Laura Mola

My First Wayshower

2013-03-08T15:10:46-05:00

My mother thought I walked on water. That never stopped her from correcting whatever transgressions she thought were a step off the sacred path. It had nothing to do with religion, indeed, my mother eschewed any form of religiosity unless it had a social pageant theatrical extension, like getting dressed up for midnight mass Christmas Eve, or communion and confirmation with great white dresses, you know, stuff like that.

The mundane disciplines and practices my mother had no use for; she had her own set of rules and fared better than the Catholic church. She prayed and obviously felt a kinship with God, as I heard her speaking to him many times at night when I thought she was fast asleep. My mother was no saint; she cursed like a trooper, albeit in Italian, thinking non-Italians would have no idea and she only cursed non-Italians. She never did anyone harm no matter what, no matter if she could have by omission. Traveling in the South on a Greyhound bus just after segregation was officially over, she helped a woman, an African-American, with a child, much to the dismay and chagrin of her fellow passengers, travelers who ceased to consider her one of them, but my mom didn't care. She did the right thing and if hell had to be paid, she paid it gladly, although she freely admitted she was scared, but so knew she was in the right that she didn't think about her fear until after it was all over.

Once, we crossed with one of my parents' rental tenants in the hallway and my mom spat at the floor and didn't greet her. I wasn't sure I saw right, I was so in shock. Sputtering, I asked her what she was doing, how could she, I was dumbfounded, flabbergasted. My mother righteously explained that woman had a gentleman caller late at night. My father and she had seen him. I was like 'huh'? Her look told me everything. Even if she wasn't familiar with the terminology, my mother knew a booty call when she saw one and didn't approve. Her thought was, How can a man respect you if you don't respect yourself?

During the Clinton/Lewinsky brouhaha, my mother was stymied. Everyone thought she was puritanical by the pursed expression on her face. Then she out and out asked what a "blow job" is. One of her granddaughters, my niece, explained it as anatomically as possible, to which my befuddled mother blew her off, commenting it was called fellatio in her day. My mom was bawdy and a prude at the same time.

The apple doesn't fall from far the tree.

My mom expected good. When the bad hit, she was downed temporarily. She rebounded and thrived and made the best of whatever befell her or the family. During a particularly trying time in my life, when every phone call seemed to be another disaster, my mother simply suggested I change my way of thinking. When the phone rang, think it's for something good. Let the bad happen on its own. She taught by example. She was honest, returning an item she mistakenly took even though it required a subway ride back and forth of two hours and it was late. When she puked in the pew in front during midnight mass one Christmas eve, courtesy of one too many Brandy Alexanders, she knew when to stop or not start after that incident and never drank too much again. She encouraged always. She always reminded me I could do whatever I wanted, even though she would joke that I was trying to do too much. She seemed to be saying if you want this life you live, it comes with costs as well as all those benefits.

When I traveled around the world as a teen, I would call collect from whatever exotic place whose name was unpronounceable and certainly unknown to my parents just to get their jollies up. After a while, if my father answered, he would say he didn't know me so as not to accept the call, after of course trying to ascertain where the hell I was. My mom would hurriedly get on the phone and wait for the latest adventure to share with him. My father was not in charge of me in any way. He abrogated that duty when he let me slide down the sliding pond the wrong way, resulting in a very bruised chin, a trip to the doctor and a scar I have today. If I asked my mother's permission to go somewhere, do something, she invariably said no and babbled out some inane reason. I took to telling her what I was doing, announcing it, and she never stopped me.

After a battle royale where I probably said I hated her, my mother answered that one day, I would appreciate her. This may have been after she refused to buy me a monkey, a real one, or maybe when she said I couldn't go to sleepaway camp (we had a summer house) or to some other place or site I had determined I had to have in my life. My parents were far from rich, yet I never lacked for anything. I was "spoiled." I was happy. They say we pick our parents so they can be our teachers and show us how to be better people. I hope I haven't failed.

John-Roger and Me

2012-09-17T15:40:26-04:00

I was always a searcher, an adventurer and liked to see new places -- the more exotic the better. My dad loved to travel, exalted in it. When I took off for my "journey to the East," my search for relevancy, meaning, and knowledge, one side of him wanted to stop me and the other encourage, so he said nothing, and I went. My parents never really forbid me anything, except the time my mom said she would buy me a monkey. I was too young to see she was kidding and furious when she laughed in the pet shop, pointing my finger at her, stomping my feet and accusing her of lying. She wasn't moved.

Delphi was a revelation, Istanbul an adventure. I crossed the Bosphorus and entered Asia, enchanted with this new continent. I sent photos of snake charmers in Marrakech from an earlier exploration of the Sahara, this time no camera, no way to document this journey except through what my eyes, ears and heart would retain and the phone bills my parents garnered when I called them collect from towns whose names I couldn't pronounce. I returned with clues about my existence, my mind opened -- enlightened, perhaps -- and TB.

I read Gary Zukav, Iyanla Vanzant, checked out Marianne Williamson, saw a psychic in New Mexico, talked to friends who did Tony Robbins, but no walking on coals for me. I didn't need to prove anything. I needed confirmation, validation. I read Jung, Oprah, and Eckhardt Tolle, but it wasn't until I read John-Roger's discourses that clarity started to form -- when I finally said, "aha!"

It is said when you hear truth you know it. Well I read: You create, promote and/or allow everything in your life. John-Roger's words, although I am sure others have said the same thing. My immediate reaction was bull! I didn't create the havoc I'd had, the diseases, the rough times in my life, or did I?

Was this truth? Everything I read in John-Roger's discourses I agreed with. Was John-Roger a kindred soul? Who was John-Roger? Why did I want to know? I had the discourses, the wisdom, the knowledge, the validation, confirmation I had sought. Why did I need or want to know who the author was? I had no idea, only that I did. I wanted to know why this man's words had touched me when all the other self-help, discovery, soul-searching books I enjoyed never did. I realized I was empowered by John-Roger's words, in balance with myself, the world, soaring in a state of active bliss. I believe it is empowerment we all seek, self-knowledge that helps us function in the world and lead better lives.

I don't go around singing John-Roger's praises. Experience is my teacher. Experience is John-Roger's teacher. On this earth, if we don't share, what do we have? I became certain of who I am from this man through my own experience. Maybe if you are reading this, maybe if you are a seeker, a searcher or want to know the meaning of life or who you are, what we are doing here, and translate, turn all that into a positive expression for yourself living your life with more joy, then this film, this man, is for you.

On a poster to one of John-Roger's early seminars, the words: "A world exists where all eyes are open, all truths experienced. It is a world of total being and it lives within... You. Come and pay yourself a visit." I found that world through this man. You can too.

John-Roger has traveled the world for over 40 years guiding people to find the Spirit within themselves: teaching how to live a healthy, loving, peaceful and rewarding life. A NY Times #1 Bestselling Author with now over 55 publications to his name, John-Roger has given over 6,000 seminars, all with the focus of Soul Transcendence: "becoming aware of yourself as a Soul and as one with God, not as a theory but as a living reality". Many of these videos are currently available for free as iTunes Podcasts: http://bit.ly/jrpodcasts.

John-Roger is returning to London this September for a series of events -- including two FREE events and the official preview of his upcoming feature length documentary "Mystical Traveler -- The Life and Times of John-Roger" -- tickets only £6.

The Way Out Book Event with John-Roger* (FREE)
Workshop & Booksigning with Afternoon Tea
Saturday Sept. 22 2 p.m. -- 5 p.m.

John-Roger Video Seminar Marathon (FREE)
Spiritual teachings and insight -- join us for one or all seminars
Saturday Sept. 29 9 a.m. -- 6 p.m.

"Mystical Traveler -- The Life & Times of John-Roger" Sneak Preview (£6)
The feature length documentary @ The Prince Charles Cinema
Saturday Sept. 29 7:30 p.m.

Polarize and Advertise -- for Free

2012-08-09T12:53:29-04:00

When I found myself trying to run over a pigeon on a Los Angeles street, it was time to get out of the business. I am an animal lover. I had rats living in my attic I refused to kill. I do not make a difference between an animal's life and a human. As an aside I had a relative, a professor, an eminent, to some, psychologist in New York City who filled his very ample Greenwich Village apartment with birds for years then wrote a book positing that birds are smarter than us. For this he was called a birdbrain on national television.

So what got me to that murderous point? A television commercial shoot for a product I forgave and forgot, pigeons as props. I owned a commercial film production company, am a producer and hope I have done enough penance by now. I helped sell meals that aren't so happy, drugs that do more harm than good, beer for breakfast and plastic whipped cream. Take a look at Mad Men if you don't believe me. Advertising is all about lies.

Homing pigeons are called homing pigeons because they always go home, their home. Always. If you take them to a shoot location and it's not their home site, when they are released, they will fly home. Always. The director of the commercial couldn't grasp that concept. Neither could the advertising agency. They wanted the pigeons to do what they wanted on their time line, never mind that there were three different types of pigeons ready to do different tasks. They are very very smart. Not so the agency folk. The sight of an agency creative running across the park trying to lure homing pigeons back, still makes me laugh. That and the director's breakdown.

So it was with a perverse delight when I was apprised of the Chick-Fil-A brouhaha. Here is a CEO sticking it to the advertising agency. Something I always wanted to do, but alas, didn't. This man goes for the jugular. He wants to expand his business. Why pay for promotion when you can get it free. In the make a sex tape world, just have someone prominent in your company, like your CEO, make a controversial statement that appeals to your customer base, sit back and watch your sales skyrocket. People will organize to go to your business and buy your product and support you, i.e. make you a lot of money. Advertising? This is way better, and free.

I for one never knew Chick-Fil-A existed. Not that I'm running to eat there even if they married gays like some Vegas chapel. For the record I feel anyone who wants to marry should. Why not? Who comes up with these crazy restrictions? People love each other and want to make a commitment to the other. What's wrong with that?

But back to this brilliant marketing campaign. Imagine if we take all the polarizations we have in this country, and there are quite a few, maybe add some more, throw fuel on the fire, and sell some chicken, or burgers or whatever other unhealthy product these capitalists can muster up. It's all about making money isn't it? Do Walmart shoppers know Chinese practice birth control and have abortions and maybe don't believe in God. I'm sure most would think that is more important than Chinese workers threatening mass suicide to get better working conditions. Imagine.

Appealing to bigotry, prejudice, racism works. Divide and conquer. Posit a point of view, and the more controversial the better, and all of a sudden you have customers coming out of the woodwork. Some well known ones too, and all for nothing. Folks this is a revolution. It can change the world. You can have your morality fights with your pocketbook, and again make someone else rich while we remain divided and broke and well you know, fighting like unruly kids and not on the upswing. We're more concerned over what someone else is doing that harms no one than in what we are doing to our health. Come on folks what really will hurt you? Two people who love each other marrying or some deep fried food?

So here's to all the ad agencies, adios. Publicity is free. And maybe birds are smarter, maybe animals in general. We certainly aren't.

Thinking About Guns

2012-07-21T11:41:29-04:00

Laughing at some TV show, book at my side, in bed, early Sunday night, one of my nights alone at home with my aged mom. I have learned to appreciate these nights, to utilize them to unwind, relax, be at peace with myself, and the world.

The house alarm sounded, loud, screeching, alarming as they are meant to do. I shot up like a rocket, looking to grab something, a weapon of sorts to defend myself, upset then grateful my dog was not around to experience this trauma.

Armed with nothing, heart pounding out of my chest, my mom slept, of course with selective hearing, she opted not to hear this. Thank God. I checked the house waiting for the alarm company to call. No calls. Just the line lit up where the mechanism notifies the company. I picked up the phone anyway. The first number I saw, my neighbor's. I called.

By the time I opened my front door she was in the street with a flashlight looking to protect me. Another neighbor with his dog was 'casing' my property. Saw nothing. Calmed a bit I re-entered the house and saw it was the 'fire' signal. No fire. No smoke, still shaking, the phone finally rang: the alarm company. All was well. Midnight, like Cinderella, I could go back to bed. I thanked everyone but there was no sleeping for me. My heart threatened to burst out of my chest.

Years back I had been stalked, the house broken into, guns pointed at me; I had not, obviously, gotten past it. I cursed the stalker, cursed the world then looked for solutions as I am prone to do. A gun. That's what would make me feel safe. I would ask a friend who knows all about guns to buy me one. That solved I then went on a thinking binge as to what type of gun. Something I could handle easily, so not too heavy. Something that would fit in my night table drawer. I know a bit about guns from my stint as an Assistant District Attorney in New York City and I clerked at the U.S. Attorney's Office in law school. No expert, but I decided on a .22 -- would fit in the drawer, easy to handle. Case resolved, I fell asleep. Next morning I woke up laughing at myself. No way was I going to get a gun. My neighbor, 80 and proud of it, was hysterically laughing at me. Couldn't believe I called her with a flashlight to save me. Obviously I wasn't thinking rationally the night before. I let my fear dominate me, my thoughts, my action.

Today in the wake of the shooting in Colorado I wonder if that's why we allow so many guns in this country. Fear. They are readily accessible. No expert again but I think we are one of the biggest gun manufacturers in the world. Money does make it go around but I don't think that's the whole answer. I read Russell Simmon's blog. Watched Piers Morgan. A semi-automatic that could shoot 71 people in less than a minute I believe? Who needs these guns? Why do we permit it? If we want to rely on a strict interpretation of the Constitution then let's sell guns that were in use at that time. Not these semi-automatics that can mow people down indiscriminately. And let me add, the Constitution addresses bearing arms in self defense, in one's home. But I belabor the point.

I am not equating any of my experiences with the horror, the atrocity of these senseless shootings. I invoke it because I am trying to fathom why, we as a people, as an electorate, permit our politicians, our elected officials to go along with special interests who obviously just want to sell guns, and don't care to whom. Why don't we care? Why don't we do something about it? Is it fear? Is it a deep down fear that we can be harmed so we need to have protection and maybe the police can't be everywhere so what the hell, I just might need a gun someday and I don't want anyone telling me I can't have one. Certainly that is what I felt two weeks ago. I know it must be hard to have withstood or survived or avoided a violent attack yet we all know more violence is not the answer and as someone who has experienced this violence I can attest to it and I have listened to others many of whom are on the same page. Why do we equate protecting ourselves with the semi automatic and automatic weapons? There is no correlation. It defies any sense of logic, of reason. Why do we not demand strong gun control legislation? Demand rigid stringent background checks and other requirements so that these automatic and semi automatic weapons and ammunition cannot readily be bought in stores or on the Internet by anyone? Have we totally abdicated our moral duty as citizens to whomever has 'bought' us with rhetoric or emotion or plain hard cash? After each tragedy we keep saying we want to address the issue and don't. I just don't get our reasoning. I just don't get why we complain when we are part and parcel of the problem. I just don't get how we can feel so terrible for these victims then give lip service and do nothing about it.

What's Wrong With Our Country?

2012-07-12T10:22:16-04:00

My neighbor was beside herself, couldn't believe what she just heard on the news from Diane Sawyer. "What is wrong with this country?" she exclaimed. Then, I'm not going to vote anymore. I am so disgusted.

Lie after lie, slap in the face after slap in the face, public apathy has reached new heights. Somewhere along the way, pride in our country -- in its ideals, its shining star of possibility -- has been replaced by money, by profits, by greed.

My neighbor's complaint: Our country's Olympic uniforms are made in China. According to Diane Sawyer's report, the Olympic Committee refused to discredit their sponsors, specifically Ralph Lauren, who provided the uniforms.

Now we all know the state of American jobs, the economy, the trying to get this country back on track. This latest gaffe was crass to the nth degree. Here we are sending a team off to compete, hopefully win some medals rooting for the best of the best, and sending them off in attire we couldn't even take the time or care to ensure what would be an American product.

Who screwed up? Did anyone even care enough to check? From the design of the uniforms to their manufacture, certainly many many people were involved who could have raised a voice and suggested perhaps the prudent route to take might be 'Made in America'. Is this the ultimate corporate insult? I am sure no one can intimate that these uniforms could not have been made in the USA. Certainly there still exists clothing manufacturing and many competent companies I am sure who would have been willing to supply or sponsor the uniforms.

So how did they end up being made in China? Honestly I think nobody gives a damn. Nobody involved had the thought that maybe, just maybe the patriotic path might be to clad our winners to be in a product as authentic as them. If Ralph Lauren manufactures in China, so be it, then that's where these uniforms were coming from. End of story. End of pride. End of America as it was, a country birthed in the highest ideals, where everyone has a shot at the 'dream,' a country that could change its ways, come to grips with itself and be better.

I hope this latest insult might be a good thing. We have gone too far in a direction that lead our country to economic ruin with promises of houses and prosperity and winning wars, only to wake up and realize it was all a lie. Saddled with the crimes of the previous administration, these same perpetrators now expect a miracle to occur and the good times to roll.

What's wrong with our country is we stick our head in the sand and then expect everything to be great. This is a country of the people, for the people, by the people. Wake up, America. Don't give away your rights to anyone with enough money to buy your opinion. This wake-up call hits all of us in the gut. Let's start looking at what we're doing, what we're supporting, what we really want, and who we really are. These uniforms might be the ideal place to start.

Once You Go...

2012-06-01T12:00:26-04:00

Okay now that I have your attention, a pronouncement: President Obama will be re-elected. We are not going back. Don't they know there's no going back. So we didn't get single payer, Guantanamo is still open, Iraq, Afghanistan, the economy -- Rome wasn't built in a day. Anybody who has ever been in devastating circumstances knows it takes time and money, luck and grace to recover.

Aren't we done with patrician or pseudo patrician white bread elitists who think they know what's best for us because, well they have money. As if having money, making money automatically makes you smart. Look around folks and not too far. Most can be self-aggrandizing egomaniacs willing to do whatever to make a buck. I don't want to dismiss anyone who has 'made it' as stupid or ignorant, or worse, dishonest, but our American work hard ethic has been replaced by a 'take the money and run' 'to hell with the little people' 'let them eat cake' attitude reigning in the upper economic echelons of our country, and of course, the world.

President Clinton broke new ground, one of us. Broken home, drinking, no money. Not some rich kid playing with daddy's money at the university. Talk about working for it. President Clinton worked for it. He went balls out all charm, all charisma, all confidence even when he was lying. I mean does anyone really care what's going on in someone else's sex life. Get one yourself. And, let those without sin cast that first stone. Who hasn't lied about sex? I mean, Reagan, that paragon of lies, what about Iran/Contra? What about breaking the unions? Who exactly was that for? I mean a lie is a lie but which affects us. Think.

President Clinton has flaws, overeating, junk food -- a true blue American with all our faults and foibles. You want someone to stand his ground. Come on did we really want a cutout look good puppet president like Reagan, or the real thing. President Clinton is the real thing. No Nancy looking at him adoringly. He has what it takes, endurance. Who cares about his libido?

President Clinton plays the sax, President Obama sings. What exactly does Mitt Romney do except look like a 'Ken' doll and preach. He made money for his company. He made folks in Massachusetts unhappy. Yes, President Obama. I really get pissed when so-called TV news people, I prefer the term 'propagandists' refer to Mitt Romney as Governor Romney and President Obama as 'Obama'. So what he wasn't born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he's the progeny of a mixed race marriage, who cares about race? Not the people. He's a true American. Of the people, for the people, by the people. And corporations are not people no matter what Romney et als say.

Want to take this country back? Why not take it forward? That's where everyone else is going. Jennifer Lopez, People's most beautiful, not a Christie Brinkley look alike. Let our leaders reflect who we are. America is about progress not going back. The world is changing as the world does. We are changing as we do. It's life. It's the nature of man. It's the nature of our country. Let's forget the short-term exploiters, go to war, mine that country's resources, divert profits, test your products. The world is not our playground to do what we want. Our diversity, our melting pot doesn't divide us, it makes us great. It makes us who we are. Together we made one of the greatest countries ever. Don't let these money is king robber barons take it away. Freedom is not about making money as the Romney's of this world would have us believe. Sure we all need to work, to earn livings, but do we really want to succeed in a failing world. Do we really want to live high on someone else's back. Is this America? Is this what our founding fathers, our true patriots have in mind. How about a long-term thinker. How about someone of the future. How about President Obama. We can't go back.

A Promise of Closure

2012-03-21T14:46:29-04:00

If a picture tells a thousand words we know why photojournalists do what they do: they tell stories with their pictures. The fact that they are adventurers, hooked on living at the edge is not disputed. They put themselves out there for us. They show, tell us what we cannot see for ourselves. They are idealists in the best sense of the word; they search for truth, share that truth with the rest of us. Being a reporter by its very nature means being unable to take sides, unbiased, there to report on what they see, opinion-less.

That impartiality served to keep reporters out of harm's way -- flashing credentials, showing your camera, you were untouchable, a non-combatant protected by a long-standing code of ethics based on neutrality, dedicated to truth. During the Vietnam War, all that changed. Photojournalists, reporters left Kansas, never to return. Depending on who you were, you were with, or maybe just depending, the killing fields awaited.

Cambodia, the nation with the Sanskrit name, the land of Angkor Wat, a beautiful country nestled between Thailand, Laos and Vietnam is also a country of unspeakable horror and genocide. The United States bombed Cambodia from 1969 to 1973 in its effort to win the Vietnam War. There was civil war. There were killing fields.

Tim Page has been there. Tim Page is honored there. A part of Tim Page has never left. Why you might ask? In 1970 Tim Page lost over 25 of his photojournalist brothers in the course of one month. The hands-off policy abruptly changed but no one knew. In groups, one by one, they disappeared. Fell off the face of the earth maybe after living with families or the Khmer Rouge, maybe not. No remains. No word. No closure.

Why does Tim Page return to Cambodia year after year? He must know his brothers are long gone. The killing fields spared few. Time has passed, hopefully healed wounds. Yet Tim Page refuses to let go, to put it behind him, to move on, to get closure. He is determined to find out how his brothers died. How they lived their last days. He is determined to honor them. Tim Page made a promise.

In today's age of Facebook friends, where friend has become a verb instead of a noun, Tim Page is an anomaly. A world-known photojournalist who was pronounced dead three times, lives with shrapnel in his body and supposedly was the inspiration for the Dennis Hopper role in Apocalypse Now, no one can argue the fact that Tim Page has had a life. Tim Page has 'noun' friends. Tim Page's friends cannot be 'clicked' away in a moment of pique.

Ralph Hemecker met Tim Page at the inauguration of his now famous book, Requiem. Hemecker, a writer/director has had a passion for reporters, photojournalists who risk their lives by choice, who are on the front lines to bring us truth about what is going on in the world, who may 'disappear' doing so. A friendship was born: Lost Brothers is the progeny.

As Hemecker said: how many people live up to a promise? How many true friends does one have? What kind of a friend are we? Hemecker related to the nobility, perhaps the Quixotic quest Tim Page has, and joined it. Tim Page made a promise to his brothers not to leave them there. To bring them home. He may not be able to bring physical remains home, he may be talking about a different 'home'. A home in the heart. A home we all live in.

It is in that home that Tim Page and Ralph Hemecker cannot close the door. They want to know and will not rest until they find out how, when, with whom, the circumstances, the situations surrounding the disappearances and probable deaths of friends. To that end Tim Page and Ralph Hemecker continue the pursuit of truth with pictures. They know what happened to some of the men. They want to know what happened to all. They are in the process of documenting their efforts with a film entitled Lost Brothers and are looking for information, support and assistance in this quest. They know they will not live up to their brethren's mission and get the whole story. They are willing to settle for part. They are willing to settle for some truth, to honor the promise and give closure to these brave men and women as well as themselves.

Lost Brothers on Facebook.

Vicki Noodles Goes to Barneys

2012-03-20T19:42:35-04:00

My dog Vicki Noodles has cancer -- melanoma in her mouth. Not good news. We've all been there with a pet. Friends tell me how lucky she was to have found me. What a good life I've given her. She was homeless. I gave her a home, and chicken and rice for breakfast and dinner. She gave me back my life. A biter, she would go for someone's ankles before they knew what hit them. A friend stopped by because a baseball had landed in her eye. She was going to emergency. All of a sudden she screamed, a bloodcurdling horrific scream I assumed was some kind of seizure. No. Vicki Noodles had her ankle and wasn't letting go.

Vicki Noodles found me one morning after a dream in which I had a beautiful black Pekingese. Walking my one-eyed Peke, Brando, a rescue who toppled a woman 5'10", lo and behold, I thought I saw my black Peke. Granted it was early morning and I wasn't seeing too clearly but rational is not one of my strong suits. Brando lunged barking like a maniac and my dream dog took off running -- on three legs. Her leg or hip was injured. I picked Brando up, the luxury of having a ten pound dog, and ran after her alerting neighbors as only someone from the Bronx can.

Guys leaving a leather party -- I live in a lovely diverse neighborhood -- chaps on, butts hanging out, and totally hung over, caused one neighbor to drop his blanket and go home. Others stuck in there. Much as we tried, this dog was fast. We couldn't catch her. I went to the shelter where I got Brando thinking maybe my black Peke was there. I returned home to the telephone ringing. The dog was back.

Took 8-plus to catch her and most got bit. I took her to the all night vet and next morning to the hospital where they would fix that hip and really get her in shape. All the way there on the freeway she scratched, pushed, tried to get out of her cardboard box and was growling, sneering barking like an attack was imminent and every peek back the cardboard was giving way. I prayed I would make it to the hospital in one piece. Played music, sang, no luck. I called hospital personnel to take her upstairs.

She stayed in the hospital over a week. Cute, like the dog pulling the kid's pants down in that old tanning ad I think for Coppertone. Nonetheless I was sure I didn't want her. Brando was enough of a biter for me to handle but I had the ideal person, a woman producer who was working with me on a project. I had named her Vicki Noodles. Vicki for 'victorious,' Noodles for all these guys I was dating who called spaghetti pasta 'noodles.' I was a long way from the Bronx. Alas, the woman didn't materialize. I was stuck with this dog.

What was I going to do?

Well, I was going to get rid of that panic alarm hanging around my neck, open the windows, unlock the doors and live for a change. Hounded by a stalker, I was living in fear until this perfect watch girl found me. I was safe, protected. She was and is the perfect alarm system. Talk about a breath of fresh air. Unfortunately she was still an ankle biter. I use the term 'biter' specifically. As the expensive trainer insisted, dogs were either biters or not, not nippers, not a little rough, they bit or they didn't. Vicki Noodles bit. Not me but enough of my friends to actually call a trainer. He pronounced her perfect. The problem was with me. I needed training. Vicki Noodles gave it to me gratis. I loved her whether she bit or didn't, barked or didn't. Miraculously she was OK if someone, or some dog was in the house, the street was another thing. Imagine my amazement driving home and seeing two little three-year-olds walking Brando and Vicki Noodles in the street, no problem, both dogs behaving perfectly, little angels. Perhaps the problem was me. I took Vicki Noodles to Barneys. Everyone wanted to pet her. Freaked at first, I realized she was OK, wasn't going to bite anyone. She was the belle of the store, then the neighborhood. Well not really but I like to look at it like that. She now barks because she wants to be petted and neighbors marvel that they were so silly to think she wanted to bite them when all she wanted was affection. I don't correct them. After all I owe her, not the other way around. Once I felt safe, she did too.

A True Spiritual Warrior -- Robert Easton

2011-12-28T10:27:14-05:00

Robert Easton was a tall imposing man at over six feet tall with his trademark long white hair. He took over a room seemingly before he even entered. Robert Easton looked the 'guru' part, and in fact was a teacher, a guru, and a support to a myriad of acting students who treasured him as the gem he was and treated him accordingly.

Robert Easton's career spanned over 60 years. He appeared on television, in movies, on the screen, working behind the scenes before his dream came true: a starring role, playing a teacher, a guru on the big screen mirroring in a sense his role in life. This character, John-Roger, gave him a meaning and resonance that impacted and changed his life in a wonderful way. Robert Easton came into being, he recognized, knew himself as a spiritual warrior both on and off the screen and he relished the role.

I remember Robert Easton in Gods and Generals, Paint Your Wagon, and especially Primary Colors but I had the pleasure of meeting and getting to know him on Spiritual Warriors. Not many actors in their late 70s and not in the best of health would journey across the globe to Egyptian deserts and Jordanian lost cities, doing without the frills and trekking across sand dunes, journeying down the Nile and mounting pyramids, but Robert Easton was not any actor -- he was an intrepid soul and had the courage of his heart as his sword and the encouragement of his wife.

When co-writer and co-producer Jsu Garcia saw Easton he knew he had his man before Easton opened his mouth, before he formally met him. Easton didn't look like the real John-Roger but his gravitas, his sense of humor and the twinkle in his eye jumped out at Garcia -- he was more John-Roger in spirit than in look and that was the important, missing factor in all the actors Garcia had seen.

Spiritual Warriors is a dramatic interpretation of the best selling book, Spiritual Warriors, written by John-Roger, the founder of the Movement of Spiritual Inner Awareness, a movement I have been a part of even before I knew it existed physically. A movement I believe we all are a part of as we search inside ourselves for truth and meaning in life. The movie follows the journeys of Finn played by Jsu Garcia in his search with the help of his mentor and his wayshower, John-Roger, played by the one and only Robert Easton.

So off they all went to film sowing the tales Robert Easton enjoyed telling and retelling at Q & A's after Spiritual Warriors screenings. How June, his wife of over 44 years insisted he take the role and retrace their steps in Egypt even though she was clearly not well, and in fact passed away once the film was finished and Easton was home. He laughed at the lack of amenities out in the desert, the 120 degree heat, the 'hot' water, the almost meeting his maker in a tiny airport somewhere in a vast expanse of no man's land, but he was a staunch supporter of Jsu Garcia's vision. When faced with a mutiny over calling it a day or getting a transcendant sunset dune shot, Robert Easton opted for his art, his passion, and went the limit.

John-Roger, a spiritual leader to many, became an influence in Robert Easton's life. He embraced the principals, the teachings of his real life counterpart as he embraced John-Roger and Jsu Garcia. He enjoyed bringing his students to screenings and seeing himself up there on the big screen. Most of all enjoyed what he had endured, to achieve his dream. Robert Easton was a 'spiritual warrior' in his own right. He followed his dream, his bliss, his passion, and it manifested for him -- not to say he didn't enjoy dialect coaching everyone from Charlton Heston to Forest Whitaker, a talent showcased in Spiritual Warriors.

The Wayshower, John-Roger and Jsu Garcia's follow up film with a stoic Eric Roberts, a diabolical Peter Stormare, and an innocent Jsu Garcia, was to be Robert Easton's next. Alas even though he was in frail health and filming had begun, Robert Easton knew when it was time to draw the curtain. Instead of a lead role, he was a fan touting The Wayshower to his students and followers. His last scenes are in a "Behind The Scenes" compilation from The Wayshower and will be shown at his Memorial Service TBD. Robert Easton's passion for his art, his enthusiasm, inspired many. He will be missed.

A new Face to Spirituality

2011-09-22T11:22:23-04:00

I consider myself a spiritual person. I am not a saint. I don't have a 'holier than thou' attitude. Actually I think I am just like anybody, not better not worse, maybe because I think we are all connected, animals too, maybe express differently at times but at our center, our core, our essence, we are all God, spirit, universe, label it as you wish, I say Spirit.

I take issue with those folk who walk around palms together, speak softly, who preach, who consider themselves 'above' everyone else - well because they are 'more' connected, talk to God, or believe they have some special dispensation, a special connection to and from the powers that be that gives them license to tell the rest of us what to do. Truth be told, we all have God, Spirit, the essence of the Universe inside of us. So then what's going on inside of us? Why is that inner action that struggle more dramatic, more comedic than anything we witness outside ourselves most of the time? Why do some of our actions live up to their Godly nature while others seem the product of the Devil? THE WAYSHOWER film brilliantly shows us the answer in larger than life terms up on the big screen.

The lead character is like you and me, an everyman, searching the globe for meaning in his life. He wants answers to the questions: what's it all about? Is this all there is? At the end of the day what matters, what doesn't? He has the courage to journey, to seek out Truth, and it leads him to his Wayshower's hometown in a time travel inner and outer voyage that will leave him forever changed.

The directors, John-Roger and Jsu Garcia, took a novel unique approach and have their lead character go inside himself to see just what's going on with him, and so we the audience 'get it', they externalize his and our inner qualities to portray the conflict that is at the heart of all drama-our inner conflicts, the warring worlds inside of us that only we can settle. Who exactly is in there? Who is running the show that is us? This approach puts it all on the screen so we can easily understand the true conflict we all face is self-discovery, knowing ourselves and reconciling our inner nature.

Dramatizing our internal world lets us explore what drives us. What makes us respond in a high-minded manner or in a trash ourselves or another at all costs? In this case of who is talking we get to see, we go into a 'look whose talking' so we understand not only ourselves but others as well. Physical characters also embody qualities like fear, doubt; what these qualities may look like to us if we could see, touch them, and so we do, the come to life in THE WAYSHOWER. Doubt is a scary Peter Stormare as the Prince of Doubt we all immediately recognize having lived in that kingdom ourselves countless times if not been or are permanent residents.

THE WAYSHOWER is a quest film, a search for meaning beyond the material, a search many of us have embarked on. It entertains with stars like Jsu Garcia, Eric Roberts, Peter Stormare, Sally Kirkland and exotic locations like the Sahara, Machu Picchu, Goblin Valley and Paris but it also enlightens, makes us think, and stays with us as most fast-food movies these days do not.

Carl Jung has said: "who looks outside, dreams: who looks inside, awakes". To quote John-Roger: "the discovery of yourself can be the most exciting and rewarding adventure you could ever take". THE WAYSHOWER is that discovery, is that awakening, is that adventure in a film that jumps off the screen into our hearts, a metaphysical journey made visible and accessible by our filmmakers. An odyssey we all undertake sooner or later. Here with thoughts and inner workings envisioned, seeking the help of another a blessing not a weakness, the suggestion is maybe spirituality is nothing more or less than knowing yourself. Maybe you are that face. Maybe we all are. You can catch preview screenings of THE WAYSHOWER in Paris and London in the coming week. If you want to know yourself, don't miss it.
http://bit.ly/twcomlondon
http://bit.ly/twcomparis

One World

2011-09-02T16:03:19-04:00

The other day I had a technical problem with something online and called an 800 number. I got someone whose English was so precise and proper I immediately knew this wasn't the U.S. I asked where he was based and where he was from -- Delhi, India on both counts. We started yakking as I was in Delhi many years ago and we quickly found common ground sharing stories as he patiently helped me navigate the online maze, deciphering my Bronx accent without a hitch.

I've gotten the U.K., South Africa, Singapore, Indonesia, Casablanca, Morocco and yesterday two lovely women in the Philippines. I didn't know there were more than 7,100 islands that composed the Philippines. I love to learn new things about our world even if I have no idea if or when they may ever serve me in my life. These women were super informative and ready to share their country with me. I in turn shared mine. Our conversations were sweet, super helpful and super informative. One time, I called for a Spanish-speaking friend who didn't trust his English or the 'press for Spanish option.' He looked at me funnily, kind of amused, while I chatted away as if I was talking with friends. At the end of these conversations they were friends.

I love speaking to 'foreigners.' I always learn something new, always find something to share even if the pronunciation throws me. I don't mean to say I don't love talking to Americans as well. I made a friend 'Lenny' somewhere in Ohio who gave me his direct number in case I have any more problems. It doesn't get better than that in the world of talking to computers or pressing buttons or just hanging up in frustration, as I guess many companies want.

Some may think I have a screw loose. For me after 'navigating the maze' or finally getting to a live person, speaking with folks in other countries is a little heart, a 'reach out' that makes our world a smaller place. It's communicating with others, even over tech stuff and learning something about them and their culture along the way. Making what could be an unpleasant task into a joyful one.

Now these same folk who think I must have a screw loose insist these folks in all these foreign countries are taking or have taken sorely needed jobs away from Americans. How can I befriend the enemy?

I don't see an enemy. I don't blame folks who need jobs for the lack of jobs in our country. I am not diminishing the horror of our unemployment, of the economic situation here and at large, but I don't believe the fault lies at the hands of folks just like us who want to support themselves and their families and have a better life. A bit off tangent here but it reminds me of the nurse I met yesterday who informed me that rising hospital costs were due to 'all these folk who have babies and can't pay.' Really?

My grandmother used to say: one door closes, another opens. Got me thinking. I know what has closed, but what is opening? Can we find the silver lining in this cloud? Can we try to do things differently, find and create different jobs, create different industries? Our country, as sometimes we need to do personally, maybe needs to reinvent itself as we have to periodically reinvent ourselves during the course of our lifetimes. Change, upheaval can be traumatic, can be frightening for sure but we are a nation of innovators, risk takers, or we probably wouldn't be Americans in the first place.

Stands to reason it is evident we are living in a global economy. Doesn't it also stand to reason we must become global in our consciousness? If we stay 'nationalistic' stay insular, trying to go back to what once was, it will be a losing proposition. Things have changed. The die is cast. Perhaps the universe is telling us to embrace each other, open that door. Do away with the "us" and "them." This cloud needs a silver lining. Perhaps this is it.

Why Not Health First

2011-08-26T18:43:03-04:00

Lately, both supporters and detractors can't help but poke President Obama on his accomplishments and purported failures, insisting he should have attacked the job situation before health care. Now, obviously, no one wants to take a serious look at policies that were implemented that did just that, like the automotive industry. I am not going to get into the financial institutions and Wall Street, having been a victim of both, and therefore very biased. Should they have been bailed out? Should there be more regulation in place? I don't know to the first question, to the second, I don't know again.

These institutions, these lawyers, know how to get around any regulation and have the money and the clout to keep us in a strangle hold as they reap profits coming and going. President Obama kept the finger in the dike. If one wants to take a look, a before and after, I think we would all be in agreement it's easier to destroy than to construct or to fix,and we might all be better off to remember 'Rome wasn't built in a day,' especially when we have a president who refuses to play dirty partisan politics. A president who insists he is the president for all. I commend him for that. This isn't a weak man. This is a man who has the courage of his convictions and maybe brought it some folks to fix their mistakes.

All above aside, I started to examine my own feelings, my own thoughts regarding 'health care first.' Could President Obama have put health care on a back burner and given more time to jobs at the beginning of his administration? Or to pose the question in a different way: are jobs more important than health care?

The folks who answer yes might be the lucky ones who are super healthy and have never had to worry about paying a doctor, paying a hospital bill, who have had access to health care all of their lives so don't give it a second thought. For the rest of us, perhaps it would be beneficial to take another look. Ask someone who has just suffered a heart attack, been in an almost fatal accident, had a child born sick or been diagnosed with cancer what he or she thinks about their job.

I would assume nine times out of ten, if not ten out of ten, they are not thinking about their jobs and money at that time, IF, and this is a big 'if,' IF they can pay, if they have insurance. If they don't or have insurance that is no insurance at all, is in effect when you are healthy and when you need the benefits you are dropped on one pretext or another then, of course, scrambling to pay for treatment adds more stress to already stressful situations. Personally I experienced illnesses with family, as I am sure all of us have, yet it was my sister's passing that brought it all home for me.

My sister was lucky she had insurance and was able to afford private nurses as her condition deteriorated. The woman in the next bed was not so lucky. Watching her cringe, moan in pain with nurses barely in attendance and a family that needed to be at work all day and sometimes at night, all I got for my efforts to 'help' were a 'mind your own business' from the nurses in a we-are-busy mode, no time for everyone, that's why you need a private nurse.

Maybe that woman wasn't near death's door, I don't know, but she was suffering from cancer and was in pain and was in hell for sure. I cannot imagine going through that ordeal with no insurance as President Obama did with his mother. I am sure he thought 'there oughta be a law,' and now there is. He saw a wrong and moved to fix it as best he could for us. So if you think health care was a wrong priority, try holding onto a job, thinking about a job when you're stuck in a hospital bed, when you have an IV in your arm, when you're hooked up to machines, or when you're sick and dying and can't afford to get medical care to alleviate or cure the illness. Ask yourself which you would prefer: to be out of work or seriously ill and left at the side of the road with no options. It is said without your health, there is nothing. Yup, I know what I would choose.

Caregiver: Burden or Blessing?

2011-06-13T18:30:00-04:00

My mom lives with me. She is 96, looks 20 years younger, is vain, super healthy and has no medications of note -- except that at times her mind goes in and out, sometimes in the course of a day, sometimes in an hour, sometimes a minute. Lately she has what they call "sundowner's syndrome," except hers doesn't necessarily start at sundown -- it could happen at any time of the day -- or not.

Rose has always been obsessed with me, her youngest daughter. Perhaps she thought she lost control over my sister who married young, but this is conjecture. I truly don't know why I am and have been the focal point of her attention for as long as I remember. When an old friend called out of the blue and heard my mother in the background, he laughed: "That's your mom."

When I lived at home, guys would try to kiss me good night only to see my mom swooping down on them behind me. The brave ones would stay and try and have a conversation. Others, and the brave ones too in time, would simply take off, happy to get to their cars in one piece. To say my mom is a character is an understatement.

After she first moved here with me some eight years ago, I'd gone out out one evening with friends. At around 12:30 and my phone rang. My friend knew what came next: "Where the hell are you?" It was -- is -- the usual drill. I hurriedly explained I was just about to drive off, on my way home. Then I stopped myself. I've traveled the world, been married and lived on my own. Surely I didn't need to report to my mom regarding my whereabouts? And a curfew -- I didn't have one at 15 and I wasn't about to start now. I tried to cut it, say I was on my way and end the conversation. Fat chance.

This is not to say my mom or dad were strict disciplinarians. Far from it. At an early age I learned never to ask for permission. I simply stated as fact what I was going to do. My mother accepted this as gospel and didn't question it. If I was out late, I could be late. Once my father was going off to work and I was coming home. He muttered something in Italian that he was like Christ suffering on the cross and went his way. An Italian, he believed disciplining children was woman's work. I would point out he was a foreigner -- this is the way it was done here, I was an American. My father probably wanted to "kill" me. Instead he would smile and shake his head. My mom would flip if I didn't call. Saying she has hysterical would be another understatement.

When my sister was dying, I flew to New Jersey to be with her. It turned out my mom didn't need me. I stayed with my sister. My mom was a brave supporter, a true mom with my sister: always upbeat, always ready to do whatever she could do for her. She cried at home, never in front of my sister. I marveled at this woman and the example she set. This was a side of my mom I thought I didn't know. I realized she was like that with my dad as well. He passed almost reaching 90, had a bad heart for most of his life, cancer and a host of other problems. When he would venture to complain a little regarding his treatments, diet, operations, my mom would ask if he wanted her to call Dr. Kevorkian. My mom has a sense of humor.

Both of my parents did. My mom still does. They were joyful people. My mom laughs at herself even when she's talking to herself. When a relative commented he was sad I was burdened with her, I bristled. Yes, she is a pain in the ass. She wants to be with me 24/7. Yes, I want to run down the street naked half the time. But I am in great shape thanks to her: she acts up, I run in the hills. In the winter there is nothing like running with water oozing out of your running shoes. But I know I am blessed to be able to care for my mom. Blessed I am healthy enough and able to have some help. Blessed that my mom is healthy. Blessed that my parents knew joy and taught me joy.

In one of her "out" moments, my mom asked me who my mother was. I said "you." She took this in and smiled. I could see her thinking, okay: I didn't do such a bad job, my goal now.

The Sorority You Don't Want To Join: The Brotherhood And Sisterhood Of Cancer

2011-06-05T11:08:14-04:00

We all want to feel part of something, our families, our friends, our cities, our countries, some, part of the world. Connected to people and places, having a kinship, a camaraderie, a one with all.

There is one sorority or fraternity we dread joining; brotherhoods or sisterhoods that form when we become part of the ranks of those afflicted with cancer. Since cancer awareness seems to be on the rise, more and more folks turn to family members, loved ones, friends and friends of friends and literal strangers and bond in a true kinship that is uncanny in that I have never witnessed this happening with any other disease. And unfortunately I have been around a few in my day.

Caring for a loved one with cancer, being there, going through it, being an advocate, doing all one can do, I thought I would know the feelings, know the pain and the panic. I didn't. The shock that swept through my body and numbed my mind was catastrophic. I had had lumps and bumps and swellings and any number of other "iffy" problems. I had done needle biopsies, biopsies, mammograms, ultrasounds and MRIs and was never really frightened, never thought it was anything in an "ignorance is bliss mode" to be sure. When I was called back for testing, I wasn't going to go. I had been cleared. I had just returned from a trip, was feeling great and thought it probably wasn't important. When the nurse pushed the panic button, I foolishly believed she was overreacting.

When I saw the technician nurse's face I knew. It was a greeting, but her face said it all. I had joined the "afflicted" ranks. I noted her name and reminded myself that if all of this turned out negative I would go and talk to her after because her expression had ripped me to my soul. I didn't have to.

What got me through: special people, family, friends and the kindness of strangers. The docs were great -- super great -- and gave me home phone numbers and cell numbers. But in this case, everyone who has had cancer had a story and they were all willing to share theirs in the hope it would shed some light on mine and give me some comfort. I didn't tell many people. My special person suggested I keep mum, after all I didn't want cancer to be the topic of every conversation, having people look at me with that "look." I thought it overkill at first, then I was and still am thankful I took his advice. It allowed me the experience I wanted, the communication I wanted and the ability to channel what I wanted to say or not say -- not be beholden to the "good intentioners" and what they felt I should do or not do, trying to regulate my behavior to whatever they had read, seen or felt and thought right in their book.

Those who had been in my shoes, those folk I loved and loved me, I got to know and to appreciate in ways I couldn't have imagined before. How do you know if someone is "there" for you? Well get cancer. You will soon find out. People came out of the woodwork to help and to rally, going above and beyond, and the outpouring of love overwhelmed me. I realized that special person loved me more than I dared believe. I could see it in his eyes and in his gestures. I experienced and felt the love of close friends and family. The "strangers" became kin. I shared their love, their compassion and their intentions to give back, to help, to comfort, to serve and to support. They too were "there" for me beyond the call of duty. I knew I was blessed. This heartfelt kindness from folks I didn't know well or didn't know at all, had a gentleness of spirit that transcends the norm. Is this the illusion of being in the same boat? We're no,t of course. All cancers are different, and while we like to think, to pretend we are immortal, well, we know we're not. We are all in that boat to be sure.

I think this disease forces us to face our mortality head on and, in doing so, we express a goodness, a caring and a love of our fellow man we all have deep down, a love that cuts through all the masks, makes us real, makes us truthful and makes us the loving human beings at heart we really are.

Am I suggesting an upside to this disease? No. Far from it. That said I embrace what it taught and I cherish the love and the kinship it allowed to surface. I am grateful to be able to share that love as a member of this sorority I definitely didn't want to join but now that I am a certified member of this informal network I am happy to re-gift the caring, sharing support and compassion to new members in a true "do unto others." In this special sorority, it is unconditionally practiced not preached. A lesson for us all.

Why Unions Get a Bad Name

2011-05-23T13:54:38-04:00

My dad was in a union, my aunts and uncles, relatives, extended family, all staunch union members. It afforded my sister and me, daughters of an immigrant, the opportunity to go to college, to law school. In law school I worked on the legal team for a union's collective bargaining rights in a case we took to the Supreme Court.

I love unions. They are necessary, are part of the fabric of American lives. They protect the working class from exploitation and anyone who thinks different should take a look at our present day situation and the plight of the fading working middle class. I was as taken aback by the events in Wisconsin just as I was when President Reagan took aim at air traffic controllers, when jobs went overseas because, well it's cheaper to produce so corporations, companies can make more money. Isn't that what capitalism is all about? Profits, all about what's best for me me me.

So even though unions have taken a beating in recent years, why do they still get a bad name? What's our beef? Why don't 'we' like unions? Well as someone who has fought for unions and then argued with union workers for what I considered unreasonable demands, I think I have been on and have seen both sides. It's not the unions per se, it's some union members, who give unions a bad name by using strong arm mobster tactics. When a production is exempt from 'going union' because of a low budget why do union members knowingly take these non-union jobs and then try and 'flip' the production, make it union? This happens a little too frequently with the film industry here in Los Angeles. Again this is from my limited experience and from what I have heard from friends and colleagues: when is a 'flip' a scam?

To my knowledge union members are not allowed to work on non-union jobs. So why do union members take non-union jobs in violation of their own agreements and rules with their union, don't state they are union members to the production, then, when shooting starts, demand the show go union and threaten to picket or shut it down or worse if it doesn't. Does this sound fair to you?

I've dealt with the requisite lawn mowers brought out in a neighborhood when a shoot comes in. All of a sudden everyone wants to mow their lawn and it takes a couple of hundred each for them to stop. Who in their right mind would want to shoot in places like this? A friend whose husband is a teamster adamantly insisted companies shoot outside Los Angeles for different reasons, to shoot non union and their film lacks quality. Well with most of film production I believe happening outside of Los Angeles, and workers, union and not, complaining about runaway productions, isn't it time to take a look at what goes on even if it is contributing a little to the problem? What gives unions a bad name? When union members take a job with the intention to 'flip' the shoot -- to make the producers go union -- well, in my book this is blackmail.

Why do they feel justified in tricking folks who are trying to make a movie, in one case a minority movie in a non-profit situation to top it off? Why are the union folk entitled to make union pay, benefits and fringes and damn everyone else if they can't afford it? Why do these union folks feel entitled to threaten to shut a movie down, not taking into account that folks had to toil, write the script, cast actors not to mention find money to produce the movie in the first place? Why do they have no rights? Are they not providing work? Are they not working themselves? Don't they have any rights?

I'm not talking about studios or big production companies. Contrary to what my friend says they have taken off for greener pastures a while ago, to Canada, to states and countries that offer incentives for filming and other benefits we lack here in California. So the low low budgets who can't go anywhere else because they don't have the money to go, get their feet held over the coals with a 'go union or we will picket you, we will shut you down threat' and a crew that turns into a 'us against them mentality' on the set and all of a sudden you can't trust that anyone is doing their job, you can't be sure no one is out to sabotage you and maybe not run that camera or deliberately work a little slower, or maybe drop that light.

I fear the general population who believe anyone who is making a film has money to burn and should and could pay is evidenced by another conversation with a friend. I asked for some advice and was told my producer friend should go union and use her own money to pay the difference. Is that how divided we are in this country? We take from folks we believe are better off than us while the real rich laugh all the way, well you know where. They're overseas.

Are we entitled to take from others, to trick others into paying us because they may have more money than we have? Where is our integrity? Here are folks trying to make a movie with very limited resources. And folks again, the big guys who can pay, won't, they go out of state and the ones who stay get shafted. I would love to see every job every film every shoot union, if you have the budget to do it. But don't curtail others' work using a bait and switch, waiting until the shoot is in progress to hold them up. This is highway robbery in my book. This is what gives unions a bad name.