Thursday.

Winter is hanging on grimly here on the cusp of South Texas. It's about 35 degrees out tonight and windy as hell. The scraps of low clouds scuttling from north to south with a sort of rushed nervous energy makes for a dynamic show tonight, but, again, it's too damn cold to enjoy it.

At five this afternoon I attended a meeting of all the artists involved in the upcoming Luminaria event (it's almost here — next weekend, in fact). We gathered in the old stables building at the Pearl Brewery complex off Broadway, just a scintilla north of downtown. It's a round stone building. The interior, though heavily renovated, retains the original wooden radial beam system in the ceiling.

We were broken up into groups. Big round tables were scattered about circled by chairs. There was one for the Houston Street Stage, Peacock Alley, Film, etc. I sat at the film table and gathered up some forms and flyers which were fanned out on the table. There were a couple of maps, yet another release form for me to sign, a schedule of all events, and a schedule of just our programing — we, the film folks.

Dora Pena, who's the artistic director for the film component of Luminaria, was absent. She's attending the national NALIP conference in California.

Janet, with the CE Group (the marketing firm running this event), tried to turn things into a big group love fest. I lost count of the number of times we were supposed to applauded for this person or that or, of course, the wretched “give yourselves a rousing round of applause.” True, I know that this is business as usual in the corporate world. And this sort of cheerleading boosterism coming from the public relations sector is to be expected … hell, for many, demanded. Yet some of those over-arching platitudes were just patently incorrect. “This is probably the largest event like this San Antonio has ever seen,” Janet said with a smile, her hand clinching the wireless microphone, “where the artists are the producers of the event.” And I believe we were, yet again, asked to give ourselves a round of applause. The problem is, that statement is not just erroneous, it is a slap in the face to a room full of artists. We are told one moment how special we are because the hoards of punters will descend on the downtown area to experience the arts, and the next moment we all are made to understand that we will have to bust our asses as volunteers to help make this massive project a success. To claim that we, the artists of San Antonio, are the producers of Luminaria, is, to put it bluntly, a load of bullshit.

Bullshit aside, there will be so much great stuff happening on the afternoon and evening of March 15, you'd be a fool not to come down. It's free. FREE, I say!! There will be parking at the Alamodome (free, I hope), with a shuttle in to the action.

It looks like my film will be screened in the back room of the Kress Building at 7:30. It should also be one of the short pieces on a loop throughout the night on one of the store front windows there in the Kress Building, to be viewed from the sidewalk out front.

For those who don't make it, I plan to show my Luminaria film project, “The Prometheus Thesis,” at a group show my friend Alston is putting together on March 14. More on that soon.

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After the Luminaria meeting ended at the Pearl Brewery Stables, I headed over to the Centro Cultural Aztlan for the Third Annual Olvidate del Alamo art exhibit and Poetry Reading curated by my friend Ramon Vasquez y Sanchez. It turns out I was wrong on the date. It's tomorrow (Friday).

So, for those people who read this blog, come on out Friday night at the Centro Cultural Aztlan — that's 1800 Fredericksburg Road. Last year was truly great fun. There will probably be tasty eats. Maybe even drink. But come for the art — it will all be irreverent to the sanctimonious iconography of the Alamo.

Anyway, after learning there was no art opening on Fredericksburg Road, I headed over to the monthly film mixer at Ruta Maya. When I walked in, I saw no recognizable faces among the dozen people scattered throughout the place. Three youngish men I didn't recognize were standing at a tall table near the entrance. I heard the term “headshot.” And as I assumed they were neither assassins nor porn industry insiders, I pretended to get a call on my cell, and stepped outside to talk. And I got the hell out of there.

Don't get me wrong. I love actors. Some of my best friends are actors. (And some of them are even good actors.) But the idea of walking up to three strangers and saying, “hey guys, I'm here for the film meet-up, just like you.”

I'm most likely not going to find myself in a conversation about the best High Definition video format. Nor would I expect to explore another person's take on the aesthetic sensibilities of Kurosawa, or lighting in the films of Billy Wilder.

Besides, it was cold, and I realized I was feeling pretty damn anti-sociable.

I headed to my HEB on South Presa, stocked up some fixins for enough split pea soup to get me through the next few days.

Fixins. That's pretty much a southern term. The weird thing about Texas, is that it straddles the west, and mid-west, and the south. (Whoa, can you physically “straddle” three things? That's hyper-machismo, vato! Throw in the Mexicano experience, and we're straddling like a mofo!)

And so here I am. Trying to keep warm and waiting on soup.

Last night I was over at Mad Hatters meeting with Veronica, Sandra, and Victor. We were meeting ostensibly to talk about the local chapter of NALIP. But people kept checking their phones, laptops, and assorted mobile devices to see where Hillary and Obama were at any given moment. We’d all already casted our votes, but, because of the meeting, we weren’t involved in the caucuses. I understand that some of them didn’t get out until almost midnight.

After some talk about NALIP, Victor and Sandra told us where they are in the development of the upcoming Cine Festival at the Guadalupe Cultural Center. This will be the 30th anniversary of one of the first (if not in fact THE first) Chicano film festivals in America.

Rene (and I wish I could remember his last name) did a solid job running the festival back in 2006. But something happened last year, and there was no festival. This year, with Victor and Sandra brought in at the eleventh hour, I’m very hopeful. They are no strangers to running these sorts of events and getting things done. They have some amazing ideas. This will be an event that everyone should start saving for so they can all get full festival passes. And, really, it’s not going to be that expensive. There will be great guests and great programing. And Victor and Sandra need volunteers — one of the best way to afford film festivals. Contact them through the website:

www.cinefestivalsa.org

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Today was our second and final day of shooting for our Luminaria film project, “The Prometheus Thesis.” Me and Russ were running things. Tinkering with lights, looking for compositions, and trying to get the best out of our actors.

The three scenarios involved the same man and the same woman through various moments in history.

Citizens of the Pleistocene.

Suave hipsters of the Jazz Age.

And scientific researchers in the 22nd Century … as envisioned by pulp magazines of the 1950s.

The male lead is Hector — and damn if I can’t recall his last name. He’s been involved in the arts community in this city since the seventies. Mostly now he crews large performance events in the grip and electric departments. He also helps out at Urban-15 doing crucial grunt work.

The female lead is Alicia Shaddeau — and, hell, Alicia, why didn’t you give me one of your new business cards so I don’t have to check the internet for the spelling of your name? Anyway, those of you who have seen Bryan Ortiz’s Zombie feature film, that was Alicia playing Mary Jane, the virginal cheerleader.

I knew that Hector had done some acting before. Never saw it. And apparently he hasn’t done it in years. But I have always liked the guy’s look and style. Even after three hours worming around on his belly in the crawl-space beneath the balcony of the old Aztec Theater where he was running two hundred feet of optical fiber cable for the holiday laser show … well, when he finally emerged, exhausted and filthy, he still radiated this charismatic jauntiness and he treated us all to his wry deadpan insights he had gleaned while inching through that dark hellhole.

As an actor, he gave us charm and gravity. First off, he looks great. But he was truly hamming it up as the cave man. He was grunting and frothing and trying his damnedest to get that fire back up fierce and warm, before the savage man-eaters out in the dark moved in and gobbled up both him and his adorable cave-mate.

And as toothsome cave women go, you can’t ask for more than Alicia. For this primitive scenario, she teased out her hair to massive volume. She gathered up leaves that had fallen from the big live oaks out in the courtyard, and she had stuck them in her hair. She asked if she should dirty up her face. I said it didn’t really matter to me. Having her as a perfectly made-up savage might be funny. But she wanted to add to what she had started with the leaves. I pointed to the tiki torches. I said that the underplate of the flame guard was where all the soot collected. As I was setting up lights, she began making her face filthy. “How’s this?” she asked. It was a good start, but too symmetrical. Well, she didn’t have a mirror. I rubbed off some tiki soot and wiped more on her face. It came out pretty good.

It all turned out great. I think me and Russ got some great footage. And I couldn’t have asked for better actors.

Especially Alicia. She’s beautiful, talented, consistent, playful, on time, professional, and just a joy to work with. I can’t wait to start editing the footage to see some of the great stuff she was giving us that I’m sure I over-looked at the time.

What a fun night. Russ got some beautiful shots. We will start editing the piece into shape over the weekend. And I trust that Russ will construct the perfect soundtrack.

It’s going to be too fucking good for Luminaria.

I’m still all croupy with a lingering cough and a noisy late night wheezing that keeps me from sleeping. Something has settled deep in the lower bronchial nodes and it’s playing havoc down there. There must be some process that allows for vacuuming out the lungs. A sort of colonic for the respiratory system. Maybe I should patent it myself and sell it on the back pages of comic books. The Lunger-Out. It would basically be a Handi-Vac and you’d wrap your lips around the suction hole, begin to exhale, and then switch the contraption on — full blast. Sure, there will be the occasional incidents of prolapsed lungs, where one or both lungs are pulled from the body through the throat. That’s why every Lunger-Out would be sold with the “prolapse inversion paddle,” a slim length of hypoallergenic wood — essentially it’s an over-sized tongue depressor, and you just chase those rascally lung tissues back inward along the same lines of a Minuteman ramrodding wadding down the muzzle of a flintlock rifle. Every inventor must prepare himself to meet such unforeseen downsides head-on.

Actually, that’s what I’m Jonesing for. A chance to turn my lungs inside out — like peeling off latex gloves — and then hose them down. I’m tired of hacking my life away. Maybe I should take up smoking again, then I’d have a reason for this affliction.

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Earlier this evening I was over at Say Si for a production meeting. Sam Lerma has proposed four interconnected short promo pieces for the 2008 SAL film festival. Dar Miller (SAL creator) was there, along with me and Sam. And eventually Sam Bayless showed out.

For those who are aware of Sam Lerma’s polished film work, there is a component in addition to his excellent shooting, writing, directing, and editing — that’s the rock-solid sound edit. For several years I have heard the name Sam Bayless, but had never met him. I, of course, assumed he was, a.) really Lerma, working under a pseudonym, b.) really Lerma, but one of his Sybil-like split personalities, c.) a horribly disfigured reclusive savant that Lerma had met during one of the human interest stories from the years he’s worked shooting news for KSAT, d.) a brilliant pre-teen who could never get permission from his parents to come out and meet the larger film community because of his nine-thirty curfew, or, e.) some gifted sound guy who just wasn’t interested in hanging out with a bunch of jackasses who call themselves filmmakers.

Tonight I discovered that none of these are true. Well, I don’t think so.

What I learned is that Sam Bayless is indeed real. He’s a very pleasant, thoughtful young man. Add that to what we already know — that he’s an excellent artist where audio and music is concerned (Sam Bayless is, to the best of my knowledge, the third Methane Sister).

Anyway, I finally got a chance to read the entire script for Sam’s first SAL promo. It will be the most involved of the series. Loads of locations and characters … well, for a 90 second piece. But I like it. And I know Sam will do a great job. It should be hitting the viral video sites near you by early April.

I will, of course, keep you up to date,

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Unfortunately, I never got around to make it to an early voting station. No problem, I’ll head out Tuesday. I’ve nothing scheduled until the evening. Besides, I’m looking forward to visiting my neighborhood polling place Tuesday. It’s going to be a huge turnout. Already, here in Bexar County, Texas, early primary voting records have been broken by a huge percentage.

I hope to see you out there Tuesday.

At the beginning to the week, according to my favorite weather site, it got up to 88 degrees here in San Antonio. What a Monday! I was riding my bike along the river, and, yep, it was a hot one. As much as I carp about my great love of summer and the insanely hot weather which it brings, I must caution that I like to be slowly and romantically lulled into the mercilessly hot days. You don’t want to just jump into the deep end. I mean, shit, I was taking a breather under the shade of a salt cedar and I found myself looking around at the deciduous trees surrounding me for signs of early budding. They, however, were not being fooled.

Here’s a little impromptu piece of public art anonymously constructed out at the low-water crossing behind Mission Espada.

I will admit I rotated the glove by about ten degrees to better suit the composition (will, in my opinion, that is). But, otherwise, it is as found. How does that old voice-over intonation go?

“That’s the signpost up ahead – your next stop, the Twilight Zone!”

And as I stood at that crossroads, I could feel a strong wind coming in hot and fierce from the Southwest, from way out in Del Rio, where I knew that the abandoned dogs milling around the town square would be hunkered under the shade of mailboxes, their dry tongues jerking in a constant pant.

That wind helped on my ride back to town. It was like I was on a motorcycle.

That night, though, the wind shifted. It was so much fiercer. This time from the north. A cold front shambled into town, and as I drove down Broadway Monday night, there were vaguely apocalyptic plumes of dust billowing through the intersections. The traffic lights were all engaged in energetic and lusty dances (that’d be the Lambada, correct?).

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It’s now Friday night, and after a few cool days, it’s warm again.

Wednesday night me and Russ shot a monologue with Anna Gangai. This is our Luminaria film, entitled The Prometheus Thesis. We still need to shoot three more scenes — but I expect it to go fairly smoothly, as it will be without sound (MOS, being the filmic argot — that stands for “Mit out sound,” or so the story goes, from those heady days of the early Hollywood scene where cartoonish German directors stomped about the backlots and shouted into megaphones in their hybrid patois, their Englersnichel (you like that? ’cause I just made it up — this word’s maiden voyage into the turbulent waters of Google searchability).

But I digress.

Um, where was I?

Ah, yes. The Prometheus Thesis.

I wanted something like those new agey quote-unquote documentaries. “The Secret.” “What the Bleep Do We Know?” Right? With equal measures of “Future Shock.” Check out YouTube. Orson Wells did an insanely over-the-top narration to a film version of Alvin Toffler’s book by the same name.

With Anna I got all that and so much more. Imagine Shatner as Falstaff. Or, perhaps, Sharon Stone doing Media. Or, even, Kate Bush shot up with crystal meth reading Heisenberg’s “The Uncertainty Principle” (the Wheeler translation). We had a row of tiki torches flicking away in the inner courtyard of Urban-15. True, we did have to deal with traffic beyond the wall. And on the other side of a tall picket fence, we had to wait out the neighbor who was dragging trash cans along a gravel path. Apparently it was trash day in the neighborhood.

We got all we needed. Anna is amazing. Very professional, and a joy to work with.

I’m not sure if it’s common knowledge — and I hope I don’t cross some line of privileged information — but Anna portrays Myrtle, the waitress/spokeswoman of Jims (this is a chain of diners here in San Antonio). I don’t watch TV, listen to the radio, or look at the ads in the newspaper. So, I don’t what the ad campaign involves. I expect it’s a beehive ‘do and a down-home country accent. Maybe I should have tried letting Anna give me that character (I mean, she’s already got the fan-base) and feed back to me lines like:

“Ever since James Pillans invented the chalkboard in 1798 we have been breaking the very the stuff of nature on the anvil of Science and Mathematics until the finest detritus we could observe became little more than probabilistic wave-forms that may or may not exist, depending upon the tools of observation.”

I feel like an idiot that I never made it out to the San Pedro Playhouse when she played the lead (leads?) in Victor / Victoria. I bet she was amazing!

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I’m listening to Tom Verlaine crooning away off Marque Moon. I’m reminded of a line from a song by Dave Berman — “All my favorite singers couldn’t sing.”

I just finished my Creative Capital paperwork. This is a weekend workshop that’s coming up in, I believe, May. The submission deadline is tomorrow. It’s an organization out of NYC, and San Antonio’s Office of Cultural Affairs hosts them here for an intensive weekend. It’s a multi-disciplinary sort of thing, targeting the entire spectrum of visual artists, performing artists, writers, et al. Last year there was a solid contingency from the filmmaking community. Pete Barnstrom, Dora Pena, Ya’Ke Smith, and Anne Wallace.

I’m hoping I can get in this year.

And I guess I’ll be making a visit to Felix Pardon’s office (OCA) to hand-deliver the packet … and I know I won’t be the only one. That’s what deadlines are for — you know, so we can all scramble.

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Deborah had sent me an email. She was going to be in front of the Alamo around noon today to look at her assigned area on Alamo Street where she’ll be presenting her Luminaria piece. She wants to create a mandala on the pavement and then a friend, a physician and practitioner of yoga, Dr. Sreedhara, will dance within the mandela.

And so I walked to the trolly stand and waited. It was a nice day, and I could have walked to the Alamo, but I always like riding the trollies.

As I was standing at the corner of Alamo Street and Wicks, Bryan Ramirez drove by. He waved and honked and pulled into the Citgo station across from me. He offered me a ride.

I crossed the street and got in his car. Amanda was in the back with their new baby. As he headed the mile or two to the Alamo, Bryan explained that he’d found a better office downtown than the one he was first looking at. It sounds like it’s in a building on the riverwalk near the Valencia Hotel. I’ll have to make a visit when he and Amanda get moved in.

Because Bryan was nice enough to give me a ride, I was at the Alamo Plaza a bit early. So I wandered around the Alamo grounds. For those who live in this town and don’t let yourselves be tourists, what’s wrong with you? Downtown San Antonio kicks ass! Also, I found where the StoryCorps trailer is set up. It’s in spitting distance from the Alamo. (And, just so you know, don’t spit too close to the Alamo, those vile Daughters of the Texas Republic will move heaven and earth to fuck you up. Don’t believe me? Give it a shot.)

After a few phone calls on my cell (there’s something both sweet and strangely sinister about doing one’s business whilst strolling around the grounds of the Alamo), I decided to amble to the other side of Alamo Street.

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There was Deborah, Sreedhara, and Ramon (and I am, of course, speaking of Ramon Vasquez y Sanchez, the man, the myth, the legend). Deborah was not only checking out her Luminaria space, she was also planning to take a photo that she would put into Ramon’s Forget the Alamo show. (I show I wanted to do a short video piece for, but a certain someone still hasn’t notified me concerning an item of wardrobe I would need — it’s looking like my involvement ain’t gonna happen….).

Deborah had Ramon hold a large circular mirror. She wanted to shoot a portrait of him, with the Alamo reflected in his hands. It’s going to look great!

The four of us took the trolly back to Blue Star, where Deborah’s studio is. We walked over to the Jump Start Theater and talked some with Steve and Max who were lounging outside taking a break and enjoying the early afternoon sunlight.

Eventually, I walked back home. I made some split pea soup for lunch. And while I was waiting for it to reach that perfect state of mush, my new laptop finally arrived.

It’s an Asus Eee.

This is a micro notebook. To be honest, until it arrived, I wasn’t prepared for just how small it is.

One of the reasons I took the plunge was because I realized that my Amazon gift certificate I won almost two years ago from 15 Minutes of Fame (a very cool corporate team-building video production company) was about to expire. But I also liked the idea of having a tiny, light-weight portable computer I can use anywhere. It’s ethernet wifi ready.

We’ll have to wait and see if it fulfills my desire for a cheap and portable computer that I can toss in my backpack and take to the bike trail and all the wifi coffee shops around this side of town.

Keep reading to see how it all plays out. This is biggest problem (and I love everything else about it so far): the keyboard is so damn tiny! Here’s a photo I took out on the bike trail. I took a break at a picnic table and added a few pages to The Cucuy Club. If you have tiny fingers, this might be the perfect notebook for you. But maybe I’ll perfect the typing style needed. It’s not like I actually touch type. I’m a confirmed hunter and pecker.

That didn’t come out right.

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I hand-delivered my Creative Capital application packet to the Office of Cultural Affairs this afternoon. I beat the deadline by a good 45 minutes. Sarah M. Yates, the Executive Secretary to the Director, took my envelope. She was on the phone, so I sat down. When she had finished giving an artist directions to the offices, she opened my envelope, and “time-stamped” the first page so it would be official that my submission made it in on time. And then she wrote out a receipt for me. At that moment a composer entered, with his own manila envelope containing his Creative Capital application.

“I’ll just set it here,” he said woodenly to Ms. Yates.

“One moment, sir. I’m almost done with Mr., um, Bosse.”

“Oh,” he said, “I thought I just handed it to you.”

“Hardly,” I said, looking up at him with a searching scrutiny that quickly trailed off into disinterest. “It’s a very orderly process that involves rubber stamps, an initialed receipt, and, if you’re very good, a Starlight Mint.” I paused, my fingers hovering inches over the candy dish. “May I?” I asked Ms. Yates.

She nodded perfunctorily. And, perhaps I here crossed a line: I snagged two candies. Ms. Yates smiled and handed me a receipt. I thanked her, stood up, slapped the composer on the back — “Good luck, sport!” — and I made my exit down the stairwell and out into Houston Street.

It was a fair amount of work putting all that shit together (making myself sound important is not my favorite way to pass the time), but once it was out of my hands, I felt a certain buoyancy. Sadly, however, winning this quasi grant will not result in any additional money into my pockets. Maybe something good will come from this.

Speaking of money, I returned home and plucked from my doorknob a termination notice from CPS (that’s City Public Service — they provide both electricity as well as gas here in San Antonio). It’s not as bad as it sounds. I get these things every two or three months. Because I live hand to mouth, I rarely pay a bill until threatened. It was a possibility that I had enough money in my account (just barely) to pay off those CPS swine. But then I looked in my mailbox. What do you know? I got my 75 dollar check from NESA (North East School of the Arts) for my one day stint as judge for the fresh slate of young supplicants.

Thank you so much Konise Millender!

Later this afternoon I dropped by Urban-15 to talk about the Josiah film fest. I was pleasantly surprised to see Marisela Barrera drop by for a meeting. I know Marisela as an actor (and I assume writer) from a few skits over the years at Jump-Start. She is also involved with La Colectiva, a San Antonio theater collective. (Also, I may well have encountered her in my more youthful years living on the periphery of the Dallas theater scene during the late eighties and early nineties when Octavio Solis was such an important component of the renaissance of Dallas experimental theater.)

Anyway, Marisela (who, even though I have gushingly introduced myself to her several times, never seems to know who I am) has this great gig. She’s booking the events that will be presented in the Main Plaza.

For those people who, like myself, have bitched and moaned because they can no longer cruise through downtown along, say Soledad, to get from their home to the downtown public library because some assholes have decided to make the area of the the old Main Plaza — that area in front of the downtown cathedral — into a pedestrian region, well, I now understand the bigger picture.

Marisela spread out a huge architectural map of the construction. I looked to the right side key and saw that it was designed by Lake / Flato, one of the few nationally known companies who claim San Antonio home and who we don’t hate (Clear Channel, are you listening?). It’s a massive and damn impressive project. I never knew what was really planned behind the construction wall. I just thought it was a bunch of bullshit that was in my way. But, no, it’s a well-defined public space that makes no apologies to the fact that the cathedral — a beautiful, striking building — functions as a central backdrop, and is, in fact, incorporated into the entire plan.

The most exciting thing is that this new, renovated plaza, will be going on line, so to speak, pretty damn soon. I wasn’t listening to everything Marisela said (it was a lot to take in), but I do know that the plaza will be open by the time Fiesta crashes over our city. That’s April 18 – 27.

This new venue for outdoor performances promises to be very impressive. We have Lake / Flato, and that’s no slouch. But we also have Marisela Barrera. And from my sources in the theater world, the woman gets things done. So, if you are a non-profit arts organization that engages in public performances, you might want to contact Marisela, and ask which quadrant of her posterior she might like you to smooch.