HE: Are you alive?photo-7

BP: Define alive.

This little snippet is a text message exchange between Henry Estrada and moi, just 48 hours after my arrival in what I’m officially now calling The Vortex (San Antonio). See, I landed right smack on the front porch of art, as Hills Snyder so aptly puts it, by being taken straight from the airport to Mike Casey’s home, where an overwhelcoming committee (Bud and Pat Smothers, Henry Estrada,

Karen Mahaffy, pinche Anjalita ‘the Gupta’ and el Raygun Johns, Ethel Shipton and Nate Cassie, Rudy ‘Frutti’ Choperena, Katie Pell, Patti Ortiz and Dwight from Liberty Bar amongst many, many others) had margaritas in hand. I hit the ground drinking: enter the zombie dance.

Why the zombie dance, you might ask? Ok, I was actually nervous about the fact that the migrations officer at the airport might ask me if I had legitimate reasons to be in San Antonio. Psssshhhh, after a ‘nice necklace’ (see picture) and ‘welcome to San Antonio’ I started to get an inkling of the notion of ‘Southern hospitality’… (think tequila, not mint juleps) Now that zombie pride is coming I shall be shouting ‘We’re here, we’re weird!’ and doin’ the shuffle…

So how do I describe my arrival? Simply put: It’s like I died and went to Chuck’s.