Even as the Pulitzer Prize-winning Hedrick Smith was navigating “the road ahead for American Democracy” during his i3 talk on Tuesday, even more Bozos were being added to the Trump Clown Car up ahead.
A once-respected doctor turned TV pill-shill was nominated to oversee Medicare, Medicaid, and the Affordable Care Act.
The empress of a studio wrestling empire was nominated as Secretary of Education.
And the hits keep on a coming.
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The bifurcated psyche of a world-class athlete who grew up in a literary household.
Now, that has all the makings of a great novel.
Not coincidentally, these are the circumstances that led world-class athlete Ivy Pochoda to become an excellent novelist, with six titles and counting. But getting those two lives – high-powered athlete and high-powered novelist – working together, well that was the topic of a most entertaining talk by Pochoda on Tuesday as the inaugural headliner of the Art of the Story conference.
Pochoda’s life story fits in quite well with the overall theme of San Miguel de Allende’s newest literary festival. That is – if I may interpolate from the list of fascinating workshops and events scheduled – inspiration is all around us, if you know how to look for it.
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We had a discussion the other night about High Season. Specifically, how do you know when it begins?
Somebody suggested you know when you can’t get a table at a restaurant you’ve been walking into for the past five months. Someone else thought Dia de los Muertos was the line of demarcation. Perhaps it’s when you can get an Uber every day of the week.
I decided that today officially marks the beginning of the “busy season.”
And the marker is the Pro Musica classical music concert series.
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Art is best left to describe itself.
I’m a firm believer in that.
But I also believe you should let people know where they can find the cool stuff. This, for example.
The beauty of San Miguel de Allende is that you find art everywhere, often in the most unexpected places.
Especially murals.
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A long hike is never really over.
We finished walking Scotland’s West Highland Way on September 18. It is still very much on my mind and I suspect it will be hanging around.
There were lessons learned. Both about myself and the trail.
That’s really what it is mostly about in the end, isn’t it? Nobody walks – let’s call it 100 miles – and walks away not knowing something new about themselves.
Even if it is only whether or not you love toe socks.
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I tried my idea for global peace on a few people in the crowd today as we waited for the Exploding Judases to commence.
“What if all across the United States people had a day like this where you could hang effigies of your enemies and other bad people — and watch as they were blown to bits?”
“Just think of the catharsis!”
How to begin to describe the strange looks that I got. …
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You can attend two magnificent classical performances on the same day, a spooky play reading, a night of expert storytelling, and learn how to read “Ulysses” for pleasure. Watch as the greatest soccer rivalry in the Western Hemisphere fires up again Sunday night. Take to the stage for a Live Mic night, watch an Oscar-winning documentary, or see one of the greatest movies of all time.
The toughest seat in town will be for the re-birth of the guitar-fueled Media Luna’s trio of concerts.
Probably most important of all is that all week long the Catholic faithful will be reliving the Passion of Christ in ceremony, pageantry, prayer, liturgy, and in the end pyrotechnics.
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On Wednesdays, I have about an hour between appointments, time I would normally spend sitting in the Jardin with a cup of coffee and a pastry, watching people pose in front of the Parroquia, marveling at how easily alliteration springs from my fingertips.
Not today. Something inside me said I didn’t need the coffee. (The previous three cups?) Or the pastry. (The spreading waistline?) As I reached Calle Hernandez Macias a decision needed to be made.
Ahead of me was the pastry, park, Parroquia, and people. To my left was the Centro Cultural Ignacio Ramirez El Nigromante — Belles Arte for the more mellifluously inclined.
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In 2003, I walked out of a San Diego theater struggling to explain the movie I had just seen. This was bad news in a way because I’m pretty sure that I’d been assigned to review it for the newspaper.
Maybe not. Reviewing movies was not my full-time gig with the paper. But I knew I had to write about it.
“It’s like … It’s like.” I stopped. Closed my eyes. Inhaled.
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Cheer up all you ink-stained wretches of a dying breed, Molly Ringwald finds editing sexy.
Well, to be specific, she finds standing over the shoulder of her husband, the writer-editor Panio Gianopoulos, and watching him edit is very sexy. Well, close enough. Maybe not enough to bring back editing in the Artificial Intelligence Age, but comforting just the same.
Somebody out there likes us!
Come to think of it, Molly Ringwald is pretty easy to like, too.
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Musings, Magic, San Miguel and More 
