Cruznotes Newsletter by Jaime Alejandro | 2.22 & 3.22 Recap
Cruznotes Newsletter by Jaime Alejandro | 2.22 & 3.22 Recap
A cluster. Offline happenings. On the downbeat, we proceed.
Hi friends,
It’s been a while, huh? Here’s what happened in February and March!
Arts Calling
I have to say, getting to meet outstanding people on the Arts Calling podcast has been a real highlight of my life. And we’re just getting started!
For my lone episode of anything this month, I had a beautiful conversation with Joseph Fasano about fatherhood, poetry, the path of an artist, and so much more! Joseph’s passion reminds me why I choose to write and make art. Do yourself a favor and stop by josephfasano.net, click here for the episode link, or click below to listen on YouTube!
Swimming.
Before things got crazy, I thought they were crazy. I had a few minutes and strummed the guitar and I uttered the phrase swimming in a forest. Sometimes it feels good to scribble something for my future self. It resonates now more than before.
I recorded a demo with my guitar and hope to add more layers to this. More to come.
Bless Me, Coatlicue: Jaime Back on Stage!
I did a show in Laramie in February celebrating the life of literary master Rudolfo Anaya. The play, Bless Me, Coatlicue. I had a two-hour drive for weekend rehearsals, tried to do my research as best I could online and re-read Bless Me, Ultima, Rudy’s breakout novel and now a classic. I think it went really well. Stage acting is something else; I’ve been away from the stage for so long I thought I forgot how to do it! Turns out it’s just second nature at this point, but personally: It was a daunting, humbling, yet beautiful experience.
Getting to work with Dr. Cecilia Aragon, one of my mentors at the University of Wyoming was such a pleasure. She is doing tremendous work bringing representation to our Wyoming stages and I’ve learned so much from her about resilience, craft, and Latinidad. I’m so glad we got this to happen.
Thanks to the Wyoming Tribune Eagle for the review!
Finally, a special thank you to Dr. Robert Con Davis-Undiano for capturing Rudy’s incredible life on paper, CC for her kind and inspiring direction, and the University of Wyoming/WYOpen Stages for this opportunity!
Car Trouble, and how Memory Shapeshifts (A Life Update)
I wonder if someone cursed my family this year.
As a recovering Catholic, I still have that recurring habit of suspecting foul play when things don’t line up, when the unexpected happens, or when life forgets to buy tomatoes and prefers instead to chuck feces like some drunken, belligerent groundling at the stage whereupon your life unfolds.
It feels like the family has been ill with colds and bugs and flus on and off for a month now. Early in March, I felt horrible. I went to the doctor and he said I had a strep-like infection that ended up knocking me on my rear end for two weeks. I got sick on my son’s birthday. The clog from the infection in my left ear is finally fading thanks to antibiotics and homeopathic medicines. After weeks, we appear to be on the mend.
But that wasn’t it.
We live in Wyoming, a vast state vividly intersected by its long highways, with towns so sprawled out, point A and point B resemble two insects caught at the far ends of a spider web: Tragically apart and stuck without recourse. With limited public transportation in our city, a car is essential around these parts.
Long story short, this is what happened: My wife’s car crapped out, so we got it fixed. My car was dying, so we traded my car in for a newer vehicle. Then the engine in my wife’s car gave out and died. Again. For good. Then this week, we found out the vehicle we just purchased a month ago will need a new transmission and other repairs. This year definitely feels like one step forward, fifteen steps back and down the stairs you forgot were there.
Being an adult can be so disorienting.
One minute, your efforts and hard work are falling into place, and the next minute you’re the one falling. While in freefall, it’s hard to know how far the drop goes. Will we land on our feet? Crashland? … Or not make it at all? The chaos of the situation distorts what’s actually happening, and before you know it, you’ve manufactured a scenario that has very little to do with what’s actually happening.
So what’s really happening? A shitty financial setback disguised as tragedy.
In mid-March, I visited my old stomping grounds at Casper College for a work event. I couldn’t find parking space, so I drove about the old buildings of an institution that gave me so much.
Ages ago, I used to sit on the steps of the Casper College music building, outside of the music rehearsal rooms. It was my Freshman year studying theater performance and communications, I lived off-campus in the most cost-effective apartment four best friends could find, and I didn’t have a car.
I walked home most days, unless my roommates’ schedules aligned or I snagged a lift from theater friends. I packed a few snacks. I had Elliott Smith, the Beatles, and the occasional musical theater ballads blended into my CD mixes. I was short on funds often, but mostly okay. Mostly surviving.
This month has tested my family. Haven’t had much chance to write, or interview folks on the podcast, or do much of anything outside of problem-solve real world stuff. In recent weeks, I have felt like that Freshman, unsure he would make it at all. It makes me take stock of how far I’ve come, what I have to offer after all these years: how I can get us out of this car situation. Adulting shit. A big answerless question constantly asking itself; one that rests upon my head like one of those beer-can-strapped drinking hats with bendy straws, and instead of alcohol, feeds me a steady drip of reluctance, and leaves no optimism to the imagination.
Yeah…
But then I snap out of it and recall that my own narrative isn’t carved in stone. It shapeshifts to the will of my emotions. Some days I look back on every step I walked to the old college apartment with complete joy and fondness. Other times, those same memories are gut punches telling me I had no idea what I was doing. I felt alone, broke, and scared most of the time. Must have been the Elliott Smith playing in the background at all times.
Nonetheless, these mighty-morphin’ memories are all I have. I have a choice to perceive them in a way that will help me move forward. I think I know how to do that now. When you’re on foot, you can’t bring your baggage with you.
The car’s gonna get fixed. My family’s healthy. No curses. Just me and the narratives I choose. And on this heavy stroll, I have many silver linings fluttering above me, regardless of how many clouds the Wyoming wind continues to bellow at me.
A Trip to the Theatre!
So, before the car nonsense, one of the highlights of February was heading down to Denver to catch the touring production of Hamilton! My son has been obsessed with it and to experience the show with him and Madd was phenomenal. I’m also proud to report that my son absolutely kills the opening numbers while rapping in the shower.
The Square | Production Begins!
National Poetry Month Extravaganza!
On a whim, I reached out on Twitter asking to interview poets on Arts Calling, to celebrate National Poetry Month. To my surprise, I received an absolutely phenomenal response and so I am bringing you about 20 poet interviews with April. I hope I can share as many as I possibly can, and I can’t wait to meet these incredible people! Brace yourselves!
Thank goodness for Elliott.
I shared this a while back on my Instagram, and since this newsletter reminded me of Elliott, I figured I’d share some thoughts on an incredibly impactful moment in my artistic life…
March 13th, 1998. During the Oscars. That was the first time I heard Elliott Smith. I was twelve years of age in a little Podunk town in Wyoming. He was just a guy with a guitar in his white suit. The music started playing and he proceeded to perform one of the most beautiful and captivating songs I had ever heard. It was honest, and spoke to me in a way very few artists of any medium ever have. Hearing Miss Misery was one of the first times I witnessed a work of art, and my mind exploded. He showed me the way and much later I would find my artistic sensibility, thanks to his guidance. Moments like that change lives. His work still inspires me. He was transcendent, and I think of him dearly, like an old pen pal who took time out of his day to write someone who never would write back. Thank you Elliott, I wish you were still around. You've been gone nineteen years too long.
So that’s it. There’s much to look forward to. I wish you the best this month. No matter where you are, you deserve to nourish your artistic spirit. Let me know what you’re up to on Twitter @cruzfolio. Do the best you can with what you have. On the downbeat, we proceed.
Much love,
j