Celebrating the Holidays

We had our office staff, teachers and engineers Christmas, Hannukah, and all purpose seasonal holiday party this Sunday last, December 11, at Firenze Osteria; Lisa Long’s establishment on Lankershim Blvd. In what Lisa calls Toluca Lake.

One very large table in our own separate banquet room, was set up for us with all the frills one might need for the most warm and friendliest crowd to be found anywhere in Los Angeles on this special afternoon / evening event. Counting Cathy and da harv we had twenty-four there to eat and be merry. Only three of our Kalmenson & Kalmenson team was unable to attend.

Our team attendance included:

Cathy Kalmenson, Harvey Kalmenson, Donna Dubain, Michele Jastremski, Debbie Caruso, Lisa McCullough Roark, Leah Swetsky, Scott Holst, Steve Staley, Denise Krueger,

Lynnanne Zager, Kathy Grable, Samantha Robson, Melique Berger, Stephen Tobolowsky, Jill Remez, Doug Gochman, Jacob Cipes, Andrew Racho, Sara Cravens, Ashley Nguyen, Mitch Urban, Ben Lepley, Marie Bagnell.

Our evening's menu:

Each year we have a theme for our celebration. This year it was “A Toast To Our Future Together”, in twenty-five words or less. Surprisingly each and every one in attendance were able to write an appropriate toast staying within the twenty-five-word guideline. All guests showed up on time, prepared, and ready to go. We asked that the clinking of glasses, and the sipping of wine not be done until the end of the final toast. This ended up being a suggestion not adhered to by each of our colleagues. Some managed to actually consume twenty-four sips.

As usual we began with Cathy Kalmenson as our opening presenter (act). She was introduced by Mitch Urban who took on the presence of the “Sergeant At Arms” at a joint session of congress, as he called everyone to attention and saying, “Mr. Chairman, it is my great pleasure, and distinct honor, to introduce the beautiful president of Kalmenson & Kalmenson Cathy Kalmenson.” Cathy with great pleasure accepted the applause graciously, and began her presentment by humorously recapping the past year; highlighting in a most descriptive fashion the joys of our business, and the pleasurable accomplishments of our Kalmenson & Kalmenson teammates.

And once again as is our usual custom I brought up the rear. My comments almost always are spurred on by how taken I am with our team. Our people have a great deal in common with the men and women who are members of our armed services; every one of them is a volunteer. Every one of them takes pride in their professional choice of occupation. Every one of them must be accepted by a leader and then accepted by the people they themselves are paid to lead professionally.

Maybe I should modify my statement about being a volunteer. A person who desires to enter our military; they are the ones who truthfully should be called volunteers. They fill out an application for employment with the service branch of their choice, fill out the forms, take a series of physical, psychological, and aptitude tests, and if they come up to an acceptable standard, they are then officially inducted into that particular branch of the service.

Our requirements at Kalmenson & Kalmenson are a little different than the military, although some would say the Kalmenson’s are tougher to become a part of. Usually we are the ones who offer a prospective teacher or engineer the opportunity to become part of our team, only after we have known them for a considerable length of time. Most of the people, who join us, do so, after one or two things having taken place, either they have been in on numerous occasions as an actor for an audition directed by me, or they are current or past students, studying with us. In any case nothing is done quickly. Each of them has been personally participating in a testing program, long before they are made aware of it. When the right time becomes apparent, they will be asked if they would like to enter into a Kalmenson & Kalmenson training program. It should be pointed out, without variance there is never any salary or payments involved during the training period. These are all hand picked folks with far more natural desire to succeed than the average person out there. All are working actors, who bring with them the desired credentials for success. By accepting our conditions for entering into our demanding training regimen, they are in essence volunteering for a service unlike any other out there.

Many who read this will judge my next statement. Those who interpret, without the benefit of having their own personal years of experiences to forage through, will never have the capabilities, of understanding the true meaning of excellence.

I had before me a homogeneous group of individual intellects, banded by desire; culturally speaking a language driven by integrity and pride of accomplishment. These are the people who agreed to volunteer when they were asked to do so. In that room on our special Christmas and holiday night, Cathy and I were able to beam without the benefit of any artificial light. Our team provided us with the best toast imaginable. They represent our name as if it were their own.

“If they don’t learn, you aren’t teaching.”

John Wooden

Kalmenson & Alone

A Throng of one

Without balance or justification
A stand-alone throng of one
Reviewed daily by way of mirror
As often as one might appear
Look what joy I see in me
No questions allowed
More speed when space need not be shared
Lacking despair, for none was ever there
What was has always been
A one sided building leaning
Towards Kalmenson
At one with being alone.


The Decision Making Process


For sure all family’s are different with regard to the decision making process. What is or isn’t important may have enormous variances from home to home around the country, your own neighborhood, or even the world. The case of vanilla or chocolate sounds so simple, but is it?

Three guys bring home some ice cream to surprise their families at the end of a workday. The scenario will vary.

In house number one the kids are eagerly awaiting Dads entrance; they’re all over him from the moment he comes into the picture. They over-react with yelling and screaming about what Dad has brought home with him. Their display shows how they couldn’t care less about the package he has with him. Believe it or not; the kids are hyped up about seeing their Dad; what a concept!
House number two; Dad shouts out, “I’m home”. No answer; the kids are busy watching Sponge Bob.



Lillian

I would be destined to remember this one morning in November; not that it was morning, or even the month or the year, which gave it an extra specialness, not as an earth-shattering event. Logic provides remembrance of ones own birth as just about an impossibility to forget. And lest I forget, the woman who carried me through to a full time pregnancy, found it her natural duty in life, to remind me whenever it was at all possible, that mine was indeed the most difficult pregnancy ever recorded as such. In her very own words, “You were a painful little infant to carry around for so many months, and an even more painful child to deliver.” She also had an unbelievable story about the number of hours she was in labor. I know my first two words on earth must have been, “I’m sorry.” And of course her response,” You should be!!!” Auspicious, wouldn’t you say?

A day or single moment added to many, through my early years which laid wide open what was mine, always and forever; they say seventy five percent of who we are, and most likely what we will turn out to be, coincides rampantly with what became ours by way of environment. In other more simple terms: It’s mostly about bloodline, baby. When do we allow for the acknowledgment of what is ours alone, and what was given to us unknowingly by a parent, or perhaps both mother and father?

Like so many boys who became men before me, I grew up with a heavy dose of hero worship for my dad. The thought of being anything at all like my mother was beyond my comprehension. In my mind mothers were there to take care of the house, prepare the food, and in general be a family caterer. She couldn’t possibly help me with the important things like playing baseball, or attending baseball games, or listening to baseball games on the radio.

(Yes, I did say radio. When I was a young boy, television had not yet made an appearance. My father and I spent many hours together sitting in front of the family radio listening to a sporting event, or to one or more of the popular radio shows.)


What could I possibly say about Lillian, to capture her nature, as one of the most benevolent people I’d ever meet during my lifetime? Many that met Lillian did not share my feelings and felt the opposite to be true. She was a wildly swinging patriot of the United States. She took this country personally, as if God had given it to her. Her character traits were by no means cultivated. Love, laughter or anger, she shot from the hip. So it came as no surprise that Lilly treated a person’s uncertainty as a gesture of deceit. Extremely quiet people occurred to her as having something up their sleeve. These were the folks she might never trust. The woman didn’t enter a room, she penetrated; without a word she became a focal point. Her words could be sweet or sour, matching a temperament capable of instant change, often times in mid sentence. And At Lillian’s Court, without reverence or resemblances of sweet talk,
The walk she walked was hers.

Lillie’s Convictions

Solar Power

• It never rose and it never flew; there for it was bullshit they blew.
• Politicians
• To every answer you can find a new question. For every question those who understood neither would elect another question, and then you proudly take office without a prayer to succeed, or promises can you fulfill?

Neighbors

• If each one sweeps before his, or her, own private door, the whole street is clean. But what may remain within each mans home, may never be seen.

Marriage

• Don’t change for me, but do allow yourself the ultimate pain and gratification of some degree of alteration. And if not alteration, perhaps making a marriage license cost prohibitive as the solution for half of the pending divorces. If most people couldn’t afford to get married, we would have far fewer divorces.

Divorce

• If the married couple doesn’t have children the divorce would be free of charge. A simple goodbye would do the trick. People who have brought children on to this earth would not be eligible for divorce until the youngest of the children reached age eighteen. Disrespectful children would not be allowed to reach the age of eighteen.

Understanding Love

As in things from childhood, never understood
When a parent gives voice to them
Some children never will or would
They must take what is given
And know all told must be true
When a child listens early on to a parent
Without living experiences
Never understanding
Never understood.

Positive Thinking

There are times when I wonder why I write a blog. Many years ago when I first picked up a pen for profit I was told in no uncertain terms to prepare for criticism. At least then I was being paid, and somehow indecision regarding the validity of my work didn’t seem to get to me quite as much as it does today. There were times when I was working for a newspaper that I wondered if anyone was actually reading what I had to say. It was like I was writing an obituary column for those readers who had already died. No wonder they didn’t make comments.

I can remember early on, about thirty years ago, when I was a guest on a radio talk show, and found myself wondering whether there was anyone listening in to what I was saying. The host smiled and said with a sly wink, “Wait until we open up the phone lines for questions and comments”. It was then I found out the real importance of them having a producer who also functioned as a screener: Some of the callers were really screw loose with what they had to say. One of the kids at the radio station called it pounce time. I found out quickly what he was getting at. There are people out there who devote their energies towards indiscriminate attacks on whomever they can find who isn’t in a position to retaliate. These are the unpaid critics, the "wannabes" that don’t begin to have the talent or the fortitude to make it on their own. (There was a time delay, so luckily most of these nut jobs couldn’t get through.)

Today there exists a new and equally parasitic clutter the creative world must deal with. They are still categorized as critics, and their psychological thrusts are the same as most those other bygone eras produced. But today’s rock-throwers have far greater capabilities than ever before in the history of communications. All a person needs is a computer, a phone, a screen, and an acidic condition in order to render their dissertation to a world in waiting. About one year ago I was cajoled to venture fourth into the wide world of “blogdom”. In doing so I promised myself I would not take to heart any really mean spirited critiques any of my readers might offer. Admittedly, my promise to myself at times is hard to live with.

***

One Hundred Blogs Later

Writings, scribbling(s), statements of what have become lived in facts...receiving things from people, often the reality of tainted distortions of the real truth, or the truth as they perceive it. I try not to let another human beings misgivings about life, as they have lived it, get in the way of my attempts at remaining positive.

The majority of people offering their personal sentiments regarding my opinions, as I continue to scribe, have been positive in nature. Many have thanked me for reminding them of what they themselves know to be true. Most are reflections of little tidbits from my own past, which helped me during my own down times.

I doubt if we can uncover very many folks in the entertainment business that have reached a noteworthy degree of success without experiencing first hand a pitfall or two, or three, or four, or more. My own are numerous.

If I were to ask a person what gave them the right to vote for someone other than who I voted for, I believe I would instantly earn the title of one of the world's most boorish men. But what about an obviously bitter old person, who was never at any point of creative acceptance in their life, questioning why I have the nerve to write a blog, and further going on in asking if I’m seeking out a new career. To this person, I felt duty bound to offer my thank you. I will forever feel indebted to you for offering your boorish direction. You have given me the fortitude to go on with an even greater display of positiveness than ever before. Bless you for taking the time to let some of the vindictiveness seep from the core of uselessness that has centupled as you continue your creative condemnation during the remainder of your senior years.

Gobble, Gobble, Toil and Trobble

What would a turkey say if not gobble, gobble? Does it trouble you as it does me? And do they always go with two gobbles, as opposed to just one, or a series of many gobbles in a row? And, what does gobble, gobble mean? Do you suppose perhaps the turkey has an idea of what intentions surround his or her well-being. I swear to you I heard a turkey say to its handler the other day, in turkey talk, in eight rapid fire gobbles, “keep your f…ing hands away from me, pervert!”

It isn’t as if a turkey is speaking a foreign language. I’ve never met a good-natured turkey. That’s not to say they have any influence on a persons good or well being. As a matter of fact good tidings at Thanksgiving time come to us from all over the world.

To you and yours on land or on the sea;

Swieto Dziekczynienia
(Happy Thanksgiving in Polish)

Good Morning, Here's Your Crutch

What a difference a few years make. I suppose when cultures change, the people who live within them, simultaneously, and automatically modify as well. As a melting pot country, no other place on earth follows this traditionally the way we do.

I grew up in a household where we all worked. Our family followed a pattern, which was set up years before I came along by my mother and father's parents.

The year was 1904 when the boat carrying my dad’s mother and father, my grand parents, entered New York Harbor.

President: Theodore (Teddy) Roosevelt

USA Population: 79,163,000

Brooklyn toymaker Morris Michton names teddy bear after Teddy Roosevelt.

Modify and Invent Only In America!

Morris Michtom arrived in New York from Russia about 1889 as a teenager. He married Rose, also a Russian immigrant, Rose was born Jan. 1863 in Russia and immigrated in 1889. Both became naturalized citizens in Sept. 1892. Together they developed an American icon: the "Teddy Bear".

On December 25, 1902, in a tiny village, some place in Russia, Harvey’s dad, Charles Kalmenson was born into the family of Ethel and Max Kalmenson; two years later they boarded a steamer en route to the United States.

…Concurrently

A cartoon appeared in December 1902 by Clifford K. Berryman showing how President Theodore Roosevelt couldn't shoot and kill a harmless little bear cub during one of his hunting trips. Morris thought to make a stuffed bear similar to the one in the cartoon and put that up for sale, first calling it "Teddy's bear" in February 1903.

Just like Morris Michtom, each of my aunts and uncles on both sides of the family tree were recognizable individuals. There was nothing robotic about them. Yes they all worked; they all quit school far too early; nary a college graduate amongst them, yet never a thought or complaint about living within a societal inflicted servitude; not as slaves to a ruler, but rather good people who played the cards dealt to them with a zeal for life living in what they all recognized as the greatest country in the world. In retrospect, I would have to say they were the strongest willed people I would ever come in contact with during my own lifetime. These were the immigrant grandparents and their immigrant children who are recognized today as the greatest generation ever.

Back Then and There

At family get "togethers” noise prevailed. I mean under the best of circumstances, that many aunts, uncles, and children running around always created the atmosphere of a medium sized commotion at best. It seems appropriate for me to refer to those gatherings as encounters.

What sticks in my mind was the way we were all welcomed by the relatives who arrived at family gatherings before we did. I don’t ever remember a door having to be opened for us. We got there, jumped out of the car and ran up to see which cousins would be there for us to play with. It was a glorious time for the kids. Mom and dad would bring up the rear, carrying a pie or cake mom thought would be suitable for the particular event.

The greetings were enormous smiles on my father's side of the family, as an aunt or uncle would shout out, “It’s Charlie and the kids.” I guess they decided my mother had not yet earned any form of billing. The funny thing was my mother's side of the family did the same thing when we visited them. If you were getting the feeling the families didn’t really care for each other, you’d be correct. My father's attitude towards my mother's side was mostly disdain. I’m sure their feelings were likewise as well. But regardless which side we visited the atmosphere was alive with life’s greatest gifts. Music, conversation, and monstrous amounts of artery clogging food prevailed.

(I never heard the word cholesterol until I was a grown man)

Believe it or not, as a child I never heard an aunt or uncle complain about their own trials and tribulations. That’s not to say they didn’t understand human plight. Conversations showing great pity for the next guy’s problems were ongoing. I guess it was their way of being thankful for what they had. The common belief however was they all practiced keeping any of the bad stuff away from the children. The premise was, “They’ll have plenty of time to grow up and feel the pain.”

As an aside, that’s how we learned to understand the Yiddish language. Anything the adults didn’t want the kids to hear was spoken in Yiddish. And as kids the minute the adults either lowered their voices or continued their conversations in Yiddish we all made it a point to learn. It’s fun thinking back about how my cousins and me would compare notes on what we thought they were gabbing about. As we learned, we also took on the mannerisms of our aunts and uncles as their story telling unfolded.

I learned gambling and flirtatiousness from my mother’s side. They to were the performers; the overly dramatic, drama queens and kings who never were troubled by qualms. They did what they felt like doing. All were merchants. As a child it seemed to me all of their customers were cut from the same cloth. Bargaining and often times flipping a coin; double or nothing in order to settle on the final sale price. Beware if you tried to pull a fast one on them during a business transaction. Those aunts and uncles all came equipped with tempers. That’s not to say they weren’t adverse to conducting a business deal with a questionable scruple or two. On my dad’s side, the practiced façade was intellect. They were the shirt and tie business people crowd. They were nine brothers and sisters who strove for excellence at all costs; eating, drinking, music and in depth political discussions. Eight of the nine children were in business for themselves. One of the brothers, who was categorized as a “lunch pail carrier” rarely offered as much dialogue as the other brothers and sisters did. He was the oldest, and the first to feel the pressure brought on by the need for him to help support the family. During his lifetime, he labored six days a week as a sewing machine operator in a variety of garment factories. As a child I wondered why he didn’t smile as much as everyone else.

Today I can identify. What a burden it must have been. He was the oldest child, in a new country; without friends; and accepting the involuntary removal of his childhood, without explanation, or with even the remotest understanding of his transformation into manhood.

“A man is not old until his regrets take the place of his dreams”

Every one of the new folks in town practiced the precepts of early to bed and early to rise. None of them had any inkling of whether it might make them healthy, wealthy, or wise. It is also doubtful that any of them knew it was our own Benjamin Franklin who coined the phrase. What was happening in actuality was quite simple; everything was a contest with life itself. Don’t get me wrong. None of the old timers went to bed thinking about being the first person in the neighborhood to awake each morning. Just plain good common sense governed just about everything they did. The more hours of daylight they could devote to business, the more chance there was of selling whatever it happened to be they were hawking.

What occurred to me early on as a kid was the warm way they all greeted each other. It was as if the entire community was pulling together, even under the sorriest of conditions. The charm of hearing a person with a strange language saying good morning, and how are you this fine day to an equally traveled neighbor returning the greeting, will always remain with me.

“You know, mine boy…Irving Berlin wrote that”

Talk about “good morning how are you”, giving a lift to ones spirits. Know one ever had a greater display of pride in the United States then those European immigrants. There seemed to be a history lesson instantly available on the tip of every tongue. “Irving Berlin wrote God Bless America in 1918. He doesn’t make a dime from it. Every penny goes to the Boy Scouts of America, and to the Girl Scouts of America." And when they said the word America it was always so special. Even arguments turned somewhat positive, when one of the combatants said to another:

“Don’t tell me what to do. This is a free country we live in. Or haven’t you heard?”

(The response)

“I heard, I heard. I heard long before you heard. I came here to this country three weeks before you did. Did you know his real name from Germany was Baline, Israel Baline?.

(The response)

“Don’t tell me, I heard”

***

“Good Morning, Here’s Your Crutch” may strike many as a strange title for a personal journal. To all of you who might feel that way, cool, I agree with you. A great part of my life is free form; like when a flip card appears, and it’s up to you to say the first thing that pops into your mind. Admittedly, I am often painfully abstract in the assumptions which strike me each time one of life’s flip cards reveals a new question, a new challenge, or a new debacle of any kind. Without hesitation I’m going to wade in. In my defense, I remind you of the people who influenced the earliest part of my life. None of those folks who traveled long and hard by boat in order to get to this country, believed in half way measures of any kind. It was always a robust "Good morning" offered each and every day, to who ever came their way. Their greetings were straight forward, to the point and emanating from the souls of people who felt, being allowed to breathe and pray freely was gifted to them in Gods eminence, these United States. The hours they toiled made them self-sufficient.

One day a peddler who moved from street to street with his horse drawn wagon filled to the brim with used furniture and anything of value he could find in the street, offered this little six-year-old boy a ride in his wagon. I accepted with great joy. It was my first crack at being a cowboy. It was also the first time I received an intellectual message from a stranger. I sat next to the peddler on the flat bench seat that felt like we were three stories off the ground. Between us were his crutches. It was also the first time I had ever seen crutches, and had no idea what he used them for. A block later when our ride came to an end, I found out. As the peddler climbed down from his wagon the crutches came into play. The peddler was unable to walk without their aid. His very strong arms came into play as he easily lifted me down from the wagon. As I thanked him for the ride, the peddler noticed how curious I was about his crutches. “They're called crutches”, he said. “I need them to walk.” And then with the deepest and warmest smile he offered me, “To walk, but not to think. Don’t ever use a crutch in order to succeed. It won’t help you.”

And so it was that a person, who failed to say good morning to me, triggered the writing of this blog. And in my mind there arouses another flip card, with the question: Does it take an immigrant to train this new generation, so consumed by self-centeredness?

Have a great day. It was my pleasure being able to talk to you. And please, if you get a chance, say hello to anyone who knows me.

A Young Actor's Refleciton

Hi, Harvey!
Great seeing you again!
-Ben

I started my voice acting career when I was around six years old, so by the time I was ten, I'd been to pretty much every big casting studio for all sorts of different roles. They say, "Time flies when you're having fun," and to me, voice over is nothing BUT fun! I never really notice the passage of time until I think of all the places I used to audition at that have closed down since. That's why it's always both refreshing and nostalgic at the same time whenever I get to go to places like Kalmenson & Kalmenson that I used to go to over nineteen years ago. It's hard to believe that I was getting direction from Harvey Kalmenson as a ten year old, little boy and am still getting direction from him as a twenty-nine year old, little boy! Whenever I audition there, I can still hear my ten year old voice in my head say, "Gee, I really hope Mr. Kalmenson thinks I'm good enough!"

da Harv's Reply

Not to worry "Big Ben, you were good enough when they first "schlepped" you in to audition for me and you have improved with time.
It never ends, does it? Studying and practicing ones craft is a never ending process.
I do believe remaining a little boy is an important part of this game we play.
Thank you for the kind words.
da harv

Three Parts To My Brain

OK then in response to the thousands upon thousands of requests, (actually one or maybe two people) I’ve decided to acquiesce; to accept, comply, and submit, tacitly, or passively with regard to da harv.

Translation, “This blogs for me baby”.

THE SCENE:

DAY, EARLY IN A TYPICAL AUDITION WEEK, AT THE WORLD FAMOUS STUDIOS (perhaps not but I happen to like the way it sounds) OF KALMENSON & KALMENSON, THE MOST INTEGRITY-RIDDEN, AND DRIVEN (that of course is an understatement) FOLKS IN THE ENTIRE WORLD OF VOICE OVER!

TODAY WAS TO BE ONE OF GREAT SUFFERING; OUR OWN DA HARV WAS SET TO AUDITION SOME TWENTY-FIVE OF THE BRIGHTEST AND MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMEN IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. (I love saying “The United States of America"). THE SUFFERING PART COMES BECAUSE DA HARV IS KEPT BEHIND GLASS, SEALED IN AN ALMOST AIR TIGHT AND SOUND-PROOF THING THEY REFER TO AS A CONTROL ROOM. WHAT EVER MIGHT BE RUNNING THROUGH THE MAN'S MIND AT THE SIGHT OF THIS OVER ABUNDANCE OF EYE CANDY, TURNS OUT TO BE NOTHING MORE THAN HIS OWN PERSONAL REALITY SHOW; JUST PERFECT FOR HBO.

ALL IS SET ON THIS DAY. THE SCRIPTS ARE OUT IN THE RECEPTION AREA, ALONG WITH A PAGE OF SPECIFICATIONS TO ASSIST THE TALENT WHILE REHEARSING FOR THE AUDITION. TODAY’S AUDITION IS KNOWN AS A PSA; PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT. THIS PARTICULAR PSA IS SEEKING DONATIONS FOR A WORLD WIDE GROUP, WHICH HELPS ABANDONED CHILDREN.

THE DIRECTION FOR EACH ACTRESS TO FOLLOW:

”KEEP IT SIMPLE AND DIRECT.

DON’T GET SAPPY.

THE VISUAL IS VERY STRONG AND REQUIRES VERY LITTLE EXPLANATION.

TOTAL HONESTY IS THE NAME OF THE GAME.”

First Person Singular

Let the games begin. The very first actress in to read, in a matter of seconds breaks into tears after delivering a sentence or two. Time out. The game stops. Naturally I ask what the problem was, or is; all the time knowing more or less what it had to be. You see… after thirty plus years of doing this, this director has developed similar emotional tendencies as his players. The magic, but not mysterious word is certainly reflection. Reflection and truth are synonymous.

“What did you recall?" I asked her. She responded with her own question to me; one I’ve heard more often than it would be possible to recall. Thinking of the past is a common occurrence for all of us. Recalling a memory, regardless of its content, is an instant assimilation of the truth.

Her recollections were of her early years as an orphaned child. She had grown and excelled as a good human being. What brought the tears was the visual of those kids who were experiencing a page from what resembled her own.

“How can I avoid this from happening to me again?” she asked. Always a tough question to answer; we seek the truth by conjuring up the past. All I could offer as a solution to excess emotional display is what sometimes works for me.

(Please take note…I said sometimes.) If it’s a script I’m to read, especially if its before a group, I’ll read it out loud over and over again with as many repetitions as time will allow. The other method is to attempt to remove ones self from any form of identification with the subject matter.

Note: If we perceive it as the truth, then that’s what it is.

***

Actress

(Not the same one)

(To da harv with complete seriousness)

You come across as if you have two brains, while the rest of us must live our lives with merely one.

da harv

(To the actress with complete seriousness)

Huh?

Actress

I mean you feel for what we’re doing or attempting to do, as if you were doing it yourself.

da harv

(To the actress with complete seriousness)

Excuse me. I am doing it myself. Think about this; I’m doing three separate things: directing, acting, and being an audience. As the director, I try to speak your language. As the actor I attempt to feel it the way your feeling it. And then as the audience, I’m listening for your truth to emerge.

da harv

(cont.)

It’s not that I have more than one brain…it’s that my brain, the one that I have and use regularly, has three separate compartments: left, right and of course the one I consider as the most important part, the middle, my central chamber.

Actress

(Smirking)

Central chamber? I’m really very serious about my question. I was trying to compliment you. You on the other hand sir, are being facetious.

da harv

Flippant would be a good word as well; you, my lady, are dealing with da harv’s central chamber. It's my practice to treat serious issues with deliberately inappropriate humor, or perhaps even acting a touch. I need to …it helps to keep me sane.

Actress

I was talking about your ability as a director.

da harv

I’m not ever centered on the seriousness of self. I do what I almost always do; I placed your comment right smack in the center. Ergo, my center brain compartment...

Actress

Why?

da harv

It keeps me sane.

Actress

How?

da harv

Knowing it’s there for me to use if I want to; my chamber of ridicule...Right there in the center of my brain, able to go to either side effortlessly...

Actress

You mean you store the crap in the center?

da harv

Now you got it!

Actress

Why would you store crap to reflect on?

da harv

Think about it. Isn’t there a certain amount of crap in everybody’s life? If we remove all the bad things from our reflective repertoire, what roles would there be for us to portray?

Actress

Thank you for that Harvey Kalmenson. I never thought about it that way before.

da harv

You’re very welcome. I got it from Stanislavski.

***

First Person Singular

COMMERCIAL VOICE OVER IS A PART OF LIFE. SO YES IT DOES HAVE SOME CRAP AS PART OF IT. YOU DON’T HAVE TO LIVE WITH IT. YOU MIGHT JUST FIND A PLACE TO STORE IT FOR ANOTHER DAY.