Friday, May 28, 2010

“To adlib or not to adlib; ah that is the question!”

“To adlib or not to adlib; ah that is the question!”

Whether it is nobler or not nobler in the minds of most men, is definitely not the question; it’s the challenge that counts!

(Besides… we’re talking about actors and actresses.)

The search for the answer to the actor's commercial voice over performance decision making process: How and when to adlib when we don’t have the benefit of a formal direction. In other words, as is often the case, during an audition, especially when you’re in your own home studio, and flying blind. A wrong choice could be the difference between not only winning or losing, but perhaps being remembered by the person on the receiving end of you’re work: The buyer.

So the script is in your hands, you read every word, including the directions for the role you’re auditioning for, as well as any other roles being described. It's antagonist / protagonist time. You must know who you’re talking to, why you’re talking to them, what your frame of mind is at the time of your speech, and where are you in proximity to the person or thing you’re talking to. In short, the code is an old and simple one to follow: who, what, why, when, where, and how.

You’ve studied the script and have decided that an adlib here or there would be just what the doctor ordered.

Okay then, I’ll go along with that, if you have recognized that, almost always, the commercial message is meant to be the star, not the actor performing the lines.

An adlib and a deletion are two different things. Try to avoid removing anything, which might be deemed to be a salient sales point. The sponsors usually originate important sales points.

Writers, and producers are almost always sensitive about changes, especially when they view their creative writing skills as biblical.

Always attempt to enhance the writer's message. An adlib of any type, regardless of its inherent nature, (meaning a word or sound effect, human or otherwise) must be used as a method of enhancing the writer’s intent.

I.e., if the writer has created a scenario, which he or she feels is a form of humor, then the humor attempt should not be altered. The adlib in all situations should be delivered as an enhancement.

Enhancement as opposed to deletion:

A cough or sputter in a dead space is an example of an enhancement.

Think about the wide variety of sounds we all make as commentary during our day-to-day trials and tribulations. These are enhancements (or could be) as opposed to deletions.

A radio scenario has two characters in a telephone conversation. We have a somewhat blowhard politician calling in and asking a somewhat meek individual for an impossible service to be performed: He’s attempting to return a sandwich he doesn’t care for, by way of his cell phone.

The script calls for the meek guy to turn the politician down, saying he can’t pass a sandwich through the phone line.

The politician says in a blustery fashion, “Well I just did.” That’s where the commercial ends with the politician asking, “Are you going to answer me?” Our actor, following the rule of enhancement, adds the button, “As soon as I can clean the tuna fish off of my phone, sir.”

The sponsor loved the tag we added, and ergo our actor got the job.

Note: On our second take during the audition we replaced the tuna with peanut butter, and had the meek guy trying to clean the mess from his glasses.

Our friend Stanislavski might have referred to it as slapstick.

And now for my favorite: da harv's cardinal rules for adlibs and improvisation:

* Never ever make the sponsor the bad guy. They’re the ones paying the bills. Rule of thumb: One doesn’t poke fun at the boss, does one!

* Unless it’s a written part of the script, never adlib with any form of profanity, regardless of how mild it might be.

* Dialects which are not requested by the advertising agency should not be used as an adlib.

* Adlibs with any form of religious and / or political overtone or connotation should not be used.

* If an underage actor (minor) is part of the presentation, using any form of suggestive double entendre will be considered not in good taste.

In general, what we do is attempt to enhance. Blatantly trying for the joke will usually fall flat.

Friday, May 21, 2010

Focus

No man is lonely while he’s eating spaghetti; it takes so much attention. (Think about it.)

But perhaps we should call it "focus." If one doesn’t focus when he or she consumes any form of life’s sustenance, then he or she, a.k.a. “the consumer”, is destined to be forever known as the consummate slob.

A contradiction of this fact would be the allowance that an enormous number of our brethren, actors, are forever slobs; albeit in truth, they are capable of great focus. This condition is known in some states of being as “a contradictive conundrum.”

And so our at-large question remains, after many centuries, the same: can a person focus and simultaneously be a slob? Is it possible to be an actor, with great focus, and also be a slob?

My favorite meal is spaghetti and meatballs. I love everything about it; the look, the smell, the taste. Thinking about spaghetti and meatballs has always been easy for me to focus in on; even in the worst of times, without the means for multiple meatballs, I still called it “spaghetti and meatballs.” It just didn’t seem right to call it “spaghetti and meatball.”

When I was a newly divorced bachelor, it was spaghetti which comforted me. It was spaghetti that helped me forget my ex-wife. There was a particular time period, when I ate spaghetti for dinner every night, seven nights each week. Beginning with Sunday evening, I would make a huge pot of pasta. Since I wasn’t what anyone might describe as a cook, (meatballs was something of an epicurean procedure not allied with my attained skills), I was forced to focus in on other delights to mix in with my pasta.

Commencing with a large jar of tomato sauce, containing clams or meat, the week progressed favorably. (I managed not to kill myself.) Each night I would mix in (to my one large pot) whatever leftovers I had stored in the refrigerator from either that or the previous days lunch. For fear of blowing what little intellectual credibility I remain with, I’ve decided not to include naming each of the variety of foods which ultimately made it into my dinner pot.

"Perspicacious," as I am so often described, would not have been the word of choice if the person choosing the descriptive word for me was privy to a picture of me throwing a variety of food stuffs into a pot of three day old spaghetti.

"Perspicacious." Adjective. His perspicacious advisers recommended caution discerning, shrewd, perceptive, astute, penetrating, observant, percipient, sharp-witted, sharp, smart, alert, clear-sighted, farsighted, acute, clever, canny, intelligent, insightful, wise, sage, sensitive, intuitive, understanding, aware, discriminating; informal on the ball, heads-up, with it. Keen. (Antonym: Stupid.)

In my travels, there have been times when I overheard an actor who was having trouble focusing being referred to as "stupid." I can’t remember his name, because I’ve always had a problem remembering bad actors. What I do as a casting director is make a notation next to their name in our computer file in order to avoid bringing them back for an audition. Some people refuse to try improving their focus. Some have the temerity of expressing the lack of a true need to focus. Temerity implies exposing oneself needlessly to danger while failing to estimate one's chances of success!!

The line that divides boldness from foolishness or stupidity is often a fine one.

An actor without the ability to focus; now that’s a concept for the gods. I am not a god, and I don’t conduct my auditions as such. I can remember being asked by a colleague how a particular actor did at an audition. As is often the case, the actor in question happened to be a current student of ours. It only took a few minutes in the booth with this guy in order for me to decide I wouldn’t want to be at the same table with him eating spaghetti. While the spaghetti might disappear, great remnants of tomato paste would definitely remain on his chest. The end result: No spaghetti, no focus, and no actor. Some would say, we could have tented him. But if the part he was playing called for him to be wearing something other than a tent, our actor might be short on focus.

I remember back to my dad and I competing for the great “Spaghetti Championship” of Brooklyn, New York.

(As an aside…just about everything the two of us did turned out to be a game. We had rules and regulations for everything. Believe it or not, it was serious stuff for the two of us.)

Our rules did not allow for women to compete. My older sister was a certified klutz anyway. My younger sister was more of a cheerleader. She rooted for me to beat my father. Let the games begin. Our focus was intense. Here's how the game was played:

The amount of spaghetti on each of our plates had to be exactly the same. (My mother would get heavy duty pissed off about this one, when she was told she had deliberately favored one of us over the other.)

Who was able to consume his spaghetti in the least amount of time, making use of one single fork? (No fingers allowed.)

And finally, the highlight of the competition, who could slurp up the remaining strands of spaghetti in a straw like fashion, without getting any tomato paste stains splattered on them?

There were many games my dad and I played together. As I got older, I became cognizant of the fact that we no longer would play a game once it became clear my father could no longer beat me at it. He would manage to discontinue liking the game at precisely the moment he was no longer the dominant winner.

I’ve never met a kid who didn’t love spaghetti. But, I’d venture to say, it is doubtful if there are many kids out there whose father was using a slurp the spaghetti game as a way to teach a young child a thing or two about focus through the introduction of spaghetti as a training device.

And so as a reiteration, I remind you to practice your focus. Before each audition, remember the spaghetti game, and the picture of a child slurping up the last morsel, all without a hint of spaghetti sauce ruining what he or she is wearing.

Of course, there are many ways one may train to focus. The obvious point is the importance of the act itself. Without focus, the game is over. But I must take this opportunity to clarify an important fact. Being a good reader by itself doesn’t guarantee an actor will improve their ability to focus. Certainly a professional voice over talent must be extremely adept at reading; it goes without saying.

The surprising part is the number of actors who are not adept at focusing and staying focused. These are also the ones with the excuses for not being able to read through a comparatively simple piece of copy.

An actor excusing himself because it’s too early in the morning for him to be awake and able to read, denoting a specific timetable necessary for his success. To that actor I will usually offer my guarantee, he or she will never have to worry about coming in to audition for us in the morning (or maybe even the evening).

(Can you imagine an actor meeting a casting director for the first time and saying how they are just not a morning person? Even if that happens to be the case, I would whole-heartedly advise not telling that to any casting director. Especially to this one.)

What I offer you is the same fatherly advice given to me. And often the advice given to me wasn’t solicited. It was inflicted.

Charles Kalmenson as told to Harvey Kalmenson, age unknown.

“All you have to do Harv, is two things; look and listen. Do the one that happens first. It will always be the same, either sight or sound. The more you look and listen to anything and everything, the easier it will be for you to excel.”

What those words translate to is the simple forerunner of anyone’s ability to focus. Most early-in-life lessons are the simplest to learn, and can be the most difficult to adhere to if not practiced. Telling a child what a great listener they are, and then finding a way to reward them for their attentiveness, or conversely explaining the penalties of not paying attention is the manifesto for the professional actor, age not withstanding.

Back to the audition:
The following is an actual case (not supposition) to prove a point. The scenario transpired and continues to be repeated regularly by a small number of those being auditioned at Kalmenson & Kalmenson.

All scripts to be auditioned are retyped at our offices in order to secure the most desirable format, best suited to an actor’s performance during the in house auditions.

We take great pains to ensure against any and all possible and or misleading information being presented as the actor’s interpretive directions.

Each and every script is clearly and painstakingly marked in an effort to eliminate confusion.

Well, guess what; the best laid plans often go down the toilet; so much so, there are, on occasion, incidents when I lose it to uncontrollable laughter.

An actor enters the booth and immediately begins reading. When she (yes it was a she, and that’s all you’re going to get) finishes reading through the script she asks me if I got it. I advise her I haven’t even turned the equipment on. From that point on it gets worse.

An actor enters the booth and before even so much as saying hello, he asks if there are any directions for him before he begins reading.

Keep in mind: The directions he was seeking are always up at the top of all of our scripts and clearly marked and highlighted.

Another actor comes in and, after slating his name, proceeds to read words that I don’t recognize. When I ask him what in the name of hell he’s reading, (keep in mind his script has been highlighted in advance of him entering the recording booth) he replies by telling me about the words next to the role he’s playing. When I explain to him he was in actuality reading the directions for the portrayal, he allows how he will need more time to study the script, as he hadn’t studied that part as yet. He wasn’t the least bit embarrassed.

And the beat goes on with one story after another. I’m not going to belabor the point. These actors all have a similarity to contend with. They refuse to focus. They don’t look, and they don’t listen.

So forget about it. They haven’t a chance in hell of making it in our professional world.

And if ever you happen to notice some tomato sauce on an otherwise well put together shirt or blouse, you might want to walk the other way.

NOTE: Many of these folks are the same people who can’t sit down at a table without bumping into or kicking one of the legs.

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Outtakes & Intakes

I have never saved an outtake. I may have recorded them during a session or an audition, but by the end of the day, that same day, they were erased and discarded forever. Going one step further, I have never shared a recorded outtake with anyone other than the actor who had delivered the blooper in the first place. What I do admit to is retelling an incident, and making sure not to name the party I was relating the story about (not even to my own wife).

There just aren’t many things from my past any funnier, or for that matter, more poignant, and sometimes even sad than an outtake. Day in, day out, there’s thirty-plus years of them. Each time I think I might have seen or heard them all, a new situation occurs, creating a new outtake. And so the beat goes on. I’m not looking for outtakes; they present themselves, almost as often as the newbies who come to me in search of the "Actor's Holy Grail."

Often the nature of the scripts we will be reading forewarns of the mishaps I may be experiencing along the way. A good example of what may be an extra display of emotional upheaval are a variety of public service announcements where the subject matter hits a little too close to home.

We were conducting auditions for a family abuse center. The script had to do with child abuse. After slating her name, the actress in the booth began reading the script. It only took about ten seconds before she stopped reading and began to cry and apologize to me simultaneously. Needless to say, I was affected by her honesty. As I listened to her reasons for the display of emotion, it became my turn to mirror her feelings. Yes it was an outtake, but it was also a pure and truthful slice of life.

NOTE: She was able to complete the audition, and when the sponsor made the selection, lo and behold the lady got the job, or as we say: "And the winner was..."

When you do anything enough times, especially when it’s a repeat of the same language, over and over again, the law of averages is working against you. There will be a mistake (outtake).

The person to be auditioned enters my recording booth and awaits instructions. As the director, I almost always say the same thing to them: “Slate your name and try one.”

For whatever the reason, after saying the same thing a few thousand times, this time I changed it: “Slate my name and try one,” I said. And the actor, with a straight face and deadly seriousness said: “My name is Harvey Kalmenson.” After a split second of silence, we both lost it to raucous laughter.

Then there was the total klutz.

She entered the booth with her hand wrapped in a bandage. When I asked about it, the answer was like “nothing of great importance.” “Slate your name and try one,” I requested. She said nothing, but affirmed by nodding her head. I had the pot open to record the first take, as she nodded and hit the end of the microphone with her forehead; the sound startled her, and she moved even closer in an abrupt fashion which knocked over the music stand which held the script. As she bent down to pick up the script, she attempted to also straighten the stand into an up right position. By now I was trying to hold back my giggling from turning into full-fledged laughter. It didn’t work. Each of her sounds was being recorded inadvertently. I hadn’t stopped the recording process. Finally she pulled it all together; I had stopped laughing and we were once again ready to roll. “Slate your name and try one.” It worked. She slated just as her cell phone went off to the sound of “Beethoven’s Fifth.”

After she left the booth, I listened back to what I had recorded. It was one of those perfect real life moments I would never be able to stage or recreate. Her self-inflicted sound effects were hilarious.

"Intakes"

Then we have what I have coined as “Intakes.” These are the occurrences happening around and to me personally.

NOTE: Some of the happenings, which I take personally, are perhaps uniquely mine. In other words, there are many who might choose to ignore what had transpired, as not being worth reacting to or even committing to memory.

I admit to taking almost everything personally.

I’ve never been able to figure out the advisement: “Oh, don’t take it personally. He (she) talks to everyone that way.” Excuse me… I don’t happen to be everyone. I’m the only other party in the room, and the offensive one is speaking directly to me. Explain to me how or why it isn’t a personal thing. For me, it’s an “Intake.” I always react to “Intakes.”

But reacting to an intake doesn’t necessarily mean I’m going to say anything to the party I refer to as a "supplier." I call them suppliers as opposed to using a descriptive expletive as a character identification. That’s not to say, I’m not guilty of thinking about an appropriate name for the supplier; I merely have found enough self-control in order to keep from verbalizing how I really felt at the moment a supplier was doing their thing. I’m sure the same would apply to each of you at one time or another. I believe its called "biting your tongue."

DISCLAIMER: There have been, on a few occasions, incidents when da harv was not able to control himself, and presented a particular supplier (or a few suppliers - or quite a few suppliers, on a number of incidents - actually on a large number of incidents) a variety of sweeping assertions regarding the mental acuity of the supplier, be it male or female doing the supplying.

Suppliers come in all sizes, shapes, colors, and of course may include family, friends, strangers and enemies. The selection of suppliers is definitely endless. Please note, I have not included professions on my list of suppliers. But in the event I had chosen to include work categories, on the very top of my list would be two occupations; critics and politicians - not necessarily in that order.

(It is far too difficult for me to ascertain which group of these less than stalwart human beings is guilty of insulting the intelligence of the greatest number of us folks, at any one period in time.)

My great aunt Molly was one of them. She was considered an all pro for her era. The woman found it necessary to keep talking, whatever the circumstances.

She was definitely a full-blown “Yenta.”

(A woman who is a gossip, or busybody.
ORIGIN 1920s: Yiddish, originally a given name.)

I was with my dad on a visit to a relative’s home when Great Aunt Molly appeared. She greeted my father and ignored me. Her first words to Dad: “What’s a matter with him, Charlie? Da boy don’t look so good.”

Wasn’t that a nice thing to say within earshot of an eight year old kid?

It must have made an impact on my young mind, when you realize I’ve carried it with me all these years.

Summing it all up, my experience with actors in general has been an uplifting experience. Our work is the auditioning process, and without hesitation I can attest to a bottom-line absolute personal evaluation: The vast number of voice over actors are a professional joy to work with. Sure, I’m able to think back and recollect incidents that weren’t a fun-time experience. But who among us can possibly give testimony to a life with day-to-day total laugh-a-minute perfection.

My advice is simple: Only remember the intakes and outtakes that make you smile.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Be the Judge

“While I am still alive, I plan on living forever.”

“Don’t die, until you’re dead.”

- HK / 2010

You Be The Judge

“Will You Be Living Forever”

So many of us would have quit if we made the mistake of listening to or taking advice from someone deemed by society to be in a supposedly high place. We may even contemplate quitting after listening to some unqualified simpleton who society holds in the lowest tier of life’s pecking order.

Many giving the advice are fools who are paid to do so. They read books, and plays, and scripts of every nature; attend the theatre, going to dramas, comedy musicals, and watch every movie in distribution. Ballet, the opera, modern dance, and every area of music that exists; they never do any of the performing skills, because in fact they have no creative skills of their own. While they crave an audience’s applause, none will ever come, until they breathe their last earthly breath. These are the paid assassins known as "critics." Try to remember: Assassins are not your friends.

Much of what were the earliest of Hollywood talent appraisals have remained the same. So many get to a high place in “No Biz” because they were in the right place at another’s perfectly situated time of need. Those early days still exist and flourish in almost the exact same manner.

“He can’t act. He can’t sing. He’s bald. He can dance a little.”
- Movie Executive, about Fred Astaire’s Screen Test; 1929

“No one can really like an actor.”
- Alfred Hitchcock

“All actors are stupid.”
Otto Preminger; circa 1960

That 1929 movie executive became dust, while Fred’s career advanced to unbelievable heights.

Regarding what that fat little guy, Alfred, had to say: What the hell did he know anyway.

Otto was a piece of work beyond description.

Most likely it will be one of the most difficult procedures you will ever have to follow. “You Be The Judge” is the only correct critical allowance anyone toiling in the arts should ever make. Since your condition is a condition of the heart, it is an absolute impossibility for a critic of any stature to expound on what is right or wrong for you. There have been many giants deemed to be lacking sufficient talent to make it.

But giants come in all sizes; not conventionally measured by inches or feet, but rather by degree of personal determination to excel. Personal determination is what I’m speaking of. A man or woman’s desire can’t be measured by a stranger’s critical assessment.

Don’t confuse what I say about being your own judge. I’m not speaking of God-given skills. Judge your conviction to the task. Judge your desire. How badly do you want it? Are you self inclined enough to give up the niceties of life for the most meager of existences, and not seeing or caring about what your missing out on? Those are the real judgment calls. While it is nice to receive another’s appraisal of your work, each will be a fleeting moment. It is the body of your work that will ultimately be the yardstick for measuring the degree of merit, or criticism in appraisal of your skills as a talent; whatever the field.

Those who go all out are always remembered. Complete and total effort is the only critical measure of success; because it is the only true judgments that will be made; not by a paid assassin, but from the very purest of truths which only you will ever know.

(Make the call.)

“Will You Be Living Forever”

Once again… it’s your call.

For some, living forever is entirely possible, if you can make it your work.

“I’m living, as in being alive, when I’m working.
I will never stop working; it is my passion.
I will therefore live forever!”
- HK / 2010

Since the beginning of time, man has sought out not only the meaning of life, but also how to prolong it.

Can you possibly imagine how far along we would be if women were equally as interested in the same pursuits? It’s always man this and man that.

Think about it: When Ponce de León hunted for the “Fountain Of Youth,” there wasn’t one woman in his party. Sure it was the queen who financed his trip, but she didn’t have any interest in traveling along with him on a ship that didn’t offer shuffleboard or a fully stocked bar.

Let’s face it: The queen gave Ponce the money in order to get rid of him. It was really his reputation, which preceded him that got him the financing. It seemed Ponce was doing a little extra curricular activity with a few of the queen's ladies in waiting. The trouble for Ponce began when he returned from his voyage with Columbus in 1493.

FYI: It was one year after Columbus, who was himself a party animal, returned from his second trip to the new world, which he claimed to have discovered the previous year (1492). The women in the queen’s realm found Ponce to be comparable to today’s star athletes. It wasn’t really his fault; every place Ponce would go, the gals were there to meet him.

The queen had no choice but get him out of town. There were just too many little kids trying to emulate his training procedures.

The press reported his antics incorrectly. He wasn’t really out to find the fountain. The guy was a typical politician. He explored Puerto Rico and was made governor; until he shot his mouth off and, for political reasons, they kicked his ass out. Anyway, the queen figured there could never be a man who could outlive any woman.

To date, our “Queenliest” has been accurate in her presumption; women do have a greater life expectancy than men. Year in and year out for centuries, we men keep on looking for ways to improve our longevity.

Today, we accept old age as eighty, ninety, or even one hundred. Science has confounded the world by increasing life expectancy by leaps and bounds; still the gals outlive us. Some like to say it's because we (the guys) do all the chasing.

The shorter life span, in years past caused marriage, childbirth and a lot of other things to occur much sooner when measured chronologically; certainly much sooner than today.

In my own lifetime I’ve personally witnessed major sociological changes. As an example:

* I was married at age twenty-one.
* My wife was eighteen.
* By age twenty-three I had twice become a father.
* In those days (mine), it was a given; by age thirty or so, women were no longer interested in becoming pregnant.
* And retirement for men, believe it or not, was around age fifty-five.

What a difference a lifetime makes. Staying together until death do us part seems like an invention that worked during our country’s revolution.

With the revolution gone, as well as some major world wars, a Civil War, and a variety of destructive forces, the beat still manages to go on. We have learned to live with it all; well almost all. Marriage lingers on, and in it’s own way possibly hampering the chances of living forever; although scientists attest to the institution of marriage as providing longer life expectancy. Many believe, living with a pet would accomplish the same trick. (Of course, that wouldn’t be me. I’m a happily married man.)

We’ve conquered many deadly diseases and persevered through disastrous epidemics. But we still hunt for the magic serum, which will provide total invincibility. Certain occult groups believe “Budweiser” is a major restorative, providing the consumer isn’t driving and consuming simultaneously.

Others believe in the more innocuous; perhaps a substance which has been staring us in the face for centuries.

It might even be on my desk as I write this. Maybe I should look in all the drawers one more time? Or as Woody Allen pointed out,” Wait until they find out that nicotine is good for you.”

FYI: I stopped smoking about ten years ago. If they’re going to find cigarette smoking is beneficial for human health, I wish they would hurry up. I haven’t had a smoke break in years.

I remember the good old days, when I’d spend half of my waking hours sitting at a typewriter with one burning cigarette in my mouth and another I’d forgotten about in the ashtray. Those were the days. I didn’t know I was shortening my life, and I had no idea my home always smelled from stale smoke. I sit here today at this beautiful and clean computer. The house has a variety of smells; none of which are stale.

The only person of renown I know who still smokes is the current president of these United States. I wonder if the “White House” smells of stale cigarettes? Rumor has it even Laura Bush puffed away from time to time. Perhaps neither Laura Bush nor Barack Obama devote much of their time to thinking about living forever. Come to think of it, I know for sure one of them does. (I can’t prove it. I’ll just have to wait and see.)

I just completed having a major medical exam done. It’s been six years since I had the last one, and I had forgotten how many openings there are in the human body. Yesterday the doctor called me (himself) to say I have the most perfect body he had ever examined. My hearing isn’t as good as it once was, so I might not have heard it exactly the way he said it to me. In any event, the bottom line is I’m good to go, as long as I keep the same workload. I plan on doing so.

Passion is a good thing, especially when it happens to be your work.

Kidding, the doctor said, “Keep going like you are and you might live forever.”

I told you about my hearing. I never heard him say the word "might." To me it sounded like "will."

Saturday, May 1, 2010

Some Special Days In May

It’s a very old and over worked cliché - you know, the one about how time keeps flying by. I would guess everybody has said it at one time or another.

Only the very young little kids, awaiting something great like Christmas morning, or summer vacation to begin, measure time as if it were at a turtle's pace.

My elders always advised me not to rush things. “You’re going to come to a time in life when you’d like things to last a little longer.” And man, were they correct with that assumption. Like everyone else I know, we all find ourselves commenting on how the pace keeps picking up as we grow older.

But, like children, when we’re waiting for something good to occur it still takes an eternity, like when I found myself waiting for my army tour of duty to come to an end. I even prayed for the days to move a little faster. Like many of my buddies I had built my feelings for family and country to an unrealistic height, not that my feelings were a bad thing. It was more like what a young man of twenty years old would do. It’s what we did. We’d all talk about home, sharing pictures and stories. The family I refer to has long since gone. But my country not only remains - rather it has managed to surpass my boyhood expectancies.

Being able to look back at things the way they were can be a positive, when you’re attempting to evaluate a current ideological crisis.

When I say evaluate a crisis, please don’t get the idea I’m one of those people dedicated to solving our country's - or the world's problems. I am, however, like many Americans worried about the present circumstances we all live with. You know what I mean; the cost of things, the taxes we pay, and of course the work we do, and whether or not there will be enough of it to take care of my family, and in my case, support the needs of the many colleagues in our employ.

When I decided to write a blog, after a more than strenuous behest of some folks who I am closely involved with, I did so with the understanding it would be as if I was sharing some thoughts on paper, as if it was a personal thing; that under no circumstance would I be telling people what I thought they should be doing with their lives. I certainly will not offer advice about who to vote for. By the same token, I will not hesitate to share my honest feelings about my love affair for The United States Of America.

“What brighter light could burn, then that which has been nurtured by those who have understood and appreciated the gifts that endow any and all, who may venture within the boundaries of this country's great heart.”
- HK - 12/01

It’s hard to break the habits you grow up with. The practices of a mom and dad have a way of staying with a guy for a lifetime. The years may go by, and the environment appears a little newer and a little shinier. But somehow, my favorite flag colors have remained red, white, and blue. The patriotic holidays we celebrate during the month of May, were the very same events my mom and dad made sure our family all took part in.

Most Jewish families of my era were in one way or another touched by World War II. My family was one of them. It was a very natural thing for us all to observe V-E Day.

Victory in Europe Day (V-E Day or VE Day) was on 8 May 1945, the date when the World War II Allies formally accepted the unconditional surrender of the armed forces of Nazi Germany. (May 8th falls on a Saturday this year.)

Armed Forces Day became significant in our family as more and more members of the clan returned from doing their part. From service in the Second World War and to the present, our unbroken stream of bloodline continues to take part in the official duty of carrying the flag and being a member in a branch of the service. My oldest daughter was recently discharged from the army, all in one piece; thank God!

In the United States, Armed Forces Day is celebrated on the third Saturday in May. (This year it’s the 15th.) The day was created in 1949, in order to honor all branches of the service.

The first Armed Forces Day was celebrated by parades, open houses, receptions and air shows. The United States' longest running city-sponsored Armed Forces Day Parade is held in Bremerton, WA. In 2009, Bremerton celebrated the 61sth Armed Forces Day Parade.

Seeing the thousands of American Flags designating the graves of fallen servicemen and woman will always remain the most moving emotional experience of my life.

I was age fourteen, when quite by accident I found myself on the grounds of the veterans’ cemetery in West Los Angeles. It was Memorial Day. I honestly can’t recall how or why I was there, or what the weather was like. While I was a typical adolescent, there was nothing typical about that day’s experience. The grave markers were a depiction of my earliest days in Brooklyn, New York. Every immigrant group was represented equally. It was the most dignified assemblage of humanity I had ever experienced. Oddly, for me it was a feeling of life; life that had been sacrificed. The magnitude of the visual remains an overpowering image in my mind's eye.

Memorial Day is observed on the last Monday of May (May 31st in 2010). It commemorates U.S. men and women who died while in the military service. (First enacted to honor Union soldiers of the American Civil War.)

And so I have shared my history of May with you all. Hopefully it will provide a degree of well-being. Each time I think about all the folks before me, who so ardently believed that what we have in this country is worthwhile enough to sacrifice for, I gain strength.

And oh yes, I might as well include you in a little more of my not so private privacy. I love marching music. (Call me a square.) There are mornings, now and then, when I find myself facing a day without enthusiasm. My lack of zeal is almost never over concern about some pain in the ass I might be directing that day; often it is the banality of the commercial script which will get to me. Since I don’t have my friend Max to commiserate with, I’ll listen to a CD of John Philp Sousa's famous marches as I prepare for the daily onslaught of actors.

It was a personal thing, but marching band music was a mutuality I shared with my friend Max until his time on earth came up on us.

Max and I, at first glance, did not appear to have much in common. He was from a different era; considerably older than me, but yet he displayed a youthful verve for life and especially for his United States of America. Maybe, someday, I’ll be emotionally strong enough to tell you more about Max Stones. For now, all I will say is that Max was an intellectual with a blue-collar mentality; never shying away from physical labor or getting his hands dirty. He came to the United States as a young man, after losing his family prior to the beginning of World War II. Max was my daily companion for a very long period of time.

“There’s just nothing like a parade, when you’re all marching to the same tune!"
- HK