My Words

My words are my words

They are not etched in stone

Still, they are mine

Some would have said:

“His words are harsh

Too strong in order to be digested

Too weak to bet on, or pray upon.”

But for better or worse, they remain mine.

My brief respite, caused by a satiation attributed to the driving forces of our ignoramus-impaled elected officials and their executive appointees, has come to an end.  I will once again find the time required to blog you, although it will be a short allotment at best when one considers the limits of the human life’s expectancy, and the enormity of material available that stipulates the grievous ineptitude of our public officials. Though those in the so-called Hollywood community rarely read what I write, it makes no never mind to me, for I am a full service talker.

“Full Service Talker”

When a person arrives on this planet as a “full service talker,” by the dictates of his or her normal breathing requirements to sustain life, said talker (in this case scenario me) becomes quiet only as a necessary form of relief. Even a full service talker must take the time to breathe.

        

Truth be told, I just had to stop for a moment -- not necessarily to rest, or catch my breath -- to keep from saying something I might regret in later years. The power of the quill can be an awesome thing. (I love saying the word “quill.” It’s so damn romantic.)

As my Father so vehemently professed to his young son, “Be careful what you write or say Harv, there just may be a few who are listening in -- some even without you knowing it.”

I find myself with some extra time on my hands. I was planning on attending a meeting at the White House this last week, but somehow Valerie Jarrett neglected to send me an invite. Don’t get the idea that I’m the least bit offended. She doesn’t actually know me; if she did know me, I’m certain she’d have an instant dislike for my political principles and myself in general.

An aside: I love romance. Please don’t get nervous (you dolt), I’m not going to talk about lovemaking, though I am an expert at and on the subject of making.

I believe it was the 2000-year-old man who said, “Making is wonderful, especially when you use it in association with a person you like or respect.”

Politicians make laws. I don’t care for politicians.

People who make time to read are my favorites. In actuality, these people are taking as opposed to making. It doesn’t mean I like takers. It means I like the kind of people who take from themselves and give freely to others. In this case, taking from our limited well of allotted time on this earth, is unquestionably the most valuable commodity any human being has to give. Imagine if our elected officials took the time to read what they were signing -- how much would it help to make ours a better society to live in? It would definitely be a trend back to the rewards of romanticism.

Like I said earlier, I don’t like politicians. Politicians all seem to be void of romance. I doubt if there is anything one might construe regarding the purchase of a hooker’s time as a romantic event. Of course, it would be considered as a romantic event if the politicians had to fight their way in or out of the brothel in order to gain satisfaction. (Boy, did I clean that one up.)

Don’t you find it interesting how much stranger truth is than fiction? Imagine that, as a businessman, I have decided to hire people and allow them to set their own rules and regulations concerning their employ. Wages, time off for vacation or sick leave, and cost of living increases based on cost of living guides they set -- and threw in as an extra every kind of medical insurance and retirement plan known to man. In the event that you have plans regarding replacing said employee -- forget about it. Their contract calls for them to be on the job for at least eight years. Recognize the story? It’s true. We call them Congressmen. If I were running a law firm in such a manner, our company name would have to be “Ludicrous & Laughable.”

So, forget the romance. It’s gone. It was another time. Another era. It was the Roman Empire that I’m really talking about. For the sake of conversation let’s call it Detroit.

NOTE: For those of you who spend your days plugged in to nothing but music, this just in: The great industrial empire city of Detroit has officially filed for bankruptcy. Detroit is the largest city in the United States to have declared for bankruptcy in the history of our country. Dependent on the source, Detroit’s elected officials state that they are eighteen billion dollars in the red. All have agreed it is an impossible amount of indebtedness to overcome.

        

The question is how could the once Industrial Automobile capital of the world go down the tubes like it has now? Who’s responsible? Who could we point a finger at, and what good would it do?

Promises, Promises

The affluent upper and general middle class -- once the strength and breath of Detroit -- reached its peak in 1950 at 1,849,568 million people. Today, Detroit is left with 701,475 people who are ill equipped to take care of themselves, let alone bear the burden of supporting a bankrupt municipality that is 18 billion dollars in debt.

        

“The First Great Problem Solver”

On a dreary morning, long before recorded time, it was decided by the powers that be, (in actuality, the powers that were) that a necessity demanded a new form of being to rise to the helm of life as they understood it. The people of the time to which I refer, were known as Carolers. Each of them was known to have a beautiful singing voice. At the time, musical instruments were not yet being manufactured. The singers were accompanied by the sounds of breezes gently wafting through the trees, creating a lovely, soothing sound.

The problem was the lack of dependability on the part of the breezes. There were periods when the villagers would stand around for hours --often days -- waiting for even the smallest murmur of a breeze to come up. One day Slick, the town crier, came upon a group standing around in the village square.

“Why don’t you sing a capella?” He asked.

Since there weren’t instruments as of yet, they had no thought of singing without them. As their leader pointed out to Slick, it would be like telling people to warm up food before they had a fire.

Slick made it a point to explain the village singing conundrum to the Village Leader. Normally, this would have represented a problem since the elected leader was usually not to be found anywhere near the village square during working hours. The leader’s absences understandably made good sense; his reasoning was that it was much easier to get a tee off time during the week than on the weekends.

Slick ultimately caught up with their leader as he completed the first nine holes of his round. In no more than an instant or two, the inconsistency of the breezes problem was solved. By executive order a capella singing groups were banned. The task of informing the constituency of said order was assigned to Slick, the town crier.

That night, when the Village Leader returned from his round of golf, he found the village deserted; not even a note was left for him.

Years later, a new leader was placed in charge of the deserted villagers by a private company in the business of manufacturing the first horse-drawn golf carts. This ultimately came to an end because the build up of horse manure made putting an impossible skill to master. Once again, the village people moved to a new location, leaving behind the city forever to be known as: Dreckville.

We move to a wonderful era, circa 1947. Dreckville has turned in to the wonderful community of Los Angeles, California. Descendants of the original inhabitants of Dreckville heavily populate the city. The mayor, Pasquell Lombardo Cohen, is a fourteenth removed grandson of the original Slick -- the town crier who disappeared from the employ of the original Dreckville leader.

At Schwab’s Drug Store on Hollywood Boulevard, it’s early afternoon and the place is packed with wannabes. Each person at the counter is equipped with a newspaper, a Hollywood Reporter, and a script for a film they’re trying to sell. 

        

NOTE: I was far too young to be one of them, but in spirit I was already one of the clan that Otto Preminger described as being “stupid.”

Two guys were having a good solid (and may I add) healthy conversation. At times voices could be considered raised. At times, a better than normal degree of passion was shown by each of them. If you’re curious, in the beginning, these two were in a hot discussion concerning the strength of our current Los Angeles Dodgers’ pitching staff. Their dialogue flip-flops to a point where it’s unlikely that a listener can tell one from the other. They appear to have everything in common, except skin color. They were strange fellows to share camaraderie -- neighbors, friends, classmates, and now two of the thousands chasing their dreams in a far more romantic Los Angeles than what exists today.

I agree.

I disagree.

I really think your evaluation is a dopey one.

Why, because it differs from yours?

No, because I happen to be right.

These two stalwarts went on and on up until hunger got in their way.

Lets grab something to eat.

Sounds good to me.

I changed my mind.

What do you mean?

Who do you think you are, Belafonte?

I don’t get it.

I’m kind of kidding you.

Kind of?

Yeah. Kidding. Making a joke.

How can you joke about Harry?

Just like Steve Allen does.

You’re not Steve Allen.

And you’re not Belafonte.

But I’m black.

I hadn’t noticed until you pointed it out.

You’re being insensitive.

You do realize you just called your supposed closest friend insensitive?

Okay you dopey bastard, you got me now.

Let’s go eat.

Agreed.

Where do you want to go?

Anywhere where color has nothing to do with the food.

You have something against colorful food?

You just don’t get it, do you?

I almost never understand where you’re coming from!

That’s why we get along so well.

How come you don’t get it when I’m the one whose kidding?

I do, but I don’t want to hurt your feelings.

Like how?

By pointing out how insensitive a person you happen to be.

Because I’m black?

No, because you happen to be a dopey bastard.

How did you figure that out?

I have many friends who also happen to be dopey bastards, just like you.

Now you’re finally beginning to make some sense.

Mexican?

Not funny; quit with the name-calling.

Mexican food, not people!

Oh.

It was a much more romantic time.

The first Tonight Show aired in September 1954. Steve Allen started it all. Steve was a great human being to have known by one and all.

Before the Mustache

It was nothing more than a plain old upper lip. Day in and day out, across this country and to another continent, I traveled with a few thousand of my army buddies. Many of them brought with them lips equal to mine, but many with far more hair.

The upper lip is a part of the body that rarely, if ever, gets enough credit. Many of the world’s biggest names found the necessity to give credit where credit was due. Take, for example: Martin and Lewis, Lewis and Clarke, Burns and Allen, Abbott and Costello, Rowan and Martin, none of the Beatles, along with a historical list exceeding one’s wildest imagination. Only Elvis came forth with an elaborate smirk to end all smirks; yet even Elvis never found the time to pay tribute to his upper lip as would befit a wiggler of his imperious stature. 

President William H. Taft

We haven’t had a President of these United States, with hair on his upper lip since William Howard Taft, our 27^th President way back to 1909. That would make it 104 years since one of our guys showed some hair on his upper lip. That’s not to say that hair on an upper lip makes the man. Political things appear to go in cycles. The last 18 Presidents have been hairless. Most likely, we’re destined to continue playing the waiting game. Who knows -- the next mustachioed President might also be our first woman to hold the office.

Note: Harvey Kalmenson has successfully worn his own mustache for the past 45 years. It became part of his mystique following his service in The United States Army.

During my review of the former and current Presidents of the United States, I found that, beyond a shadow of a doubt, I am more qualified for the office of President than most who have preceded me. Not since Theodore Roosevelt has any other man equaled my dual qualifications of mustache and military. 

President Theodore Roosevelt

The record speaks for itself. If I were to run for office my slogan would be:

“Mustache / Military

And No Internal Revenue Service”

Put a man with hair on his upper lip into the Oval Office!

In conclusion, it should be apparent that the next candidate for President of the United States who darns a mustache would be an odds-on favorite to win, the exception, of course, being that female candidate.  

Talent or Experience?

As in the case of life as we know it to be, all answers are dependent on both experience and talent. Unless that is, you fall into one of the many cases of those too young to understand either or both terminologies. 

In the world of the subjective art form, early on talent -- which is seemingly derived by some heavenly force often described as “God given” -- it is often taken for granted by those who have it, and envied by those who don’t.

For the sake of what I have to say, I beg you to please leave out computer games, Linked In, Linked Out, Facebook, Disgracebook, hallucinatory people, tweeting (except the sounds made by birds), or the sounds attributable to excessive flatulence, human or otherwise.

PLEASE, TAKE IT FROM ME: LUCK WILL ALWAYS BE AN OVERRIDING FACTOR IN ALMOST EVERYTHING WE ATTEMPT IN LIFE!!!

My Mom and Dad used to have heated arguments regarding the subject of luck as opposed to developed skills. Dad believed in developed skill, while my Mother, who was an ardent gambler throughout her lifetime, was a great proponent of heavy-duty luck. Both Mom and Dad were extremely courageous people; she loved any form of chance taking, and he would remind her that he took his chances by being in business. Anyone who happens to be in the business world today would have to agree with my Father. Experience has made me a great believer in my Father’s doctrines.

        

Dad: “Study hard, work hard, you gotta make it”.

Mom: “Bullshit Charlie, I’ll take luck anytime, anyplace, anywhere!”

I grew up in a strange environment. Both Mom and Dad were very talented people. Mom was a gifted dancer. She had all the moves. When she moved her hips it put Elvis to shame. It was a God-given gift, but she and her sisters (there were eight brothers and sisters in their household) never stopped practicing.

Needless to say, young immigrant girls were greatly influenced by the likes of Mom’s favorite, Ginger Rogers. Dad was a numbers whiz. Math was his thing. It was a God given attribute. Couple that with an amazing ability to retain just about anything he saw, and you have quite a guy.

As an example of his skill, I’m reminded of a first hand experience I had as an adult. Dad and I were out on some sort of business meeting at a prospect’s home. We waited in the entryway of the house and, without saying a word Dad walked over to the grand piano -- a mainstay of the room -- and began to run his fingers beautifully over the keys.

I was absolutely blown away as I watched and listened. I was aware my Dad could carry a tune -- he was always singing something to me as a kid -- but I had never seen him play any instrument before. After the meeting, I couldn’t wait to question him about his ability to play the piano.

Dad pointed out to me that with nine brothers and sisters there was always a musical instrument being played. His Mother had some strict requirements for all of them.

All nine of her children spoke at least two languages. Grandma was a true and gifted linguist. There were no dialects allowed in their household. English was a must as the first language. There were pages upon pages of piano sheet music on top of the family piano at all times. The brothers and sisters learned a great deal of the English language by singing together around the piano. It was at these sing-alongs that my Father learned a thing or two about playing the piano by watching my uncle Sidney as he practiced. To this day, it’s hard for me to fathom -- a guy teaches himself to play the piano by watching his younger brother practice.

        

So, with the family heritage I disclosed to you, you now have a thumbnail inkling of how da harv’s life’s direction may have taken shape. Whether or not my direction was a correct one for me to have taken; it beats the hell out of merely standing there physically waiting, and mentally praying.

        

I believe both my Mother and Father were correct in their assumptions. Skillfulness is required, luck is cool; the two of them together most likely bordered on euphoria.

“The Battle of the Young and Almost Never Mighty”

The premise that follows is one I devoutly believe in. The doctrines which I assumed as an educator, combine all I have to offer based on what I have experienced and now know to be true regarding the human condition of any (and all) who take a subjective art form as their life’s direction.

If your easel is setup on a railroad track to glean a stupendous sight line, and you hear the rumbling of an oncoming train, it becomes a time to make an important decision.

        

Do you remain on the track in order to finish your life’s work? Or do you change direction and remove yourself from the track?

        

Because you are very young and live by yourself, with no family to concern you, the decision-making process is singular. What you do is what you do. 

My Personal Experience

I quickly reasoned that the train wasn’t going to stop or change direction, unless I became lucky. I wasn’t going to follow my Mother’s doctrine.

Did I tell you I was a married man with two children not yet in their teens? I got off the tracks and watched as the train roared by crushing my easel to tiny bits. As my Dad had told me I could always buy another easel.

Enter The Masters

What did all the others before me have in common? Most had stood transfixed on tracks, some leading to the highest precipice known to us common men and women. We seek to go in a constant upward direction. It’s the right desire to have. Those who think and know their’s is a destiny as a loser, will definitely succeed with that determination.

My choice was to become as skillful at my craft as I possibly could. All the masters, each and every one of them, agreed with my Father and with my choice for a life’s direction.

I discovered from my mentors that teaching and learning is a process -- never the same, as it is never ending. Learning must be a forever direction. A subjective form is one we may see and hear as an individual. Few writers, directors, or actors ever fully master a subjective art form, for the form they seek to master is one of constant change.

Constant Change is the Process

If a person found out that they were the only person inhabiting this earth, then what they discover could be called a new and modern process. Not withstanding this never-to-happen hypothetical, the Masters all agree that advancements in any of the subjective art forms comes at a price -- time. The time that is yours and only yours will ever bear the responsibility for your success.

Her look was priceless

So was his

He was tall and mighty

She also tall of stature

Together moving sprightly

A very small world cheered them

They sold all sponsors whims

From beer and wine

And lingerie with a secret

Rarely speaking

Neither could talk or sing

Then one day

The time it did pass

This mighty man and statured lass

They had remained on a track

With features that didn’t last

As an aside, I might offer this tidbit of inside dope: I have to admit to you, one and all, that I get a particular pleasure in having a piece of information or two that only I and the teller will ever know.

Wouldn’t you love to know who the person with a single line writing credit on a major network show really is? You’re not going to get it from me. But, I will give you this much… A long time ago, this writer was told (he or she, or she or he) they were too old to understand the working of the today’s younger minds. One day, a very long time after, a show was purchased from and by an individual not capable of letter assemblage. In other words, the person presumed to be a writer was, in fact, a moronic dolt. (So, it certainly isn’t me I’m talking about.)

What I will tell you for sure, is that those who study the Masters will always be the ones who have the ability to get on track and then change direction when the need arises ensuring that they will always have the innate ability to rise to whatever the so-called pundits determine as the “needs and entertainment vehicles” of this modern generation.

A generation arises from the ashes or the remains of a previous generation. What modernity often forgets is the most salient point of all: it rises, not falls. As Stanislavski so beautifully pointed out to the modern folks of his time, “My Method is a process.” Spoken circa 1911 and still going strong!

I will also bring to your attention that folks like Richard Boleslavsky, Vsevolod Meyerhold, Michael Chekhov, Lee Strasberg, Stella Adler, Harold Clurman, Robert Lewis, Sanford Meisner, Uta Hagen, Ion Cojar and Ivana Chubbuck all trace their pedigrees to Stanislavski.

I take great pleasure in stating a fact of life: I discovered the great Stanslavski way back as a seventeen year old in high school. It thrilled me to hear about the great names of the time all talking about the method, and about method acting as experienced by the likes of Marlon Brando, James Dean and all those marching their way to unbelievable success after studying in and continuing to study at “The Actors Studio.”

Our promise remains that Kalmenson & Kalmenson will continue to stay young, informed, and will continue to provide the most current and up-to-date curriculum available for the working, as well as the unemployed actor.

Stay young by studying the masters with the masters.

Storm

We shall weather this storm
Then, standing high on our hill
Without the aid of any other's hand
In truth, few other than one has been offered
Not smiling with contentment
For before us, yet left to be conquered
Raising higher
A spire never reached in a human lifetime
Our newest goal
God's wish still to be determined

-HK

To Russia With Love

It came as a shock to me, the first time I was interviewed live by a radio host and discovered that there were actually people listening to us. It’s difficult to remember; it was quite a while ago. At the time, there was an abundance of late night talk radio going on in Los Angeles. I do remember this was a late night affair. The host explained to me in advance of airtime that he would introduce me and begin by asking some pedestrian type showbiz questions before opening it up to call-ins from his radio audience.

We sat there for a moment or two, and then I heard his producer say something like a count down – he got to five, four, three, two, some music came up and the next thing I heard was the host of the show introducing me to his audience as he thanked me for being there. We chatted for about two minutes before he announced his station’s phone numbers. What seemed like no more than a few seconds later, every light on his phone board lit up. I was mesmerized by the action. He informed me, for all to hear, how it was all for me. It was amazing that, at that hour of the evening, people were calling in to talk to da harv.

Thinking back, it does sound silly today. But, it was my first time on the air. Aside from learning there are actually people listening out there, I learned that there were differences in what people heard, thought they had heard, or perhaps wanted to hear. That’s the part that amazed me then, and continues to amaze me even more so today. People can be so bright – it’s scary. But, then again, on the other hand, people can be so damn stupid – it, too, is even scarier.

        

I’m backtracking some thirty or more years ago. It was circa 1978. As a reference, you might find the what’s and what not’s of the time amusing. I’m not going to bore you with the details, but the 1978 highlight was the Sony Walkman. The FAX machine that we find indispensable, didn’t become a really popular business machine until 1990. An Apple was something we’d eat. The human thumb was used only as a signal – an umpire in a baseball game might use his thumb in order to throw someone out of the game. And, only a drunk would try to write a letter while driving a car on the freeway.

“Tweet, Twitter, Text, & Blog”

(Not a respected law firm)

        

Can you believe the U.S. Postal Service still exists? We have all these unbelievably scientific help mates being used by anyone and everyone, yet we still pay people to hand carry a bunch of crappy advertisements to our homes and businesses.  Some of us even go to a post office in order to send out a package. I guess there are people who crave slovenly services.

Then, of course, there are the people we pay whose job it is to take money from us. They call themselves the IRS. These folks work for the IRS because no one in private industry would consider having them as an employee. Can you imagine a prospective employee being interviewed by you and their stand out character traits are rude and deceitful? This group is equally as mentally deficient as those employed by the average worker at the Department of Motor Vehicles. When it comes to scruples, I would unquestionably choose the DMV worker to hire before the IRS agent… at least they answer your questions honestly. Most DMV workers are multi-lingual, or they have the ability to fake it. Many IRS agents speak very poor English. But, whether or not you can understand what the IRS agent is saying is of no consequence. As soon as you offer an objection, a supervisor will assign a different person to your case.

        

Many things have certainly changed since that year of my first radio experience. I complained then, as I complain now, vehemently, all to no avail. With all these wonderful improvements in the way we live our lives, our conveniences are too numerous to keep track of. Everything around us is better… but is it, really?

        

I can only speak out as one man. I can only serve my country as one man. I can only fight against the indignities my government is subjecting me to, as one man. I will fight to protect my family and friends with the strength of only this one man. What our founders had and offered us was the acts of men, banded together in an effort to secure their God given rights as men.

As a child, I experienced the absolute synergism of my country’s people as they replicated the strengths of our founders, and they too banded together with a might and will to win. They were labeled “The Greatest Generation.” But our kids, boys and girls, have equaled the efforts of those before them. Our military is an all-volunteer society of protectors. They are given orders and they respond. They come equipped to cover each other’s back – that’s what they do.

From the “Greatest Generation,” and up until this very day, our military people have not been our problem. These are not our postal workers, our DMV employees, our IRS staffers, or, I suppose, a long list of men who have hung around quibbling far too long. Our military is a totally partisan aggregation of men and women whose purpose it is to protect our American freedoms and us.

BUT I ASK YOU: WHAT IN THE NAME OF HELL HAS HAPPENED TO THE REST OF OUR POPULOUS?

We have our military out there defending our rights. What about what we’re doing as part of the bargain? What about our Veterans’ Administration being behind in servicing the rightful claims of our troopers who gave with everything they had? We’re in the process of increasing the size of our Internal Revenue Service by sixteen thousand.

Our Congress of quibblers should be ashamed of themselves. How, I ask you, can people who have never served in the military feel for those who have served and sacrificed? As a veteran, I’d like to say as simply as I possibly can, “I detest you people who we have duly elected to act on our behalf!”

Your worry and concern is obvious. It is singular – how and what can you do in order to guarantee your own welfare? What must you do and say in order to be reelected?

Have you noticed the “let’s be politically correct syndrome” that grips our country? In the event you haven’t noticed, it began at the top. But, whether it’s the top that represents the origins of implausible correctness, the middle, or the very depths of what people assume to be correct – I remind those who remain with me, that flies are attracted to bullshit no matter where, or on what, the dung heap it exists.

        

It isn’t going to happen, but here’s a “what if” for any and all to ponder. What if it were a possibility when you awoke tomorrow morning to find all the news on television reporting the overnight disappearance of all criminals, and all wrong doing of any kind? Don’t you suppose the necessity for police would also evaporate as well? What if the same network news services reported the miraculous disappearance of racism of any kind? I guess it would eliminate any need for the likes of those who use racism to their advantage like Mr. Al Sharpton, or Reverend Jessie Jackson? The former isn’t likelihood, but the latter has a chance. The point is – race should never be an advantage or disadvantage.

During the course of our last presidential election I made a statement regarding the double standard on almost constant display by our Attorney General. It had to do with an obvious voter intimidation sequence of events that transpired at a voting location. My comment was, and my feelings have remained the same, that the law requires voting locations to be free of undo influences or duress via demonstrations by anyone at said polling location. The men doing the obvious harassment of voters were never properly charged for what was, again, an obvious violation of voter’s rights. My comment at the time was short, sweet, and directly to the point, “Where’s Al Sharpton now?”

One of the white actors within earshot immediately accused me of having delivered a racist remark. Another actor, who happened to be African American, immediately jumped in and called my accuser an asshole. The accuser sulked his ass out of my studio while my unnecessary defender and I merely carried on with our work. It seemed that neither of us had any need for Al Sharpton’s services.

        

The point is, in our society, there exist hordes of people who exist only because of trouble. Point, counter point during a legitimate exchange of thought isn’t to be tolerated.

I think Attorney General Eric Holder is arrogant. I feel the way I do because he has not been forthright. Who cares? If you have to ask, you really don’t know me very well. If I were to write and produce a show about me and the life I have lived, I’d call it “Candid Comedy.”

Is anyone out there listening to this?

The world is apparently paying attention to some degree. Up until a week or so ago, I was unaware of how many eyes were being focused on my work, and specifically where in the world those eyes happen to be situated.

Here, and I do believe in alphabetical order, is a list of the countries where those eyes reside:

1.           Canada

2.           France

3.           Germany

4.           Iran

5.           Morocco

6.           Netherlands

7.           Philippines

8.           Russia

9.           Slovenia

10.         South Korea

11.         Sweden

12.         Turkey

13.         Uganda

14.         Ukraine

15.         United Kingdom

16.         United States

        

As you might have guessed, the United States leads my parade with a whopping 75% of the total. The United Kingdom was also well represented. What is to my great surprise was that Russia and the Ukraine were right up there in the numbers. And, who would have guessed that there would be a few from Iran, and Morocco?

Think about it – da harv is shouting out to the world. My third grade teacher called it… In the third grade, I dominated. It was a live performance. Now, a day comes where I don’t have the foggiest notion as to how much of what I have been writing for the last three years is even remotely being agreed with. My conclusion is that people are simply frightened to put their feelings down in written form. I know for a fact that many actors fervently guard their political positions from publications of any kind. Even some prestigious actors, who you would think were past worrying about where the next job was going to come from, are guilty of it. You’d be surprised at the way many of the actors who come in to audition for me begin to whisper their feelings when others are not around.  What a shame it is to not be able to express one’s feelings for fear of being victimized by an uncalled-for reprisal.

I’ve had actors complain to me about being passed over by a producer because of their political beliefs. In most cases, I believe their premise is not an accurate one. Most actors who miss out on a role can blame it on their lack of skills, more aptly stated, than a producer they think is out to get them because they happen to be a Republican. The real truth about Hollywood is far simpler than that. The vast majority of producers are so involved with themselves and the projects they happen to be working on, that they, in effect, don’t give a rat’s ass about anyone but themselves.

***

Often we direct actors to display some courage of conviction in their interpretation of the role they are preparing to present. Our desire is to effectuate movement, change, and challenge. It’s nothing more than an attempt to portray a small portion of a usually very small slice of life. Rarely does anything with a true sporting chance to succeed ever accomplish its intent – goal wise – without the magic true courage of conviction always provides.

A wimpy director will endanger his actor’s ability to succeed in providing a true and courageous portrayal. Courage of conviction is a must-have in order to lead. Leadership demands conviction. “Wait and see” is not now, nor has it ever been, the profile for true leadership.

If you share my feelings, regarding the proper leadership our country must have in order to continue with our truly blessed lifestyle, take a moment and respond. I’d love to experience the board lighting up for me once again. When it comes to encouragement, the pen is certainly mightier than the sword. In the old days, a person could blame their lack of communication on a pen that was out of ink… not so anymore.

I urge you all to join da harv. Now, is the time for all good men and women to stand up and let it be known – we voted for you and we want our moneys' worth. Tell our servants to – lead, follow, or get the hell out of our way.

The Happiest of July Fourth Celebrations

Around this great country of ours, another imbalance exists. I, of course, am duty bound to point it out to those of you who may have missed it.

        

The celebration of the founding of our country has been a time-honored event. Now, where in the world do Americans enjoy the festivities more than on our vast network of military bases and, of course, in Washington D.C.?

This year, our government has announced many of our military installations will not be having fireworks in honor of July 4th. So, all you service members living on military compounds, along with your families and friends, will have to revel in the glorious fact that by not having, you’re saving our government a great deal of money.

“The Quibblers”

The Senate and the House of Representatives are formally known together as our Congress. The military, composed of five branches of armed forces, are our defenders. While one group -- the ones we elected in order to serve us -- exists by displaying a degree of quibbling, par excellence, the other -- the guys and gals who didn’t have to but volunteered anyways -- acts on our behalf without reservation.

Yes, our founders did sacrifice, just as our men and women now placing their lives in harm’s way have taken an oath to do. Our military lives up to the highest standard of God-like performance. At the same time, our HOUSE OF QUIBBLERS distinguishes itself by saving some bucks in not allowing our service heroes to have some fireworks to share with their family and friends.

• The nerve of these donkeys of ours, rewarding our Internal Revenue Service employees with huge salary increases at a time like this, is incorrigible.

• The nerve of paying one of our “civil” servants to sit at home and collect her wages after she spat in the eyes of our quibblers by taking the fifth, is incorrigible.

        

But, I speak of things that appear as though folks are willing to live with. The other day, I had a guy say something to me about not being able to fight City Hall. He spelled out, in donkey-like braying, that the big wigs will always be able to get away with whatever they want – because it’s all about money. I pointed out to him how, since the beginning of time and up until our United States of America came into existence, people tended to believe his asshole-like statements as being the only true way of life.

        

At least the fact “da harv” can send out his own brand of Freedom of Speech; pray for our troops who serve as our protectors; and, at the same time proclaim the utter stupidity of our elected Quibblers, is a form of July 4^th fireworks all of us are free to share in.

 “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, those who may venture within the boundaries of this country’s great heart!”

- HK '01

I saw a man today
With his wife and
Very young little lady child,
Smiling as they played with one another.
How could it be?
With great wonderment
I watched this man
With his wife
With his adoring little lady child
Free from fear they gave
Each to each other
A husband to a wife
A Dad to his little lady child
As deeply as I could ever hope to be inspired
He smiled so easily as he cherished what he had
A year before as a soldier hero
This man had given almost all of what was there to give
Yet without two arms and two legs
They played together
This man, with his wife, and their little lady child.
They beamed from an inner light
Still joyful above all
With what remained
What God had not put aside.

 - HK '13