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