More than five years ago, we lived in a “penthouse” apartment that overlooked this tree from nearly a block away. You could not miss it. You could not turn away. Its color is otherworldly among the beige and brown stucco buildings.
After the splendid jacaranda trees drop their lavender flowers, this one, and more like it in hidden courtyards behind drab walls, spring to life.
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Read the latest on FASMA 2025 here.
The third edition of the San Miguel de Allende Festival of the Arts (FASMA2025) is coming in August and will offer more than 100 events from scores of local arts and culture organizations. Music, theater, opera, film, dance, literary and plastic arts programs will be presented in many of San Miguel’s finest venues, Aug. 1-17.
Individually, these are the kinds of events for which this city is famous around the world.
Collectively, this is an opportunity for San Miguelians to sample the many lively, beautiful, and inspiring performance programs that make up the fabric of this community.
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The celebration of the Resurrection of Christ on Saturday night at the Parroquia de San Antonio de Padua in Colonia San Antonio was incredibly moving. Worshipers filled the plaza to overflowing. They stood and prayed for hours during the Easter Vigil as the life and death of Jesus Christ was recounted from the altar.
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Update: The wall of masks has been sold to a lovely couple here in San Miguel. He very quickly offered to buy them all to augment his own collection. Thank you to everyone who expressed an interest in the entire collection or in individual masks. You are all appreciated!
In another life, Rose Alcantara traveled the world, settled in The Gambia for a couple of years, and eventually returned to California to raise two beautiful children.
Along the way, between 1978 and 1992, she collected masks, the way other people collect souvenirs.
Well, not really the same way. Souvenirs are mass-produced. She looked mostly for one-of-a-kind creations from the original artists.
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Hi! And welcome back to the popular shame game “So You Think You Can Rant?” where it’s your words against the troll-a-verse! I’m your host, Seymour Bittame!
For those of you who haven’t played before, the rules are simple:
A scenario pulled from a real social media post will be put up on the screen and our four panelists will have one minute to respond to it in the worst possible ways imaginable. Oh, yes, without violating FCC rules on taste and profanity.
Audience laughs.
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In front of the Parroquia de San Miguel Arc Angel — all day Friday for the feast day of Señor de La Conquista — hundreds of brightly costumed dancers express the most joyous form of worship imaginable.
And exhausting.
Long before noon, it was hot out there. Really hot. I’ve never seen headdresses come off so quickly and water get consumed so rapidly as today. Can you blame them?
But always there were smiles.
So, what’s this all about?
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The theme of Michael Hoppé’s annual San Miguel de Allende concert on Wednesday night was “Together!” And, indeed, even inside the expansive and nearly full Teatro Angela Peralta, it was a cozy affair.
That was largely due to the artist’s engaging reminisces between each of the 21 compositions that were performed and the music itself which is endlessly appealing on so many emotional levels.
But Hoppé had a subtitle to offer: Encouragement. You could see it in the five talented musicians who took turns performing with the maestro and in his own recollections on the trajectory of his career.
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A countertenor knocks your socks off, every time. Because you don’t see it coming.
The fellow is moving along in the sweet clarity of a tenor through a lovely piece of music, something about love lost and regret, let’s say. You’re feeling it. Because the singing matches the lyrics and matches the emotions. On the edge of crying, let’s say.
Suddenly the singer veers upward into a celestial aural region that you were in no way expecting – up where the emotions and sensations are usually reserved for the pure of heart. For angels and their earthly equals.
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A lot of people say to me, “Bob, I have this really annoying friend. Annoying, but not so bad that I want to kill him. Is there anything a passive-aggressive person like myself can do about this situation?”
My first instinct is to say, “My friend, you’ve come to the right place. Have you ever considered gifting them a puppy?
I don’t say that, however.
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A young boy named Donny sits by the pond, staring at his lifeless pet turtle, the one that he had named Democracy. The turtle’s legs and head are nowhere to be found. There is just the colorful shell of Democracy.
Donny is inconsolable. He is bereft. The tears are rolling down his cheeks in waves.
His mother comes out and tries to comfort him but he wants none of it. Nothing she says reaches him through the heavy veil of grief.
“He’s dead. He’s dead,” he repeats over and over.
She calls their neighbor and friend, a psychiatrist, but nothing the man says can calms the boy.
“He’s dead. He’s dead,” he repeats over and over.
Finally, the father, Elon, returns home and takes the boy for a ride in his Tesla.
“We will have a wonderful funeral for Democracy. The best funeral. It will be like no other funeral in history. Perhaps the most amazing funeral ever. You can invite your best friends to attend.
“And when the funeral is over, we will have a feast in Democracy’s honor with all your favorite foods and the best cake and ice cream.”
“Really? Cake and ice cream?” asks Donny.
“Absolutely,” says Elon.
“And finally, we will bury Democracy out on the lawn, just below your bedroom window. I will carve a beautiful and expensive tombstone for Democracy and put a little light on it. Whenever you want, you can turn the light on and off from a switch I will install next to your bed.”
The more Elon talked and promised, the better his son, Donny, began to feel. His eyes widened with each promise made by the father until they were like saucers. By the time they returned home Donny was on board.
So the two walked out to the pond, hand in hand, to begin making preparations for the burial of Democracy. In his head, Donny was drawing up a list of all the friends he would invite to the party.
Only, Democracy wasn’t dead.
The turtle was swimming around, as happy as can be. He had all his legs. He had his head, certainly, and he was chasing little tiny fish for supper.
Elon and little Donny just stood there, staring at the turtle. Wordless. Eyes wide. Jaws dropped.
Democracy was as healthy as ever.
Finally, quietly, Donny looked up to his dad with an expressionless face.
“Let’s kill it,” he said.
(I owe you one, James Thurber. The great humorist tells a version of this story in the introduction to “Collected Fables.” In fact, in one version of this story read on the radio, Bing Crosby was the voice of the father.)
The image above is generated by Artificial Intelligence.
Musings, Magic, San Miguel and More 