If folks haven't heard from me for awhile, it might be because I'm still shouldering my way through the belly of the 48 Hour Film Project. I'm loath to continue this gastric metaphor to it's final conclusion, but, nonetheless, I don't expect to emerge from this dank tube until some time in late August.
Some people have asked in pleasant chirps, “So, what's next?” I just shrug and say something vague about how I guess I'll need to find a job. It's sad, I suppose, to not have a plan. But that's my life up to this point, in five words or less. On my tombstone, I have to assume: “Erik, he had no plan.” But you take those occasional sweet moments when they come. This afternoon I rode out to Espada Park. I got off my bike and walked along the freshly mowed levee-top. A couple of swifts flew by me as though they were anxious to reach a destination. And, suddenly, they banked, changing direction, and moved slower. They playfully corkscrewed around one another like vines twining up the steel cable supporting the stanchion of a power line. All around me dragonflies hung in the air frozen with a near imperceptible quiver; and they'd zip here and there and park themselves just there, where nothing else is, and thereby they'd place their dog-ear marker upon the space-time continuum. These critters display a primordial design which seems more modern than Web 2.0 or Ikea. And as I walked, the close-cropped grass opened frantically with tiny baby grasshoppers excitedly leaping anywhere … and anywhere again.
That was nice. But I can think of no job which pays one to wander through parks while watching bugs and birds. If you know otherwise, let me know. I don't know if I do it well, but I do enjoy the work.
The day after tomorrow is the launch. The teams get their assignments, and off they go. Probably you could say they are the ones who should be worrying, not me. Fuck that. Making a quick and dirty movie is a walk in the park compared to running a large-sized event. All you gotta do is take some pretty pictures of dragonflies doing their thing as an early afternoon breeze heaves a river-side cane-break up and down as lazily and drunkenly as an unemployed filmmaker lives his life when not making a film in 48 hours. It's second nature to us, dammit, and we all know it.
But me, I gotta worry and fret and oh damn I have to do paperwork and keep up a fake smile like this is all some weird reality show. Perhaps it is.
I've said it before. I'll say it again.
All I ever wanted to do was live in a two room adobe shack in the Chihuahua Desert … and watch the dragonflies hang in zero G as they ponder the withered blossom of an ocotillo in exactly the same manner they did all those years ago in northern Gondwanaland.
But I need to get this show up and running and done with before I follow those ancient Anisozygoptera back into their fossilized realm.
I've secured a venue for a “best of” the 48 Hour Film Project. This will also allow us to have an awards ceremony. Today I spoke with George and Cat Cisneros over at Urban 15. They were all for it. I called up the national 48 Hour folks this evening, and it looks like a done deal.
Sunday, August 19, we will have our awards show with a screening of the very best of this, the first year of the 48 Hour Film Project. Be there at 7 o'clock. Tickets are available at the door. 8 bucks. Screenings begin at 7:30. If there are any changes, I'll make it known here (and, I assume, elsewhere).
You can pick up copies of the new Current and 210SA and read more about the 48 Hour Film Project. You'll learn that I was the “co-creator” of the 48 Hour Film Experience. Well, I was nothing of the sort. And I had to phone up San Antonio Film Commissioner Drew Mayer-Oakes (who I always assumed was the sole creator of the 48 Hour Film Experience — but for the love all of things holy, please don't quote me!), and let him know I never said no such thing … dammit! Weren't me. And then there was the piece written by Jessica Belasco. She made me laugh aloud. She had me speaking about these sorts of film races in general.
“Surprisingly, the films don't suck, said Erik Bosse, the coordinator of the San Antonio competition.”
You'll see there are no direct quotes of me speaking. Of course I said something just like that. And then she goes on to quote me (accurately, I'm pretty sure) in such a way that makes me look fairly cool. And as such, I'm a huge (and I mean HUGE) Jessica Belasco fan. She can do no wrong.