Saturday.

After video-taping two parades over the course of a very long Saturday, I’m beat and more than a little bit dehydrated. We’ll see if all these Tecates will help to remedy the problem.

I’d already agreed to shoot the night parade–Fiesta Flambeau Parade (purported to be the largest night parade in the country)–and so I’d already steeled myself for Saturday afternoon and evening. And then, I believe it was Thursday, I got a call from someone who wanted me to video tape the King William Parade. (Thanks to Slab Cinema for the referral!)

Now I usually shoot much of the parade as it passes in front of my house. Sometimes, I do a quick cut and make like a music video of the highlights and post it on my video blog. But money was involved here, and, you know, bringing with it certain expectations. Not a half-ass video blog being expectation number one, I’d assume.

The weather reports looked clear for Saturday, so I was relieved. But for some reason I didn’t look at the prediction for Friday night. I went to bed around midnight. An hour later I woke. Thunder, loud wind, and then the clatter of hail. It grew fierce in intensity. I was actually hoping it would destroy my neighbor’s new flood lights. Ad then I became afraid it’d destroy the windshield on my truck. I walked out onto my covered porch and allowed myself to enjoy the quasi-apocalyptic storm. Once the fava bean-sized hail gave way to rain and only rain, I went back to bed.

I woke around seven o’clock. Beautiful weather. Cool but not cold. Not so humid as Friday. And a clear blue sky. There wasn’t much in my kitchen to eat, so I made a couple of avocado and cheese tacos and some peppermint tea. I really need to get to the store sometime. I reviewed what I’d need for the day.

I’d thought my biggest problem would be decided on what pair of shoes (or pairs of shoes, to use in a rotation) would best suit a bunch of walking around.

But when I checked out the spare battery to my DVX camcorder, I realized it was dead. I had it charging all day Friday. And late Saturday night the charger fell off my table and the battery slipped out. I left them there, planning to deal with the matter later, knowing full well that the battery was fully charged. Come Saturday morning I learned that not only was it not fully charged, it had no charge at all. And when I placed it back in the charger for an hour and then tried it–nothing. It was dead. Not able to hold a charge. Can this happen when a battery is dropped? Fuck!

Shoes became the lesser of my problems. Because, with the parade only minutes away I learned my one working battery was only charged to about 45 percent.

So I found myself shooting frugally.

I started off the morning shooting with Deborah. I’d thought she’d left town to visit with family, but she postponed her weekend trip by a day. She was taking stills, I was shooting video, and somewhere around Guenther and King William I lost sight of her.

I had a great time. It was the first time I’d walked the entire King William Parade route since Nikki talked me into joining the SATCO (San Antonio Theater Coalition) float. That might have been the first year I moved to King William–all I know for sure is that it was some years back, and I had a lot a fun.

Many of the people in the parade I know. But I also met some good people on the parade route. Annele Spector, for one. And, of equal importance, TJ Gonzales, Lisa Cortez Walden, and their beautiful baby daughter, Sophia. Rick and Angela from Slab Cinema. And then there was Annette. I also saw two women who I know only as FaceBook “friends” and neither recognized me. And then there was some pretty girl who shouted out, “Hi, Erik!” It was on Madison Street (I think), and I turned, smiled, and said, Hi. But I have no idea who she was. It might have been one of those out-of-context things. Anyway, if I snubbed you at the King William Parade (or any Parade), I’m sorry. I’m painfully neurotic and socially awkward.

Maybe in the week ahead I’ll post some video of the King William Parade. I just wish I had found the time to have taken some photos.

[It’s Tuesday, as I finally post this, and I have a little bit of video to embed!]

[vimeo vimeo.com/11281164]

I headed back home. That’s when I realized I really wanted some coffee. But I had none. I stuffed my video equipment in a bag and rode my bike over to C4 Workspace. C4 is situated just outside the King William Fair event grounds. Todd and Debbie thought it’s be a good idea to keep their doors open, and try and spread the good word of co-working.

It was a bit of a chore moving through my neighborhood, even on a bike. King William is stupidly crammed with humanity during the whole day of the Parade and the Fair.

I made myself a pot of coffee, and I recharged my lone camcorder battery (I’d panicked earlier, thinking that even THIS battery wouldn’t hold a charge–but I realized I’d been mistaken). So, I had a nice time talking with Todd, Debbie, and Venus, while drinking coffee and recharging my battery.

Venus was there, showing some of her art.

Next I biked home, took another shower, changed into my URBAN-15 t-shirt, stuffed my shoulder bag with various camera equipment, and rode my bike down S. Presa to the URBAN-15 Studios.

I shot video and still images of the drum and dance ensembles posing for the panorama photos that they commission every year during Fiesta to have an archive of their costumes as well as those ensemble members active during that year.

And after the photos, we waited.

After a couple of hours, the two hired buses arrived.

I’ve seen URBAN-15 preform on many occasions, but I’d never been with them as they travel to one of these major events. They pride themselves on the speed and proficiency in which they can load and unload their costumes, instruments, and equipment from the tour buses, an important quality in the parade business.

The buses dropped us off near our staging region, which was thankfully in the shade of of the highway overpass near Grayson and Broadway.

We had some time to kill before the parade began, so I wondered around, looking at the floats and costumed organizations. I also bought my one and only Fiesta food stand item this year, a very tasty gordita.

As the sun set, the dancers got into their elaborate costumes. The drummers did some warm-up playing. And then everyone set about turning on their LED lights, affixed to costumes, headgear, instruments, and just about everywhere.

And it began. We took a block of Grayson Street, past Sam’s Burger joint, and then got onto Broadway. The people who run this parade have the logistics down solid. It moved smoothly and without mishap.

I had been using a little onboard battery operated light on my camera. It is only good for maybe fifteen feet. So I was happy to see all the lights set up on Broadway as we came up on Maverick Park. I was in the middle of the URBAN-15 performers, getting some nice footage. URBAN-15’s parade leader motioned me to the outside, near to curb. He told me that this is where the TV cameras were set up, taping the parade live. And as a photo opportunity, I can understand not wanting some video dorks scurrying about, taking focus off the performances. I just wish I’d know in advance.

We then dog-legged onto Alamo Street so that the parade could pass by the Alamo. I hurried ahead so I could position my camera in such a way as ti record URBAN-15 passing the landmark building. We continued past the River Center Mall and took a right on Commerce. We headed west, to Main Plaza, City Hall, and then north on San Saba, to where the buses were waiting on us.

The dancers and drummers removed their bulky costumes and their drums and stowed everything away. We were on the buses, roll calls made, and we pulled away. It couldn’t have taken more than 7 minutes to breakdown, load up, and move out.

It was fairly intense. All very professional and well-executed. And I mean both from URBAN-15, their support crew, as well as the parade planners. Also, the police were great throughout the entire route.

My understanding is that the Flambeau Parade attracts about half a million people. And from the densely packed crowds all along the three point something mile route, I don’t doubt.

We were back at the URBAN-15 Studios on S. Presa while the crowds all along the route were still fumbling for their park-and-ride return tickets.

A long day.

Sunday I frittered the day away reading, watching movies on NetFlix, and walking the neighbor’s god damn dog. Finally, around four in the afternoon, I grabbed my camera and walked down to the bus station on S. Alamo. I’d been mailed a couple of freebie tickets to the Southwest School of Art & Craft’s Fiesta Arts Fair. As I’m incapable of finding a date to save my life, I tossed one of the tickets aside and headed out solo. The trolly took me two blocks from the SW School. I handed the woman at the gate my ticket and walked into a surging sea of humanity. One thing I’ve learned about Fiesta, if there’s a Fiesta sanctioned event, people flock like mad.

I was hoping to see some good art. I mean, the Southwest School mounts some serious shows throughout the year. I’ve seen some incredible stuff in their galleries, some from students, and other shows which are traveling through town.

But this “arts” fair is something else altogether. It’s basically a craft show, with folks who make hat racks out of driftwood, bedside lamps fashioned from Sri Lankan geodes, and earrings from toucan feathers and piranha vertebra. True there was some work by a few decent photographers. And I saw a couple of artists who could make some lovely cover art to fantasy novels. But, for the most part, I had to listen to the voice in my head wailing, “my goodness, this is all so awful!” But, really, the crowds loved everything. The art, the craft, the food & drink booths, the music, and the kids activities. Who am I to judge? I’m sure that the Southwest School looks at this as a serious fundraiser. So, fucking good for them! If this helps them to keep providing all those excellent art shows as well as all their great classes, then I can’t piss on this huge and insanely popular event.

Having said this, I have to admit I left after about twenty minutes. This means my trolly transfer was definitely still valid.

Back home, I was contemplating a nap when Catherine called. She was reminding me that URBAN-15 would be running through a dress rehearsal of their Fiesta parade performance in a couple of hours at a north-side parking lot. It sounded like fun. So I did manage a little nap, and then I drove north. I took my camera along.

When I arrived, there were people from the neighborhood out, sitting in lawn chairs, watching the show. I had brought my Lumix with my fast Nikon lens. I decided to shoot chiefly video. But here’s a still image of some of the women in their costumes.

And here’s a bit of video of what went down.

[vimeo vimeo.com/11111438]

Afterward I left, and dropped by Deborah’s place for some peppermint tea and a late night snack. Yes, I always have a wonderful time with Deborah! After a couple of hours, I made my goodbyes and headed home.

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Monday morning I was trying to decide if I really wanted some ramen noodle for breakfast, when I heard the familiar car horn of Catherine Cisneros. She short-cuts down my street (like a lot of people) on her way from home to work. Usually she gives a couple of neighborly taps on her horn as she passes by. But this time there was no doppler shift between the first beep to the second beep. I peeked out the window. She was parked across the street at Carlos Cortes’ place. I put on a pair of shoes and walked across the street. We caught up on the previous night’s URBAN-15 dress rehearsal as well as plans for the upcoming Josiah Youth Media Festival.

There are indeed times when I do love this neighborhood.

I just need to find a job so I can continue to live here.

Damn money-matters. In fact, it was my general poverty that helped make my decision to have ramen for breakfast.

I eventually made my way to C4 Workspace. I hooked up my DVX as a deck and captured to my computer all the video I had shot at Alamo Heights Night. While that was going on, I prepared the 8 DVDs for mailing to Dallas so I could make an out-of-town client happy. And while the second miniDV tape was being captured, I drove to the post office and mailed off my Dallas-bound deliverables. When I got back to C4, the video was all now captured. I opened up another Final Cut Pro file, and exported my Pedro Infante remix of my Luminaria film, “River Hoop,” so I could burn a DVD. In this variant cut, ST Shimi is dancing to a song by Pedro Infante, “La Calandria.”

I burned two DVDs. I exported the video as a full-resolution AVI file and placed it on a jump drive. I like to have a backup and a serious plan-B.

Around 7pm, I hopped on my bike and rode downtown to Main Plaza. It was a bit chilly out and I was wearing shorts. But, hell, the sun was still out, and I had done laundry and had dried my clothes on the line. Winter was over.

At Main Plaza there was a mariachi band playing Pedro Infante music. Angela and Rick had set up the Slab Cinema screen, projector, and sound system. I handed them my DVD.

As we all waited for it to get dark (there were about 20 serious Infante fans sitting in chairs outside in the plaza) the band played on. At one break, Mari Barrera came out to make some announcements. She’s the head honcha of the Main Plaza Conservancy–she programs the events at this great venue. After a few words from Mari, we were treated to a wonderful skit. Mari performed with fellow actress / performance artist Anna De Luna. They are always amazing when they work together. This was no exception. They played two Pedro Infante-obsessed woman, their rasquachismo hitting the red line of the Obsession Meter. Very entertaining.

And then my little film played.

And then the Pedro Infante film played.

It was a nice night (no sprinklers–just fountains, and we knew exactly where they were). A bit chilly on the ride home, but a lovely night in downtown.

Friday.

What a weird day!

I got up too damn early. I’d said I’d be at C4 for the Fiesta Breakfast. I heard there were gonna be breakfast tacos. And I heard right. But for me to drag ass from bed and out the door by 8:15 is practically unheard of these days.

But I had things to do, so I took a shower and headed out.

There were about a dozen people who stopped by for tacos, juice, coffee, and banter throughout the morning. I meandered back and forth from the conversation area to my desk. I was busy transferring files from my laptop to an external hard drive in preparation for the video work I was hired to do for Alamo Heights Night.

Around 10 Angela stopped by. She and Rick would be providing the projection component of our collaborative work for AHN. We needed to test her laptop with the 4G card. We loaded up the driver, and plugged in the usb device. Worked perfectly. We tested both our laptops, bridging live video shot by me and fed into my laptop via firewire, to her laptop (via the internet) so she’d be able to project the signal. It worked great.

Angela headed off to pick up a couple of pop-up tents from our friends at Grande Communications. The weather was looking a bit dodgy.

I headed over to the coffee shop in the basement at Blue Stat Arts Complex. I had a cafecito date with Seme Jatib. We caught up on each others projects. She let me read her proposal for a local arts grant. Looks great! They’d be a fool not to award it to her.

We’re moving ahead on our Dance for the Camera Series, four nights of screenings of ultra-cool dance films over the course of a month. It’s coming in May. I’ll be putting out the particulars soon.

I’m hoping we can do a very short experimental film up in the hill Country in the next few weeks.

Next I headed to C4. Angela had dropped off the tents. I loaded them into my truck, swung by my place to load up all my video equipment, and then I drove to the University of he Incarnate Word, the new location for Alamo Heights Night.

I had some problems getting in, seeing as I was never given a vendor’s pass. I was able to sweet talk my way to a parking lot close to the event, but not inside the event itself. I was pretty pissed off. But I’m flexible. I tossed the largest tent over my shoulder–I’m guessing it weighed about 70 pounds–and trundled it maybe a quarter mile to the softball field. When Angela showed up we were able to get her car up to the softball field. We set up the big inflatable screen. It was the first time I’d seen it. Very impressive! I made a few trips back to my truck to bring the rest of my gear, including another heavy-as-hell tent. As we worked setting things up there was quite a bit of sunlight. I shared my sunblock with Angela. But when the gates opened around five or five-thirty, it started to rain every so often. But we were good. The pop-up tents were already set up, and we were able to keep the delicate electronic equipment safe.

I wandered around, shooting video of the crowds visiting the food and beverage booths, kiddy rides, karaoke station, etc.

There was a point when one of the event organizers came and asked if I’d like to shoot video from atop one of these scissor lift cherry-pickers that the police were using to keep an eye on the crowds. Hell, yeah I would! I got up in there with a policeman and we went up maybe thirty feet. I got some great shots. It was perfectly stable…until I moved, even a little bit, and our platform would rock a bit, but enough to make me look for a good handle. The only thing really making me nervous was that I didn’t have the best grip on my camera. In these situations I usually have a monopod, but on recent gig, my old monopod broke (I’d more than gotten my money out of it, but it’s never a good idea to buy a piece of equipment which will receive any degree of abuse if it has any plastic anywhere on it).

When the lift got me back to the ground, I thanked the cop and headed off back to our headquarters in the softball field. Under one of our tents, I had a spare camera hooked up to my computer, automatically capturing some footage. It had finally gotten dark enough to project images on the screen. With footage captured, I removed my external hard drive and hooked it up to Angela’s computer. As she located the video file on her computer and began to play the footage onto the screen, I set up our computers for a quick on-site live streaming test. When we’d convinced ourselves it was working well, I shut down my computer, stuck it in my shoulder bag, picked up my camera and tripod and headed to the karaoke station about two hundred yards away.

The place was really packed. And I kept looking around, wondering why there wasn’t anyone at the event I recognized. I guess these patrons are all from a different world. I should point out that I did know the fellow running the karaoke outfit. He, and everyone at that booth, were gracious and more than happy for me to set up my camera and tripod, and even set my laptop on a table supporting some of their equipment.

I turned on my computer, plugged in the Clear USB WiMax USB card (thanks again, Grande!), established a connection to Clear, turned on my camera, fed its signal to my computer with a firewire cable, managed a lovely composition and a clean focus on a cute girl singing a Lady Gaga song, opened a way-cool piece of free software (thanks Michael Verdi for hipping me to this!) called QuickTime Broadcaster…and then I moused my way to the button “broadcast” and clicked and there I was, broadcasting video to the web. I walked back aways from the speakers and called Angela. She said the signal was being projected and it looked pretty good.

Things were all falling into place.

That is, until, maybe 18 minutes later, when Angela called. It seemed the sprinkler system on the softball field had come on, automatically, and drenched everything of ours. Even the stuff under the tents…because, well, those recessed spigots are everywhere.

“You can shut it off,” she said. “We’re not projecting anything anymore. The equipment is fried.”

It took me a few minutes to pack up my equipment and fight my way through the crowds. When I made it to the softball field all our stuff was moved to a side wall. Some UIW student volunteers were using one of the tents, turned on it’s side, to protect our soggy equipment and belongings from further outrage. Angela and Rick’s little girl was standing limp and wet and cold, and she was crying uncontrollably. Their little boy was over by the last remaining sprinkler that was still going–the one the UIW kids were dodging with the sideways tent. The boy was standing in the pulsating stream of water, apparently already so drenched, that it no longer mattered. I saw an orange plastic emergency cone and carried it past the UIW kids and put it on top of the sprinkler head. The water was no longer spraying. The boy began tugging at the cone. I guess he still wanted to play in the water. I let him know that if he took it off, it’d continue to splash on the inflatable screen that Rick was trying to fold up. He understood the need to protect family property, and left my cone alone.

We spoke with the sponsors of the event, the SAPD, the UIW cops, and I believe that whatever equipment is completely lost will be compensated. But the problem is, the one piece of electronics what is obviously dead, is Angela’s laptop. Computers are more than just a price tag. They have stuff on them. I’m so sorry that the Incarnate Word softball sprinklers murdered Angela’s laptop. We’ll have to assess the damage in the days ahead.

Here’s a photo of some of the swamped equipment, with Angela and Rick’s daughter looking rather shell-shocked.

What a mess.

We did our best to repack soggy stuff.

And I found myself lugging those fucking heavy tents all the way back to my truck (well, Rick helped with the little one…which I learned was the one that had wheels).

I made it home a bit before midnight. Had a couple 24 ounce Modelos. I wrote for a while, made a late night snack, walked the neighbor’s dog, and I watched half of the documentary on the band, Minutemen, “We Jam Econo,” and finally went to bed around three am.

What did I care. The only thing I had to do on Saturday was make it to the set of a promotional trailer in which I was expected to, um, act. And that was, as I recalled, three in the afternoon. I would just sleep in, right?

Oh, and if you are a fan of American punk rock music and you haven’t seen “We Jam Econo,” you gotta track it down. It is, for me, a representation of two sad missed opportunities. First was that I never made it to a Minuteman show. I’m fairly sure they came to Worcester at least once when I was living there in my late teens. The fact is, I never really got them back then. However, when I saw fIREHOSE many years later at Club Clearview in Dallas, I became an instant Mike Watt fan. That’s when I looked back and re-examined those brilliant Minutemen albums. Missed opportunity regret number two: I never got around to meeting Manuel Castillo, who died at the unthinkably young age of 40. He was the executive director of San Anto Cultural Arts (an incredible arts and cultural non-profit that continues to churn out excellent work by young people in media arts, large scale murals, and journalism. Manny was also the drummer for the SA band deeply connected to the punk scene, Snowbyrd. There was a film screening jointly sponsored by NSLIP-SA and San Anto Cultural Arts. “We Jam Econo” screened at Cafe Revolution.” This was before I was a NALIP member, but I was still made most of their events. This one, sadly, I missed.

Ah lost opportunities….

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Saturday.

My phone rang at 8:45. That’s in the morning. The morning I was supposed to be sleeping in.

Who the fuck!?

I grabbed my phone.

It was Russ. Ah, that changed everything. A call from Russ is always a welcomed event. We don’t hang out nearly enough anymore.

He said he was fighting the downpour while on his way to North West Vista Community College.

“Oh, fuck,” I said. “I’m supposed to go there as well, but it slipped my mind.”

This is what was buried deep in my back brain when Ranferi asked me, earlier in the week, if I could make it to his shoot Saturday afternoon. I muttered to him something about how I had a weird feeling I was supposed to do something at some point on Saturday. If there was an irreconcilable conflict, I told him I’d get back to him ASAP. I never did remember.

Not until Russ called.

“I’m gonna try and haul myself out there,” I told him. “So, I’ll probably see you soon.”

As I made my way into the shower, all the abuses I had visited upon myself the previous night became apparent. And I’m not talking about drinking and staying up late. I can navigate that stuff. But it was the walking all over the UIW campus which caused blisters on my feet, and the hauling of heavy equipment which had left my shoulders, with their adjacent muscles, bruised, strained, and sore. I was pretty damn stove up, but I made it–through the deluge–to NW Vista well in time for the event. Actually, I was a bit late, but they were running somewhat behind schedule.

I walked into the theater and took a seat beside Sam Lerma. We caught up a bit on one another’s projects. The bad weather kept a lot of people away. There might have been 60 to 70 people there. I got to talk with some of the important high school film teachers: Sam, Russ, and Konise. Veronica was there, not just as the face of NALIP-SA, but because her daughter, Emileigh, had her excellent short documentary on Alex Rubio screen. Pablo Veliz was there. And I think I saw Rosalva Gonzalez, but she was working the event, shooting video, and I didn’t want to interrupt. Also I had a short chat with Maria Fernanda Chavez. She’s a student at NESA, who continues to do strong and interesting work. She was showing a music video at this event which I had not seen before. This was the one piece I was looking forward to viewing. And I was, of course, not disappointed. She’s very much in control of what she does.

But I couldn’t stick around too long. I’d looked back at my notes, and my call time wasn’t 3pm, it was 2pm.

So, I drove back home to get my script and notes. We were shooting at an old diner on the west side. Western Broiler. It’s on Old Frio Road, just off Zarzamora. The rain was insane as I headed over there. I should have made it on time, but I overshot the intersection and had to double back on Zarzamora, And with the horrible rains and that fucking long light at the five-point intersection (seven-point, if you acknowledge the railroad tracks), I didn’t make it to the cafe until 2:18.

But this was okay. The crew of four and cast of one (not yet including me) were sitting and eating lunch, waiting for the cafe to shut down.

I’d already learned that AJ Garces was offering his service and his equipment as the DP, so I wasn’t surprised to see him. There was also Ranferi–writer, director, etc. Chris, who was doing audio, lighting, and a bit of this and that. Rolando, who was there as a PA (he’s also an actor in some other scenes, but not this one). And then there was the very talented and accomplished actor who’s playing the lead. His name is Tom Lagleder. Thankfully, he’s also a very sweet guy. Ranferi decided that I (again, let me stress, a non-actor) should play the protagonist’s best friend. If he gets the funding to make the full feature, this character I played today will have maybe three fairly pivotal scenes. I guess he knows what he’s doing. But for this promotional trailer, my character only has one small scene.

I made it a point to say nothing about camera, light, audio. Things I actually know about. I was asked to come in as talent, not crew.

I did my best, and I think I gave Ranferi something he can use. At least I hope I did,

It was a lot of fun. And, damn, Tom helped to make me feel not like an imbecile. I’m learning that acting is a lot of fun. But to really get something out of it, you need to work and work and work. Whether we’re talking about taking loads of classes, doing stage work at every opportunity, or working in every film you’re asked to work in. Acting, like learning an instrument, is all about practice. It’s working a particular and, for most, an obscure muscle. Though I’m neither an actor nor am I a musician, I can attest to this crucial dynamic where you have to practice seriously and intensely until the behavior becomes natural. I think that I’m a fairly good writer and filmmaker. And my accomplishments in both have come about because of long hard hours putting down my head and doing the work.

We wrapped and I headed home. It was a long day. And even though I should have just climbed back into bed and caught up on my sleep, all I can ask is why didn’t I? And how is it that at 1 in the morning, I’m still awake? Time, well past time, to hit the sheets!

Thursday.

These overcast days just keep on coming. The weather sites show me very little sunshine in the next week. And when’s it’s not been raining these last several days, it’s been insanely humid. Because I have a washing machine but no drier, I usually wait for a sunny day so I can hang up my laundry on the line. Yesterday I ran a load and just hung everything up inside on a few c-stands.

Today is was just endless showers. It made my errands up to the North Side a bit of a chore. Tomorrow I’m working a gig with Slab Cinema at the University of the Incarnate Word. This is the new location of the annual Alamo Heights Night. This is kind of a big block party for this tony town–Alamo Heights is it’s own municipality, a little city engulfed by San Antonio–and I’d always assumed that Alamo Heights Night was part of the eleven day seemingly endless party which is Fiesta here in San Antonio. But, I got on the Fiesta website, and I see no mention of this event. Strange. I’ve never been to Alamo Heights Night, but I’ve heard about it for the eight or nine years I’ve lived here. It’s a pretty big thing. Maybe, as I speculated on my FaceBook page, “it’s a way for those snooty 09ers to thumb their noses at the Fiesta rabble, while still enjoying funnel cakes and parades of lap dogs in tiaras.” [An 09er is one who lives in the Alamo Heights zip code–it’s similar to what my father referred to as the “ought five” region of Dallas, which is the zip code common to both Highland Park and University Park, upper-class enclaves surrounded by the city of Dallas,] Don’t get me wrong, I’ve nothing but high appreciation of fried dough. And as for dogs in cute costumes…well, whereas I’d not like to see such sights every day, it’s a wonderful treat I whole-heartedly enjoy, in moderation.

My hazardous trek through the deluge this afternoon was prompted by a call from Angela of Slab Cinema. It seems that Grande Communications was loaning us a couple of USB 4G WiMax dongles (okay, I’m not really sure if I’m using the word “dongle” correctly, but I do enjoy using it). The Grande offices are way up I-35, around the Thousand Oaks exit. That’s outside of the 410 Loop, and, as I’ve said many a time, in my mental map of the region, this is where those the sea monsters are frisking about, casting baleful glances at the galleons foolish enough to drift too far from established trade routes. I also stopped off at an office supply store to pick up a sleeve of DVDs for an out-of-town client who wants his deliverables on 8 DVDs next week. Yes, there are reasons to travel into that monster zone, but I try and avoid it as often as I can.

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As I was trying to get a handle on my day, I decided to pick up three tasty breakfast tacos and some mediocre coffee from Eddie’s Taco House drive thru lane. As I enjoyed my breakfast back home, I found myself rescheduling my day to best accommodate two of the paying gigs with which I’m currently involved.

I’d hoped to send some books off to auction. But, on closer inspection, they didn’t seem so remarkable. I think I’ll wait for the book auction which specializes in Texana items. I have some excellent stuff for that auction.

So, after coffee and tacos, and a plan to concentrate on my out-of-town client and the Alamo Heights Night gig, I took a shower, ready to begin my day.

As I was getting out of the shower, I saw a car idling in front of my house. All cars look alike to me. Well, let me rephrase that. I can’t tell one car from another, but I can usually recognize a very expensive car, though I can’t always name it. This was a rich person’s car. As I watched, the passenger window was electrically lowered. I saw someone in the passenger seat, I think it was a woman, aim a digital camera toward my place. What fucking amateurs! A 65 thousand dollar car, and a 125 dollar camera. Anyway, the camera wasn’t pointed at my house, or Marlys and Michael’s house. It was pointed at my driveway. More to the point, at my truck. It looked like that cheap camera was snapping my truck’s license plate. Call me paranoid, but I think I’m being stalked.

It could be my land lady’s property manager. She drives expensive cars. But that makes no sense.

I’m thinking it’s someone with the King William Fair. I made some snarky comments about my displeasure concerning how they charge people to enter into a neighborhood, which is a public space. Now, I reviewed what I had written, and I found myself doing what I do every so often. Edited, toned things down. I ameliorated my rant. The truth is, I have been involved in at least half a dozen large scale events in this town. Festivals, parades, film events, etc. And there is something painful when people begin to attack the event you’re working on–it feels so very personal. Most people who have attacked me (in blogs or print) because of the events I’ve worked for, seem to make statements that aren’t really true–you know, not completely informed. I know how fucking hard it is to make a large event happen in this city. And I’ve come to realize that I can only shit on someone or something if I have a clear understanding of what I’m criticizing. I recall a Twitter announcement from Kat Swift (I have a great deal of respect for the woman–hell, I voted for her). During Luminaria, she twittered: “re bosse: he got busted for having fire on stage w/o permit twas funny – fire marshall’s eyes lit up.” I only wish I could have been such a snarling scofflaw badass. But, sadly, nothing in that posting was true. (This isn’t to say that Ms. Swift’s comment won’t find itself embedded in my CV–’cause I do wanna be a badass!) But, look, we can’t always assume that those narratives we want to happen, are actually going down in accordance with our desires.

As this woman was getting a focus with her cheapo camera from the shotgun seat of a swanky car, I unpacked my biggest pair of binoculars, and watched the action from my kitchen window. As I was fresh from the shower, I was naked. Maybe I should have stepped out on my porch, au naturale, holding those huge astronomical binoculars to my face, as I stared at the car idling twenty feet away.

http://i60.photobucket.com/albums/h7/erikbosse/DSCN2608.jpg

But I just don’t have it in me. So I watched the car drive away, and I got dressed.

My future financial health’s not looking too good. Uncle Sam wants chingos of dosh–I’m thinking extension, ’cause I’m having a chore just keeping myself in cheap tacos and digital video tape. I guess what I really need is a job. But there are so few things I’m qualified to do.

I’ve been digging through stuff that I might be able to sell. I’m thinking of sending some books off to the auction house that occasionally employs me. There is one homely looking book I’ve never bothered to research. It’s an ex-library book with a rubber stamp on both front and rear pastedowns. True, the university library of the stamps no longer exists, but I have such an aversion to selling ex-library books that I just kept putting it aside. So, today, for some reason, I decided to do a bit of research. I don’t have much in the way of bibliographies and general reference books anymore, so I was mainly looking at a few online sites. I could only see mention of on-demand reprint copies. Recalling that I still had my password to Americana Exchange, I looked through their database. I could see no auction records. Just a listing from three rare book dealers’ catalogues: 1938, 1959, and 1963. No auction records at all. There’s another auction database I should check. But it could well be that no copy of this first edition has come up for sale in decades. Given the fact that it’s a Texas Ranger item, it should get a fair amount of auction action.

The book is Mustang Gray; a Romance, by Jeremiah Clemens, Philadelphia, 1858. This appears to be the first and only edition. From Wright: “A fictionalized account of the exploits of the famed Mabry Gray, who served in the Texas Army, fought at San Jacinto, raided Mexican ranches with other ‘cowboys,’ and commanded the ‘Mustanger’ company in the War with Mexico.”

Check out the Mabry Gray article on the Handbook of Texas Online:

http://www.tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/GG/fgr24.html

I’m hoping that Mustang Gray, plus about 4 nineteenth century surgery books, a signed Bill Burroughs, and a leather bound Félicien Rops art book will generate the funds needed to sate the IRS appetite when my extension period abruptly comes to an end, October sometime.

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There’s a feature film script I have had in the works for maybe a year and a half. The working title is “Tunnels Under the Tower.” I must admit that most of my notes are scattered through three or four composition notebooks somewhere in the clutter of my home. I know I was also generating scene information onto 3×5 cards. These cards are what I really want to track down.

The story has been resurfacing in my head lately. A few weeks back I was asked by Nikki Young to give feedback on the kids in her young actors’ class. Two very accomplished girls were doing a scene from “Tunnels Under the Tower,” which I had given to Nikki over a year ago when she asked for any monologues or dialogues I might have for her to offer her students. The scene that the girls read was initially written for a boy and a girl, but it worked well enough regardless of gender.

Today, while biking along the Mission Trail, I took a rest on one of Carlos Cortez’s faux bois benches near Mission Espada. There’s a big pecan tree on a rise of ground about a hundred yards to the west. One of the scenes in the film will take place with the leaves of that tree dipping down and forming a canopy to frame the shot looking across the river as the two young protagonists walk along, speaking those same lines that Nikki’s girls had performed.

“Tunnels Under the Tower” is a film I’ve sketched out pretty tightly in my head. As I was taking a break on that bench this afternoon, I talked my way through all the chief scenes, characters, and character motivations, conflicts, and agendas. I was happy to learn I had retained almost everything. I just need to get back to working on the script.

I initially came up with the most basic kernel of a story. A dying matriarch is trying to get her son to reunite her with her former best friend–a last chance to say goodbye. As I began to flesh things out, I found myself casting most of the roles with some of my favorite local actors (some who know me, a few who don’t)–often going so far as to use their names for the characters (I plan to make changes in a later draft). I also made mental notes of most of the locations–pretty much all downtown, south-side, and west-side. The places where I spend most of my time. I’d always planned to direct and shoot this thing myself. And because I want to create something simple and do-able, my plan is to limit the film to 50 scenes, each averaging a page and a half. This translates into 50 one and a half minute scenes, for a total run-time of 75 minutes, and this is long enough for a feature. Furthermore, none of these scenes will have more than five camera set-ups. And finally, no more than ten locations. The number of characters is something I don’t want to aggressively trim down. I believe there will be 20 speaking characters.

My biggest concern about this, as yet unfinished, script, is that I want to get it into a polished draft, and start shooting before Gaby Walker (one of the most amazing actresses I’ve ever worked with) is too old to be believable as my young co-protagonist. Little Gaby’s growing up so fast.

Currently I’m inclined to shoot the movie in HD on a DSLR camera. I’m intrigued with the thought of using my Lumix GH-1, but if money ever comes my way again, I’m thinking to up-grade to the Canon 7D. Audio acquired separately with a solid state device.

Time to get back to writing.

Friday

My landlady finally sent a lawn service to harvest the bountiful crop of dandelions and stinging nettles which had reached a height so that a quorum of jockeys could have met, running their entire meeting standing, and still remain unnoticed by the neighborhood. It took a crew of two just under four hours to finish–however, they were spending several protracted breaks fraternizing with the lawn crew spiffing up the house next door.

At least my place won’t look as shabby as it did last year for the King William Parade, which comes down my street. It’s coming up in two weeks. For those reading my blog who aren’t out-of-towners, shut-ins, or incarnated felons conscientious enough to gain internet privileges, please drop by. Lurkers, stalkers, and my three or four enemies are all welcomed to come watch the parade with me. It begins, I believe, at ten am on Saturday, April, 24. My place is 716 E. Guenther, the humble little grey house with three apartments. I’m the door that faces the street. Parking will be a bitch. They close off the entire parade route. You might be able to find a place to park in the Brackenridge High School lot, the Blue Star art complex, or, more likely, in the La Vaca neighborhood, south of S. Alamo, and east of S. Presa.

You bring the breakfast tacos, and I’ll try and keep the coffee flowing.

Personally, I’m no fan of parades. But I always watch the King William Parade. Sure, I have no choice, as it comes down my street. There’s more, you see. I love the King William Parade because it’s a neighborhood event. There’s the marching band from Brackenridge High School, which is just three blocks away from me. Many of the local businesses and art and cultural organizations take part. It’s also one of the closest things to a gay pride parade during the whole San Antonio Fiesta fortnight (well, I think it’s just an eleven day event, but it feels like fucking forever!). The queer quotient of the King William Parade is fairly high (well, for San Antonio); but if also you add those who embrace their gender confusion this one time a year, well, we have quite a few ungainly and hairy men crammed into dresses who have clearly not embraced this lifestyle, as their not so feminine and very sensible footwear attests.

If you’ve never been to the King William Parade, come on down. It’s a blast. The King William Fair, however, is a bit much. If you like drinking over-priced beers, munching on turkey legs, seeing a bunch of crappy “arts” and craft, and being shoe-horned into a densely packed crowd, well, by all means, check it out. Personally, I usually amble down and check out the fair for an hour at the most. Take some pictures. And make my escape. I can’t recall what the entrance fee is (and I am appalled that they charge to entered a neighborhood–this can’t be legal, can it?), but because the locals receive a couple of free passes in the mail prior to the event, this it suppose to make us happy? Well, perhaps it does. Eh, whatever…. The Fair’s so-so. The Parade rocks!

In fact, this afternoon the kids with the Brackenridge High School Marching Band took to the neighborhood. They were marching, playing their instruments, and fucking up the traffic. I loved it! I scrambled to find my camera and got out on the porch when they were half-way past. I took a few photos.

I wish they’d do this all the time. Because, dammit, that’s community involvement. I also love that the Brackenridge PE classes have the kids running through the neighborhood. Every school should find reasons to go out into their neighborhoods, and every neighborhood should find reasons to go into their schools.

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My Luminaria check arrived on Thursday. So today (Friday) I headed over to Jump-Start Performance Company to present a check to ST Shimi. My Luminaria film not only featured the wonderful dancing of Shimi, but she also performed a dance on stage during Luminaria as my film of her was projected in the background. Of course she should get half of my honorarium check. (Probably she deserves more than half, but I, too, have bills to pay). It was quite a thrill to be able to pay Shimi. The fact is, when I work in collaboration with other artists, I reach out to people with whom I’ve already forged one sort of relation or another. More often that not, we’ve already entered into a situation of an ongoing exchange of services and such. My work with Carlos and Pete, and Deborah and Seme come to mind. But when I reached out to Shimi, we had no prior work experience. I was drawn by her beauty, intelligence, physical strength, and incredible stills and accomplishments in arial dance, belly dance, and hoop dancing. She’s quite an extraordinary force. I was actually glad that she asked, during our first meeting, if there was a budget in the project I had in mind. I’ve become so exhausted being involved in all these creative projects where no one gets paid, and it seems that so many creative individuals in this town are so often exploited.

At the initial meeting I had to admit that there was no pay. At that time I wasn’t thinking of making this project with Shimi into my Luminaria project. My proposed project was fairly generic. What I had initially wanted from Shimi was to shoot something which could be used as a work sample for a larger public arts project I still hope to make a reality.

But as Luminaria approached, and as I realized that the idea I had in mind seemed a bit overly ambitious, I decided to push for this wonderful short piece I had shot in the winter of 2009 of Shimi, on the San Antonio River. All he sudden it seemed a no-brainer. And when Shimi let me know that she was available to be onstage to hoop-dance as the film played, I was so thankful. And the performance on Luminaria night, as short as it was, was magical.

What I’m getting at is that I was thrilled to be able to honor all the hard work Shimi provided for this piece with some real compensation. True, it’s not a lot, but it’s something. And, dammit, we all need to look after one another in this town.

And I want to state again, in this blog, that Jump-Start Performance Company (where ST Shimi works as Artistic Director for Company Programing) never leaves their artists sucking air. Earlier this year two works of mine were shown in their performance space. I received a cash honorarium from one, and a comp performance ticket for another. Sometimes the respect you’re given for the work you do might seem small, but take a moment to consider the arrangement. Is your work being given any respect? If not, walk away. It’s time, especially in this city, that the artist class begin to boycott situations where there is no compensation or other tangible form of appreciation. This is why I have appreciation of Luminaria and Jump-Start.

Speaking of ST Shimi, it looks like our film will be screened his coming Thursday at Main Plaza as a bit of introductory entertainment before the Pedro Infanta film. Sadly, Shimi is working elsewhere that night (she’s quite in demand). But please come out and see the ST Shimi and Erik Bosse short film. And come because there’s a Pedro Infante film!

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Saturday.

A former co-worker from a former life of mine posted a photo on FaceBook. It was of an old dentist chair which he had been refurbishing as, I assume, some sort of project. Some of the responses from his friends pondered why he’d have something like that in his house–how could his wife put up with this weirdness? In an attempt to make his chair seem not so outre, I took photo of my medical examination table–with the stirrups raised to full mast, it was in more of a gynecological exam table mode. I placed a link to my picture in the comment section below his dentist chair picture.

My sister, who also worked with Steve, saw my photo and placed it on her FaceBook page. Quite a few people jumped aboard, making comments about the creepiness of having a medical exam table in ones living room. Now I won’t argue that point. They’re right. This is one of the reasons I jumped when a friend offered it to me. But my experience is that most people who see it are not so disturbed as bemused. In fact, most want to use it as a film prop or an element for a photo shoot. I’m more than willing to loan it out, but it’s insanely heavy. (Pete and I moved it to C4 to use in the 48 Hour Hour Film Experience movie, Voodoo Daddy, and it almost killed us moving it back and forth.)

My favorite story about the table was when Russ and his wife at the time, Lisa, stopped by to visit. I took a seat on the sofa. Russ sat in my rocking chair, and without so much as a beat, Lisa hopped up on the table and curled up on it like it were a daybed, and she never broke rhythm in our conversation which had begun on the walk up to my porch and continued inside. I was quite impressed. But then again, she’s an artist, and they are a great tribe to belong to.

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A big wet wind came in from the Matamoros. When I took my bike onto the Mission Trail around five-thirty this afternoon it had climbed to the upper 70s, but with the gusty wind and the general moistness, it felt, at times, rather chilly.

The problem with this shift in weather is that I have two events coming up this week which happen outside. The Pedro Infante outdoor screening Thursday at Main Plaza might be placed in jeopardy.

But worse is the Alamo Heights Night on Friday. This is a paying gig. I need to find out what happens if the event is rained out. Do I still get paid? I’m thinking I don’t.

My recent fairy godmother, a certain well-paying auction house in Dallas, hasn’t yet contacted me to help out on their next rare books sale. I haven’t yet given up hope. But my finances are dwindling fast. I was planning to set my bookcases back up (I stowed them away along with most of my books some months back for a film shoot in my house)…but I might just embrace a big purge, and begin totting all my books and CDs to various local resale outlets in a bid to stave off the creditors.

I try not to dwell too often on how few marketable skills I possess. Any trained HR department head could make quick work of my resume and out me as a classic slacker layabout.

“Where do you see yourself in five years?”

“In a hammock beneath a ramada in front of a three room adobe shack in the Chihuahua desert as a trio of young naked women provide me with carne guisada tacos, las cervezas de Bohemia, and Licenciados cigars.”

“Mr. Bosse, I’m asking where you see yourself in five years in this company?”

“Oh, pardon me. I was anticipating that you’d have a branch office in Hidalgo del Parral by 2015. You might want to look into it. They’ve quite a dynamic economy.”

“I believe this interview is at an end.”

And so it goes.

Monday.

A nasty cold which I was unable to shake had me keeping a low profile over the weekend. It’s in the fairly full-blown stage today. Around three in the afternoon I decided I had to get out of the house. I drove to C4 Workplace. One of the reasons was I’d realized I was late in paying my monthly desk-space rental at C4. Once there, I used the microwave to heat up a can of soup. I answered some email. Did a bit of electronic outreach for the up-coming Josiah Youth Media Festival. And I finally wrote out a check for my car insurance.

Because I was out of stamps, I drove to the post office over on S. Alamo and I-35. They still haven’t put in any stamp vending machines. But, luckily, there was no line. As I walked up to the clerk, I heard myself say: “I just need a one class stamp.” He knew exactly what I meant. It wasn’t until I was walking to my truck that I realized what I’d said. I had thought I might be able to go out to the bike trail for a short ride, but I was feeling a bit shaky, and clearly my brain was misfiring. This last item was hammered home when, at the intersection of S. Flores and S. Alamo, I found myself looking at the little lap dog instead of the cute girl holding the pooch’s leash as they crossed in front of me. Clearly, I wasn’t safe on the road.

Back on Saturday Deborah stopped by. I explained that I was feeling fairly seedy. She returned soon with a care package. So, thanks Deborah, for dropping off some cold medicine, limes, honey, orange juice, soup, and assorted comfort food. It’s nice when I’m reminded that, yes, I do in fact have friends. I’ve mentioned this before, but the questions always comes up with folk like myself, who are single and live alone, and are self-employed. When we slip in the shower, how far into decomposition will we have drifted before someone finally gets around to checking on us? The more people who care about you and who know where you live, the less will the crew from the funeral home retch.

It’s weird having someone else shop for you. Things you’d never think to buy are suddenly in your home. And now let me praise a great beverage I created from the goods delivered. I can’t imagine it NOT having medicinal properties, but, damn was it tasty.

Steep a bag of peppermint tea for at least five minutes in an extra-large mug. Squeeze in the juice of one whole lime (the bigger the better). And finally, add more honey than you think you should.

Damn fine.

I also found in my care package some cold medicines. I’d told Deborah that I was particularly fond of NyQuil. And knowing that it’s fairly pricey, I said I’d be happy with some off brand. They usually have the same ingredients. Now what I was thinking about were the small bottles of liquid which come with little plastic jiggers to measure out a shot or two. But I forget that many people use NyQuil pills. What I got was an HEB generic version of NyQuil gel caps. The great thing about the stuff that comes in the bottle is that it hits me after about twenty minutes. I’m out until sunup. But these gel caps are slow and timid when taking affect. I watched a video on my computer for an hour after I downed the pills. Finally I decided to got to sleep. However, when I was out, I was out. It seems that these guys are slower to take action, and they last much longer. I work up on Sunday morning around 8:30. I read some in bed. And then I drifted back off to sleep (I never do this once I wake up), and managed to sleep an additional two and a half hours). This stuff’s not only potent, it lingers. And this no doubt explains why a cute dog is just as interesting (if not more so) than a cute girl.

Beware. HEB brand “Night Time Liquid Caps Cold/Flu Relief” could well destroy American civilization. Treat with great caution!

To pad this entry out, let me toss in a couple of images.

Here’s a photo of my driveway. One of my neighbors has not taken down her Christmas lights. And I hope she never does.

And here’s an interesting snap I took of my truck’s odometer, which, for reasons I can’t describe, I find somewhat disturbing.

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Tuesday.

I had planned on getting out of the house today, but really didn’t. However, I did manage to recalled that my neighbor Phil had asked me to walk his dog Tuesday and Wednesday. But because he had called me to request this back on Sunday when I was enjoying Easter dinner with Pete, Lisa, and Cooper, he (and the dog) is damn lucky I was able to peer back in my memory, back through the haze of Shiner Bocks and some heavy duty cold medicine, and discover that faint memory.

So, a mid-day dog walk was one of my more ambitious endeavors today. That, and trying to reconstruct my finances from last year–as my mother prodded me over the phone. She’s spent a large portion of her life working various bookkeeping gigs. She’s currently on payroll with H&R Block (and, if you don’t know, they pay shockingly little).

Tax time is fairly stressful. Like my birthday, or New Years. It’s a time for me to realize how horribly I’m squandering my life. When the dust settles I suspect I’ll find I pulled an income of about $21,000 for 2009. Sure, this is far above the poverty rate for a single person living alone. And the fact is, I have oodles of free time. But, as I live hand-to-mouth, I find myself in heavy panic mode as mid April approaches. I’m self-employed, and never bother to place any money aside for employment tax (there is no employer managing the with-holding for me), so I screw myself every year.

Add to this, my last big gig ended mid January–that money is almost tapped out–and there is no clear indication that another serious gig will materialize. I’m currently involved in a temporary part-time situation which, thankfully, pays $500 a month. But, really, this is no way to live.

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Back in 2008 I was accepted into the Creative Capital Professional Development Retreat. The San Antonio Office of Cultural Affairs helped to bring in this New York-based arts funding organization to help San Antonio artists better learn how to run their artistic concerns in a more business-like manner. 2008 was the second year Creative Capital visited San Antonio. As a bottom-feeder in the local art scene, I was surprised and quite honored to be selected. There were, I believe, just 22 of us, from various disciplines. At that time I knew maybe ten of the artists. Soon I got to know them all. So many amazing people!

Maybe a month and a half ago I learned that one of my favorite people from that retreat had passed away. And it was way back on September 6th, of 2009. I barely knew Rhonda Kuhlman outside of that intense weekend retreat. She was funny, fearless, irreverent, and full of life. Her art dealt with ecological issues by building lovely and quirky work out of trash. I was quite taken by her playful spirit. And when I learned she’d passed away (at the unthinkable age of 42) I only wish I had gone to more of her shows and events at her South Side studio.

I found myself thinking about Rhonda today while going through some of my old photos. Here she is at her show at Three Walls Gallery during First Friday, June, 2008.

I hate when this sort of tragedy happens. Not only was a wonderful woman pulled away too soon from what was already quite an extraordinary life, but from my own selfish point of view, I see a another sad loss of a wonderful person who I was too awkward and introverted to befriend. People, they are so transitory. We forget that. Things can move fast, and change our lives totally.

Thursday night.

It was warm enough last night, so I slept with a fan blowing on me. This morning I wasn’t sure if my sore throat was the signs of an impending cold, or just the effects of a dry the wind in my face drying out my sinuses and throat. It’s pushing midnight, I’m I guessing a cold is about to hit full force by sunup.

I’m thinking I’ll just hole up Friday and read and watch Netflix.

Maybe I’ll try and make it to the library. There are a couple of books I want to track down. This afternoon, while waiting for a largish video file to reconfigure, I pulled a book from my shelf which I’d bought years ago, but never read. It’s “Revolution on the Border: the United States and Mexico 1910-1920,” by Linda Hall and Don M. Coerver. In a chapter concerning San Antonio, I read some of the expected history. Such as los bros Magón–you know, Enrique and Richard Flores–the revolutionary brothers who came to San Antonio to continue publication of their rabble-rousing newspaper, Regeneración. In fact, I have a book or two around here, somewhere, about the Magón brothers. But there were also some radical sisters–Teresa and Andrea Villareal (sometimes spelled Villarreal)–who fled Mexico to come to San Antonio and publish two newspapers to bring attention to the revolution: the feminist newspaper, La Mujer Moderna, and the more IWW general paper, El Obrero. The Magóns brothers and the Villareal sisters were all associated with the PLM (Partido Liberal Mexicano). Even with the most cursory search, I’ve located two titles about these incredible women. I’m sure there are some interesting academic papers. I’d also like to find a good book that gives an over-view of San Antonio’s role in the revolution. There was quite a bit going on here. Via la revolution! Also, time to reread Reed, John, that is.

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I was out biking on the Mission Trail this afternoon around five. The place was empty. Strange, yesterday it was packed at the same time. I did notice a row of port-a-potties at a couple of parking lots near Espada Dam. And then I remembered. Sunday’s Easter. It’s a tradition on the south-side for families to camp out during Easter weekend in the parks along the river near the historical missions. Tomorrow the place will be swarming, with tents and hibachis and kites and fishing poles and music everywhere.

Also, people might have been avoiding the wind. It was insane. As it came from the south, my ride out to Mission Espada was like swimming in molasses. But, the reward, was the tail-wind-assisted high-speed return trip.

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Mostly I frittered my day away wallowing in self-pity. And it was only with a concentrated effort that I dragged myself out of the house. So, after my bike ride, I made my way to C4. Michael Druck and Brian Potts were running their second monthly Actors Network SA mixer.

I’d made a quick visit last month. I was there just to pick up some video equipment. And the first mixer was fucking packed. This second one might have had a few less attendees, but I’d guesstimated that, at any given time, there were about 45 to 55 people there.

It was nice to see so many familiar faces. Some I see all the time, some I’ve seen recently, some I’ve not seen in years. Let’s see, other than Druck and Brian, there was Jon Gillespie, Lee Hurtado, the Cheap Soup crew, Manuel Cantu, Veronica Hernandez, Roman Garcia, Christopher Viltz, Robin Early, Martha Prentiss, and on and on. I was happy to see one of Nikki Young’s young acting students there with her family. Little Sofia is confident, intelligent, makes smart decisions & sticks with them, and all in all she shows tremendous promise as a performer. It was good to see her meeting other people in the industry.

There was this one woman I noticed later on in the evening. She looked so familiar. I knew I’d auditioned her before. And I knew I had seen her on the stage. Wait, wasn’t she the wife in the Attic Rep’s performance of Albee’s The Goat, or Who Is Sylvia? Um, what was her name? Suddenly the name Gloria Sanchez came to mind. I pulled out my iPhone and Googled “Gloria Sanchez” and “Attic Rep.” And there it was, five listings down, my blog, where I was gassing on and on about how great she was, not just in Sylvia, but also the more recent Attic Rep’s staging of Octavio Solis’ Lydia.

For some reason I’ve very shy approaching, for the first time, stage actors whose work I love. This is why I wanted to remember if I didn’t indeed audition Gloria for a film project. That would put us a bit closer to being on the same level.

But I couldn’t recall. So, I just decided to walk up to her when I saw that she wasn’t talking to anyone. I thought I’d made eye contact. And just as I said, “Gloria Sanchez?” I heard from the other side of the room Michael Druck shout out: “Gloria Sanchez! Come on up!” It seems he wanted her to pull a name out of a bowl for a door prize. Gloria smiled and walked right past me.

I was, however, able to talk to her later. I told her how incredible she was at the two extraordinary plays I’d seen her in at the Attic Rep.

“I’ve met you before,” she said.

“Yeah, I know. But I can’t recall. I know you auditioned for one of my film projects.” I was thinking, way back, of Vaya Con Dios, Asshole, but it was Gloria who finally remembered.

“That bar on Broadway,” she said. Ah, yes. That was one of the very last production cycles for the Short Ends film group. I remember being amazed by her. She was smart and sexy, and she gave a great read. That was a few years back. I’m not sure why we didn’t go with her. I think her character was another character’s mother. And because of age or ethnicity, there would have been a disconnect. Now, what I need, is a hefty budget, so I can work with actors of such extraordinary caliber as Gloria Sanchez.

Here’s a spy cam shot I took of Gloria tonight as I was trying to remember when I’d met her before.

Also, here’s a snapshot I took of Laura Evans tonight. I like this look. She is so lovely, and obviously comfortable in front of the camera.

As the evening was drawing to a close, I made sure that Druck had enough people to help him clean up, and then I made a fast and quiet exit.

Great event!