. Patty was there. As well as Dora.

Mombassa Code. They performed their free form jazzy noodlings while a video played — a video someone in extended ensemble produced. They played two 20 minute sets. I think I saw Rebecca Dietz out there dancing and playing with fire during one of the sets. Ray Palmer, of the band, had set up a microscope with a lipstick camera to get some tight shots of a frisky amoeba which was also projected live on the huge 30 foot screen while they played. Ray, you and your guys did great. But I’d like you to check your equipment boxes tomorrow. I do believe you walked off with my orange extension cord. You don’t want to get known for sticky fingers, do you? Thought not.

Wes Barlow. “No Soliciting.” I still haven’t sat down and watched this piece all the way through. But I do know it’s brilliant. What a visual feast! What post-modern buffoonery! What a mind-bindingly hip and Hefnerian location! A color film set in the 1950s with silent movie title cards! Way cool. And Paul Scofield as a doomed mime … priceless. Barlow was there, basking in the tsunami of praise lavished upon him by his begrudgingly jealous filmmaking colleagues in attendance.

Erik Bosse. “Awaiting the Equinox.” For those coming in late — Erik Bosse, that’s me. And, in a certain sense, I was in attendance. My collaborator and actress, Deborah Keller-Rihn, also showed up. I was afraid she might not. She curates events at the Centro Cultural Aztlán, and they presented their Floricanto show earlier in the afternoon. But no, there she was with her other half, Ramin. I hope she got a chance to see the outdoor screening of our piece. I wasn’t able to. But I do know that the redundant indoor screening was a failure. The DVD refused to play. Fucking technology. I hate home-burned DVDs. Tune in to the previous blog posting. I gave a link to a YouTube version of my humble little piece.

Allison Herrera. “The Enneagram.” I liked this piece a lot. I remember talking to Allison about this. She was so excited to make something artistic. Her previous work has been narratives and a documentary or two. In short, very linear pieces. Here she allowed herself to be more free. I think she had fun with this. I hope so. Because it conveys a real senses of the playful and the carefree. And it was, as always, great to see Allison in the crowd.

Veronica Rodriguez. “El Ride.” I’m pretty sure I know what Veronica looks like. I believe she was one of the pretty girls who starred in Tyler Ibarra’s most recent film. If that’s her, I didn’t she her around the Instituto. Maybe she was out of town. “El Ride” is a wonderful short film. Funny, tight, and just about perfect. The piece played last year at a NALIP slam. I was one of the judges, and as I recall the night, we three judges were unanimous. It’s a sweet and cute little narrative piece that will leave you a slightly better human being once you’ve seen it.

Alston Cox. “My New Neighborhood.” Alston’s been concentrating on her painting these last couple of years. And I’m a huge fan. She brings this weird combination between De Chirico’s surrealism and a more formal naturalism. Alston’s film work has ranged in the past from tightly scripted narratives to ephemeral experimental pieces. It’s nice to see this straightforward documentary on her new neighborhood. I wish I had time to talk with her Saturday night, but I was pretty busy.

Lynette Marshall. “At Here Door.” I first met Lynette during the 48 Hour Film Project. To the best of my knowledge, the piece she made back then was her first ever film. It had a playful charm to it. This new short film has more of the same. It might be a bit rough around the edges, but it’s shot and lit well. Nice acting.

AJ Garces. “Death Rattle.” True, AJ didn’t produce this specifically for Luminaria. But I do believe that the crowds in attendance for the two Luminaria screenings had a chance to see the premier of this amazing and beautiful film. I suspect it will spend some more time in post-production as AJ tinkers some more on the edit. However, it is, hands down, the purest piece of cinema to come out of San Antonio that I have personally seen. And, AJ, thanks so much for stepping in and giving us a hand as projectionist in the Frida Kahlo Gallery. I, too, have been similarly conscripted for these sorts of events.

PrimaDonna Productions. “The Art of Disaster.” A wonderful and smart short film that came out of a summer student project Nikki and the PrimaDonna team ran called, I believe, “Scene from Both Sides.” The PrimaDonnas and their extended families were out in force supporting the arts.

Scott Greenberg. “Travel.” A beautifully shot little existential piece which Scott’s been working on for some time in collaboration with folks in Chicago. Unfortunately Scott could not be there Saturday night. He couldn’t turn down an out of town production gig. It’s a damn solid piece. I’m sure it will get the respect it deserves once it finds its way into the film festival circuit.

Haunted House Studio. “Schicken Chit.” Carlos busted his ass putting this one together. It was produced specially for Luminaria. And, dammit, it hit the same technical glitches as mine. But what breaks my heart is that Carlos had so much more riding on his piece than I did on mine. He brought in a large cast. Extras, even. Tracked down locations. Secured the rights to the local music he wanted for the sound track. He had a committed crew. Even a professional photographer taking production stills. What a shame. It’s a funny piece with some great performances. Fucking DVDs! And even after all that, Carlos, you still bought me a beer … and at those outrageous Luminaria prices. That’s the Valley Way — self-reliance and principled self-respect. My apologies, Carlos. I owe you much more than a beer.

Eddie Gonzalez. “Messenger.” This was another first time filmmaker. Eddie’s background is as a screenwriter. When I initially scheduled the film screenings, I had not seen all the submissions. And because of two reasons, I scheduled Eddie’s piece to screen only on the indoor screen. First, I was under the assumption that the run-time was 20 minutes. And, second, I was afraid that as a first time film, it might be fairly rough, in a technical sense. Actually it’s a nice little, personal piece. Maybe about 14 minutes. It’s a one character film. The actor handled this monologue quite well. The camera work was nice. Solid audio. A couple of slight missteps in the editing. But, if I had it to do over again, I’d have placed it on the outside screen as well. I hope Eddie appreciated that his film played throughout the night on a large flat-screen monitor. I saw that he was there, but I didn’t get a chance to talk much with him. Good job, Eddie!

Veronica Potter-Hernandez. “A Man, His Music, and His Legacy.” My Luminaria Film Committee co-chair’s wonderful personal documentary about her grandfather, an important composer and musician. The best part of the night was when Mayor Hardberger (who initiated this Luminaria event) stopped by the Instituto. He squeezed into the Frida Kahlo Gallery, and because the place was packed, not a seat to be had, he took a seat on the floor and stayed awhile. The film which was playing? Veronica’s. Veronica (and I know you’ll be reading this), that’s so fucking cool!

Barbara Jackson. “Luminaria del Rio.” Barbara is my neighbor. She lives about two blocks away. She and the husband moved from one beautiful King William house to another, somewhat larger, beautiful King William house. Her piece was projected on the west wall of the Instituto de Mexico. Still images and video footage of the play of light and shadow on the southern-most stretch of the river walk — it played on a loop along with:

Rebecca Dietz. “Asylum.” Rebecca also lives not too far from me. She, like Barbara, is mostly known as a photographer. Her Luminaria piece is a four minute loop. There are four video insets of the same woman in a flowing white gown tearing and crumpling stacks of paper in her lap. The paper is dropped down, out of frame. Rebecca’s original proposal was for this piece to run on a loop rear-projected in a downtown doorway with a pile of crumbled paper beneath the screen. There is an audio track that goes with this piece — the sound of paper crumpled and torn. Because we hadn’t arranged for a PA system, I stripped out Rebecca’s audio in the DVD I made with both artists’ works on a loop (truth be told, Pete made that DVD — thanks, Pete!). In retrospect, I wish Rebecca’s piece could have been presented in accordance with her initial proposal. It would have been quite striking. Rebecca was wandering around during Luminaria, in her other guise as a fire dancer. Clearly I need to know more about this Rebecca Dietz.

Justin Parr. “Portrait of the Artist as a City; Autobiography of Life in San Antonio.” Justin is one of the very important young members of the local art community. I’ve seen him do conceptual pieces, multi-media work, and, of course, photography. In fact, his art photography appears in about every San Antonio group show. He’s also shot for SA Current. He runs FL!GHT Gallery, one of our high hip venues. He is a major contributor to Emvergeoning, the best San Antonio art blog. So Veronica and I were happy to help with the logistics of his Luminaria installation — thousands of his photographs, running looped on a digital projector, and shot up on an old house in Hemisfair Park, catty corner to the Magik Theatre. I’m glad Justin was able to get away from his projector for a bit. He took a tour of Luminaria and posted some great photographs on the Emvergeoning site.

Joseph Hladek. “The Last Judgment.” I have to admit I haven’t seen this piece all the way through. When Joseph sent in his proposal, Veronica and myself petitioned the rest of the film committee to approve his proposal. There are a lot of things which me and Veronica politely disagree upon. The aesthetic importance of Joseph Hladek is not one of these. We’ve both seen the clarity of his unique vision. The two of us might not have much weight in the greater San Antonio art community, but we try our best to be advocates of the work of Joey Hladek. Here’s a sample: www.chosenfallen.com. Keep up the great work Joseph!

Also, the San Antonio chapter of NALIP (the National Association of Latino Independent Producers) sponsored 90 minutes of “The Best of San Antonio Student Films.” Screened were work from NESA, Harlandale Animation, ComArts, Jefferson’s Mustang Cinema, Saint Mary’s Hall, Say Si, and San Anto TV. A wealth of stellar shorts by high school kids.

This has been a tiny slice of what was offered Saturday night. The above video work played on three screens and two buildings utilizing seven video projectors. All was presented within Hemisfair Park. Keep in mind that there were over 1,100 artists represented in the downtown area during Luminaria. Six hours, more or less, along Alamo Street. From Peacock Alley down to the Magik Theatre. We had music, poetry reading, fine art, theater, performance art, multimedia installations, film, video art, dance, fireworks, and a laser show. Toss in a bunch of other stuff that doesn’t fit into any categories. Not to mention some wonderful assholes who crashed the party with their guerilla work. Also, we shouldn’t forget that Dar and Andy Miller of the SAL (San Antonio Local) Film Festival were showing some wonderful local short films up at the north side of the event, Gallery 118. Also, Joey Carrillo brought film to the Citywide component of Luminaria. In association with Cine Studio Joey created the Film Day SA Festival. He screened some wonderful locally produced work at the downtown campus of UTSA. We also had Leslie Raymond’s UTSA New Media students presenting their excellent work for Luminaria. Add the video component of so many iconic San Antonio artists, such as Luis Valdera, Michele Monseau, Laura Varela, Guillermina Zabala, and on and on, and I can only say that that whole weird uncodified world of film / video / animation / media / projected work / time-based visual media / blah / and blah blah… well, it was all over the place Saturday night. It was a true orgy of strange bedfellows, because it’s also very true that we don’t all get along — nope, not at all. But let’s cram it all under the umbrella of time-based visual media, and with that quick simplification, we all kicked ass this 2009 Luminaria.

Kids, take a bow. Well done.

Let’s all start thinking of 2010.

Here’s a compressed version of my Luminaria offering. It’s an ultra short experimental film entitled “Awaiting the Equinox.” Four minutes long. I shot it in two days. My dear friend Deborah Keller-Rihn helped me out. She’s an educator, curator, photographer, painter, digital artist, and, on and on. Deborah is one of my best friends. And she’s also heart-achingly beautiful. Working with her on a art project is always a great joy and a true privilege.

Check it out:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M3958SKNC8U&hl=en&fs=1]

I’ve said it so often, it has become my mantra.

I hate technology. Or more specific, I hate home-burned DVDS. Or even more specific, those home-burned DVDs I create.

I just got back from the Instituto de Mexico, where I was testing the Luminaria films on their equipment. I was afraid that many wouldn’t work. I had trouble with several on my home DVD. But, no worry. They all worked just fine save one … and the two I had burned earlier in the day. Two DVDs I’d spent hours tinkering with the hideously counterintuitive menus of DVD Studio Pro. I found three tutorials on-line. Each somewhat different. The third seemed to work like a charm. That was, until I placed them inside the machine at the Instituto.

Here’s the most irritating thing of all. I can play my own short piece on my damn iPhone, but not a DVD. When we’ve finally walked away from physical media (with the exception of the handback book, of course) I’ll dance on it’s collective grave.

If it were just my piece, it wouldn’t be so bad. But I also was trying to burn a DVD which will loop the short arty films by two accomplished artists. A DVD which needs to play all night long on it’s own projector and screen.

I’ll be heading over to Pete’s tomorrow and use a dependable computer and DVD authorizing program.

On an upbeat note, I was pleasantly surprised to see all this stuff in one sitting. I was afraid the crap quotient would be somewhat higher. Not the case here. Some very fine work!

“Death Rattle.” AJ Garces has a killer piece which I’m sure he’ll be pushing into all the right festivals. It is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen to come out of the local movie community.

“No Soliciting.” Wes Barlow has also out-done himself. I’m still cringing from the piece he screened at the last SAL Film Festival. But Barlow’s back in fighting form. This one is smart, clever, and slick. It’s beautifully shot. Impeccably edited.

“El Ride.” Veronica Rodriguez submitted an older piece. But I don’t think many people in San Antonio have seen it. It’s a great comedy with a tight pace.

“The Tower.” Pete Barnstrom pulled a fast one out of his ass. His helicopter shot fell through, so he kept it simple. It’s only a couple of minutes, but very compelling. It has this odd downbeat warm claustrophobia I usually associate with Guy Madden. And the “music” score fits just right.

There are over 20 filmmakers represented. All wonderful work. Well, more or less. Add to that a block of student films which will begin at 6:30 inside the Instituto. We’re still getting submissions in, but there will be 60 – 90 minutes of some of the best new work by San Antonio high school filmmakers. We’ll show work from the Harlandale animation department, NESA, Jefferson’s Maverick Cinema, Communications Arts Magnet, and St. Mary’s Hall; also represented will be two after school art programs: Say Si and San Anto. All these kids are doing great stuff.

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When I found myself roped into this Luminaria gig, I was flattered. Little did I know that this unpaid gig would be more work than similar paid gigs.

I’m beat, and there are still two more days. It occurred to me recently that I’m not really sure what I’m getting out of this. Yeah, it might look nice on a resume. But the truth is, I do not want a job in arts administration or events planning. In fact, you, my gentle readers, have written permission to hunt me down and plant a bullet in my head if I ever seriously get a full-time job doing this sort of work.

I’m serious. You’d being doing me a favor.

One of the perks is that I do like the gossip. San Antonio runs on a high octane admixture of chisme and all that unspeakable fumbling that goes on beneath the sheets and in the dark between strange bedfellows. There is a cast of bizarre and misshapen characters in the arts and cultural world in this town unlike anything … well, anything outside of a D&D Monster Guide.

It’s kinda addictive. Like salted pistachios.

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The weather. That’s what’s making us all so snappish. We who are on the steering committee. And we who are artists. Yeah, that’s me, pulling double duty.

It’s been fucking freezing the last couple of days. And the rain’s been pissing down like we’re in Ireland, which, and correct me if I’m wrong, has been referred to as God’s Urinal — ’cause it looks so good on a matchbook or a hand-painted shot glass.

The weather reports are promising much the same until Sunday. But those of us who are optimistic, are making book on an overcast and slightly chilly Saturday afternoon and evening, but no precipitation. I’m laying down bets on a dry Luminaria. But still kind of unpleasant — you know, chilly and humid.

So, please, I implore you all. Come out. Cheer us up. Keep us warm. Who knows, we might even buy you a turkey leg or a vegetarian gordita.

But most of all, come out to see my brilliant short film, “Awaiting the Equinox.” I’ll be screening it on my iPhone … until the battery runs low.

(A rather stale post I need to toss on the pile so as to move on to the next.)

Friday night I headed over to Jesse and James Borrego’s CineStudio on S. Presa, across from the Wiggle Room. They were having one of their periodic parties. The theme was low-rider movies. In the gravel parking area in back they set up a rear projection screen and showed two films. “A Lowrider Spring Break En San Quilmas,” and “Boulevard Nights.” Both films star Danny de la Paz, and he was there in attendance, signing photos and meeting fans. Gabe Vasquez was set up as DJ. Adan Hernandez had some of his art displayed on the walls.

Mostly the party-goers were schmoozing and networking. Very few people watched the films all the way through. When I arrived, “Lowrider Spring Break” was almost over. I did watch most of “Boulevard Nights.” It was produced in 1979. Clearly a low budget film, but well shot and filled with some great acting. Danny’s was the most stand-out performance.

Greg Barrios was at the party. I hadn’t seen him in months. I walked up and congratulated him on all his recent successes. It seems like his plays are being staged all over the country. He told me that he was there to greet Danny, who was in San Antonio visiting. I believe Danny was recently in one of Greg’s plays.

Gordon Delgado (of “Jesus in a String Bikini” fame) came up and talked to me for a while about some film projects he has in development, Sounds like he has possible funders on a string. Let’s hope so.

Drew Mayer-Oakes, director of the San Antonio Film Commission, showed up. He was dressed perfectly for a southside lowrider film festival. Guayabera shirt and Panama hat. He fit right in.

Antonio Cisneros has come down from film school in NYC to work on a film project in his hometown during spring break. He was working the crowd.

And of course, Jesse Borrego was also working the crowd. It’s been a good three or four years for Jesse. Other than the endless stream of feature films he appears in, he has also been very busy with TV projects. I’ve not watched ER in ages, but he plays (or played) a recurring character. And even though I have no desire to watch 24, I kind of wish someone would get me all the episodes staring Jesse. I believe he plays some scene-stealing villain. And then there’s Dexter. I’ve seen several episodes of this show. I really enjoy it. But because I don’t have cable, I’ve not been able to keep up. I understand that Jesse played a serial killer in a multi-episode (full season?) story arc. I was standing with Dora Pena when Jesse was telling her how he and the other actors worked with the writers on just how the protagonist, Dexter, manages to kill Jesse’s character. So I guess that meal ticket’s all used up … barring an identical twin plot point.

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As the big day of Luminaria approaches (March 14), I suspect that I’ll find myself scrambling to get all the A/V equipment to work correctly and to keep all the film artists happy. Me and Veronica are still gathering the media from the artists.

In fact, I got a call from Scott Greenberg Saturday. He could deliver his piece to me later in the afternoon. As I was waiting, Russ Ansley dropped by. I hadn’t seen Russ in several months. I’d asked if he could provide some work of his animation students for Luminaria. Me and Veronica have set aside about 90 minutes for work from some of the local high school video / media programs.

Me and Russ headed over to the Blue Star Brewing Company for a very late lunch. While we were enjoying stouts and sandwiches on the patio, Scott called up. He offered to drive out and drop off his Luminaria film. When he arrived, we all hung out for a while.

But eventually Russ said he needed to head out. He was planning to go see a play over at San Pedro Playhouse.

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I was also planning on seeing a play. Actually, a double feature at the Jump-Start Performance Company. Saturday night was the premiere of the two week run of “m(dot)e(dot): a life experiment,” by Monessa M. Esquivel; and, “Ranch Home In Manhattan,” by Paul Bonin-Rodriguez.

I’d seen mention on MySpace (or was it via Twitter??) that Jump-Start would be offering something they called Rush Tickets. Here, from an email: “Patrons may purchase up to two Rush Tickets per person, subject to availability, 5 minutes before the show. $5 Rush Tickets may be purchased in person only at the Jump-Start Box Office. Cash only! You must have exact change to purchase your Rush Tickets.”

Apparently they do this in New York?

Anyway, the tickets were about 15 bucks for a plain vanilla punter such as myself. Steep. But cheaper than most local theater. However, five bucks is even better. Right?

Five minutes until show time I walked up to the box office. Max was standing behind the counter off to the side — I believe he was selling refreshments. We talked for a bit about last night’s party at CineStudio, but then I became afraid they might run out of these cheapo rush tickets. I turned away from Max and asked the woman working the box office, “You have any Rush tickets left?”

“Rush tickets? Um, they’re back there.”

She pointed to a folding table at the far side of the room, back toward the restrooms.

I walked back to the table and asked if any Rush tickets were available. Yes, They had several. As I paid my five dollars, I greeted Kimberly Suta. She is one of the Luminaria film artists. Also, she’s canny, like me, on how to find bargains into the art scenes.

The woman who was running the Rush ticket operation attached to me an orange wrist band. And I never figured out why. She then escorted me and Kimberly and two others (four Rush ticket-holders in all) into the performance space proper. For some reason we were never given programs (although I snagged one at the end of the night). And we were taken to some sub-prime seats. But, really, all seats in Jump-Start are good seats. My problems was the chairs. Metal folding chairs crammed in close together. The other chairs in Jump-Start have padding. And arms, dammit! What’s up with these folding chairs for the cheapo Rush ticket-buyers?

The first piece, “Ranch Home In Manhattan,” is basically a one man show, with the occasional intrusion of two other minor characters. Paul Bonin-Rodriguez wrote the piece, and he plays the main character. It’s a cross between Greater Tuna and David Sedaris. The writing crackles with biting insights, clever twists of phrase, and lovely sardonic bitchery. The problem is that Paul Bonin-Rodriguez had not committed his huge script to memory. Because his character is the owner of a small Texas restaurant who bakes all the pastries, the bound script he was constantly referring to was identified as his “recipe book.” I could never suspend my disbelief, because I was constantly afraid that he would drop the script, and then he’d be lost, scrambling to find his place again.

But I loved the piece. It’s crammed with so much stellar writing.

During intermission we were treated to pies and cakes. I had a slice of kick-ass chess pie, apparently from the recipe mentioned in the performance, with raisins, pecans, and coconut. An unlikely but very toothsome combination.

After intermission I wandered over to another section where I found a more comfortable chair.

Monessa Esquivel’s “m(dot)e(dot): a Life Experiment” is a weird and wonderful experience, and I highly recommend you get out there and see it.

The more I learn about Monessa, the less I know about her. I’ve seen her incredible range as an actor in several plays, not to mention an experimental film in which she starred and on which I crewed. All I know for sure is that she’s a strikingly beautiful young woman in possession of some serious acting chops. And after the show Saturday night I now know that Monessa is a hell of a writer who can move comfortably between such extremes as high existential dilemmas one moment which suddenly and unexpectedly shift to slapstick just long enough for you to catch your breath before dropping down into the hell of profound naturalistic tragedy.

“m(dot)e(dot): a Life Experiment” has a few weak and unfocused moments. But, as a whole, wow!

I was talking with a local filmmaker the other day. The subject of Dallas came up. He praised the city. I damned it. He said that it was a great place because of the arts. He mentioned theater. Now I should point out that I bounce between San Antonio and my home town of Dallas. Dallas once was a hotbed of great experimental theater. But, fuck, that was over 15 years ago. Back when Keith Oncale, Raphael Perry, Matthew Posey, and Octavio Solis were the luminaries of the Dallas theater scene, it was hot, it was crucial. Those days are long gone. And it’s sad.

I would say that the serious theater scene in San Antonio is more robust than what’s happening in Dallas at the present. However, San Antonio theater is still pretty lame.

Perhaps we just need more Monessa.

Here is a smeary photo off my iPhone of Monessa and Shimi during the post show audience feedback session.

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Sunday night I drove over to the Centro Cultural Aztlan to take in the opening night of their “Ellas” show, a group presentation of some of the great local women artists. The show coincided with International Women’s Day. Wonderful stuff. Some of my favorite local artists. Jane Madrigal, Carolina Flores, Regina Sanders, Deborah Keller-Rihn, Terry Ybanez, Alejandra Gomez, Marilyn Lanfear, Guillermina Zabala, el al.

The huge crowd was treated to food catered by the artists. A potluck spread. All I can say is, whoever made that killer bread pudding, bravo!

I was happy to see some of the important women in the San Antonio art scene. There was Graciela Sanchez, the head honcha of the Esperanza Peace and Justice Center. Marise McDermott, the director of the Witte Museum (and co-chair of the Luminaria steering committee). I also saw Paula Owen, who runs the Southwest School of Arts and Crafts.

I had seen most but not all of the art when I looked up and saw Marilyn Lanfear. I met her last year during the Creative Capital retreat. Marilyn’s an older woman who works in that strange realm where art and craft intersect. She’d recently done a series of intricate pieces with buttons sewn to cloth and contextualized by personal written stories, She seems like some square old broad who’d blush if you said “fuck”; but, in actuality, she’s pulling craft into this convoluted postmodern multidisciplinary art realm. Watch out you young turks and turkettes in the fast-paced PoMo world — Marilyn L is where it’s at. She’s leaving you all in the dust. She just ate your lunch. Yep, that was her.

The piece she created for the “Ella” show was composed of laundry drier lint, ribbon, and a metal gift box.

Take a look.

Marilyn, you and your prepared drier lint fucking rock!

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Monday.

Around ten tonight I met filmmaker AJ Garces in the parking lot of a local restaurant. He handed me a DVD of his Luminaria film. It had all the hallmarks of a clandestine dope deal. But, of course, we’re both upstanding citizens.

When I returned home, my neighbor Phil walked up. He was out walking his dog. It’s a beautiful night with a gorgeous full moon.

After a bit of neighborly banter, Phil ask what I thought about First Friday. There has been some talk about shutting it down.

“Yeah,” I said. “I read an article in the paper. There was a neighborhood meeting. I live in the neighborhood. No one invited me to the damn meeting. Were you invited?”

Phil shook his head.

“I was talking to René, who runs Madhatters,” I continued. “And he said he wasn’t invited. So, if the neighbors and the local business owners weren’t included, it wasn’t a neighborhood meeting. Just those rich gentrifying sons of bitches. The King William mafia. Well, it’s not theirs to shut down. Few of them are artists or local business owners. They got no juice. So they’d best just shut the fuck up. Or, better yet, move up north to the Dominion where they belong.”

I suspect I’d lost Phil early in the rant. Once I noticed he was edging away, I bid him a good night and headed inside.

Those nouveau riche King William assholes really bug me. They’re the ones who initiated an admittance charge to the King William Fair during Fiesta. It’s a street fair, people. How dare you charge me to walk down a public street … in my own neighborhood.

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Ah, Luminaria. Monday, well, this usually means a steering committee meeting. But this Monday was doubly special. Sure, the steering committee would be meeting at 3pm. But there was also the press conference at 11am in front of the Alamo.

I hopped on a trolly and made it there twenty minutes early. It was a beautiful day. The CE Group did a great job arranging the event. The co-chairs of our steering committee made opening remarks. And Mayor Hardberger provided some generic chin music. We had performance by two groups who will be entertaining the crowds come March 14, Luminaria Night. First was a dance troupe (don’t know their name), and they did some amazing Filipino dancing. Here’s an iPhone photo.

We also had a song from a current show at Magik Theater (our preeminent children’s theater), some sort of rock and roll variant of Alice in Wonderland. It was pretty intense.

Afterwards I took the trolly back home.

I went ahead and registered for the NALIP national conference in April. So, I’ll be going to California for a three day weekend, nuzzling cheek to jowl with movie industry folks. This means I need to hammer out some clearly defined treatments of the three major projects I’m wanting to see moved into and beyond development.

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After the steering committee meeting, I rushed home to grab my video equipment. I’m still working on my own Luminaria film. I have been pushing it back because of all the administrative work I’ve been doing.

Next, I headed over to pick Deborah up at her place, a few blocks away. She was my actress / model. We drove down south to the MIssion region. All my locations were near Mission San Juan and Espada Dam.

I had great light. Low and warm late afternoon sunlight. No clouds. (If only I had a matte box and a graduated ND filter to tame the sky — my polarizing filter can only do so much.)

We had five locations. I kept pretty close to my storyboards. Deborah did great. She’s a great model. And as a photographer herself, she is used to telling models what to do. So, she understands the process. Add to that, she’s a beautiful woman. And really you can’t go wrong.

I finally got to shoot in a location I love. There’s a canal branching off the San Antonio river that meanders beside Mission San Juan. When it rejoins the river, it comes out of an over-grown scrubland — the water moves fast and shallow along a cement spillway. I placed the camera on a tripod in the water and shot up-stream at such an angle that it looked like a natural river. Deborah walked in the water towards the camera. I’m not a hundred percent sure. She’s maybe a water sprite. Or, perhaps, a woodland nymph. But what do I know.

Here’s a screen-grab from today’s shoot.

Oh, yeah, it’ll be titled “Awaiting the Equinox.” Screening during Luminaria night at the Instituto de Mexico. Come on out. I’m hoping it’s not going to be too awful, you know, weather-wise.

See you guys Saturday!

Thursday.

I’m awaiting my ticket-tape parade in recognition of my technological savvy. I successfully up-graded my Power Mac G4 by installing more RAM. Yessiree. Actually the most difficult thing was finding my credit card so I could order the three memory sticks from the fine folks at www.crucial.com. They provide tools to decide just what you need. They also have handy tutorials on how to install your computer’s new innards. I swear, it took me under five minutes. And that included muscling the RAM from the plastic blister packs, as well as shutting down and then restarting my computer.

Hell, if I can do it, anyone can.

Can I notice any improvements? Well, programs that were sluggish to open (like Adobe Acrobat), now start up almost immediately. My web browsers move a bit faster. When I’m running multiple applications, I’m no longer seeing those pesky momentary freeze-ups. But, really, I needed this to edit video. Final Cut opens faster. And it seems like it’s quicker to render some effects. We’ll see. I’ve only done some basic stuff today for a Luminaria multimedia artist who provided me with some QuickTime files I need to merge with those of another artist.

You know, I hadn’t poked around in my computer’s bowels in years. It’s amazing it still works, what with all that dust. I hope that by spritzing it away, I haven’t done more harm than good. It’s not outside of the realm of possibility that that patina of grime was the only thing keeping the old gal zipping along.

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I got a call late this morning from Sam Lerma. He said he would be in the neighborhood to drop something off at Jump-Start, and if I hadn’t yet had lunch, we could take in some enchiladas tejanas at Tito’s. Hell, I’d barely finished my first cup of coffee and was trying to figure out breakfast. So, hell yeah.

Sam’s recently completed a short film, working with Ya’Ke Smith and Ralph Lopez. I’m looking forward to seeing it. He also provided the video component (or is it a slideshow?) for Monessa M. Esquivel’s new play / performance piece. Even without Sam’s collaboration, I’ve put this on my calendar. I’ll go see Monessa in anything. She’s one of our great local talents. This is a piece she wrote and will be starring in.

The piece is titled: “m(dot)e(dot): a life experiment,” and it will be staged in a double-billing with “Ranch Home In Manhattan,” by Paul Bonin-Rodriguez.

The pieces run March 7 – 15.

I plan on attending the opening night, Saturday, March 7th. There’s supposed to be something called a “post-show talkback.” I’ll chalk it up to added-value. Maybe Monessa will engage the audience in some sort of Q&A.

If, like myself, you’re a fan of the Methane Sisters, prepare for a kinder, gentler Monessa. I’ve seen a preview of a scene in one of the WIP workshop performances. It’s all very sweet, a bit odd, and maybe somewhat subversive … but I don’t yet know the whole arc of the piece.

And if the chance to see Monessa Esquivel portray a five year-old is something you don’t find intriguing, all I can say is, you have no soul. In short, you are dead to me.

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About an hour ago I got back from a movie at ArtPace. Over the last few months Guillermina “Gisha” Zabala has been presenting a series of curated film screenings at ArtPace. (ArtPace is an incredibly important contemporary art center here in San Antonio … that seems perennially clueless as how to soften it’s snooty image. Though, lord knows they’re trying. In fact, Joe Jack Talcum, of Dead Milkmen fame, will be performing the night before Luminaria. (What, Dead Milkman? Are they still around?Yeah, I remember them. In fact I kinda enjoyed that “Bitchin’ Camaro” song …. from the ’80s, yeah?).)

Um, where was I before the parentheticals took over …?

Oh, um, Gisha’s event. Well, this last film in her three part series was “Soy Cuba.” I saw this film just once, on DVD from the library. I was enthralled. It became one of my all-time favorite movies. Now I had a chance to see it on a bigger screen (though still on DVD — I would love to see this on a clean and remastered 35mm print).

When I first watched “Soy Cuba” I blogged about it. I don’t want to get all redundant. But the basics are that it served as a communist propaganda film made by the best of Soviet filmmakers with the help of Cuban artists. NetFlix this rascal! The best black and white cinematography ever. Every frame is a work of art. 140 minutes is damn long, but not when you’re watching 140 mesmerizing minutes of brilliant composition, lighting, and organic camera movement.

This is what a movie is supposed to me.

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This damn Luminaria Arts Night in San Antonio had better be stellar. As we get closer to the event (eight days and counting), I find myself spending more and more of my time trying to get the film component in order. I wonder how much I’d be making if this were a paid position? Thousands, I dare say.

While I was awaiting UPS to drop off my RAM, George Cisneros stopped by on his way to his studio. He had a DVD he wanted me to watch. He and Catherine are thinking of starting a movie night at URBAN-15, and there’s a company in NYC which licenses films for micro-cinema screenings. This DVD George thought exemplified what they offered. He wanted my opinion.

We hung out for about an hour on my porch because he knew that once he got to his studio, he’d find a mountain of emails concerning Luminaria. George is on the logistics subcommittee, and were he not, we’d all be screwed. He’s working his ass off, and like me, for no pay.

After he received a couple of Luminaria phone calls, he decided he should head to his studio, check his email, and face the music.

I went inside, and was pleasantly surprised to see I only had one Luminaria-related voice mail.

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I’m ripping my favorite Caspar Brötzmann album to my iPhone. This is his power trio, Massaker. It’s the CD titled Home. It’s playing as it goes through all the digitizing. Leave it to the Germans to make such brutal and neo-primitive music so beautiful, psychedelic, even.

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Late last week Deborah asked to meet with me 9am on Sunday morning at the Blue Star Arts Complex. A mutual friend, Jane, a dancer and choreographer, would also meet us. Other than the ungodly hour and the fact that it was fucking freezing, it was certainly convenient. The three of us all live within eight blocks of Blue Star.

I arrived before anyone else and shivered on a park bench.

I walked, Jane biked, Deborah drove … and, were it not so cold, Deborah might have felt a little bit ashamed being such a wimp for taking her car.

Deborah wants to do a multidisciplinary arts piece, following here current interest in the mandala shapes and traditions, chiefly from India and Tibet.

Jane would choreograph the dance part and provide the dancers. I would bring in the video element. And Deborah would design the overall piece as well as making the mandala images.

We looked at a few sites to stage the dances along the San Antonio River, there at Blue Star. After some brain-storming and thoughts as to possible funding, we set a date to meet again. Jane hopped on her bike and headed home.

Deborah and her boyfriend, Ramin, both have their own art studios in the Blue Star complex. We headed up to Ramin’s studio for coffee. Ramin was there with coffee, pastries, and my friend, Rose.

I hadn’t seen Rose in two years.

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Rose had returned some weeks back from her stint with the Peace Corps in Morocco. She used to be a curator over at the San Antonio Museum of Art. She and Deborah worked together. It was maybe five years ago that I made a video with them for the museum. It was a fun assignment, shot and edited in a quick and hectic manner. I was given absolute creative control. Even got some money out of the deal. And a nomination to a prestigious design award.

But Rose wanted more. Some years prior to SAMA, she’d spent time in Turkey. I forget if she was a student or there on some sort of work visa. So, really, we weren’t surprised that she wanted travel, adventure, and more meaning in her life. It was sad to see her leave, but I was excited for her.

She’s as beautiful as I remember. But she seems more more confident, more secure with herself. More authentic.

The four of us talked and drank coffee. Eventually Ramin wanted a cigarette. We all headed to the outside staircase and huddled in a knot as the sun warmed us. It looked like it was shaping up into a beautiful day.

We all brought Rose back up speed on the local scene — gossip and politics. She politely and patiently listened to us. But I couldn’t help but notice that Rose wasn’t back with us yet. Maybe she never would be. I was jealous of her disconnect. You see, Rose was still back in North Africa.

Ramin had some work to do, so the three of us walked to Tito’s for a late breakfast. We hung out for about two half hours catching up. Rose graciously pulled from me and Deborah what we we currently working on. But finally me and Deborah got Rose to open up and talk about Morocco.

She did. And it was wonderful. I am so envious of her time in Morocco.

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Later Sunday night I drove up to the northwest region. Marti, a staunch supporter of the film community, had invited me to a home-cooked meal. She’s worked as a PA for several projects shot here in town. But, most importantly for me, she was a volunteer for the San Antonio 48 Hour Film Project. Dependable and great fun to work with. Add to that, someone who wanted to cook me a meal. Wow.

Thanks, Marti!

When I showed up, her friend Joe Jimenez was also there. Joe was another 48 volunteer from last year. And, during the previous year, he produced one of the films in competition.

I know I haven’t seen all the work that Joe has been involved with, but I can’t praise enough one particular short film he produced: “Meat.” It’s just about perfect.

I arrived at 8pm (Marti had just left a shoot where she was working as an actress — Maid #2, I believe she said), and I didn’t leave until 1:30. It was a nice night of great food and good conversation. It was nice to see the both of you guys.

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Monday. Ah, if it’s Monday, it must be a Luminaria steering committee meeting. But not just that, the steering committee was followed by a mandatory meeting for the Luminaria artists. This would give the co-chairs of the committees and and the marketing teams and the logistic people a chance to get together and smooth everything out. But, ah, hubris. Mandatory has become, in this day, merely a suggestion.

What’s that you say? Artists might be too busy to attend?

Look, mate. Me and the rest of the two dozen or so members of the steering committee are meeting every fucking week and busting our collective asses trying to make this huge event happen. We’re volunteers. And by that I mean, chumps. Right? I can only assume that this is how the artists who didn’t bother to show up must think of us.

“Ah, it’ll happen. These fucking chumps will watch our backs.”

Oh, yeah. We’re watching your backs. Please tell me you’re not dumb enough to turn your backs on us.

Mwahahahahaha…!

But I digress.

It was great to see so many wonderful people crammed into the refurbished stables of the old San Antonio Pearl Brewery. It is a warm community of artists, even though some of us hate one another. We put our differences aside and arrived at a collective détente — let the love-fest begin. (There were at least two crabby prima donnas in attendance, and, really, the whole city just wishes they would go away — but we all tried to smile and nod to these individuals, and maybe some magic will descend on the discord and goodness will come streaming out!)

Could happen …..

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Tuesday.

Monday I had received a text message from Pocha (AKA, Sandra Peña Sarmiento). She’s working on a playful activism-in-the-media project. The voice mail on my phone dripped with a bit more obsequiousness than I expect from Pocha. She was wondering if I could help her on a video project. I was thinking, sure. I have equipment. I have a certain level of expertise. And then I heard something about how she wanted me to play the part of a Minuteman. Not one of those Paul Revere guys. Nope. Were talking about those modern-day reactionary white supremacist who don’t believe they’re racists. They’re just patriots, right? Right?

True, I’ve recently shaved my head into a buzz cut. I’m a tall and portly and incredibly pale anglo. This could, I understand, translate into big fat honky motherfucker. The problem is, I can’t act. If Pocha was really serious, she would have contacted Brant Bumpers. He’s as much a sweetheart as myself, a bit taller, ten times more imposing, much better looking, and a damn fine actor, who’s happy to play evil. He’d be the perfect Minuteman.

Well, the damage has been done. I said yes. (I can’t say no to Pocha.)

I arrived at the location near Woodlawn Lake. I held up a sign that said “America for Americans,” and hoped to god no one I knew was out enjoying a placid walk around the lake.

Sandra held up her camera, and our other two actors fell into character.

These other actors were iconic teenage filmmaker Jessica Torres (of whose work I’m a huge fan) and her mom, Sandra. Jessica and Sandra walked alongside of me, and then they saw my sign. Outrageous! These two offended citizens stood in front of me and shouted their displeasure in regards to my fascist views. I tried to keep a straight face as these two tiny chicanas threatening me (and, here I mean no disrespect, but Jessica and Sandra are tiny … I mean, I’m only about 6 feet 2, but I’m like Godzilla next to them). It’s hilarious. I’m holding that large sign, and when Sandra and Jessica happen up me, they get riled, they do. Sandra shouts at me. Jessica is more serious. She attacks, throwing punches and tiabo kicks.

We lost our sun Tuesday, so we finished off Wednesday. It was a lot of fun. These are all people I really like.

Pocha will be presenting this piece over the weekend at some sort of activism in the arts conference up in the Pacific Northwest. She wasn’t video taping. It was a series of still images, actually. A Photo Novella. It will be edited into a tongue in cheek instructional slide show about how to confront the Minutemen without getting punched, or worse.

Whatever I can do for the cause.

Here we have Jessica wielding a bullhorn.

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My DVD of “Elliott Sharp: Doing the Don’t” arrived this week.

Thanks so much for the quick shipping Bert Shapiro!

Filmmaker Shapiro did a great job of explaining and humanizing this pan-genera genius. I own about 21 CDs featuring Elliott Sharp. Over the decades he has been involved in numerous projects spanning all manner of musical stylings.

If I had to narrow it down to four, I would have to claim, as my musical heroes: Elliott Sharp, Cecil Taylor, Iannes Xanakis, and Dave Berman. Tragically Xenakis passed away in 2001. Cecil is unlikely to be with us much longer. Berman has recently announced that he’s moving away from music to pursue other creative endeavors. So, it’s just Sharp. Maybe I need to update my musical heroes to “musical heroes currently producing work.”

When George Cisneros stopped by today, I mentioned that I just received the Elliott Sharp DVD. I knew he’d spent time in NYC, not just as a multi-media artist, but also as a musician. He surprised me by not only knowing who Elliott Sharp was (well, I assumed he would), but explaining that had played with Sharp on several occasions. Keyboards, I believe he said.

George is full of surprises.

That he used to hang out with Philip Glass struck me as interesting. Because, well, Glass is famous. But I just don’t get his music. However, to have played with Elliott Sharp, that, to me, is significant. Sure Elliott Sharp spouts borderline bullshit about injecting his music with mathematical formulae, such as Fibonacci series, but, damned if it doesn’t work. As a semi-educated avant-garde music fan, I have to say Glass leaves me cold, and Sharp, well, he’s where it’s at.