Humor in Our Workplace

I stand accused and convicted without the necessity of a trial, judge, or a jury of my peers. What is a peer anyway?

ACCORDING TO WEBSTER’S DICTIONARY:

A person of the same age, status, or ability as another specified person.

Well, allowing for the fact it is almost impossible for a person of reasonable stature to conduct themselves in today’s world without having been or being judged, it goes in the direction of explaining why da harv is critical of being judged as often as he is being judged by those who sit in mutual judgment.

Note: Only those able to understand the above paragraph are likely to be extolled as a possible peer (of mine.) I say possible because unless you’re privy and present at the time of this scribe’s efforts, there is no legitimate proof I’m the one actually doing the writing. But in the event I am the person writing this white paper, here are some of the things I might be saying…

To quote a famous Valley Girl: “It is so proven, shut up. Laughing is good for you. I mean things are really funny if you look at them the right way, don’t they?”

No Laughing Matter

Not tattoos. Tattoos are serious. I personally don’t judge people who have things drawn on their bodies. I don’t judge what I don’t understand. Usually.

I was in an art gallery recently and took notice of some of my fellow men and women who were frequenting the venue at the same time. All of us were admiring – not judging – what was on the walls and floors of the gallery. I believe they called the place a museum. (Have you ever noticed how few, if any, of the Masters depicted their subject models with other than what God had bestowed them at birth?)

Of course, there are some abstract Masters who enjoy duplicating man’s appearance by placing arms, legs, noses and whatever else they can find in weird places on the human and not so human anatomy. While I know these Masters are certainly being serious in their artistic pursuits, they can easily be misunderstood by many of us. This is not a laughing matter.

What stimulated me thinking about all this was a recent voice casting we were doing for a big time health care provider.

I had to laugh…

As usual, the casting begins in our office. Our staff takes in the order (request) from an advertising agency producer, which includes all the particulars they happen to be looking for: age range, gender, attitude, and etcetera. The calls go out to talent that we feel meets the stated requirements of the sponsor. Appointments are set for the actors or actresses to come in and audition for me at our Burbank studio.

For this particular commercial, we were looking for an adult women in her 30s or 40s to show a degree of sincerity while conversationally selling the virtues of health insurance to a small town audience. This, is what I refer to as – pure white bread.

So often on these auditions, it amuses me the way that the people who show up for the auditions visually appear the way they’re supposed to sound. In other words, imagine calling in a gangster type and low and behold, the guys who show up all look like they could have appeared on “The Sopranos.”

I think you get the idea.

I was about halfway through the audition and was in the process of bringing in the next actress to read. I called out her name as I entered the reception area and got a little more than I had bargained for. Up until that moment, each and every actress had been cut from a similar cloth – as I had mentioned – pure white bread.

Comes now the tattooed and body-pierced lady. Maybe the reason for me being taken aback by the lady’s appearance was because our world of creative fervor bends towards the more conservative demeanor of life on our generally “Hollyweird” Reservation.

In any event, without ceremony I ushered her into my Studio A and as I adjusted the microphone (as is the normal case during this particular procedure of talent coordination) I found myself face to face – no more than two feet from her – and uncontrollably staring, transfixed by the sight of the diamond studs she had in her upper and lower lips. I was almost speechless – almost, but not quite.

“Don’t those things in your lips get in the way of voice over?” I asked.

She seemed a little surprised by my question and responded by informing me they had been in her lips for a prolonged period of time and that they didn’t impair her speech.

As a supposed true professional, I am almost embarrassed to admit the sight of this mouth that to me resembled a stop sign without lights. I honestly lost my concentration. We began the audition and I heard right away she was correct. The lady’s diction was not the least bit affected by her self-induced maiming. 

Truth be told, the problem was all mine to deal with.

A State Of Affairs

As reported to me by an erstwhile member of our congress of these United States of America:

“As the one and only Harvey Kalmenson (self-elected official), I do hereby stand alone and completely informed by the same elected official, placed in office by me, I hereby so direct his (my) function to continue on, and with one singular goal as my employee:

To serve my needs as his f--k-ing boss.”

Folks, somewhere along the way this donkey, along with his colleagues, lost track of what the sacred vows within our constitution so clearly instructs them to do on behalf of the American people.

***

“Yesterday’s Story”

What a shame to have to fire a whole group of folks at the same time, but that’s exactly what the man did.

Five employees discharged at the same time.

They (the employees) had all previously agreed to get to work on time.

No wiggle room allowed.

The particulars of said agreement had been meticulously explained to each of the individuals.

• Their work was important in order for the factory to run smoothly.
• Their station provided the set up work for the next station, and so on down the factory line.
• In order to keep the factory on time and running profitably, each group had to perform as a team.
• These five people (the group in contention) paid the owner-driver of a car to provide their transportation to and from work.
• They had been late to work on two previous days.
• This was their third day of tardiness, the day that “broke the camel’s back.”

“Three strikes and you’re out” were the words of the day. The next day, they (the five employees) were gone without ceremony; they had been replaced by five new workers. Cruel?

If you think asking an employee to live up to an agreed upon standard is an unfair request, my conclusion is you’re probably a lousy employee yourself. In fact, the bottom line is rather simple: reward your strong employees – get rid of the draggers. (A dragger is anyone who keeps the implementation of anything deemed necessary for success from moving forward).

        

It leads me into a state of wonderment. A series of “what if’s” enters my thoughts... Recklessly? Perhaps not. Perhaps, my thoughts are not reckless at all. 

About all those running for office:

• What if our elected officials are asked to sign a letter of intention, prior to being elected?
• It would be a rather easy task to perform.
• Each time they make a promise, it is recorded (this is already being done without cost by every aspect of our media) and then printed on a “Report Card of Promises Made.” 
• Every elected member of any legislative government body will henceforth function as an independent contractor of and for the electorate. 
• All elected officials will have their report cards reviewed by an independent body every six months. (Any of the major accounting firms would be more than happy to take the job of tallying the results; sort of like those who add up the votes for any of the big time awards shows (i.e. the Oscars or the Emmys).
• Failure to adhere to the report cards the elected officials signed and agreed to prior to being elected, would automatically terminate the limited contract between them and us.

Our bottom line is a simple one – if you can’t perform your job as promised, then get the hell out of our way.

Let’s face it. We live in our world as professionals. Why can’t our elected officials adhere to the same rules and regulations we have to live with? Let our congressmen, women, and our president try auditioning for the job, and then not being able to perform once they step onto the boards in front of a live audience. Mr. Stage Manager, post the closing notice. We can’t sell any more tickets. The press has reported our version of “Shakespeare Doth Sucketh.” 

***

        

"Alternative Casting"

Comes now to our play, the one and only world-renowned Actress A. Problem is, she brings some baggage with her. As the producer of the play, as well as the director, I break out in a cold sweat when I read and hear a variety of tales concerning Ms. A’s past. I mean like yesterday, when she showed up late for rehearsals.

As I sat there reading a newspaper, attempting to kill some time as we waited for her, I noticed on the front page a story about how our congress just passed some new legislation late in the evening, on a Friday night before they had a chance to study what they were voting for.

Meanwhile back at our theater, we began turning out the lights for the evening just as Ms. A abruptly entered the building. Without discussion, she offered how late it was and that she hadn’t had time to study the script, but she was a trooper and totally prepared to move ahead with a cold reading. Good-bye forever – I wished her well as I left without further ado.

NOTE: Actress A was never seen again. The play went on and her replacement soared.

***

• I’d like to replace congress members if they show up late or if they miss voting.
• I’d like to replace the senate if they are unable to present a budget. NO WIGGLE ROOM ALLOWED.
• I’d like congress to be required to keep and publish a weekly log of what they have done for that week.
• I’d like congress to pay for their individual medical insurance.
• As independent contractors, Congress would be free to take vacations whenever they choose to do so providing they submit requests for said vacation at least three months in advance.
• Each member of Congress would be required to present their personal financial statement for public review on an annual basis before a new congressional term begins.
• All elected officials would be required to submit full disclosure documents, secured by a private independent investigating service. Any possible elected official must submit these documents with full and total transparency prior to campaigning for public office. 

I Accepted the Job

I accepted the job figuring that I would just be passing through and before long, I’d be back working as a Production Stage Manager. I guess it’s a safe assertion that I considered being out of work far more of an insult than the meager 200 dollars a week that the corrupt asshole was willing to pay. (To this day, I can’t believe I was willing to work for such a paltry sum.)

For those fortunate enough to never have come in contact with anything within the creative world I live with, you’ll never understand how a man with reasonably good intelligence would ever choose to do so.

I’ve been with grown men as they pitifully sobbed giving into their uncontrolled emotions. I’ve heard people scream aloud in desperation over their chosen plight – people who dream and pray for success as the only bend in life that they could possibly accept or find tolerable.

While the world we live in continually picks up speed, the destiny-driven actors remain mired in centuries old sameness. Everything we live with continues to change; everything with the exception of those who pursue the world of the creative art form.

“Do you have any advice for me to give to my young son (or daughter)?”

I’m asked this regularly. Of course I do. Do all you can to discourage them from a vocation involving a subjective art form all the time knowing your efforts will be all to no avail. Once hooked, the condition is life-long and often life threatening. The trouble is the good ones make it look so damn easy.

***        

Once upon a time, as a far younger man on a particularly sunny day, I found myself whistling as I entered the headquarters of ABC Television. I was on my way to meet the Head of whatever they called the guy who did the hiring of stage managers for the network. Forgive me for not recalling the exact circumstances, but it was so long ago and much of the unpleasantness escapes me. In any event, a key network executive whose child had been directed in a play by yours truly, was introducing me in the best way possible.

(No names will follow – not the kid’s, the executive’s, not the head hiring guy’s – just mine.)

It was a heavy-duty interview set up. The first thing the hiring guy tells me is how well qualified I was for the job. I only had to wait a moment or two for the “but” to come and, as expected, it did. I knew then that I wouldn’t be whistling on my way home. (Not whistling on one’s way home had unfortunately become a commonplace event.)

I had had my share of turned downs, but this one was unique. The guy says he’s going to talk to me off the record and if I repeat it to anyone, he will deny having the conversation with me. He proceeds to tell me I am far more qualified than most of the people he has working, but a hiring quota guides him.

Long story short time – I was the wrong gender and had the wrong ethnicity or lack there of. I was told in most certain terms, the next ABC Stage Manager he would be hiring would be a woman. I don’t know if that was the actual scenario taking place, but it didn’t matter much to me.

This whole case history popped into my mind the other day when an actor told me I couldn’t possibly get what it feels like to be discriminated against. I guess if a person stays with this game long enough, they’ll experience just about anything. At the time, the word “discrimination” never occurred to me. It was more like one of the bad breaks that comes with the illogical territory encompassing my chosen life’s predicament.

Three Famous Statements Derived From The Ancient Documents Of The World Renowned Bullshit Brigade:

1.         “It wasn’t in the cards.”

2.         “What will be will be.” 

3.         “It all happens for a reason.”

                            

Translations:

1.         Depends on who’s dealing.

2.         (Should read: Or not will it be, maybe?)

3.         Stupidity! (Overdose)

A little known fact of life that was nothing but self-evident…

In the earliest days of acting, known as the Pre-Equity Waiver Era, actors were permitted to work without being paid for their performances. They were usually given enough food to sustain them through the final curtain call, at which time most of them were carted off to a special Demented Actors Storage Facility. It was at this facility where they were free to breed and pass on the doctrines of being in the right place at the right time.

Today, because of the benefits derived from the newly formed “Actors Equity,” those same actors are only permitted to work for free if the theater (house) has less than 99 seats. Of course, now the production company usually requires the actors to supply their own sustainment –eating – usually no drinking allowed.

In general, I am glad to report how many of those who don’t have the talent to become working actors are able to secure worthwhile employment – dependent on their formal education – as waiters, waitresses, and certainly the most dominant selection for most of them, the practice of law.

In today’s world, we find a similarity between actors and attorneys; both professions have well exceeded through faulty breeding, the availability of work to be garnered. In other words… there aren’t enough jobs to go around.

In the U.S.A., there is one lawyer for every 265 Americans. (Is it any wonder so many of them are looking for work in other fields?)

Note: It’s just about impossible to figure out how many actors there are, so my conclusion has to be that the statistics (at least) rival those of the legal profession.

1.         “It wasn’t in the cards.”

2.         “What will be will be.” 

3.         “It all happens for a reason.”

Odds are it “isn’t in the cards,” because there are too many players in the game; besides, there aren’t enough cards in the deck to begin with.

Yet, (thankfully) the breeding continues.

Comparisons Made - To What Avail?

The destructiveness in a small town Connecticut school is beyond the realm of mere insanity. And yet as we grieve, enduring the seemingly insurmountable realizations of life’s turmoils, what remains is the unseemly task of carrying on and moving forward with what we have left – vocations and avocations without real substantive meaning. But giving up and in to the magnitude of what our grief demands, a complete stoppage of our normal joys, is not the direction we choose as the necessary prescription if we are to recover.

I have no celebratory bells or whistles nor statements derived from the pens of the geniuses I’ve been privileged to read. Nothing said then or today offers any relief by the word form it takes. Sharing the disbelief of that day’s voided solace has brought the common man, the clergy, and the exceptional person along with the average everyday dolt together.

That night I drank far more than my normal potion. As usual, no grape would provide a softening element of relief. Like many, I cried at the sights and sounds being reported over and over again. Sitting there starring blankly at a television monitor as the station repeatedly displayed a continuous loop of the human devastation. Then the next day, and the next came without relief – the sight of caskets, too small to be caskets. Caskets should never be for six-year-old children; it was never God’s intent, at least that’s what I’ve been told.

And words come forth from the Talking Heads directed to anyone within listening distance. These people bear no fault; they are just messengers sharing as equals the realizations of the transformations caused by the unmitigated heinousness that will remain with us all forever.

They will never hear:

“Give me what you got…

“Don’t leave anything on the field…

“Come out of the locker room ready to play.”

“How happy can you get?

“How happy can you be?”

They ask and you choose to ignore. While listening to an individual who no wise person would want in their lives yet there he is, destiny’s gift to the world around him – as shallow as a pond could be while still being allowing some ounces of water to accumulate.   

“Do you have anything left?”

Comes now the momentary hesitation…

“Ok then,” he says with his hand extended waiting for the handing over of the ball.

“But Coach, you didn’t give me time to answer.”

“I didn’t have to. You were on empty; it was written all over you.”

“The Littlest Actors”

The man is an actor.

The actor is a man.

He’s a child; so is she?

What difference does it make?

It makes a great deal of difference.

Pardon me.

Excuse me.

Remove yourself. You’re in my way.

What difference does it make?

All the difference in the world.

To whom?

To me there will always be a difference.

He doesn’t really care.

He cares a great deal.

It’s obvious, isn’t it?

Not to me.

She doesn’t understand.

She understands everything.

Is all we attempt to do a game?

Is there a manager who decides?

Do we have anything left?

For those who have never played,

To take from us what is not theirs to take?

Those children are too young to play

But yet they have played.

Who awarded the right for a child’s removal, no matter the game?

Don’t take me from the game, dear Coach.

I have so much left in my tank, albeit such a tiny holder.

Ask my Mother about how much I can play.

She won’t be able to understand.

She doesn’t understand.

She understands everything.

The bewildered Father, friends, teachers, and the brethren along with all the rest -- their littlest actors gone.

At rise, the pleasantness of the moment is upon our cast of players.

All are at the ready to perform.

Then, without notice the darkest of curtains descends.

No applause, no gratitudes; our audience remains forever unfulfilled.

All is gone except for the memories.

At rise, what could have been will never be.

“The ball has been taken from them.”

HK

Solitary

Solitary

Solemnity

Solemnity

“Keeping time,
A marvelous asset,
Free from the entrapment of a timepiece of any kind;
Forever yours, if you so choose.
When dreary, feeling what once was,
Rewards still remain,
Always they’re within the time kept;
Forever yours, if you choose!”

- HK

…Was it that long ago?

        

Four thousand men and some women and children remained gathered beneath me below decks; some asleep, others trying to rest while accepting, being far too weary to accomplish any form of rest as the ship which carried us across the Pacific Ocean, raising and lowering from stem to stern without abatement through the darkest of nights.

Early that morning we were warned of the incoming storm, which was predicted to hit us no later than dusk. The prediction was accurate. That afternoon, the ship’s hands went about their business of “battening down the hatches,” as they referred to it. What it boiled down to was protecting passengers from being swept overboard during the constant swells that endlessly displayed Nature in total command.

The sailors dutifully stretched safety lines from one end of the ship to the other, on both the port and starboard sides. As the late afternoon came upon us, the storm gathered strength.

Once again the voice came over the loudspeaker, “This is your Captain. All hands below decks until further notice.”  

Orders of that nature only applied to hands that didn’t have a working reason to be on deck. Yours truly had a working reason; I was in charge of a guard detail.

The army dutifully works in some strange ways. Why would we need guards on deck in the middle of the night? We were in the middle of the Pacific Ocean – did they think the enemy was going to come onboard at the height of a fierce storm? Besides, we had no declared enemies at that moment in time.

Ours was a troop ship on its way back to the United States from the Far East command sector. Onboard were officers and non-commissioned officers, many accompanied by their dependents. Those with dependents were treated to better conditions than the rest of us who, for want of a better description, were crammed like sardines in a can. But no matter the better living conditions aboard ship, Nature had its own charming way of being the great equalizer. Seasickness doesn’t know any bounds. Throwing up is throwing up whether you’re in a stateroom or in the boiler room.

Our job as guards was to ensure that all passengers remained below decks as ordered. As the storm increased in intensity, it became apparent we were not going to have any trouble with the passengers sneaking up on deck. The ocean was a scary body to behold.  In retrospect, it still brings back the sight of a seasick guy or gal trying to throw up over the rail of a wind-swept, pitching deck. It couldn’t have been a fun experience for the individual who was having their innards thrown back at them as they sought relief from the horrible feeling of incessant rocking to and fro, up and down.

Being alone above decks provided documentation as testament of how humble the humblest of us truly are. My thoughts this day of how it was are as clear for me as they were so many years ago.

***

        

Come on Harv, you’re being a little dramatic aren’t you?

…Only this line holds me from being gone forever. This rope is as strong as any rope ever made; you’d have to throw yourself overboard in order to be swept away.

Whatever, I’m still going to take a look.

Oh my God, this is fucking scary. That water is moving really fast and as the ship goes up, it’s like we’re going airborne.

…Like I’m on top of a building.

…This sound is unbelievable.

The swooshing and gulping of the vacuum created as the front of the vessel left the sea and then slapped down – all the time rocking back and forth as the wind picked up without mercy tossing everything in its way aside like a cardboard box in the wind – stunned and intrigued.

How could I possibly be sweating? Make that sweating like a pig.

The excitement kept building…

Leaning forward, the wind holding me erect as I attempt to get closer to the railing that separates me from the sea. The rope tightens around my arm and wrist.

Then – there it is – just a glimpse allowed by an almost starless night.

Fear and excitement stimulated beyond comprehension.

I pulled back from the rail, knowing this experience would be mine forever. I looked down at the right arm of my rain slicker. My right arm had become suddenly very warm, with reason; the rope had ripped a jagged wedge into my forearm. I was able to wrap my T-shirt around the damage and somehow got the blood to stop.

Stepping back into a corner enclosure by a stairwell, I reached into a breast pocket and found my cigarettes. I remember smiling stupidly over how lucky I was to have dry cigarettes. I placed one in my mouth and lit it as I moved back from the door well. One puff later and a huge swell washed across the ship. I was left soaked to the skin with a burned out wet clump of tobacco stuck to my face. Instinctively, I brushed away the tobacco that had smeared across my face. Using both hands to clear the mess was a bad mistake.

The next swell was a qualified wave, lifting me as a toy from my feet and slamming me to the hard deck. Then, I felt myself without control being rushed by the water towards the ship’s railing. There wasn’t time for fear. Both arms raised and lowered frantically searching for the safety line as I moved out of control towards the inevitable Deep Six.

Then, the surrealistic moment of my young life was captured – to remain mine forever.

My body came to an abrupt stop – not by my own doing but rather the braking of Nature’s force was caused by the inefficiency of a deck hand who had carelessly secured a lifeboat to its mooring. There I was, slammed up against the inside wall of a Navy lifeboat that had been wedged by the wind and sea against the opening in the very railing I was there to protect the passengers from.

I said my thank you to a higher power!

The storm broke at 4 AM. Again, it was time for the loudspeaker to come on apprising us of the current weather conditions. A new storm was on its way and would hit us within the hour. Again, the weatherman was correct.

It took fifteen days to cross the Pacific Ocean during that storm-filled trip. Eleven of those days the ship’s entire component of sailors and passengers were confined to quarters below decks.

***

I keep my memories mostly sealed from others. When I’m the holder of my own timeless serenity then, without effort, a solemnity takes over as effortlessly as any true breath of freshness. How else could anyone ever describe what is mine?

So many days and years have endlessly tolled and though free from sound, much of the memory has been scratched away.

Which arm was it – left or right?

Was the night as dark as my words allowed?

It doesn’t take much to stimulate what was once a fleeting moment into a presence, mine alone to keep. Then, thinking always to myself of the treasure of being my singular timekeeper – without a wristwatch or a clock on the wall. Being able to recall for as long as humanly possible and enjoy the recapturing of a solitary instant is when only one word will do…

Solemnity.

Things That Only I Know

At long last I have agreed to write a series of rather important documentation for the entire world to see. 

Since I have been God gifted with so much more knowledge than the average human, it was pointed out to me (by one of the individuals who makes up part of the hordes who love, admire, and respect the wealth – and more aptly put – the girth and breadth of my overall knowledge) to share some of my impressively renowned gleanings.

How this came to pass:

While addressing a rather prominent Beverly Hills bible study group, it became apparent to almost all in attendance, before I even began speaking, this was to become a most important unveiling of my extremely valuable life experiences.

As I took my place on stage I found myself thinking about George Carlin. George had his own personal way of disseminating important information – the facts of life – not known or understood by many.

“Ladies and gentlemen it is my pleasure to share with you a most important list of declaratives, which know doubt will change your adult lives as they have changed mine.”

Instantly the group moved to the edge of their seats. You could have heard a pin drop.

“The original title was War and Piss.

“Leo Tolstoy refused to change the name and so it was years before the book was released in the United States as War and Peace. And then, people bought it not because of the name change, but rather because the large number of pages made the book suitable as a step stool to get up onto the oversized beds in service by the well-known madam Polly Adler – a Polish immigrant who ran a prosperous brothel in Manhattan and later became the well-known author of her autobiography A House Is Not A Home.

“Many of Polly’s patrons returned for her services regularly, not only because she had beautiful girls working for her, but because it afforded opportunity to read Leo Tolstoy’s writings without the burdensome worry of being labeled Communists.”

NOTE: In that era, the height of men was much shorter than it is today. Many of the then Tammany Hall politicians found the “Tolstoy Book Step” of great value when mounting Adler beds.