If neither of my readers has figured it out yet, the hoy mismo articles are about the daily life of a fifty-eight year old retired teacher, former hippy, guitar player, would be poet and painter, occasional actor and singer, one-time smoker, golfer, tennis player, and perpetually nosey guy who thinks about a wide range of narrow topics that he finds safe to deal with but who does not have the sense to check his words, sometimes, before they do fly out and, sometimes, must deal with the carnage thereby wrought–one of those who insists his fallibility is the result of being human, and who tries to allow that same fallibility in others but who admits this is a difficult proposition sometimes and he begs forgiveness in advance for his many prejudgments that, often, are exactly the same sort of unreflective repetitions of some of the injustices that his so-called culture has given him. He is happy with this.

Today a late start. The dream life is very active these days and, in some respects, ever so more attractive that the tedium of the so-called modern day. So we slept in. The one appointment on the calendar was with good friend Joel H., with whom we have been planning a class in improvization.

We agreed today that we needed to get closer to the potential student pool which, we calculate, are probably in school at UTB and TSTC or hanging in their associated communities, perhaps between stints in school, who are ready for a truly disciplined approach to acting and the one that’s actually the most fun.

Second, we needed to give those students adequate lead time to, first recognize that classes are being offered and, second, discover that it’s something they want and need to do. So, a generous supply of brochures, this time. Flyers, also, maybe even flyers with contact info on tabs. But brochures are the thing– they can take them home, leave them on the dresser a while. That’s important. People still want the concrete. Grey and white on colored papers of better quality. Mildly more expensive, but not prohibitively so.

And music, we talked of, and the possibility of starting a jam night somewhere, maybe an acoustic jam at the downtown coffee shop, the Java Café. Jam, not open mike. Acoustic so you don’t get the Smoke on the Water crowd taking over everything. I like power chords as well as the next guy and rock and roll was the first thing I learned to do, but you can do them all of that on acoustic instruments, too, and still have some room for collaboration.

I stayed away from here because it was turning obsessive. And the projects I have going on streets and soon on Drainage District Number One and the Paseo’s so-called resacas as flood agents for the less wealthy neighborhoods to the north of Ditch Number One are going to be long term, perhaps years. I’m assuming that I’ve pissed several public officials off by publishing their email, but discussions on public topics with public officials must always be understood as public events, even when they occur over coffee and it’s all nicey nicey chat chat.

The Pablo Kisel inquiry is at a standstill. Santiago Navarro of the Public Works Department promised a call on the costs of repairs since its acceptance, but has not done that. I think I’m going to have to visit the office. Same for the Engineering department, where I’d like to find the variances from master planning specifications granted to the north Sunrise developer for a right of way narrowed by twenty feet and a cheaper substitute for soil stabilization. So–today’s day report turns into planning for tomorrow.

Maybe this is always so.

And may your romantic urges, that is, the pleadings of your imagination, come to earth and fulfill you.