One of the things I wanted to add in yesterday's entry was the people pushing their way on to set. The house in Seguin is on an out-of-the-way road running along the river. Not a lot of traffic. And you can only gain entrance into the property through an automatic gate. Early on during the day, an SUV followed in one of our actors. Two women bounced out of the vehicle, asking where the garage sale was. We had to chase out these interlopers. And sometime around noon, I was walking around the front of the house, with the electric gate clicker in my pocket. When a car pulled up to the gate, I naturally let it in, assuming it was an actor. The car didn't hesitate to enter. It snugged up against another parked car. Engine was turned off. A young professional-looking woman in a rather long skirt got out of the drivers side of the car. It was a very recent black Cadillac. The passenger door opened. An old man in an immaculate Brooks Brother suit stepped out. He walked with a pronounced stoop. I was fascinated. Was there a change to the script? Could this be the old family doctor come to, I don't know, provided some door-to-door estrogen replacement therapy to the women in this film? The stove up old man limped right up to me and pulled from a folder, a flyer whose art work shouted (from forty paces, at least) “religious nut.” Turns out they were Jehovah's Witnesses. And I gave them the boot. But it occurred to me that the Witnesses have been doing pretty well if they are driving luxury cars and wearing expensive suits. Most likely set crashers hot to get in front of the camera, no matter that it takes.

Today we shot some of the restaurant scenes at Shilos downtown. This is a German place famous for its split pea soup and homemade root beer.

The place is a San Antonio institution. We were able to get it because Sherrie's sister manages the place.

We got there at nine. We shot five or six scenes, with loads of extras. What fun. I love working with this unwieldy number of people. They were all damn professional. Even the older tourist couple we met on the sidewalk while shooting an establishing shot. We promised them a free meal. They came on in and spent the whole day with us.

Young Matt Hensarling arrived to play the nerdy restaurant manager. He's fucking amazing. Each take he added some new improv line. Each time fascinating and very funny in its own way.

Everyone was in top form. Sherrie and Andrea gave us a cozy and flawless scene, with every take perfection. Andrea and Anne were wonderfully natural together. And Martha Prentiss nailed it as the disgruntled customer with a poorly cooked steak.

Robin kept the energy going, and we were able to get some great work done and get our last shot off by the deadline, eight pm on the dot.

The final scene was a last minute idea by Robin. It was a two page scene where Andrea, Rick, and Matt are interacting in the kitchen of the restaurant. Robin pointed to the hatchway where food is passed from the kitchen into the waitress station. “Why don't we shoot through this opening?” she asked. Russ was intrigued. He found the perfect composition. I tossed in some light. And he shot the scene. The first take was ruined when a noisy ice maker kicked in. The controls were out of reach, so we waited for its compressor to cycle off. As we waited, I decided we needed to see a plate of food placed into the extreme foreground on the shelf of the order-up hatch. It was a lovely shot. The actors were spot on.

A damn fun day, well-orchestrated and very productive. Congratulations Robin, Kevin, Sherrie, and Russ.

I saw Nikki on set for the feature film Leftovers Saturday. She made some comment that I haven't posted a blog in a while. I explained that my short film I'm doing for Short Ends Project has turned into such a nightmare that I need some distance before I write about that particular part of my life. Last week we shot Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. I had problems with rain when I wanted to shoot outside, a warehouse space I was prepared to pay for which evaporated at the last minute, two actors who went MIA on me, and a raft of miscellaneous problems (most too miniscule to bother me when dropped in to my lap two or three at a time, but in a good-sized wave crashing down, well, it can put a guy off his footing).

The footage we've gotten, I hasten to add, it wonderful. Our actors shined and the crew pulled together admirably. I never felt things were veering too far out of control, as I had Martha Prentiss and Laura Evans in the cast. More about the brilliance of these incredible actors later when I get around to giving a blow-by-blow of the short.

But, as I'm giving my take on the Leftovers production, I'll bring it up to speed.

Saturday, I got up at a sane time. Six-thirty. I had an eight forty-five call time in Seguin. I had time for an espresso and some oatmeal while catching up with Amy Goodman on radio over the internet.

When I got to the location, with maybe five minutes to spare, I noticed that one of our actors, Tasha, had arrived. Her car was parked off the road on the grassy verge. I waved, and shut off my engine, and pivoted so I could put my feet up on bench seat of my truck and wait. I fished a tattered paperback of Marcus Aurelius from behind my seat, and waited. The Seguin location is a beautiful house on the banks of the Guadalupe River. It's perimetered by a fence. An electric gate keeps people out. Russ is our contact person with the owners (who are gracious enough to give us full run of the place — they shift to their second home in Austin to keep out of our hair). He has the electric clicker to get us inside. There had been some confusion about the call time. Robin had put it at 8:45 because some of the crew (and I'm not naming names) were always running late. What happened was that a lot of people showed up at 8:45, and we got into the place at nine.

I don't think the ploy worked.

The day started out bad, and it got worse. We were all unfocused. Tracie was down in the carport using my compressor to inflate a prop child's wading pool. The box made it took massive. It was a very involved affair with about six different air compartments. It had an inflatable slide. And this weird giraffes' head that sprayed water from its nose. When finally assembled, it was small enough to fit atop a folding card table. When Robin, in passing, asked how the pool was coming along, I asked if she was expecting the pool featured in a photo on the box. “Well, yeah,” she said. “FYI,” I muttered, “it looks like the models were midget children.”

Upstairs, I found Russ and Robin talking about the best window to shoot through so that our star, Sherri, can be looking through to see her character's husband playing with the three boys thrown into their foster care. I'd expected a shot through the kitchen window. But I found Russ and Robin in the rear bedroom. It was a great view. I would have liked some sense of preproduction planning. Some story-boards. Shot lists. But all I could do as Russ and Robin moved through a series of miscommunications, was to pull out the window screens so we could have a clean shot through the windows. Erin appeared out of nowhere and began cleaning the window glass. Kevin drove off to NewTek to borrow their large crane.

I gelled all out six Lowell lights, and defused them. It was still not enough to fight the sunlight coming in through windows on three walls. We wanted a shot with Sherri in a close one-shot with windows behind her. I used three sheets of 2×2 foot neutral density filters to tame the sunlight. With all the windows at this location, I wish we had huge sheets of ND filters. Sadly, we don't.

We did pretty good on Saturday, even thought we had neither focus nor energy.

We got all of our scenes shot (though we stayed late).

The final bedroom scene took way too long. And I'm still not sure why. We lit it blue for moon light with 2000 watts of light coming through the venetian blinds, and a 250 watt Lowell Pro Light washing in from the bathroom.

There was something about the choreography of Sherrie and DB rolling around on the bed. Robin wanted one thing. Russ wanted something else.

I'd lost interest in the whole thing. I was in the adjacent room, readied if my name was called. I opened a book on table titled Dogwalker. It's a collection of short stories by Arthur Bradford. This guy's good. The power struggle in the other room between Director Robin and DP Russ — it paled under the cunning prose of Bradford.

Damn this daylight saving time. Actually, I like the additional hour of sunlight in the spring. But this year we have it forced on us at a nontraditional time. Our computers and cell phones are unprepared, unprogrammed. In fact, my antiquated computer (a Mac G4, purchased four years ago, and still running on the original operating system) can't seem to update on it's own. I just now manually updated it's clock, 22 hours after the fact. Also, my cell phone didn't automatically reset. Well, it did, but only after I shut it down, and then rebooted it.

Anyway, last night after I returned from Saturday's shoot in Seguin, I checked my email. I discovered that my Short Ends location, which I felt so confident about, had evaporated. I now have no place to shoot this coming week. This really pissed me off. I decided to just go to sleep and worry about it later. I had a hard time falling asleep. I'd spent the day drinking coffee, as well as those tasty Starbucks bottled Frappuccinos. So, I was amped on caffeine. And it was also hot. I opened windows to get a cross breeze. And when that wasn't doing it, I hauled a fan from my closet. The fan was a nice touch, but then a dog started barking. So I had to put the fan on high, and aim it away from me so I wasn't trying to sleep in a wind tunnel. I had my cell phone (which I also use as my alarm clock) set to 5:30, so I could make my 6:30 call time at a grocery store downtown. (It's an up-market boutiquey grocery on Market across from the courthouse). I kept waking up, about every hour or two. And around 5am, I decided to just get up. I loaded my espresso machine, and began checking my email. And then I realized I hadn't reset my phone/alarm clock. Maybe it did it automatically. A quick internet check told me it was not five, but six.

I rushed through a shower, grabbed my coffee, and headed out.

I arrived late. I hate being late. Robin was there. Ezme had her make-up station set up. Anne had arrived — always dependable. Some of our child actors. And Erin. Erin is always on time. She puts us all to shame.

I unloaded some equipment, and found a parking space about six blocks away. Who would have thought so few parking meters would be free on a Sunday at 7am? Where were all those people?

Me, Kevin, and Mark set up about half our lights. But when Russ showed up (sometime after Rudolfo, but I'm not keeping score), he decided that the grocery store's practical lights, in combo with the sunlight through the floor to ceiling windows along one side wall, were just about perfect.

I left him and Robin to set up the first shot, and caught up with Tony and Dawn Boult. They showed up as extras. It's been over 6 months since I'd last seen them. They're looking great, and, of course, managed to kick up the fun quotient, in classic Boult-style.

Nikki arrived, not just in her capacity of child acting coach, but also as a featured extra. I watched as she wandered the aisles, with the same rhythm, the same actions, for each take. I sidled up to her between takes.

“Hey, Nikki, what's you're back story?”

Without a beat, she answered me. “I've just come from the gym.” Yep. She was wearing a maroon velour workout suit. “And I thought I stop and pick up something for dinner.”

“Ah,” I said, peeking into her basket. “I see you're serious about carbo-loading with a bag of hominy grits, and some Gatorade. So, what flavor sports drink goes best with grits?”

“Blueberry all the way,” she answered, looking up to see that Robin was setting up for a new take.

Kevin Grady (AKA Intern Kevin, AKA Other Kevin) today took a break from his role as the perfect production assistant, to play Stockboy Number One. He did a great job. I don't know if he has any thoughts of pursuing acting, but he held his own with Sherrie and Anne.

But probably the location's best performance was Cameron Wafford. As young Connor, he plays brat to the n-th degree. He was screaming for “candy, I want candy, and more candy,” as he flailed about and threw cans of food on the floor.

I left the location before the shoot was over. The second location of the day was back at my apartment. I needed to arrange my place to best recreate the previous week's shoot.

When the production caught up to me, we set up for a simple pickup shot as Kevin prepared lunch. I think the second half of the day went smoothly enough. Miss Patty had another scene. And after she wrapped, she gave us all hugs (also, for some lucky folks, back and shoulder massages), and as she was waving goodbye to us from her car, Cameron shouted to her from where he sat on the porch. “We Don't Salute, We Wave Like Queens!” And he lifted his hand as though to wave, and he rotated it back and forth, in the Queen Elizabeth manner.

This is the same campy, kooky child who will say, with a smile as sweet as it is evil: “I want to bomb the world with candy canes.”

I don't know where he gets this stuff.

We were shooting our final scene on my porch. I was pressed back out of the shot as I held a reflector, trying to bounce a bit of warm light on Dallin's face. Halfway through the take, some electronic device began to beep. Robin called “cut.” The beep wasn't my cell phone's ring, but I fished it from my pocket anyway. Well, it was me. But it was the alarm clock setting. I had inadvertently set it for 5:30pm, instead of 5:30am.

I had exposed myself as all kinds of stupid.

Saturday, another early morning shoot on the set of Robin Nation's feature film, Leftovers. The first location was the offices of the NewTek. We needed a generic area to function as the back room of a grocery store. The character of Anna has just been involved in a feisty altercation with her kids while shopping. The manager has taken them to the back to sort things out. Robin had initially considered utilizing one of the cubicles used for storage purposes.

Robin was talking with our actors over in NewTek's commons area (which, like so many companies run by techie geeks, was awash in an abundance of cool toys and games). The kid actors, their siblings, and even their parents were entertaining themselves. And after Kevin started the coffee and had set out our breakfast choices, he showed me the area where we would be shooting. The huge sprawling interior was illuminated with these free-standing upwardly pointing lights (HMIs?) with buzzing ballasts. I pointed out that Rudolfo (who had yet to arrive) would have issues with the buzz making a muddle of his sophisticated audio equipment. Me and Kevin track down the most expedient way to shut off the lights.

By then, Robin had found an area of the building that would work better. It would give us the company's time-clock as an item in the background. We quickly set up our lights, turned off their lights, and rearranged the area, so that we had dressed the set with a jumble of cleaning supplies, boxes, and employee protection posters on the walls.

Don Frame showed up to play the role of the grocery store manager. Apparently he'd been in The Water's Edge, Robin's previous film. But I don't remember him. However, I did recall him quite well from Kevin William's feature, Sandwich. He had played a bank manager with a fondness for playing his accordion at work. It was an endearing, yet eccentric character. I loved it.

Also, we had another newcomer to the shoot. Patricia McDoulett, AKA, Miss Patty. She's from Oklahoma. Her role is the caseworker from Child Protective Services. Both Don and Patty were wonderful to work with. Absolutely professional and completely engaged by the film and all the rest of the cast and crew.

It was a fairly short and straightforward scene. We took longer than we probably should have. And I'm afraid that the footage will look a bit flat and washed out because we were shooting against industrial white walls. However, the look did fit the script. And, as I said, it's a short scene. So, I'm sure it'll play out just fine. We have lots of set-ups to cut back and forth. And we have eight people in the scene.

After we broke down the equipment, we were all set to move to our second and last location of the day. The house in Seguin.

It was a beautiful day in a beautiful house with windows all around. A perfect view of the Guadalupe river. About half of the windows were open. And it seemed criminal to close them, but we needed to control the sound as best we could. Some people in the surrounding homes were mowing lawns, and a truck would occasionally pass on the nearest road. From our two Lowell light kits, we supplemented the ambient sunlight with three Omnis and one Pro, all gelled blue, to match the daylight.

We still had Miss Patty for another scene. He character pays a house call to Carol, the protagonist. We shot Miss Patty with a stained glass window behind her, so that she was bathed in an angelic glow.

With Sherri, we threw a light over her left shoulder. It added warmth to her hair, and molded some delicate shadows to her face. But the key light coming from behind her was harsh in only one area — that bosomy region. Russ mentioned some scheme to remedy the solution. It involved … oh, I can't recall. At the very least, moving a light.

I grabbed a bounce board, and used it to block the light. It worked a charm. Then, we realized that Mark, who was operating the slate, could use the slate for that other purpose as well. So, for the next few shots, the slate became the infantile entitled “boob board.”

For the final scene of the day, we needed to shoot Sherri, DB, and Ayla in the kitchen. The problem is that the kitchen has four windows, and a glass door. The sunlight streaming in would be gone by the time we finished up the scene. It was over four pages, and involved ten to twelve camera set-ups. I wanted us to shoot a wide establishing shot that showed the windows. We'd know it was daytime. And then, we could make sure every subsequent set-up was lit for daylight (with the motivating direction of our lights coming from where most of the windows were), but we never again placed a window in the shot.

I know that, after the establishing shot, we had pretty lighting for all our camera placements. But I'm curious to know if the initial establishing shot will match. There was so much sunlight coming through the windows in the wide-shot, that, to keep the windows from being blown out (“so it doesn't look like the apocalypse outside,” cautioned Robin), we had to step down the aperture so much that we had to compensate with our light kits. I'm not sure we lit the scene well enough.

As the evening progressed, I noticed that Sherrie and Russ were quite freely sampling the prop wine. From Russ' gargling and lip-smacking, I gathered it was quite a tasty Merlot.

We fell into a groove of allowing Sherrie and DB play this longish emotional scene all the way through with every take and every set-up. This is common when you find yourself working with such solid actors, who know their lines and their parts so well that they can explore nuances of their character's interior selves by tinkering and playing with their deliveries.

Towards the end of the night I was standing next to Ezme, our make-up genius. We were watching the scene unfold. And when Robin said, “cut,” she turned to Russ. “Wow, they did great. How did it look in the monitor?”

Russ removed the half-filled wine glass from Sherrie's hand. He finished it off. “The composition and lighting was impeccable. But what do I know? If you haven't noticed, your DP is drunk.”

I could tell Ezme wasn't listening to Russ and Robin's exchange.

“Get me a tissue, Tito” she said to me in a whisper.

I was impressed that I'd made it into the inner circle with Ezme. It looked like I had a nickname. And it looked like she needed a tissue to do some make-up adjustment on one of our actors. I snagged a box of Kleenex from the desk over by one of the windows. When I offered it to her, she crossed her eyes in confusion. Then she punched me in the arm.

“I didn't mean it like that,” she said with exasperation and a hint of a laugh.

It was a figure of speech, it seemed. Maybe a film or music reference. She meant that Robin's dialogue and our actors' deliveries were hitting her hard.

I returned the tissues to the desk.

My impending move has been delayed. I gave some thought to the reasons I was leaving this place. The biggest problem is that it costs too much. That hasn't changed. But I realized that the place I was considering moving into wasn't really my choice. It fell into my lap. No — the truth is, it was pushed upon me. Alex needed someone stable and dependable to sublease to. I fit that need well enough. But what would I get from the move? Less rent. But if that's what I need, I really should look around, and make the decision about where my new home will be.

I told Alex I couldn't do it. He's a great guy. But I don't think I want him as a landlord (or whatever you call someone you sublease from). I told him that there was way too much going on in my life at the moment for me to make a move. That was true. But I'm still keeping me eye open for a cheaper place to live. In this neighborhood, or that area a bit to the south.

Rosemary, my landlady's property manager, came by yesterday. She pounded a For Rent sign in the yard. I explained that I wanted to remain for at least an additional month. Made no difference to her — she was good with it. She pulled up the sign, and headed back home.

There's this sense of rudderlessness in my life. Truly, it's nothing new. Ideally, I'd just crawl off to some other place, some other possibility. But I have a commitment to finishing a short film, as well as coordinating two film festivals between now and mid July.

I've looked into getting accredited to teach English abroad. It's not what it was for the expatriates of the past. Now it looks like you need credentials. I found a company that runs classes. Actually they work through one of the universities here in San Antonio. A thousand bucks. But it seems like there are other organizations which are significantly cheaper when it comes to gaining a certificate. I guess what it all boils down to, is which “schools” are best at placing their students. The whole thing sounds like such a racket. But there has to be an answer. Some way out of this pointless and empty cul-de-sac down which I've wandered.

It's a good city with so many wonderful people. But there's something missing. I'm trying to find reasons to stick around. Ramon has mentioned some possible funding for another documentary down in Mexico this autumn. If he can wrangle the finances, I'll gladly find a way to survive until then.

Wait and see what happens.

Back on February 23rd I attended the Olvidate del Alamo show at the Bilh Haus art space. The show is an annual recontextualizing of the time-worn admonition to always Remember the Alamo, but seen through a Chicano/a lens. The show opened on the anniversary of the siege of the Alamo. And tonight, 13 days after the opening, the show closed. Of course, as all Texans are taught, the siege lasted 13 days.

Tonight was a weekday, so the attendance was quite a bit smaller than the opening night. Maybe 60 people as opposed to the couple hundred crammed into the small space back on the 23rd. This time I decided to bring along my video camera. Maybe in the next couple of days I'll get around to posting a new video blog. I did, however, take some photos. My camera takes very nice video images, but the still shots it takes often come out too dark. I tried my best to pump them up on my computer.

Above we have my friend Ramon Vasquez y Sanchez. He started this Forget the Alamo show four years ago. And it looks like it's well on the way to becoming a tradition in San Antonio. He's standing in front of one his paintings. It sold on the opening day.

This is Javier Vasquez, Ramon's youngest son. Above him is a recent painting which he did just for the show. In fact, Ramon said it's Javier's first piece of art. I think it's quite well done. For those who can't make out the iconography from my bad photo, you're looking at William B. Travis playing a fiddle while the Alamo burns.

My good friend Deborah Keller-Rihn (who is the curator at the Bilh Haus) was there with half a dozen of her students. I hardly see her anymore since she started teaching. I'm not even sure where she is. But I think she's out at Northwest Vista, which is part of the Alamo Community College District.

When the final poet had finished, and the people were milling about (the sandwiches and wine had not yet been exhausted), I sat down in a folding chair on the front row and removed my camera from the mono-pod. The door opened and I saw, from the corner of my eye, a swirl of color sweep in. As I was looking down, concentrating on disassembling my camera equipment, the first thing I saw clearly were snake skin cowboy boots with silver toe caps peeking out from a silk robe in garish colorful arabesque patterns. I followed upward and saw the handsome face of a man with a tight-trimmed beard and a twirled
Daliesque mustache. He wore magenta sweeps of eye makeup under and out from his brows. And he sported, perched on his head like a hat, a lucha libre wrestling mask in gold and silver.

I've lived in San Antonio for three god damn years and I've just now had my first David Zamora Casas sighting. If not the most famous local painter, he's clearly the most infamous. I know so many people who know him, it's bizarre we've never before crossed paths. Deborah's photographed him. Alex's sub-leased a space to him. Jimmy Fletcher (AKA the Moocher) has been offended by him. Nicole parties with him. Cat (AKA, Mistress Cat — who I haven't heard from for over six months) used to frequent gay bars with him. Everyone seems to have a David Casas story. Both he and Sandra Cisneros are our local luminaries whose reputation (good and otherwise) proceeds them. And as a gay chicano artist/activist with a penchant for the flamboyant, all sorts of outrageous David Casas stories have made the rounds. I can only hope that they are all true. And me …? The only thing I could think to say to him after he exchanged a couple of words with Deborah and began to move on, was: “Love the boots.” To which he paused, blinked, and said: “Thanks.”

If that exchange wasn't lame enough, I have to confess that I didn't even take a picture of him. Or his boots.

This morning I dropped by Urban-15 to meet with George and Catherine, and talk about the up-coming Josiah Youth Media Festival they will be organizing later this summer. I'm to be hired on to coordinate the event. When I arrived, George escorted me down to the basement space where he was meeting with one of the newest curators over at SAMA (the San Antonio Museum of Art). David S. Rubin has the lengthy title of the Brown Foundation Curator for Contemporary Art. He was displaced from New Orleans by Katrina, and has been with SAMA about six months. I'm not terribly keen on the contemporary stuff that SAMA shows in it's rather limited modern gallery. The Asian, Oceanic, and Latin American collections (especially the Latin American Folk Art collection) are where they shine. But David seems well on his way organizing special shows.

I'm not sure if his visit was a courtesy call he makes to all local artists (George has been doing innovative video art, multimedia, installations, and conceptual pieces for over three decades), or if he was looking for items to add to a show that will debut in October.

I took a seat in a chair a bit back from them. George and David sat at a computer work station, and George loaded up a DVD with some of his work on it. I knew he'd done some big, prestigious pieces, but I hadn't realized how secure is his place in the international art scene. He was talking about a time, probably 25 years ago, when he was in New York City, hanging out with avant music icons like Steve Reich, and they'd go out to hear Pauline Oliveros. And whereas I like the playful, quirky world of art here in this city, George was talking about a milieu a long way from San Antonio, and not just removed in years and geography.

One of the shows that David is planning is a retrospective of psychedelic art. He made a few comments about how he saw a transformative watershed in the art world where a whole new color pallet was introduced. He made some mention about Frank Stella. And then he mentioned something about Op Art. “So,” George said, jumping in, “you're having poster art?” David shook his head. Before he could clarify, Catherine wandered in. She picked up a Mexican blanket. “These traditions are older than Frank Stella,” she said. “The red dye is made from the crushed bodies of the cochineal insects.” “Ah,” David added, “but that's not a psychedelic color.” George stood and unfolded the blanket. “But this pattern sure is,” he said. Catherine pulled out another blanket with bright saturated colors. “These are all natural, fluorescent dyes.” And I just leaned back, smiling. The old tussle between the academics and the traditionalists.

“You've bit off something pretty big,” I said with a laugh. “The word psychedelic means so many different things to different people. You're wanting to make some sort of bridge where Frank Stella and Bridget Riley connect Kandinsky to the current crop of post modernists such as …?” But before I could get him to tell me who he considers the current crop of psychedelic artists, the cross talk began between him and George; the former speaking of historically vetted post modernists who have enjoyed high profile representation of the big time NYC art dealers, and the latter bringing in drugs, technology, and shamanistic traditions.

David laughed and said something about how he knew what he meant by the term psychedelic. I laughed also. He'd better do a good job of conveying those nuances in the program and and other contextual material which will accompany the show. Because I know exactly what psychedelic art means. And clearly George does as well. And I can say without a slightest doubt, we all have radically different images in our heads.

All I can say is, pass out fistfuls of psilocybin at the door, and you can hang toothpaste tubes or Thomas Kinkade posters on the walls, and the visitors will be enraptured.

I followed as George and Catherine gave David a tour of the building. We went up into the old sanctuary which has been converted into the dance practice studio, as well as the screening and performance space. The projector screen which will electrically lower when needed, has arrived but still needs to be installed. And George told me that he and Catherine are still reviewing the proposals from the architects who are vying for the contract to expand the performance space. We then walked down to the greenhouse, which has been converted into George's office. Herman was in there on the phone, pricing equipment needed for the Smithsonian video art installation. I walked out to the courtyard with Catherine. We watched the goose and the rooster scratching the ground over by the west wing of the building.

George and David walked up behind us. “We have wildlife,” he said.

“Livestock,” Catherine modified.

“Very nice,” David said, looking around.

“The rooster attacks me,” Catherine told me in her soft voice. “He thinks I'm a rival.”

“Is that why you're holding that broom so tightly?” I asked.

She smiled. “The goose is the great love of his life.”

“One day,” George said, hands on his hips, “we'll find a nest of eggs watched over by that goose and her rooster.”

A man who does construction and building maintenance around the place walked up behind us. He tugged on his ponytail. “The gooster might turn out to be a delicious animal. And if not, I expect it will hold it's own in the cockfight ring.” He nodded decisively, and ambled off into the greenhouse.

After David left, I talked with George and Catherine about the Josiah project. There's a lot of work to do. But on the bright side, they do have a budget. If things work out the way they should, I'll get some decent pay. However it didn't help that when George dropped by the Leftovers set last Saturday, Russ walked up and said: “I hear you're giving Erik a job. He's working on this particular project for food. Are you paying him in food or money?”

George pursed his lips. He turned and poked me in the belly. “I'll have to wait and see how much he eats.”

That's right. I'm just here for the amusement of other people.

It's nice to live on the set. The call time was seven in the morning. I set my alarm clock for 6:30. Plenty of time to load up my espresso machine, shower, and check my email. And I was ready.

It had been a cold night, and as I really don't have a heater, our kid actors and their moms were rather chilly, even inside. I no doubt seemed callous, but I was moving lights and other equipment to stage all the stuff in my front yard. And I was warming up quite nicely.

I set up a basic lighting scheme where I lifted all my blinds, and supplemented the sunlight coming through the windows with a couple of Lowell Omni lights aimed at a white plastic party tablecloth hung up on a couple of c-stands. This is like a giant light box. I usually use a white shower curtain, but I like Russ' tablecloth version. I'm sure it's cheaper. Besides, the material is thinner, and easier to work with.

We broke for lunch and then the production moved to the parking-lot of NewTek, up on the far north-side. The scene we were going to shoot was a traffic jam. Robin had planned to shot it on the road in front of NewTek, as there is hardly any traffic there.

When I drove to the location, I missed my turn, and doubled around. There was this beautiful stretch of road behind a sign which read Road Closed. It was an area of a soon-to-be residential development. (One of the areas under development had a billboard with the contact info for realtor Dar Miller — I wasn't aware the girl was such a big wheel at her company as to be billboard-worthy.) When I got to NewTek, I mentioned the road to Robin. She's been thinking of using it, and when Russ and Rudolfo showed interest. We drove out to scout the place, and decided it would serve our needs.

We borrowed a large crane from NewTek, a massive Jony Jib that puts me and Pete's Cobra Crane to shame. We headed out to the closed road. Several kids came out to add their cars. I'm guessing it was some of Tracie's high-school friends. Eventually we had 15 cars to fake a traffic jam.

This is the sort of stuff I love. We spent maybe four hours shooting half a page of script. But we kicked ass on the production value. Robin and Kevin wrangled loads of cars and the crane. I'm looking forward to seeing this scene cut together. It turned out to be a very fun sequence to shoot.

And Kevin's mom, Pamela Kay Nations (I think I have her name right), arrived for a visit in town just in time to portray the woman who rear-ends Anne's character's 1971 Sedan DeVille. She did a fine job. And no Cadillacs have yet to be harmed in the making of this movie.

Call time this morning was 8pm. There is a real problem with a good sized cast and crew in a small location. I knew things were off to a shaky start when everyone began tromping inside to claim a space for their department or personal station. I have two rooms — bedroom and living room — which are supposed to be the set, and a tiny breakfast nook (my office) off an equally tiny kitchen. I had assumed that craft service, make-up, wardrobe, and equipment staging would all be set up outside.

I was one of the major contributors to confusion, as I had thought we were shooting several indoor scenes. I thought that because our first camera set-up was an interior. So I was constantly moving lights and props out of or into the shot.

And then, I realized that most of the day would be spent outside. It was still rather chaotic. Personally, I had already resigned myself to people moving my stuff all over the place — I was okay with that. But I was getting jittery as all those light stands, and cables, and electric cords became all jumbled up, and store where they stood from a prior set-up; what we really needed was a clear plan of coordination. People were constantly shifting to make room for one another. A certain amount of chaos is to be expected. But I feel we were struggling and tripping over ourselves unnecessarily. Were it not for the versatility of Kevin, Mark and Erin, who, in addition to their specific crew positions, did double-duty as the lowly production assistants, when needed, we would have drowned. Actually, Mark is that one person all successful productions have. The secret weapon. That individual who is always in motion. Two steps ahead of whatever you need to have done. He knows how most every piece of equipment works. And if he doesn't, he figures it out faster than it would take for you to tell him. The Marks of world are almost always taken for granted. But take them out of the equation, and everyone suddenly wonders why they are having to work twice as hard.

From what I could see, we got some great footage. You can't go wrong with Anne Gerber. She's. of course, a breathtaking beauty. And she always gives a playful quirkiness to every take and every set-up. She can give more just standing and looking off into space than most other actors can generate in an entire feature film.

Our three boys were on top of things throughout the day. They are fascinating to watch interacting. And Rick Carillo gave us some strong performances throughout the day. Working with him was truly one of the rewarding things about the Garrison production. Here, he's playing a much more lovable character. He oozed charm. Ezme even gave him a cool mono-chromatic tattoo which was revealed in his shirtless scene … which quickly followed his trouser-less scene (well, semi-trouser-less, seeing as they did remain around his ankles).

I made the mistake of applying sunscreen after the poisonous rays of the sun had already done their ugly work. I'm feeling it now, and expect it to be worse tomorrow. I'm amazed that other fair-skinned people were unaffected. Robin and Erin seemed none the worse from their exposure. It's not fair.

I'm beginning to appreciate just how cool my neighbors are. After Cara headed out in the mid-morning, she invited us to park in her driveway. Matt and Jackie were fine with us hogging their driveway with the prop car, a sweet 1971 Sedan DeVille. Jerry, across the street, waited until our lunch break before firing up his weedwacker. And my next door neighbors, Marlys and Michael, decided to put off repairing their fence this weekend so the noise of electric saws and hammering wouldn't screw with our production. If there is an asshole on my block (other than myself), her or she is stewing in dark anonymity.

George Cisneros dropped by the set during the afternoon. I think he uses my street as a short cut to his studios over on South Presa.

Nikki was on set to coach our kid actors. The day started out pretty chilly, and never got really hot. She remained in a long draping sweater that fit her in a very flattering manner. On her down-time she had found her way into Ezme's make-up chair. So, of course, she was looking pretty damn glamorous. Even more than usual. I should have taken a photo of her. But I had my video camera out, and got some footage. As I was following her across my front yard, one of the kids (I think it was Cameron) looked up and breathlessly told Nikki that she looked like a vampire. Can there be higher praise from an adolescent boy? And then it struck me that Nikki would make a great sexy and sophisticated vampire queen. Why had I never made that connection before? Hmm…? Maybe I need to write a new script.

As the sun came close to dropping behind the mansion across the street, we took our dinner break. Me and Russ set up a jib shot, which panned my bed, where Anne's character and her three boys are sleeping, all piled together. The script called for Anne's character to get up and meet her current lover and get it on with him in the other room. One of the boys is supposed to awaken, and give us a sour expression as he hears the sounds of passion from the next room. As we shot the close-up of our actor Dallin blanching and then covering his ears, I was in the bedroom with Russ, looking at the monitor to gage if the shot had enough light. When Robin shouted, “Action,” I heard someone, in the other room, making moaning noises to give Dallin something to react to. I don't know why, but I immediately knew it was Nikki. First off, I should point out that it wasn't even close to being realistic sounds of love making. It was so unexpected that no one said anything. It sounded like an octogenarian's adenoidal whimper when he discovers that the cafeteria has replaced his favorite carrot and marshmallow salad with lime jello. I assumed that Nikki was trying to avoid the whole sex thing. I mean, you know, they're kids. And with the second take, where Nikki did it again — and this time the cast and crew did their best to suppressed giggles — I grabbed up my own video camera. But as I maneuvered around through my kitchen to surreptitiously record Nikki, she made some comment about how she'd keep quite for this take so that Rudolfo could get could record clean audio.

“Dammit,” I said, and all eyes turned to me. When everyone saw my camera poised hopefully on the mono-pod, the laughter just let loose. “Yeah, well yuck it up. That was supposed to be on my next video blog.”

After Nikki and our kid actors left, we did the final scene, where Anne and Rick's characters get PG-intimate on a faux moon-lit sofa. After we shot all the video we needed, Anne and Rick gave us the audio only of sweet love-making. Take one, Anne began cracking up. Take two, we cut, because the ceiling fan was squeaking. For the next take, I snuck around, again, with my video camera for some behind the scenes footage. Anne realized what I was planning, and her expression of uncomfortable disapproval made me back away but quick. That take was the keeper. The overhead lights were off now, so Anne and Rick didn't feel so uncomfortable. In fact, they were getting creative. Anne was scratching at the fabric of my sofa as she moaned. And Rick was breathing hard and heavy. And when Rick began kissing the back of his hand to really sell these sound effects, I found myself grinning like crazy as I watched Robin shaking with suppressed laughter.

This is just the sort of perfect moment that should end all long and successful days of shooting. We met our page count and only went 25 minutes over our intended wrap time. And we wrapped on a laugh.

A day well done, Robin and company!

I know I really should be straightening up around here for the shoot tomorrow morning. Leftovers: Day 5 will be shot here in my place. It's about 11pm. I probably shouldn't be writing.

I've rearranged my enormous closet (the hidden corridor running the length of this house) and have shoved three bookcases in there, along with all the books. Man I'm exhausted. How to people get this sort of stuff done AND hold down a job?

After shifting around some boxes and furniture this morning, I took a break to check out the final day of Marlys Dietrick's art show. She's my next door neighbor. The Flight Gallery is in the 1906 space on South Flores. The front of the building is Andy Benavides' framing shop. And as I walked to the counter to ask directions to the gallery, I noticed Laura Varela. She's one of the more promising local filmmakers, who has at least two documentary projects in the works that I know about. She explained that she had an office in the building. She led me back to the Flight Gallery.

I really like Marlys' work. It's a series of pencil drawings of nonexistent life forms. The title of the show is “Survivors: Those Who Continue, or Live After.” I'm assuming the theme is the continuation of life, independent on the existence of humankind. It was here before, it'll be here afterwards. The detail of the work brought to mind the work of Victorian naturalists. I love that stuff. In fact, were I ever to get a tattoo, it'd probably be something like one of Ernst Haeckel's drawings of a radiolarian fossil.

I then spoke with the owner of the building to see if I could arrange to use it for a location for my up-coming Short Ends Project short film. He showed me a workroom that would be perfect. We'd have access at night and could use the loading dock. This will be the first time I've ever paid for a location. But it had everything we need to sell the scene.

Then I rushed to the deep southside to pay on my internet service before they shut me down. The line was long, and it moved at a crawl. My cell rang. It was Carlos.

“Hey Erik, do you have some electric clippers?”

“What? You mean for hair? Yeah, I do.”

“You going to be home in about thirty minutes?”

I judged the line.

“Yes,” I said, with a modicum of authority.

“Great! I'm coming back from Luling with Adrian. If it's okay with you, I'd like to shave his head.”

“Sure thing.”

“You see, I'm thinking of doing this mockumentary where–”

“Look, if I didn't ask what you were doing in Luling, I'm not going to pry about the head shaving.”

“What? Um, I'm getting a bad signal. I'll see you soon.”

Back home, as I'm cramming more stuff into my hidden room, I hear Carlos banging on the door.

He's holding his video camera. Adrian is leaning on my porch railing. It seems that they were checking out property. Carlos and Shelly have been looking for a nice home in the country, with enough land for at least one horse and a small recording studio. Carlos showed me some still images on his camera's monitor, while he and Adrian provided commentary concerning the pros and cons of the two places, one near San Marcos, the other, in Lulling.

“Alright,” Carlos suddenly said, clapping his hands together. “Let's shave this bastard's head.”

I went inside and opened up the case that holds my clippers.

“He lose some grudge match?” I asked.

“What? No. Didn't I tell you?” Carlos dragged an extension cord out to the porch. I followed. “I'm doing a mockumentary of Adrian. Something to submit to the San Antonio Underground Film Festival. I'm just going to follow him around, taping him. It's pure exploitation. Isn't that right, Adrian?”

Adrian held up his hand. He was talking on a cell phone. Carlos dragged one of my chairs out on to the porch. Adrian handed the phone to Carlos, who put it in his pocket.

“Who were you talking to? On my phone?”

“Hog Wild,” Adrian said. Hog Wild Records is a local indie music store. “My special order came in.”

“What?” asked Carlos, taken aback.

“The other day, remember? I wanted something they didn't have. They said they'd get it in for me.”

Carlos shook his head and looked up at me.

“What am I supposed to do? The guy just got out of the Dallas County jail last week. I'm helping him out, but….” He wheeled on Adrian. “How are you paying for that?”

“They said it'd be about two weeks. How was I supposed to think they'd be so efficient? I don't have to get it today. Besides, I can wash your van. It's looking like it needs it.”

“Just take off your shirt,” said Carlos. He handed me the camera. I handed him a plastic smock that I never use that came with my clippers.

Carlos fastened the smock around Adrian, and turned on the clippers. I started the camera and moved around, recording the whole thing. I'm not sure what the whole thing represented. Adrian wanted a haircut. He's currently in the skinhead phase of his life. So I'm curious who's exploiting whom. From my vantage point, Adrian was coming out ahead.

Actually, Adrian is an interesting character. And Carlos has a good idea. I think he needs to see American King, a video blog series by Chris Weagel (of Human Dog fame), where he follows around a hard drinking, free-spirited, misbehaving friend of his.

Adrian put his shirt back on. And that's when it occurred to me that we should have dragged my medical examining table out onto the porch, and shaved Adrian while he sat there. I think I still have a paper gown. My neighbors would have been cool with that. And, fuck, I'm thinking about moving away from a street where two valley vatos could shave each others heads on my front porch wearing nothing but white paper tie-from-behind gowns while I film them and shout, encouragingly, “Boys, you are magnificent!”???? I need to rethink my plans … right?

Carlos and Adrian headed off to pick up Shelly. I returned to moving books.

@@@@@@@@

Jennifer, in her blog the other day, explained that tonight's full lunar eclipse would not be visible to us here in Texas. Ah, I was so looking forward to it. But I hope the clouds opened for you Jennifer — and I hope you found a good point of vantage!

@@@@@@@@

Alston had some of her paintings up for First Friday at Venus' studio at the Blue Star Art Complex.

I walked over there sevenish. Venus wasn't in attendance. She's moving tonight. From New Braunfels to Alamo Heights (which is a neighborhood in San Antonio where the sophisticated mofos live, right Nikki?).

Alston had five or six canvases on display. She was slouched comfortably in one of her folding camp chairs. I cautiously perched my bulk on one of Venus' spindly folding chairs. As me and Alston chatted, the crowds wandered in and out. Most were drawn to the two paintings just to the left when they entered. Actually all the paintings were different studies of the same building. Some detailed, some wide in scope. I started off kidding Alston that her email and MySpace bulletin weren't pulling in her people. But then it began to happen. Family, friends, Landmark associates, and MySpace fans. She even sold a canvas. My favorite. In fact, it was most everyone's favorite. The guy who bought it, Daniel, got a great deal and a great piece of art.

When she decided to call it a night, I walked with Alston down the hallway to Deborah's space. I couldn't believe that Alston didn't know Deborah. I knew for a fact that they had met, at least once before. And Deborah is an important local photographer, digital artist, curator, art event organizer, and all around terrific person. “Besides,” I told Alston, “in her studio she has a portrait she made of Ana.”

“Ana?”

“Yeah. Your friend. What is it, um, Ana de Portela.”

It's strange, bringing ones friends together — especially two people who should have known one another for a long time, at least as long as you've known them both.

So, congratulations Alston, for selling a painting. And congratulations, Debby, for reclaiming your studio for Women's History Month (your finished Taras, now hand-painted, are awesome).