News

Going to the movies is a part of most of our lives. But for many families with special needs, heading out to see the latest blockbuster is not an option. 

In the movie business, bigger is better, and the local cineplex features an explosion of bewildering options designed to overwhelm the senses.  For most of us, that’s what makes the movies fun – but for others, it can be too much to take.

Vivian Edens is a San Antonio mom whose son, Hunter, has Asperger Syndrome, a disorder on the autism spectrum.

Onstage at the South By Southwest festival in Austin last month, Girl in a Coma played to a packed house at a club on Sixth Street with a special guest, Cherie Currie, co-founder with Joan Jett of the iconic late seventies all-female band, The Runaways.  Girl in a Coma’s bassist Jenn Alva says it was a real “rock star” moment for her.

“I guess we really never think about ‘Oh, we’re so cool,’ but when we were the backup band for her, we just felt like, ‘YEAH!,” says Alva. 

Drummer Phanie Diaz, laughing, pipes in, “Yeah, Jenn’s lips naturally snarled!”

Editor’s Note: When I received a review copy of the new direct-to-video movie Santa Buddies in the mail, I knew exactly who to call. My own buddy Ryan, whom I’ve known since college, tolerates excruciatingly bad movies well, for what reason I cannot tell. I figured that reading his review of the movie would be much more fun than sitting through 88 minutes of CGI-assisted talking dogs. I wasn’t disappointed. Without further ado, here’s the longest analysis of Santa Buddies you’re likely to read on the Internet. Now, I dare you to watch the movie. –Nathan Cone 

Seven-year-old Rowan Isaacson is like many kids his age.  He enjoys playing with toys, reading books, and spending time with friends and family.  But as the new documentary and book "The Horse Boy" illustrates, as little as two years ago, Rowan’s life was very different. 

 The first thing you notice when meeting the San Antonio trio Girl in a Coma in person is how tiny singer Nina Diaz seems. Walking down a hallway in the studios of Texas Public Radio, carrying an acoustic guitar sans case, she looks for all the world like a singer of wispy, confessional coffeehouse folk songs — a light green sweater covers the kaleidoscope of tattoos coloring both of her arms.