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The Film Blog – Friday, August 28th, 2009  
Ted dead. 
Rhymes. I guess it even has some reason. 
Fifteen months after being diagnosed with a fatal brain tumor, death is generally the conclusion. 
I guess I shouldn’t call him Ted, since I never really made his acquaintance. Mr. Kennedy is a little too formal. “The Distinguished Senator from Massachusetts ”—a bit pompous. While others may debate his generosity, his cunning, his liberality or his political savvy, I would like to take my blog today to commemorate the true victory of his life. 
Ted Kennedy did something that most people never succeed in accomplishing.  He learned how to unfreeze a cold moment. 
I am often astounded by the pieces of tragedy or disappointment that literally “freeze” human beings in a cold moment where they remain in an icy grave of indecision. Ted Kennedy had many such cold moments—near-death experiences, the loss of three brothers in violent actions, the loss of other family members, the childish mishap on a bridge leading to the death of a young girl, alcoholism, womanizing and an array of misjudgments and miscalculations that left his general demeanor and wisdom in question. Any one of them could have frozen him in a status of non-productivity and chilled him on ice for all time. We are all surrounded by people who, within a few sentences, let us know the cave in which they dwell, where they have crawled to escape the pain and reality of their tragedy. They are stymied. They are frozen in a cold moment. 
We sympathize but dare not empathize with them, lest we, too, become so self-piteous that we are overcome by an avalanche of our own grief. 
Ted Kennedy was a master of unfreezing the cold moment, taking the icebergs that would normally sink any titanic of possibility, and surviving the cold waters to sail again. 
He found a way to forgive himself and allow himself an opportunity to not only speak of repentance, but bring fruit worthy of repentance to bear through the life that he attempted to construct for himself. 
His morality, his political philosophy and his standards of behavior may all be debatable and in question, but he leaves a legacy to us all—a reminder that the only way to dispel the cold of a moment is to warm it with hope through change. I do not know whether others will note this trait in our fellow-fallen-human. But though he lived a life riddled with mistakes, they were not his undoing, but were used as building blocks to climb a little higher. 
Was he a good man? He understood goodness. 
Was he a generous man? He learned to give. 
Was he a righteous man? He knew where righteousness abided. 
Was he politically correct? He was on a quest to correct all things political. 
Was he a man of high moral standing? He purchased a ladder. 
Ted dead. 
But what I hope lives on is the indomitable spirit that refuses to be encased in the iciness of inevitable failure. He stands as an example of one who truly learned to unfreeze the cold moment. 
 
Yours, 
J 
The Film Blog – Friday, August 21st, 2009  
 . . . And forgive us our shorts-comings . . . 
No, it’s not a misprint.  It’s the latest piece of dribble to drabble out of the news media. First Lady Michelle Obama had the audacity to step off of Air Force One on a quick vacation to the Grand Canyon —wearing shorts. Everyone was in an uproar. Polls were taken. Conversations about propriety were initiated by disheveled news persons who only wished they looked so good. 
I will have to agree there are some people who shouldn’t wear shorts—I being one of them. Matter of fact, I did not wear a pair of shorts in public until I was nearly thirty years old. · Yes, if you have very fat legs, shorts possess a horror both coming and going. 
· And that goes for legs that have dimples at the knees, too. Not exactly your best profile. 
· Then there are legs that have the knobby knees, that look like you could turn them, and water should come out somewhere. 
· Next, legs that look like a relief map, with rivers and tributaries everywhere. 
· Overly-hairy legs give you the feeling that someone was rolled in glue and then fell down on a barber shop floor. 
· Sometimes legs are too short. 
· Certainly, sometimes legs are too long. 
· And that’s not even to consider the backside of this issue. · And please, do not let me fail to mention that legs CAN be overly-tanned, looking like they should be in a bucket from Kentucky Fried Chicken. 
Our First Lady has none of these problems. She is quite presentable in shorts. Shouldn’t that be the end of it? I mean, if we had a really ugly First Lady with really bad legs, who was causing international ridicule and jokes in the Arab world, lending itself to the increased recruitment of terrorists, then I guess we should demand a cover-up. But I do think this is a classic case of “if you got ’em, flaunt ’em.” And even though I do wear shorts now, I never really flaunt them, if you know what I mean. So to those who are so bored in our present culture that they think Mrs. Obama’s gams are fair game, let me say that we have been desperate for some time for a First Lady that would help us “get a leg up” on some of our problems. Thank you, First Lady, for having the fortitude of being yourself. 
And, by the way, making that look quite good. 
 
Yours, 
J 
The Film Blog – Friday, August 14th, 2009 The reason democracy doesn’t work is because it works too well. What I mean is, if you gather a group of people in a room and everyone is allowed to voice their opinions, it seems in the moment that this is a very fruitful and helpful way to develop ideas and goals. 
The problem comes in with the concept of implementation. Because any fifth grade student can tell you that it is impossible to enact the wishes of ten people. It is also virtually impossible to come up with a compromise of ten opinions that actually is functional enough to stand on its own legs and begin to walk toward success. 
I have to giggle a little bit as our loony political process attempts to return to town meetings as if we’re some sort of Greek city-state in ancient times instead of a sprawling, diverse nation of 300-million plus, with both raging hormones and opinions. And then everyone is shocked when the opinionated turn mean-spirited. No—democracy is a great notion that must NEVER be instituted in full practice. We are a republic. 
In a nutshell, that means everyone loses sometimes. Someone temporarily gains. And ultimately, through trial and error, we find a desirable path. 
I would call it the got’er, the grower and the go’er process. The got’er is an idea that launches us towards a solution. In no way does it resemble the final product, except perhaps in its passionate resolve. It’s just a way to get the ball rolling. We can’t debate health care, because nobody knows what the hell they’re doing. We need a got’er—a plan to start with that doesn’t make anybody particularly happy, but can be fine-tuned as we go. Without it, we live under the illusion that we can democratically arrive through discussion at a pleasing and plausible possibility. We need a got’er. Then it can become a grower. In other words, “That didn’t work. Let’s try this.” Or, “Here. Look what I found. This might help.”  I don’t know about you, but I don’t buy any car I don’t test drive. And I won’t buy into any idea or plan that isn’t given a chance to go out there and fail and expose the fallacies so they can be corrected en route instead of on the drawing board. Sooner or later, you have to start. Otherwise, you can’t grow into excellence.  Yes—you need a got’er—just a plan to get things rolling. And then you use discoveries to create your grower, an emerging and burgeoning juggernaut moving towards completion. And finally, you end up with a go’er. And a go’er is nothing more than something that’s been battered enough that its outer hull has been toughened to criticism and works well enough to be used, even as we continue to improve upon it. I do not know when we got onto this democracy kick, but now I see it everywhere—in business, in churches, in government and even in families. Democracy does not work because it works too well. Everybody has an opinion and wants a little piece of their personal platitudes to be placed in the plan. 
God forbid. 
Instead, we need to let the plan unfold as the errors pop up and we correct them, and grow in a common treasure hunt. 
So forget your town meetings. 
Forget your council gatherings debating questions, hoping to arrive at a compromise. 
Compromise has never worked in this country. It didn’t work when we were seeking independence. It didn’t work on the issue of slavery. It didn’t work on the issue of World War II. And it’s not going to work on the abiding need for health care. Grow up. 
Sometimes your opinion is meant for the shower—just like your singing.  
Yours, 
J 

The Film Blog – Friday, August 7th, 2009  
Consolation—a word which has degraded through time to depict a prize given to someone who fails to win a contest. 
 Actually, it is better defined as the art, craft and heart to console. 
After seven months on the road, traveling in twenty-two states and one hundred fifty-seven cities, I can tell you there is a great need for consolation. The soul of the American people desperately needs to be consoled. 
Right- and left-wing radio is certainly not going to do it.  Enraging our sensibilities and engorging us with mythological conclusions does not soothe the savage beast that stalks us. 
Discovering that we’re going to have guest judges on American Idol is also not very consoling. Hearing grown men and women playing grown-up, using exemplary parliamentary procedure in overstated chambers of representation while they literally debate the health and welfare of people they do not know is devoid of consolation. 
Many of you who read my blog are artists, or people who believe in a creative bend to your existence. You want consolation in this hour? You want to feel that your life situation and your future is in your hands, rather than at the mercy of bumbling practitioners of law, who entered politics because they really weren’t that good at being lawyers? Do something. 
While the nation is sinking in a pool of self-pity and residual incompetence, step out of your box and do something. 
Produce the play. 
Write the song. 
Share the idea. 
Secure the patent. 
Make the trip. 
Reach out to the poor. 
Change your job. 
Expand your business. 
Start your business. 
Or just enlarge the borders of your thinking and your productivity to attempt to pull a paddle out in the rowboat in the midst of this sea of creative doldrums. 
The best consolation that can be offered to anyone at this stage is that we still live in a nation that allows for a tiny idea to become a small plan, gain breath and toddle its way to an adolescent phase of expansion that can mature into a full and complete well-grown project. 
Now is the time to do something. It is the only consolation we have for subsisting in a toilet bowl of inactivity which eventually will have to be flushed down—so we should climb out as quickly as possible. It is not an issue of rising above the ashes, but rather, refusing to leap into the quicksand with the debaters, disclaimers and those involved in the debauchery of our culture, and instead, begin to demonstrate the excellence of the human experience by exhilarating the spirit that was breathed into each of us—to create. Consolation. Yes, maybe it is a prize. 
But it is a gift awaits anyone who will step out of the herd that is certainly bound for slaughter. 
 
Yours, 
 J 

The Film Blog – Friday, July 31st, 2009 Jesus had enough. It was ridiculous. 
Perched in his position at the right hand of God, he heard about the squabble between Buddha and Mohammed. It seems Buddha had gone to Mohammed’s mountain, complaining about the prophet mooching followers through intimidation. Mohammed, of course, denied the accusation, greatly offended by such a notion. A Unitarian woman nearby, noticing the confrontation, called the Heavenly patrol, and before you know it, there was a great brouhaha that ended very unsatisfactorily, with all camps entrenched, armed to the teeth with insults. Yeah, Jesus heard about it and figured he would just have to drop his work of feeding the children of the world and filling in some of those black holes in Universe Three and get these two fellows together and see if they couldn’t come up with an amiable solution. So both Buddha and Mohammed were invited to come to the Heavenly mansion, where Jesus had cleverly recycled an old piece of magic by turning some water into wine for what he hoped would turn into a great time of “sip and share.” Well, they arrived, sat down and there was immediate trouble. Turns out that Mohammed was a tea-totaler and Buddha was a little disconcerted about whether the grapes in the wine were pressed at the feet of Tibetan peasants. 
So once the conflict began, the nastiness ensued. Mohammed called Buddha a porker and Buddha pointed 
Out that at least he didn’t eat goat. Jesus tried to step in and bring some commonality to it by mentioning the importance of brotherhood, but Buddha made a poke at Mohammed about his disregard for the sisters of the world, and Mohammed insisted that Buddha spend a little less time sitting under the Juniper tree and a little more time moving around and seeing things the way they really are. Meanwhile, the wine that used to be water sat there, totally ignored. Every attempt at common ground became unearthed by some new squabble or disagreement. At length, Jesus dismissed the meeting with a word of prayer, which also fell apart at the end because no one knew how to close it out—you know—in whose name. So Mohammed went back to his mountain, thoroughly convinced he had been unrighteously accused of false doings. And Buddha returned to Nirvana, content that he was on a higher plane of thinking. 
Jesus went back to complain to his Dad and was surprised when the Father called him a numbskull for thinking that such a small matter was his business, and that anything could be resolved over a bottle of wine. 
So Jesus went off by himself, as he often did on earth, found a rock and sat down and mused about his day. He decided that sometimes a squabble is just a squabble, a fuss is just a fuss, and people get bored enough that they turn a molehill into a mountain (by the way, no disrespect to the Moslem community.) 
He also decided that if you’re going to be Jesus and your name means “Salvation,” then you ought to be out saving things instead of negotiating tiny disagreements like you’re Judge Judy. Feeling better, he went back to his perch in Heaven and began to deal with a real, burgeoning crisis—Cash for Clunkers.  You know, it’s almost out of money.   
J 

The Film Blog – Friday, July 24th, 2009 

I think it was Buffalo Springfield, in the song, Retrospective, that said it best: 
How is anyone right when everybody’s wrong? 
 Let’s look at our cast of characters: 
· An absent-minded professor, arriving home, who can’t quite figure out how to open up his own front door. 
· Secondly, an eager policeman, trying to follow policy to the absence of good common sense. 
· Three: a zealous neighbor, feeling that he or she is doing a good deed, which quickly turns into an intrusive action. 
· A President of the United States , who certainly should have enough to do, but in a fit of boredom, weighs in on a local issue. 
Do you see my point? There is enough innocence AND blame to go around here to create a legitimate paradox of equal dunder-headedness. 
If you’re going to take a long time to get into your house after a vacation, you might not want to act shocked if someone knocks on your door and wants to know what all the commotion was about. My God—you’re supposed to be a Professor at Harvard. How about using some of that academia to access the common sense—and humor—to realize that you just might be responsible for some of your own difficulty because of your bleary-eyed attempts to enter your own home? 
If you’re a policeman arriving on a scene, meeting an aging black man at the door, I don’t think it is too much to ask of you to rally some sensibility, and proceed with a bit of caution instead of overbearing use of policy, to procure your desired results. 
If you’re a next-door neighbor, it might be good when calling to police to tell them that there is a possibility that your next-door neighbor might be returning from his vacation, and that your call is merely precautionary, tempering your alarm. 
And if you’re President of the United States, and especially if you happen to be of the ethnicity of the alleged offended party, it might be a good idea to remain the leader of a whole nation instead of choosing up sides in a news conference that was intended to benefit fifty million people who do not have health insurance. 
I know all four of the offended/offending parties would insist to be that they were just following their personal policy:  
The professor wasn’t going to be pushed around. 
The policeman was going to adhere to protocol. 
The neighbor would ALWAYS call the police if he or she saw such an event transpire. 
And the President, being an activist, has always leapt into situations where there was the hint of prejudice and bigotry. 
But I have to agree with the song. I think everybody’s wrong here, so how could anybody be right? Apologies will be impossible unless they are a chain reaction of one to another, culminating with the logical assertion that on this particular occasion, we were all dorks. 
I am tired of policy followers. And that also goes for the McDonald’s employee who won’t put pickles on my chicken sandwich. That goes for the lady in Columbus , Ohio , who insists that the church couldn’t possibly give more than twenty-five minutes of their time to a guest artist. That goes for the worker at Wal-Mart, who has no idea how to check me out because their computers are down, and I’ll have to wait to buy my purchases until they come back up. 
And that goes for the professor who fails to understand that every tight-lipped bureaucrat wearing a uniform is not a bigot, but instead, just an insufferable hard-ass. 
That goes for a policeman who should have enough community understanding to comprehend that the hat of policy doesn’t fit every head. 
That goes for the neighbor, whose precautionary action triggered a collision of ideologies and cultures without regard to some sensibility about life on his or her street. 
And that goes for a President who has no business taking sides in a small-minded quarrel between overly-egotistical and aggressive participants. 
Are there any sane people left in this country, or are we so desperate for fodder to feed right- and left-wing radio and the twenty-four-hour news cycle, that we might actually be paying some of these idiotic, hapless individuals to create some of the scenarios to be blown out of proportion? 
There is no answer to this problem, because there really is no problem. Did you ever think about that?—that the reason we have difficulty finding resolution to well-established quandaries is because the application of common sense would eliminate the fussiness in the first place. 
I am for the revival of common sense. It leads to other common occurrences—like common decency, common awareness, common cause, and, of course, commonality. 
So—did you hear the one about the professor who got in an argument with the policeman because the next-door neighbor thought the house was being broken into, so the President of the United States weighed in with his opinion in the midst of an economic global melt-down and a healthcare issue that makes the bubonic plague look like an outbreak of warts? 
Well, I did. 
And if there is a God in Heaven, maybe He will grant us the intelligence, the law enforcement, the neighbors and the national leadership to make this never happen again. 

The Film Blog Friday, July 17th, 2009 

 I was just seventeen, 
You know what I mean.  
I had never worked with plaster of paris, or cement, or whatever it turned out to be. I don’t remember now. But I thought it was really funny. After all, a man had just walked on the moon, and I was going to take my foot and put it into a small bucket filled with goo, pull my foot out, let the goo dry, and then paint it red and called it the Red Foot Award, in honor of Neil Armstrong walking on the moon. 
It was a joke I was going to do at our coffee house, which had just opened in Sunbury , Ohio . I was going to take this foot I had made out of plaster of paris that I had painted red and have an award show with several nominees from among my friends, for punked out accomplishments and then present one of them with the prestigious “footer.” 
We were all high—and not on grass, by the way. Life. 
Rock ‘n roll was diverse. Sex was new, forbidden and therefore great fun. We all had opinions about Viet Nam . I had just discovered that you can’t make sandwiches and put lettuce on them and then freeze them and try to thaw them and still eat them—because the lettuce turns into slimy sloop. My new girlfriend had an orange Mustang with mushroom and butterfly decals on it—and did I mention it was a convertible? And I almost forgot—I was allowed to drive it.   
It was a season of summer—warm, delightful—and our little town had recently opened up a municipal pool so we didn’t have to go all the way to Westerville to swim. The coffee house we had begun had between fifty and a hundred young humans gathered every week—to just goof. 
We weren’t allowed to be idealistic, because pictures of blood and gore from Viet Nam were on our television screen every night, but we still hoped and believed, though inundated with death and destruction. 
We were kids. 
But it wasn’t about I-pods. It wasn’t just about the music—because the music was not some abstract tune being played by a producer who thought he or she could make a buck by mixing some sounds together. The music was an odd blending of the turmoil of a torn-apart nation, mingled with the optimism and the joy of a people who still wanted to be in love. 
Was it better? 
I don’t know. It was different. And when I went to the coffee house that night, I went knowing that a man had walked on the moon, and I had an ugly cement red foot in my hand that I was going to use to capture the moment by giving an award to Mike (as it turned out) for steaming up the most windows in a car with his girlfriend, Carol. 
It was silly. We could be silly. Because the world was in the hands of people who cared enough to send an Ohioan to the surface of the moon, even though the very fiber of our country was being torn apart at the time. 
It was a good night. The stars were shining down upon us, a bit more impressed because we mere mortals from the Planet Earth had made an overture their way. 

The Film Blog – Friday, July 10th, 2009  

Gainesville Florida is a long way from Nashville,Tn. No ,I am not starting a very rather obvious travel log or a Marloweesque detective voiceover.We drove the 10 1/2 hours to High Springs ,Florida (outside Gainesville) for the first Extra/ordinary Film Festival.We offered an acting and directing seminar and 3 Feature film premiers (Budd,Bernee,and Four on the Floor) for thirty dollars.
 
Are publicist Steve booked a TV interview the day before in Gainesville, so we left early enough Tuesday night to have around an hour to sleep in the parking lot of the station.It was raining like crazy and the bugs and frogs seemed like they came from central casting of Jurassic Park. Everyone was talking about the Michael Jackson Tribute which was a little odd before my segment. TV shows are crazy because they are over so fast. You have around 2 min to get in 7 points ( Don't forget the website) and seem loose doing it.The producer asked for a couple free passes and we had a day off in Florida so we drove to Jacksonville.
Highlights
1.Seafood quesadilla
2.Overcast Beach
3.Custard Italian ice Dessert
4.Sweet tomatoes Salad Buffet
5.Amazing hotel sleeping
 
The next morning we went to do another TV show which thanks to confusion by all parties concerned we arrived two hours early for.After talking about are dog and pony show between segments like the wheel of felonies and a butter sculpture of MJ we headed for High Springs for the Festival.
 
The theatre has been there 100 years and would make an excellent location for anything involving Greasers or Zombies.We had a handful of very enthusiastic folks for the seminars.We talked about what a director wants and how to fake it if it is not coming naturally.There was a real excitement and passion with the crowd and they all seemed read to take on the world after we were done.But now you show your movies.You talked a good game but now can you deliver? Everyone loved them,bought them,and lamented more people were not there.Exhausted at 12 AM we stated to head home. We met some cool people and had allot of fun but ultimately losta chunk of money because not enough folks showed.Would we do it again? With some revisions financially.Are we glad we went? absolutely! How else would we see a Michael Jackson butter sculpture.
-- Jon Russell Cring

The Film Blog – Friday, July 3rd, 2009   Top ten rejected names for the United States of America by First Continental Congress: 
 
10. The American States of United 
9.  The Cotton Club. 
8.  Snuffville 
7.  George’s Place 6.  Freebird 
5.  Slaves’R’Us 4. Indian Given 
3. Canada , Too! 
2. The Thirteen Lucky Colonies 
1. Ben Franklin’s Five & Dime  
Enjoy the freedom before it goes on sale! 
Yours, J 

The Film Blog – Friday, June 26th, 2009  

It probably wouldn’t have worked as well musically—I mean, lyrically. But every once in a while, veracity in reporting is more important than pentameter. I’m talking about Billy Joel’s song. You know—I Love You Just the Way You Are. It is a bit amusing that he wrote that song for Christie Brinkley, whom, very shortly after, he divorced. Maybe if he would have been more honest in the lyric and had written, I Love You Just the Way You Are When I Love You—thus reality. Being human, we are often incapacitated by foibles and mannerisms that are innately distasteful to us. Well, maybe not innately. Perhaps we weren’t born with them, but we certainly have acquired them and cemented them into our consciousness. Equally so, we have our own quibbles and quirks that are of great sentimentality to us—that others might just find a bit distasteful. Behold the battlefield of love. 
Can I let you be faulted, let you know I don’t particularly like it, but let you continue to carry on with your simple sensibilities without destroying our co-habitation? I guess that’s the whole meaning of “irreconcilable differences.” It is just “what I’ve always disliked about what you do which, for a time, was hidden away by my lust, and is now coming to the forefront as the predominant thought I have about you.” Certainly we are intelligent enough as a race to maintain our flaws—or just ways of doing things—without having to flaunt them in front of someone else or believe that they must accept them to really, truly love us. But for some reason, our society has become obsessed with the notion of “universal acceptance.” I don’t know whether that’s possible. And if plausible, I don’t know whether it is just a big con game of pretending we are open, when inside, we’re churning to the point of fury over some particular thing we perceive in others as “weirdness.” No, what is true is: I do love you just the way you are—as long as I love you. When I’m in a bad mood, tired, hot, frustrated, cold or just generally annoyed, every little thing you do that I don’t like—well, it’s just like it swallowed a great big giant pill and grew up to grow a bean stalk right in the middle of your forehead. I won’t feel that way in an hour. I don’t feel that way most of the time. But it would be helpful, in those weak moments when my humanity has grabbed me by the short hairs, to not demand universal acceptance from me or tearfully feel offended over my grouchy demeanor. 
That’s right. Sometimes it’s better to leave it alone. It actually will be better in the morning, when I can go back to loving you just the way you are—because I actually love you again. “What are you saying, Jon? That people go in and out of love??” Yes. Perhaps hourly. But if they have good sense, they don’t verbalize it in some sort of nasty honesty session. And they just leave each other alone until the moments of insanity pass and the chill of coldness melts away. We are like this. We are not always hot for each other. We go through seasons of feelings. The intelligent thing to remember is that ninety per cent of the time there is nobody we would rather be with, and for that other ten per cent, I would suggest a cold drink, an old movie—or a nap. Leave it alone. And don’t demand that people give you a hundred per cent. After all, Meat Loaf was pretty accurate when he said, Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad. At least for this afternoon.  
Yours, 
J 

The Film Blog – Friday, June 19th, 2009 

“Let’s just move on.” Seems to be the new mantra of a world careening toward unsatisfactory conclusions because of a failure to thoroughly repent of past stupidities.   Everybody just wants to forget what has caused all of our turmoil and difficulties in favor of pressing on to new adventures—plans that are absent the insight garnered through self-awareness and personal scrutiny. Sometimes friends of mine become angry because I suggest that we analyze our failures instead of trying to give them shallow burial grounds and walk away from them, hoping the stench of our inadequacy doesn’t follow us into our next activity. Failing to speak aloud the reasons for mishap is the surest way to guarantee a repetition of the same activity when crisis reoccurs and we accidentally, but most assuredly, return to the same default position that failed us before. 
Republicans don’t want to talk about George Bush. Democrats don’t want to talk about Bill Clinton’s scandal and failed social programs that have left our country nearly bankrupt. But whether or not you want to acknowledge the dead body, the stink still arises. I make the following suggestion to those passionate souls who really desire to live a full-bodied, creative and artistically drawn life: 
· Stand in wonder of your successes. 
· Ignore the failure you see in others and leave the judgment of such dealings to their own minds and hearts. 
· And revel in your failures, because they grant you two of the greatest blessings possible—permission to never be that foolhardy again, and the great reassurance that because there was an absence of excellence, it means that things actually CAN get better. You can hang around those who insist on avoiding discussions of  inadequacy and inefficiency—who defiantly suggest, “Let’s just move on and try to forget it.” But you will never become a spirited human being until you’re willing to dine on your own efforts and pick at the bones. Yes, let’s move on—right after we allow ourselves to be moved in our hearts in a direction that will move us forward.   

Yours, 
 J 

The Film Blog – Friday, June 12th, 2009  

I am sure it is not easy to stay sane amidst the rattle and rancor of frenetic rhetoric, for insanity has two enduring attributes: volume and persistence. Silence, solitude and gentleness seem to be inadequate warriors against such weaponry. 
I’ve spent four days in Kansas and I have a new, abiding admiration for these dear-hearted folk. Surrounded by fringe philosophies that have both genetically and historically been ingrained into the countryside and surroundings, it is their mission—cross to bear, if you will—to maintain the sanctity of sanity within the bellowing voices more often than not unrestrained and unreasonable. For you see, to simply have a cause that even may seem to be just does not warrant the ongoing onslaught of insult and even murder that accompanies the mission. 
I admire the folks of Kansas . 
For walking the rolling hills of Shangri-la, picking flowers and casting them into crystal-blue lakes is easy. What is difficult is walking in the midst of hatred, fear and religious intolerance and bringing the lily that Jesus told each of us to consider. 
I know there are people who would probably leave Kansas in favor of what they might determine to be more enlightened areas, or even more peaceful climates. But there is a brave notion in the mind of the truly spiritual of this state that eggs them on to remain, not merely as a deterrent to devilment, but as an advocate for the angelic. 
I admire you Kansans. I admire you because time is needed to prove that restraint is better than regulation and mercy is preferable to mercenary. 
I learned this week. 
I learned better how to relate.  I learned to appreciate people 
who exist in the realm of turmoil and remain calm in the depths of their souls. 
Truth will have its day. Justice will win out. And after all the craziness has ceased, a single voice of reason, often with the timber of a child, will whisper the solution. 
Idealism? Of course. How else could you live in Kansas ? 
  Yours, 
 J  

The Film Blog – Friday, June 5th, 2009 

Then go ahead and change the name. 
Stop fussing about it, and just create a new title that would fit what you want. If you don’t like nine intelligent, hand-selected individuals to study our constitution and decide what has stepped out of the boundaries of our original vision, then just stop calling it The Supreme Court. For after all, they’re either supreme or they’re not. If you want them to just be another collection of pundits and musers, then give them a different name. How about the National Court ?  How about something hip, like the October Gang? Or some alliteration—the Robed Rascals? But we reserve the word “supreme” usually to accentuate and give focus to the Ruler of the universe—or a pizza prepared all the way. It means the top. 
I personally want a Supreme Court. You can philosophize on checks and balances all you want, but I desire to have nine astute, non-prejudiced, non-political individuals who sit on prickly positions with a bit of a nasty attitude, keeping our less enlightened natures from coming to the forefront and robbing the rights of good citizens. 
Even though there are many things I personally disagree with from a moral or social aspect, I do not want my opinion to be placed into law, to extinguish the flame of freedom for someone who may disagree with me. I do not want a bunch of lawyers, city councilmen or lucky school-board members who are elected to Congress or the Senate—owing way too many favors to constituents—to be making laws for our country that are not challenged by more genius, neutral parties. Honest to God, all you have to do to be elected to the legislature is have a lot of money and moxie. That does not qualify you to vote on the future of entire races, religions and orientations of people around you. 
We need a Supreme Court—and they need to do their job. They need to use a broad scythe to slice away all the weeds and grass that grow in the legislative and executive branches, threatening the inalienable rights of anyone in America . 
I love a country that allows for a Ku Klux Klan, a Reverend Wright and a Paris Hilton. God bless America . 
I do not want to eliminate human rights, freedoms and choice simply because it is the populist feeling to do so in the moment, or even one of my pet projects. 
Sometimes I’m full of crap and if someone doesn’t stop me, I don’t have time to reflect on the repercussions of my thinking, and grow out of my temporary insanity of inanity. We need a Supreme Court to remind us of our better angels—to constantly play The Battle Hymn of the Republic behind the drone of everyday human traffic. Should we be careful picking these nine individuals? Yes. And the position should NOT be for life. It should be for ten years, and reviewable by a board from the executive, legislative and judicial branches, combined. 
But other than that, long live the court. 
 And may they supremely lead us to places where we need to go—failing to arrive at on our own.  Yours, J 

The Film Blog – Friday, May 29th, 2009 

Sometimes people just don’t like ya’. It’s not because they’re stupid. It’s not because they’re jealous. It’s not because they’re evil or satanic. There are issues of chemistry, philosophy, family origins and just general taste that separate us. It’s all right. Traveling with Janet, I will occasionally have people come to our book table and not wish to speak to me whatsoever, but prefer her and her attributes and performance for the day. I don’t look at them as Neanderthal or even backwoods bumpkins. I realize that they are drawn to my art as it was manifested through another person. Through me, it didn’t particularly warm or intrigue them or even interest them. I can spend my time speculating on whether it is my appearance, my mannerisms, my personality, but all of that is fruitless. There is just no chemical connection to create a compound of friendship. I understand this in my more enlightened moments. So I don’t force myself on them. I don’t challenge them. I don’t let them know that I’m either offended or disappointed by their selection. I get out of the way, let them enjoy Janet and work with the people who yearn for closeness to me. You see, I get this. And I’m not the smartest can of beans to fall off the grocery truck.  Why is it that our political leaders can’t understand that North Korea , Iran , Venezuela , Cuba , and others just don’t like us? Our chemistry is wrong for them. They are not jealous. They are not necessarily evil or satanic. Why can’t we find a Janet—a country that they do like—to act as a buffer between us and them? Why do we make fun of Canada , England and France , who seem more amicable and able to communicate with these other countries? Why do we consider them weak because they are liked by those who don’t particularly care for us? Has our arrogance reached a point where everybody must embrace us and agree with us to be a part of an earthly party? Because if that’s true, we may truly be doomed. No country or empire that believed it had a divine right to rule the planet ever survived for more than five hundred years. And that’s stretching it. So what will it take for us to abandon the need to be loved by a world that just, at best, can take or leave us? Don’t we have enough friends? Why can’t we just have fellow tenants, whom we share a complex with but don’t aggravate by forcing interaction? I know this is a simplistic point, but I think, in the simpleton nature of it, we could have the beginning of a diplomacy that is inclusive of those who want to move forward on our dream and is tolerant and flexible to those who don’t. Yeah. Some people don’t like me. You know the funny thing? I really don’t dislike them. I can’t even pretend to do so. I just have to understand that the chemistry isn’t there. Yours, 
 J  

The Film Blog – Friday, May 22nd, 2009   

“Better safe than sorry.” Who came up with that load of crap? You know who. I think that’s a Ben Franklin saying. What an absolute hypocrite. Ben Franklin—who lived his life as a revolutionary, cavorting with the ladies in France and inventing all sorts of contraptions, some of which had practical use and some which no one can figure out even to today—he has the audacity to leave behind a verbal legacy of caution. And people love it. It’s the slogan of those damned to a life of mediocrity. It’s the bumper sticker for the fearful and conservative. And it is the doctrine for the religion of suspicion. It allows for the water-boarding of detainees at Guantanamo because, after all, it’s better to keep a whole nation safe than to be sorry by letting one terrorist through the net. It allows us to proclaim ourselves supreme in industry, even though it has been twenty years since we’ve taken the forefront on any movement necessary to the evolution of the planet. It causes one hundred million voters on American Idol to pick the white-bread boy from Arkansas , who has less talent, than the mascara-sporting Southern California rocker, who just might be gay. 
It causes us to believe that reflection is better than reaction and contemplation superior to concerted effort. 
It is the mantra of the pernicious, lazy soul. 
If you flip it, you get, “Better sorry than safe.” Although the concept my frighten us, we are a superior race when we step away from our tippy-toe profile and march toward progress. I do not know how much longer we can live off the laurels of brave endeavors like World War II and pretend that we’re still the same nation that could defeat Hitler. We are a nation that would spend months and months discussing the dilemma, railing against the atrocities of a Nazi leader, only to allow weeks to pass and more Jewish bodies to pile up. “Better safe than sorry” has created a stagnancy, placing us at the mercy of merciless souls, who have no such compunction for carefulness. What is the alternative? Follow the intelligent footprints which lay before us in the sand. Stop questioning what is obvious. Stop debating issues along pre-determined political lines. Stop revering reverence and seek spirituality and that which benefits human beings. Proceed toward movement and run away from stagnancy. “Better safe than sorry”—that old fart, Franklin , certainly did not practice what he preached. So it might do us all good to ignore that sermon. 
Yours, 
 J 

The Film Blog – Friday, May 15th, 2009   

So here’s the idea. The banner concept would be entitled:  State of the Movies—An Extra/Ordinary Look   Starting on January 1st, 2010, a film crew from the Extra/Ordinary Film Project would go to Florida for forty-five days. 
 Within those forty-five days, the following would be accomplished: 
1. A script—originating, focusing upon, involving, centered, sensitive to, historically accurate, truth-based, intriguing, comedic or dramatic—would have already been written and cast with actors from Florida . In other words, the film’s about Florida . 2. The movie will be shot in a region with three separate cities used as a backdrop, all within driving distance of one another, so that people can be involved, participate as extras and ultimately attend a premier. 
3. Because it will be a Florida-based project, all the press, magazines, and television stations will be contacted and encouraged to offer feature stories on the event, which focuses on some historical, personal or regional emphasis of the area. Did I mention the film’s about Florida ? 4. The shooting will last for eleven days, followed by editing, music and then an all-day premier on a Saturday, featuring three showings of the movie, allowing the press, the extras, the actors and all folks interested in a movie shot in and about Florida, to come see the finished work. 
5. Arrangements will also be made to enter the same film in as many Florida film festivals as possible following the premier. 
Then, leaving Florida , the crew will travel to Texas , where a script has already been written, focusing on the Lone Star State , and the process will be repeated all over again. 
Following will be Illinois , Ohio , Connecticut and Northern Virginia ( Washington , D.C. ). So by the end of 2010, six brand-new, exciting films will be made, focusing on six states of our Union , featuring thousands of extras and aspiring actors and offering great material for film festivals. 
Although an ambitious project, it is no more difficult to achieve than the twelve feature-length films in twelve months, which really ended up being eight. 
It would require six well-researched scripts, which can be achieved fairly easily, to be written and cast, even before the end of this year. 
So that’s what you call an idea. The reason I have placed this into the Film Blog is that I want to show you that ideas are not impossible to conceive, nor are they even necessarily difficult to nurture. We just happen to live in an era that has switched and flipped the status on what is considered to be intelligent. 
In the days of daVinci and Michelangelo, intelligence was rated this way: First came original idea, followed closely by enthusiasm. Then came financial backing and support, closing out with intense discussion on the best way to do it. 
Somewhere along the line in America , we have flipped it. We think great innovation should begin with intense discussion on how to do something. This ends up with a deadlock of diverse opinions, which end up a tabled discussion until a future meeting, which usually never happens. 
The few miserable, safe ideas that survive this committee of coalition then go out and seek support and financial backing. This further slows the process up because the reluctance to invest into a committee report has some legitimacy to it. 
Then, if something actually does survives this droning drum of doldrums, there is an attempt through too much advertising to generate enthusiasm for what now is either so derivative or predictable that no one really cares. 
And then—sensing very little enthusiasm for the committee-approved-and-funded project—the producers or politicians (whatever the case) desperately, for the first time, actually seek innovative ideas to enhance the notion. Catch my drift? 
You wonder why nothing moves, and the economy has not only stalled, but is sliding down the hill. 
So—stubborn as I am, I would much rather take a Renaissance approach to creativity and take my chances on step #3, with financial support and step #4, intense discussion and critique of my efforts. So, Russ and Tracy? What do you think? 
 Yours, 
J 

The Film Blog – Friday, May 8th, 2009   

Passion launches me. 
Fear stops me. 
Success brings me joy. 
Failure makes me think. 
I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t begin a project with the energy of personal passion. Because a great imitator of passion is need. People wait until they feel a sense of need to push themselves forward to do the good deed. Quite bluntly, need sucks. If you’re waiting until you need to do something, your energy will be lessened, your effort weakened and your results diminished. Fear stops me. So I know, when I’m stopped, it’s because I’ve allowed some piece of fear from my upbringing or my experience to hinder my progress. If I accept this as reality, I know, when I’m stopped, that I must go on a fear hunt, to track it down, so that love and passion can come back in to do the good work. But not nowadays. People have begun to describe the fear in their lives as prudence. “We’re just being careful.” Or, “You can’t be too careful.” Yes, you can. 
You can be so careful and full of care that there is no room for the passion of endeavor to drive you toward the third thing, which is success. 
Let’s be candid. It is success that brings us joy. I used to say that joy is the knowledge that God has everything under control.  I still believe that’s true. But I would add an addendum: Joy is the knowledge that God has everything under control AND that I am successfully in God’s grace. But there is a contingency of adherence to the notion that success is not nearly as important as optimism. I have sat in a room on many occasions as optimists have repeatedly received the bad news. Failing to recognize God’s direction, and equally inept at placing themselves within that sphere, they hope for the best, believe for the extraordinary, and wait for the miracle, only to be dashed in the final moments by the arrival of an inevitable reality. Because under normal conditions, when my life is not successful and failure peppers my projects, it is time for me to think, contemplating my course and responsibility for the results. 
Failure is valuable to me if it transports me back into the flow of the universe. To do that, I must use it to think about my involvement in the shortage. 
But a great imitator of thinking is rationalization—which tries to replace responsibility with the luck of the draw, or circumstances beyond our control. Please do not tell me that something is beyond my control, or you will render me insipid, and a victim in my own pile of circumstance. Beware the imitators of passion, fear, success and failure—the quartet that makes us truly well-balanced and mentally competent individuals. Because need is no motivator and prudence is a poor substitute for casting out fear.  Optimism is merely a mile-marker on the road to success, and rationalization is the aborted child of reason. The failure of all creative people is becoming absorbed in a world around them which they were never intended to be part of, but instead, prophets, proclaiming better ways to mediocre times. 
Passion launches me. 
Fear stops me. 
Success brings me joy. 
Failure makes me think. 
Add in the willingness of God to unite with such foresight, and you need nothing else. 
 Yours, 
 J 

The Film Blog - Friday, May 1st, 2009

When the Senator from Pennsylvania made a decision to become a
Democrat, President Barack Obama sent him a message welcoming him to the
party.
This angered me.
I do not need the President of the United States to be part of a
party. It is bad enough that we have to sit through nineteen months of
partisan, political poking to achieve an election that more resembles a
grueling gauntlet of gabbing. When this process is over we should have a
leader who represents us all, faithfully and fastidiously.
I was disappointed.
I have just survived eight years of Republican partisanship to 
now
see it replaced by Democratic partisanship. My thought is, pig's feet are
still pig's feet, even if they're pickled. In other words, I'm not
interested in eating them in any of their inglorious forms. And I am
certainly not interested in having partisanship stuffed down my throat for
four or eight more years just because the new propagator looks better in a
suit.
So what should he have said to the Senator from Pennsylvania?
"You do as your heart desires, sir, but I need you to support me when I'm
right, challenge me when I'm wrong and bring new ideas to the table when 
you
notice that a blank stare has come across my face. Because in the heat of
the battle, there are no atheists and in the midst of solving the problems
of our country, there are no Republicans and Democrats-merely watchful
patriots."
You see, I am a mediocre man, and I can come up with this answer.
I am not a genius, but I can conjure a notion that has nobility and value,
instead of pandering to the wishes of an arcane system.
I believe the President of the United States was capable and, 
even aware to make such an overture to this Senator from Pennsylvania.
He chose to be partisan. If he chooses it enough and incorporates the 
party line into the needful legislation to aid our country, we will just have 
more years of "politics as usual" with no change, delivered by a better and
younger speaker.
So what is my expectation? Honestly, none. But I do have a logical
request: Be the President of the United States. Don't look for high
ground, look for a position where you can stand that represents the needs 
of the individuals you serve. And remove all semblance of "fraternity-club
mentality" from the governing of a great nation.
President Obama, it crossed your mind to be magnificent in the moment with
the Senator from Pennsylvania. You chose to appease your party instead of
serve the people.
You might want to rethink this.
Because after all, you really only get to govern for about four hundred 
and sixty three days before they start campaigning again. Use them wisely.
Use them without party favors.
Yours, J

The Film Blog Saturday April 25, 2009 

Dollie ’s Daily My name is Dollie . Perhaps you figured that out from the title? I am Russ’s mom and Jonathan’s wife. Last week you saw that the ExtraOrdinary Film Project daily personnel were invited to participate in the Jesse James Film Festival. Well that includes me, and I wanted to give you a blow by blow on the day.4:30 P.M. Russ, Tracy, Anisa (A long time family friend and sometimes extra) and I took off for a beautiful 2 hour ride to Russellville Kentucky . 
6:30 P.M. We were greeted by Mark, the founder, of the event and welcomed to the town library where it was being held.
Of course our first question was why is the festival called Jesse James? It turns out that Russellville Kentucky has the first bank that Jesse James ever robbed and they wanted to capitalize on the fact. The festival is three years old and gaining recognition.
We set up a display of all 12 movies in the order they were made for people to see and Russ answered lots of questions about the movies and film making in general. 
7:00 P.M. A handful of us settled in to watch the first movie, Bernee (If I may say, an exceptional movie!) 
9:00 P.M. Russ enjoyed answering behind the scenes questions about different actors, locations, and of course bloopers. Everyone there loved the movie, and one special gentleman said his son’s dream was to make movies like we have done, and promptly bought three. Unfortunately we lost two of our few, they could only stay for one movie9:15 P.M. We took our seats and presently watched Melvin’s Clock.          11:00 P.M. More questions and answers about the movie. People loved the intrigue and asked many questions about the intertwining of the stories and the ending. I won’t go into detail, you may not have seen it! I love going some place like a film festival where you have immediate comradery and you feel like old friends from the start.11:30 P.M. We watched 2 short films by Bill Green
The first called Bowling Green which had a man with a guitar singing about the fact that “Someone has to live in Bowling Green and it might as well be me”The second one Cookies and Milk portrayed a man tied to a chair being tortured by not being able to eat Oreo cookies.Having a midnight showing of a rock musical we decided to offer a prize to the first person who came to the showing dressed as their favorite rock star. It was all 12 movies, and an extraordinary T-shirt.
A wonderful girl named Jane who dressed up as Amy Winehouse complete with wild hair and tattoos won the prize. She was ecstatic when she found out she was the winner and said it was better than Christmas.
12:00 A.M.  Four on the Floor. (Incredible movie) 
1:30 A.M. We said our goodbyes, packed up and started home in search of food at
2:00 AM. By the way, we found a 24hr McDonalds. 
I want to thank you Mark and Eddie, for the opportunity to show three of our films in one venue. It was great fun but my hope is next time you can get the word out better so many more people can come to your ”festival”.The Film Blog – Friday, April 17th, 2009 Greetings from Salem , Oregon , on day 105 of my tour of the United States of America . As a town crier, may I proclaim to you that all is well. I continue to be astounded as I travel this great country by the similarities that exist among us all. There has been a great attempt to alienate the American populace into pockets of persistence and resistance to keep us at odds with each other so as to enhance the flavor and storyline of the twenty-four hour news cycle. 
Hogwash. 
Everyone has a heart, a soul, a mind and a strength—and generally speaking, the appetites of that quadrangle run pretty much the same within the species. It has been a terrific week, with four film festivals contacting us to honor the Extra/Ordinary movies. It is always good to receive confirmation for what you already know in your heart. Some people wait for acclaim. I receive acclaim by envisioning something, seeing it through and reveling in the completion. If other people are enriched by the experience, that is gravy on an already buttered potato. So here are the film festivals that have decided to add their sauciness to our spud. 
 

Friday April 24th, 2009 

The Jesse James Film Festival Russellville KY 
7:00 PM Bernee 9:30 PM Melvn's Clock 12 midnight Four on the Floor 
ALSO the same day: 
 · Friday April 24th, 2009 Eastern Carolina Film Festival Greenville 
 6:00 PM Bernee 
 · May 4th, 2009 Western Kentucky Film Festival Bowling Green 
 no time set yet  Four on the Floor 

· August 2009 Washougal International Film Festival Washougal , Washington 
Date not set  Four on the Floor 
  
· April 2010 End of the Pier International Film Festival Sussex , England 
Date not set  Lender's Morgen 
 
So to those of you who worked on these films and believed in them, even though they were produced at the speed of light, the rest of the world runs on turtle power, so the accolades trickle in as the tortoise inches forward. We celebrate not just the recognition of the art, but the knowledge that each one of us had a vision for it long before we received the classic stamp of approval. 
Enjoy your week and I will pursue my ongoing endeavor on my tour. 
 
Yours, 
J  

The Film Blog – Friday, April 10th, 2009 

So how do you like living in a world that one day decides to kill God and then calls it “Good Friday” and sells a lot of cars and furniture? Go figure. Today I would like to talk about the What’s Family. You know them. “What’s up?” “What’s next?” “What’s wrong?” They spawn each other, you know. 
People always say, “What’s up?” And our standard answer is, “Same old same old.” If the conversation persists, someone’s capable of enquiring, “What’s next?” Standard response to that is, “I dunno.” And depending on the timber of the tone in the voice, it lends itself to, “What’s wrong?” This questions usually leads to the conversation-ending, “Nothin’.” I think it is our responsibility to have answers to these questions. If somebody asks me, “What’s up?” I would have a tendency to respond, “Well, I’m not down. And I’m working on my gig to make it better so that people will pick up something fresh from me every time they see me, instead of wondering how boring I can actually get.” I think we should have an answer to, “What’s next?” There are people who think it’s arrogant to yammer on about what you’re doing, but I don’t think it hurts to tell folks, “I’m working on . . .” Right now I’m working on writing my daily Jonathots on www.jonathots.com and trying to lose weight. You see, that just might stimulate some conversation. It also would eliminate the need for somebody to ask me, “What’s wrong?” I don’t ever want to hear that question again. If I can’t make it clear to you where my problems are, and also clarify how I am addressing them, I don’t think you asking me, “What’s wrong?” is going to either excavate my situation or incubate some new life in me. I think we owe it to each other to have answers to these questions. For there may be only one great sin that we can ever commit—the father of all iniquity, if you will: being bored with our own life. So when somebody asks you, “What’s up?” have an answer. “What’s next?” Share a project or a problem. And if they persist in asking you, “What’s wrong?” you can tell them this: “I was born crooked but things seem to be straightening out.” Or you can come up with something more clever. The What’s family. They won’t go away, you know. So you’d better have an answer. Therefore . . . 
What’s up?  Yours, 
J 

The Film Blog – Friday, April 3rd, 2009   

“Don’t you wish you were famous?” The question came from a teenage kid standing at my book table after my show. He was sincere, because in his world, he couldn’t comprehend how something could be good and yet not be lavished with fame and fortune. Of course, there is the other side of the coin—people who walk around and pretend like they don’t want to be well-known or heaped with financial blessing—but secretly they are bitter in their obscurity. I guess for me it’s always been about the work. If I have enough money to eat and pay my bills and give a few dollars here and there to the stranger in need crossing my path, and find myself busy enough that I feel what I’ve been called to do is not only coming to fruition but actually bearing fruit, I’m just downright content. I’ll go a step further. I’ll say elated. Sometimes that means I have to busy myself at tasks and promote my own material because no one is racing up to take over the position. But I don’t care. Maybe I should. Maybe I should be more conscientious about thrusting myself forward into a market as fickle as the cheerleader who went out with me one time in school because I scored the most points in a game. Not exactly true love, right? 
I think some people give up because they’re not appreciated and some people are appreciated too much and somewhere along the line they give up their own souls. I think if you can keep creating, having someone hear it, benefit from the experience and be inspired to do your next work, you’ve got a pretty damned perfect life. Watching American Idol the other night, I was greatly moved when David Cook accentuated his performance by saying, “Three years ago I cut an album and sold a thousand copies in a year. And now I’ve cut an album and sold a million units in three months.” He stopped there but I felt like I knew what he was saying. I think the message was, ‘I am no better nor happier now than when I sold a thousand. The only advantage to selling a million is if it impacts and changes the lives of nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand more people.’ So back to the question asked by the young fellow. He asked me, “Don’t you wish you were famous?” I replied, “No. Because I would never be here and I would never have met you.” He was startled by my answer at first. Then he smiled and replied, “Cool. I understand.” You know, I think maybe he did. Yours, J 

The Film Blog – Friday, March 27th, 2009 

Welcome to the new minstrel show, featuring Steve Harvey and a myriad of characters of all races, male and female, extolling in the most hilarious way possible the battle of the sexes—men versus women, the ongoing struggle of the universe. Oh—just like the original minstrel show of the ‘30s, ‘40s and ‘50s, it’s all meant to be in good fun. In other words, no one actually thinks that men are better, or women are better—just like they didn’t think white people were better than black people. It’s all in good fun, with a hint of discovery on the edges to enlighten us all to a common plight in the human struggle. After all, in 1950’s America , it was much more merciful to laugh at the way black people did things than it ever was to go out and lynch them. Matter of fact, some psychologists of the day would have insisted that it was a beautiful emotional release to allay some of the hatred and tension that existed within the Southern culture. Men Are from Mars and Women Are from Venus and other such playful platitudes do the same thing—tapping the pressure on the valve that exists between men and women, so as to avoid open hostility and bigotry.  Yes, some people are making a lot of good money from this. Going back to Pharaoh, promoting slavery in all of its subtle forms, has always proven to be beneficial to the bottom line. Yes, it was the minstrel shows, Amos’n Andy and Tar Baby that made us laugh about prejudice instead of dealing with the realities and the similarities that existed between two very common people. So what’s the harm in a good laugh about men being stupid and women being smart? What’s the detriment in comically saying that women are bitches and men need a whip and a chair to control them? Oprah Winfrey, within a week on her show, had Steve Harvey talking about how different men and women are, and just a few days later, had a show about women leaving their husbands to shack up with other women. Gee, I wonder why? When Oprah Winfrey says that women and men are so different that it’s a wonder they don’t kill each other, what recourse do you give to the average lady at home—to believe that she will ever be able to communicate with her husband as well as she does with her next-door neighbor? Yes. Come one and come all to the new minstrel show—where we once again subjugate one people to the favor of another, and then, just to be fair, attempt to turn around and do it the other way. But just like the problem between the pinkish-beige race and the tan-brown people, the conflict is not resolved by pointing out difference but rather, it is addressed by establishing universality. So we’ve made a step by electing a tan man as President. How intriguing it would have been if we had made two steps by electing a woman Vice-President. But I digress. But the same man who was elected President also joins in on the patter on the differences between men and women. It’s just good comedy. It’s a good minstrel show. And after all, we mean no harm. I’ve been in a room with twenty men when the subject of hunting came up and all of them felt at liberty to be honest instead of macho. They were from all areas of the country and all walks of life. Only six of them had actually been hunting. Nine of them had shot a gun at one time or another and only two hunted from time to time now. That means that more than half of these men do not fall into one of the more major stereotypes—hunters. Of course, they’re in good company, because the symbol of all masculinity in the animal kingdom—the King of the Jungle, the lion—stays at home in his pride with the kids while his wife does the hunting.  Nature does not bear out that women are more emotional and flamboyant and the male more subdued and placid. Among birds, it is the male of the species which possesses the greater coloration. 
So how long will this second minstrel show go on before we all grow up and realize it is a bigoted sham and we have our Rosa Parks making a stand on the bus—a march to Selma—a speech in Washington—and finally, a man with color in his skin occupying the White House? I don’t know. But I have never found my sexual life to be enriched by establishing how much different I am from my partner.  Yours,  J 

The Film Blog – Friday, March 13th, 2009   

Definitively, with massive, audacious amounts of determination, the Catholic Church has finally accomplished what God Himself was unable to do through all the eons of creation and evolution. 
The Mother Church (and how much more appropriate that name is to me tonight than it ever was before) has succeeded in both delineating and defining which sins are more egregious than others. 
I know for years we were taught that all sin was the same to God. In the more fundamentalist churches, it was presented as an affrontation to His Majesty. In the more mainline denominations, as a saddened Father, seeing His children go astray to their detriment. Weren’t we all taught that stealing that candy bar, in the eyes of God, was just as much a transgression as murder? Of course, in our simple human minds, we have always stacked sins based upon their severity and whether or not we had any affiliation with them. But the company line was “sin was sin, and therefore—was sin.” But now, the Mother Church, fresh from its great successes with the Inquisition, birth control advice, and the sexual habits and practices of priests and nuns, has boldly gone where no man—or God—has gone before. They have decided that a little nine-year-old girl who was raped by her live-in male parent, who became pregnant by same, and sought out an abortion—well, they decided that the doctor who fostered the termination of this unholy pregnancy was worthy of ex-communication, because—are you ready for this?—“abortion is a worse sin than rape.” I am going to pause here for a second for the sound of the clocks of humanity turning backwards to die down so you can continue to read and hear the message. 
I have never been a great fan of religious systems as a whole. Matter of fact, that somewhat sums up my opinion of religious systems. They are a hole. 
And the Catholic Church in particular has always infuriated me because it was an organization founded on a blending of the principles of the Apostles with the governmental and ruling style of the Roman Empire . A quick check of history should demonstrate that the apostles and saints have long passed and the Roman Empire was destroyed from within and without by its own greed and the Visigoths, respectively. 
So why do we think that an organization styled and founded after an empire that fell from such great heights of power to the depths of being able to be stuffed in the front pockets of the conquering vandals should suffer any different fate? 
True religion and undefiled is to visit the fatherless and widows—not molest them and rape them. It is also to keep yourself unspotted from the world—not to live in lavish comfort in a city-state, apart from the real flow of human locomotion. It is time for each and every one of us—especially those of a creative bent—to once again speak up to the Mother Church and, like Michelangelo of old, repaint the walls with images of a God who reaches down to touch man instead of striking him with a foreboding testament of rules and demands. I do not adhere to the validity of abortion. I think it is a tragedy. But I believe that rape is a crime against nature, the majority of our species—and God. And I think a church that fails to recognize that Jesus said to “suffer the children to come unto me,” but instead, has historically created suffering for the children of Jesus, is not only due for a renovation, but must undergo a complete revolution. Yet it stands proudly in the muck and mire of its tradition, calling other Christian religions “Protestants” and maintaining the name “Catholic,” which loosely translated, means “universal.” So what’s universal about it? I suppose it is possible to be universally obtuse to the reality of the needs of humankind. But if God actually turns out to be a regulator who holds fastidiously to principles which are unkind to His own creation, while allowing children to be abused for the good of the Holy Canon, then let me be the first to step up and offer my body as kindling to light the fires of hell. 
  Yours, 
J  

The Film Blog – Friday, March 9th, 2009  

American cinema is in danger of becoming a forum for either talking donkeys or talking asses. 
A war is being waged between the purity of the family movie, which always makes money because you can take the whole brood to see some piece of insipid, nearly meaningless tripe—or the movie tainted by a plot completely implausible to the human experience, with lots of violence, language and blown-up everything, culminating with an ending that has so many loose ends that it would take forty carpenters to screw it down. Perhaps this is what the American public actually wants. If that is the case, may I remain silent. Because my ramblings are not a treatise on the morality or immorality of movies, but rather, a curiosity about whether or not the movie-going public is limited to just Disney or dizzy. 
I think there is a strong contingency of human beings who are willing to sit for one hundred minutes in the dark and watch a story unfold about a real human being in real circumstances with real conflicts, culminating in real conclusions. 
Perhaps not. Or perhaps it would just be a small share of the market. 
I’m not saying the movies being made are inferior in quality, I’m just asserting that their premises are often so outrageous, outlandish and even out of the realm of our own personal comprehension, that fantasy has overtaken the market, leaving the possibility of reality on the shelf. One of my sons insists that it is fantasy that people want in movies. He could be right.  But I think some of the greatest movies of all time dealt with real-life people in at least possible real-life situations. 
Mine could be the lamentation of the old warrior who yearns for new ideas to crop up in the field of activity. I admit that. But I would like to believe that the art form of making movies is not about avoiding moral pitfalls, or by creating them to shock an audience. I would like to think that making movies is about inspiring people to peer into the heart of humanity and see both the good and evil and move towards more enlightened and inspired choices. 
Of course, I also would like to believe that hot dogs are good for you. 
J  

The Film Blog – Friday, February 27th, 2009 

Mother Teresa felt a calling to the outcasts in the Indian population—folks who were dubbed by their cruel society as “the untouchables.” Admirable. Certainly important and sacrificial. 
In America , we have those who are outcasts and financially destitute. We should do what we can for them. 
But in our country there is a much different group of people who need to be reached. These I would deem “the unteachables.” Never in my fifty-seven years of life have I seen a time when thought has so easily become opinion, and opinion cemented so quickly into doctrine, and doctrine erected as “truth.” I can honestly tell you that I have never participated in a discussion—or even call it an argument—with anyone on any subject, without coming to a juncture where their ideas punched a hole into one of my contentions, creating a paradox. Do I continue to stubbornly argue my point, even though I know in my heart that my opponent has made a significant argument? Or do I allow myself to be impacted by new information which does not eliminate my point, but rather, might actually enhance it? Sitting in our encampments, entrenched in our philosophies, hurling stones across the no-man’s land of an ongoing war of words and ideas is a futile and fatalistic feud which takes its toll both on spirit and body. We are infected with a generation of “unteachables,” who feel the true art of reasoning is in perpetuating one’s determinations, rather than actually determining what is for the better of mankind. We have people who make their living spouting off repetitive misinformation that has proven itself to be at least erroneous, if not completely false. We also have a new profile for conversation in this country. 
Smug. 
Jesus Christ, I hate smug. 
And I use “Jesus Christ” here not as a curse word, but to merely mention an ally in my contention. · Smugness is what has placed us in a war which has no end. 
·  Smugness is what has ripped financial security from both Wall Street and Main Street . 
· Smugness is what has perpetuated religious fervor instead of spiritual discovery. 
· Smugness is what causes us to believe we are still the best, when the statistics scream otherwise. 
· Smugness is what perpetuates art that is obtuse for the sake of being misshapen, instead of on point for the purpose of enrichment. 
· Smugness is what causes us to divide into camps of liberal and conservative, with no respect for each other’s purpose and functionality. · Smugness is what causes us to claim a belief in God as we viciously attack other human beings—His favored creation. · Smugness is what energizes the notion that “change” is a word or campaign slogan instead of a painstaking process involving humility and self-sacrifice. The “unteachables”—roaming the streets of America in their spiritual squalor and mental debilitation, screaming at all passers-by the essence of their painful, agonizing lack, while pridefully hoveling away in their destitution. Mother may have been called to the untouchables. But this Daddy’s calling is to the unteachables. Dateline or Sixty Minutes will never do a special on my work. It is a quiet chore that I enact as I enter the marketplace and expose the children who are running the show. 
Unteachables—in every discussion there is a moment when you realize you have been foiled. The only correct response at that point is, “Touché.” We look forward to seeing you tonight in Livingston , Tennessee , at the Millard Oakley Library at 6:30 P.M. for another premier of the rock musical, Four on the Floor. Bob Rogers, who plays Nathan Jackson in the film, is certainly blessed to have a delightful mother, named Jeanette Luzon Rogers, who energized this project from the onset. You are a special lady. 
Congratulations to Russ and Tracy on all of their recent premiers and for being in pre-production for the next movie. More on that later. 
  Yours, 
J 

The Film Blog – Friday, February 20th, 2009  

The reason we never get two is because we keep throwing away the ones. 
It’s true, you know. Accumulation of valuable opportunity is impossible as long as you keep passing over the singular potential that is sent your way. We have become a nation of critics, who even critique the passing blessings that come our way as less than plausible and certainly less than usable. 
So we stand vacant of any weaponry to fight the war of our own struggle. 
Our response? To complain about the circumstances and curse the darkness—which was caused by us flicking off the light. And then there’s Carl. Carl is just an average Joe, if that’s possible. Last night I saw him dealt a very disappointing hand. He had invited us to come in and perform, advertised it well, and ended up with eleven people showing up. It’s enough to disappoint anyone, saint or sinner. But not Carl. 
Carl was determined (which I’m sure the more critical fellows around him would call either foolish or stubborn). Carl is the kind who wrestles with the angel to receive the blessing. Carl is the kind who takes the glass and doesn’t debate whether it’s half empty or half full but instead, drinks it dry, knowing that it’s the only way to be sure that the glass will be filled again. I guess you just have to say that Carl believes. 
Even though the evidence mounts around him of the futility of systems with fatalism of planning and the frugal generosity of folks, he persists in the notion that this is not the way it was meant to be and therefore, it can become different. 
Because long before things become better, they become different, and it takes determined pilgrims who tenaciously hang on to that difference, believe in it and nurture it—until one day, it grows up to become something better. Carl has his problems. Carl has family conflicts. But Carl is still looking for an answer in the midst of scattered occurrences and haphazard events to discover a golden key to unlock the mystery. Because of that, Carl’s belief grants him the serenity of true sanity. What is the serenity of true sanity? It is:  I will work with this until the true work arrives. 
We think we become intellectual giants by climbing up the bean stalk of persnickety snootiness to pass over the opportunities that are provided for us in favor of waiting for a greater fairy tale yet to unfold. 
The end result? Nothing happens, confirming the nothing we feel in our soul. 
Carl not only determines to receive, but he also testifies as a recipient of what the provision has truly meant to him. In this way he encourages others to scrounge instead of demand, pursue instead of complain and persevere instead of reject. 
The human race is going to be fine as long as the spirit of Carl permeates our ranks and the demon of disillusionment and selfishness dissipates in its own pool of disappointment. 
So I take this blog today to tell you of a great white hope. It’s also a great black hope. A great colorful hope. For after all, the goal is not to find the pot of gold. The true essence of life is to notice the rainbows—and follow them to their end.   Yours, 
J 

The Film Blog, February 13th, 2009 

I am in Houston , Texas , as of the writing of this particular film blog. I wanted to take this opportunity to tell you that I have written a screen play called Iz and Pal. It’s based on a novella that I completed about five years ago which was entitled Holy Peace: The Story of Iz and Pal It is the unfolding of two twelve-year-old boys, one Palestinian and one Israeli, who established a forbidden friendship, and when their fellowship is exposed, they set out to resolve the conflict between their two countries on their own. It is a heartwarming tale of political intrigue, young men’s emergence into manhood, religious conflict and humorous interludes with a wonderful Bedouin female reporter named Karin Koulyea. I mention this to you because I feel it is time to make this movie and I welcome the input from my blog audience for involvement. 
Russ and Tracy have been faithful to put together the nuts and bolts and scaffolding of twelve fabulous feature-length films. They are ready to graduate to a motion picture that has even more intricacies, ethnic nuances, family appeal, and dramatic and political significance. 
We have been very fortunate to this point to keep the budgets of our movies to a minimum because of the wonderful actors and locations we have been able to procure pro bono. This particular project will cost a little bit more and I would like to invite you to invest in it. 
What will you get out of it? I think three things: 
 1. The knowledge that a movie will be made that is shot, edited, completed and premiered without any sense that it’s just a pipe dream of some vagabond writer and less-than-efficient production team. We have earned the rep for completing what we start. You will be producers of. . . 2.  A movie that will be a big hit at film festivals. All of our movies have done well at festivals, but Iz and Pal has the broad appeal to cross over into some larger venues with the possibility of immediate distribution. 
3. And finally, you will get to be a part of a project that has a most timely message and universal quality, that challenges the world community to at least consider a child’s heart in the pursuit of adult decisions.  I have never come to you and discussed a screenplay or idea, but rather, usually to let you know that it’s already happening, ready to go and be premiered. I am a person of action. I wouldn’t be on my forty-first day of a tour of America and have completed twelve feature-length films if that were not so. Will you make money on it? If I do. 
Will you become well-known for it? If it does. 
Will you have a return on your investment? Personal, certainly.—two-hundred fold. Financial? Remains to be seen. There is no sense in trying to fool each other and jive-talk our way into pretending that creative adventures are anything but a big risk. But the satisfaction of knowing that something is going to be accomplished and that there is going to be a move toward a greater good certainly seems to me to be a bankable commodity. 
Think it over and contact me at my email address with your ideas, your investment or any of your notions. I always enjoy hearing from you. 
I am your screenwriter on the road in Houston , Texas , soon to be headed for Arizona and California . 
Let me hear your voice. Send to jesonian@comcast.net. 
  Yours, 
J 

The Film Blog Friday, February 6th, 2009 

Which comes first—renaissance or reformation? Renaissance—an awakening in creativity and knowledge, or reformation—a repentant step forward in our spiritual outlook that includes a sensitivity to our time and our own humanity? If you study history, it’s difficult to ascertain on a timeline which one actually sprang up first. Undoubtedly they feed off each other. It is quite impossible to have one without the other—because if you try to step forward intellectually, the dragging feet of religious tradition will impede progress. And spirituality without a thirst for knowledge and art really falls flat and eventually just becomes a mere theological curiosity. They need each other. 
And when they did come together, it was only then, in the history of mankind, that we were able to emerge from a Dark Age, where the church pimped permission to sin, and the scientist believed that flies could emerge from garbage and the world was flat. 
It is interesting that we, at this time in our history, are desperately in need of a new revival of both intellect and spirit, to extract us from an age of unreasoning and a worship of superstition over substance. 
Yet there is reluctance among those who are creative to embrace the spiritual, and a reticence among those who treasure the things of the spirit to leap into creative abandonment. They stand at odds, suspicious of one another’s intents, believing that separately they can achieve the goal of the restitution of human progress. They can’t. It will take spiritual, creative beings with an intellectual bent towards reason and science to lure us from our cave mentality that has us digressed in a decadence of despair. 
How do we start? 
I think we start by understanding that God is first and foremost a creative Being, and therefore is always better manifested in all things creative and inventive. 
Tradition is the doctrine of darkness. Even our traditions that hold some sanctity of beauty have to be refreshed with the creative juices of present-generation contributors. 
Secondly, we must realize that God, a creative Being, breathed into us the breath of life. Therefore the breath of life is the notion of dissatisfaction with a status quo that only maintains existence without enhancing it. So any sense of accepting the norm that is incomplete to the human need is abominable. 
And finally, progress is salted and flavored by a comedy of errors that germinate both a sense of self-deprecation and a learning curve toward a better way. 
In other words, when you give people liberty, they, of course, at first will use it foolishly. It doesn’t mean that you withhold liberty from people because they’re not up to the task of mastering it. You give liberty and creative license, knowing that at first all that will be constructed is farce, but later will evolve into greater acts of wisdom. So the energy is not in electing a new President or putting a new party in power, but rather, developing the deep respect and honor for Renaissance and Reformation to intercourse—to birth a new nation. I send my love from the road in Beaumont , Texas . 
  Yours, 
J 

The Film Blog – Friday, January 30th, 2009   

Pensacola , Florida . 
Sounds like you’re trying to say, “Pepsi Cola” but you just returned from the dentist and the Novocain hasn’t worn off yet. I’ve just completed my third day in this town. The community is marked by religion, conservative values, emphasis on the military and poverty. I don’t know why, but it seems like several of those things always go together. How did religion ever get hooked up with conservative? The founder of my faith, Jesus, was hardly a conservative. Rather, he was tracked down by the morally prudent and the theologically meticulous—and killed. And how does poverty become the second cousin of conservative and religious? Aren’t Republicans supposed to be rich? Or is it the classic case that there’s only so much to go around, and once the white boss gets his share, everybody else “works on the plantation but no one lives in the big house?” How did the military ever get tied in with religion? I mean, don’t we all acknowledge that the Crusades were a mistake? I know there’s a need to defend the defenseless, but I just don’t know what scriptural reference there is for promoting your own gun show. And how is poverty associated with the military? Shouldn’t those who serve and defend our country be free of the need to use food stamps? Is it important for us to look at what things link up together and try to figure out how they became part of a brotherhood? 
No wonder people who don’t want to be poor end up avoiding religion and conservative values. It just seems like they’re a package deal. Or is there some common parent here that causes the birthing of this parcel of children? What parents would be the source of conservative values, religiosity, emphasis on the military and poverty? 
I guess if you screw around too much with fear and ignorance, these are the unwanted by-products of that relationship. Because I do not believe that when you remove fear and ignorance from any culture, poverty can abide for very long. Just an awareness of other people’s needs would cause us to at least consider an act of openness and generosity. I like the people of Pensacola . I just wish that the conservative, religious, military emphasis that they have in their lives would not make them so damned poor. I know we’re supposed to believe that there are riches beyond human wealth, but sometimes that’s a little hard to comprehend when the kids don’t have shoes, the rent’s unpaid, the electric’s turned off and the cupboard only contains two boxes of macaroni and cheese. Yes, I guess if we could just keep fear and ignorance from screwing around, we wouldn’t end up with so many hurtin’ people who only pray out of a last resort—to rescue them from destitution. Pensacola , Florida . Can I say, the God you so fervently believe in really wouldn’t mind seeing you do a lot better for yourself?   Yours, 
  J 

The Film Blog – Friday, January 23rd, 2009 

 If some guy ran into the room with a bomb strapped to his chest, babbling in a foreign language praises to some even more foreign deity, with his finger on a trigger, ready to detonate, what is the first thing that would cross your mind that you wish you would have done with your life? I mean, aside from desiring that you would have signed that petition banning bombs? 
Whatever that thing is that crosses your mind before you disappear into smithereens is probably the thing you should be doing today. 
We all know that. 
But we get caught up. 
Sometimes it’s the nasty, little pesky gnats of nit-picking bull droppings, and then, often, it’s the wave of popular fervor that pushes us toward a mob worship of the latest savior who’s supposed to re-enliven our lives or make the world more well-rounded. Then there’s Russ and Tracy. They both found out that the hardest part of being movie-makers is not making movies, but instead, taking movies. 
Yes, taking movies out to a public that feels that it is their job to replace the late, departed Gene Siskel to maintain the integrity of the partnership with Ebert. 
It is their job to take their movies out to a public that carries on the tradition of Nathaniel under the fig tree decrying, “Can any good thing come out of Nazareth ?”—or Hendersonville , for that matter? It is their job to take their movies to a potential audience that has been nearly droned into a deep sleep by an emersion in entertainment that is the equivalent of emotional, spiritual and mental knock-out drops. 
But they go. 
This past weekend, Russ and Tracy showed three of the movies in four different locations in Tennessee , Georgia and North Carolina . Twice Four on the Floor—the rock musical—chimed, bounced and danced across the hearts of new folks. Twice The Drive rumbled and reverberated in the chests of audiences in Brevard, North Carolina; and once $6 Man became the gift and offering to a gathering in Charlotte, North Carolina. You don’t find out how really good you are in life until you get in front of people who are not related to you, have no reason to be impressed by you and come in with a bit of pre-determination to be critical instead of embracing. And then, when you walk out a short time later, having communed with them with your own soul and the heart of your art, you’ve not only made new friends, but converts to your gospel of entertainment. It is a painful, beautiful, alarming, joyous, frustrating and enlightening process. 
It is also real. 
It isn’t two million people coming to Washington , D.C. , to be seen by 1,999,999 other folk, to convince themselves that they are part of the happening. It is people arriving flat—and leaving elated. That’s when you know that what you have has both a carnal edge of human depth and a divine sparkle of God’s mind. I just wanted to take the blog this week and thank Russ and Tracy for not only making movies, but having the gumption, guts and grit to take movies to human souls who may come prepared to critique, but leave elevated and filled with the joy of the notion of all things people. 
I wish this for you. 
I am blessed here on the road in the midst of this two hundred day tour to experience this feverishly and frequently. I wish for you the danger of rejection, so when all the grapes are squeezed and those with wrath removed, you can drink the sweet wine of your own success. 
Congratulations to Russ and Tracy on a successful weekend. And congratulations to all of you who participated in Four on the Floor, The Drive, and $6 Man, respectively. Your talents were caravanned to other marketplaces and shared with other natives. 
It is a joy. 
I wish our new President great success. But our nation will not ascend and become great until those folks deemed “common” begin to rise up, find their passion and do uncommon things.   Yours, 
J 

The Film Blog – Friday, January 2nd, 2009