***Disclaimer--I will get around to writing the second part of my last article!***
You know, as much as it's a pain to get to the school that I do most of my modeling at, I've actually come to enjoy the long commute back home.
That sounds strange, doesn't it? I mean, I think I can speak for most of us when I say that the daily commute is probably the worst part of most people's days. And truth to tell, I loathe my daily commute. Just thinking about it now gets my blood boiling.
But the commute back home from Georgetown (where the school that I do most of my modeling is located at) isn't so bad, even though it seems to take forever to actually get back home. I've found that it serves as the perfect coda to the day's modeling assignment. It basically forces me to have about an hour or so of downtime afterward, which in turn lets me reflect on what just transpired.
Now, I know when I first got interested in modeling, one of my first thoughts was "sweet, I can sit on my ass for three hours and get paid for literally doing nothing!" And a lot of people whom I've talked to about modeling understandably have the same initial thoughts.
But it's actual work. It taxes your body. A lot. And you can't just zone out the entire time or you'll break your pose. I've never left an assignment and not felt worn out, at least for a while.
And then there's the nudity factor. I'm going to write another post soon about what it's actually like to be naked in front of complete strangers. It takes a lot to share your naked form, warts and all, in front of people. There's a certain psychological component to it, and you can't just shut off the feelings involved in what is basically an intimate, private state of being.
So for doing nothing, there sure as hell is a lot to think about when all is said and done. Think about it, you helped people unleash their talent and create something that, hitherto, didn't exist in the world. Namely, their drawings and perceptions of you!
Sometimes this reflection can be less than positive. I know that not everyone draws you the way YOU actually look like. Sometimes I've wanted to tell people "okay, I'm overweight. I'm NOT nine months pregnant!" Other times I've seen people draw me overly-complimentary. To where I wanted to say "I appreciate the Superman-esque square jaw and the flat stomach. But that's NOT me!" One time I gave serious thought to how stupid I was to model in a freezing cold classroom, to the point where I was actually shivering when the class ended. And I resolved on the subsequent ride home that from there on, I would insist that a heater be made available, and to cut out the stoic "I'll tough it out because I don't want to be a complainer" bullshit.
But other times the reflections are much more rewarding. When an entire class thanks you (sometimes in person) for modeling for them. I can't tell you what it's like to cinch up your robe, turn to grab your bag, and when you start to leave people honestly and genuinely thank you as you start to leave.
Or like my most recent class last Saturday, which was easily one of my most enjoyable ever. It was just an absolutely rainy, yucky, cold day out. Initially, there was only one student, and after about 15 minutes of waiting, the professor decided to go ahead and start the class anyway. She was really excited about it, because with only one student in the class, she could draw instead of teach! And I have to say I was excited about it myself. I've never modeled for such a small number, so I knew the class would be less regimented and there would be a lot of back-and-forth during the class. And when I removed my robe, I felt completely at peace. It was a miserable day outside, with the wind and rain clearly audible, but here I was, warm and in a safe environment, on the podium with the rail lights shining directly on me and warming my skin. It felt like the most natural thing in the world.
Eventually, a few more students showed up, but the class was still pretty small (maybe four or five students, tops). And these students had some serious talent! They drew me the way I look. Right out of the gate. Even though each student had a distinctive style, I could easily recognize myself in each of their works. One drew a close up. One was more focused on perspective, but was easily able to encapsulate me. One had a somewhat stylized work that honestly resembled those blank-eyed, steel-jawed figures you'd see in an Italian Fascist piece of art.
But each of these works completely and accurately resembled me. Warts and all. Do you know what it's like to see someone pull ideas completely out of the aether in less than three hours, to where you look at what they created and think to yourself "she captured all of my good points, all of my bad points, and I'm completely overjoyed with what just happened--and I was the one that got to share in this process"?
Up until last Saturday, I didn't know what it was like. At least not as profoundly as then. And that's what I reflected upon during a grey, stormy weekend bus ride back to the subway.
And I enjoyed every minute of it.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Monday, December 14, 2009
Your first modeling assignment (Part I): What to Know Before You Disrobe!
First of a two-part posting.
In my last post, I gave you some advice on looking for your first modeling gig. And after networking your tail off, you finally found someone who's willing to use you. Congratulations!
So where do you go from here?
If you haven't done so, your first step needs to be assembling a model kit. This needn't be expensive. At a minimum, you want to have:
- a bathrobe (lighter fabrics work best. You really don't want a terrycloth bathrobe)
- cheap flip-flops (those floors get dirty quickly, and there are always stray tacks around. You also may very well have to change in a restroom. The less said about that, the better)
- gym bag or similar over-the-shoulder garment bag
- book or magazine to keep you occupied during downtime (especially if you're working with a class, as there will be frequent breaks where the professors lecture the class or facilitate group critiques)
- a timer. Most professors will offer to keep the time for you. I initially took them up on this offer, but have slowly come around to the point where I'll keep the time. There have been numerous instances of what I call "a long 10 minutes." Basically that 10 minutes morphed into 15 minutes or longer. Poses that are comfortable at the 10 minute mark may start to get quite uncomfortable for longer stretches of time. A trick taught to me by an old hand at this suggested adding an additional 5-10 seconds to the timer. So if it's a 10 minute pose, set the timer for 10:10. This extra time can be used to get yourself into position so that you can give the class the full duration of the pose.
If you want, you can add things like a small plastic bag with bandaids, aspirin, lotion, comb/brush, mirror, etc. You probably won't need all of these things, but they're nice to have just in case.
You probably have a cell phone already. You'll want to keep one handy (I'm not a cell phone talker, so I have to force myself to remember to carry one) in case there's a last-minute cancellation or you get stuck in traffic. Be sure to keep the phone number of the person you're working for handy in case you need to get in touch with them before your session. And also keep a set of directions handy.
Great! So now you've got the necessary tools at your disposal. Now you need to know exactly what it is you're getting yourself into :) Pretty much all of this applies to nude modeling.
First, I would think long and hard about how many people you choose to tell about your new side job. I would personally recommend not telling anyone about this until you've had your first gig and have had time to process the event. I'll be quite honest: I first modeled because I realized I hadn't done anything truly out of my comfort zone in ages. I needed something that would make me know fear, trepidation and know what it meant to truly overcome these feelings. And modeling has been a great way for me to bring some variety in my life and have fun (and get paid!) doing it. To that end, I posted on yelp a review of the artist's studio where I had my first assignment. I was at a bit of a crossroads in my life at the time, and I honestly thought it was such a positive experience that I needed to share it, and in doing so, gained even more confidence. Like I can do anything!
Your own experiences and desires may be more pedestrian. In any event, only you can determine who in your social circle really needs to know about this. Surprisingly, my mother has been much, much more supportive of this than my father (who isn't opposed to it. He just doesn't care to know that I do it, if you follow). I suspect that the more you model, the more comfortable you'll be in telling people. But you may think you have a totally open relationship with your parents only to find out how dare you do such a thing. Telling your friends and parents will hopefully feel easy and natural. But I would give serious, serious thought about telling your coworkers about it. I opted to, and they've been incredibly supportive (and curious) about what I do.
In my grad school classes, we talked a lot about blowback. Unintended results and unplanned resistance to policy implementation. You need to be aware that you might experience considerable blowback from people whom you may think of as being incredibly tight with. America has a real, real hangup with nudity. I just want you to reflect on who you'd like to share your new job with, and who really needs to know about it.
Similarly, you need to prepare yourself for the very remote--but still possible--chance that someone may recognize you as a result of your work. I haven't bumped into anyone I know before or during a session, but I did have another model come up to me before a session because she recognized me from a (get this!) ballpoint pen sketch another professor did in an earlier class. She introduced herself and asked her if I was today's model, because she recognized me from that professor's work. I was honestly flattered! But I do want to caution you that there's always the remote chance someone may recognize you, and you need to be prepared for that.
Hopefully, you've thought about all of this before you started your networking. But I wanted to mention it now, because if you're having second thoughts about this, you need to cancel any bookings well in advance of your class(es)! It's pretty common knowledge that a lot of models simply fail to show up for their bookings, and I think a lot of that is because someone waited until the 11th hour to give serious thought to what it is they were planning on doing, and got cold feet at the last minute. It's totally okay if you start to second guess yourself, but if you realize this isn't the career move for you, you need to cancel with as much advance notice as possible so another model can be secured.
You also want to consider how you'll manage your earnings, especially if you're paid in cash. You may initially tell yourself you're using this money to pay bills or save for a vacation, only to blow it on useless junk since it's not the money you bust your ass for 9-5. Also, some schools may pay you with a check but not withhold taxes, in which case it's incumbent on you to pony up with the IRS (a lot of places that don't withhold will notify the IRS at the end of the year, so don't think you can dodge this). Something to think about.
Okay, lecture over!
There are two basic types of modeling: portrait modeling and figure modeling. I'll talk about portrait modeling first. Figure modeling needs to be discussed in much more depth, so I'm going to save that for my next post because there's so much more that it involves.
Portrait modeling is generally done in a seated position and is performed clothed. You'll sit down for about 20-30 minutes at a time and focus on a particular spot on the wall to keep your head aligned. Don't focus on a student, easel, or any other object that could move in class. Your head will have a tendency to "drift" as your eyes are transfixed on a movable object. Make sure your eyes are comfortable and that any glare from the studio lights won't be a problem.
Now, all you need to do is sit completely still until your timer goes off :) Wash, rinse, repeat.
Before you leave, you'll want to check to see if you'll be needed for the next session, and if so, if you'll be required to wear the same shirt and tie (if applicable) over the series of bookings. If so, you'll want to have whatever you're wearing from the waist up washed or pressed the next day, so you can have it ready for the next session. You might want to put a reminder on your calendar just so you don't forget! You also don't want to get a haircut, color your hair, grow facial hair, etc. between sessions if they want you to keep the same look.
Don't wear your best clothes to a portrait modeling session (well, any modeling session, really) as you don't want to ruin a nice garment because somehow you got paint on it. I'd suggest wearing chinos and a button down shirt that, if push came to shove, you could live with if it got ruined.
When the professor calls for a break, don't immediately break pose. Hold it for another 5-10 seconds so that the class can make that one last addition to their work before you move. It's a small gesture, but I think it's generally appreciated.
During breaks, you can get up and walk around for a bit. Before breaking, try to remember exactly how you were sitting on the chair (straight up, leaning to one side, looking up/down, etc.). As you sit back down, you'll notice how your muscles "remember" how you were sitting as you get back into position. Chances are you won't return to your pose exactly the same way, so feel free to ask for some guidance from the artists who'll help steer you back to your original pose.
Keep in mind that you could easily have a group of 10 artists, and nine of them agree you're back to the same position, while one will insist that you're "off" somehow. I personally wouldn't worry about it. If you're back seated to the liking of the professor (or whoever's in charge) and the rest of the artists, that's what counts. Don't be entirely surprised if that last artist, however, doesn't sigh, mutter, or do something along those lines. It's rare, but happens.
Next post: figure modeling--taking it all off!
In my last post, I gave you some advice on looking for your first modeling gig. And after networking your tail off, you finally found someone who's willing to use you. Congratulations!
So where do you go from here?
If you haven't done so, your first step needs to be assembling a model kit. This needn't be expensive. At a minimum, you want to have:
- a bathrobe (lighter fabrics work best. You really don't want a terrycloth bathrobe)
- cheap flip-flops (those floors get dirty quickly, and there are always stray tacks around. You also may very well have to change in a restroom. The less said about that, the better)
- gym bag or similar over-the-shoulder garment bag
- book or magazine to keep you occupied during downtime (especially if you're working with a class, as there will be frequent breaks where the professors lecture the class or facilitate group critiques)
- a timer. Most professors will offer to keep the time for you. I initially took them up on this offer, but have slowly come around to the point where I'll keep the time. There have been numerous instances of what I call "a long 10 minutes." Basically that 10 minutes morphed into 15 minutes or longer. Poses that are comfortable at the 10 minute mark may start to get quite uncomfortable for longer stretches of time. A trick taught to me by an old hand at this suggested adding an additional 5-10 seconds to the timer. So if it's a 10 minute pose, set the timer for 10:10. This extra time can be used to get yourself into position so that you can give the class the full duration of the pose.
If you want, you can add things like a small plastic bag with bandaids, aspirin, lotion, comb/brush, mirror, etc. You probably won't need all of these things, but they're nice to have just in case.
You probably have a cell phone already. You'll want to keep one handy (I'm not a cell phone talker, so I have to force myself to remember to carry one) in case there's a last-minute cancellation or you get stuck in traffic. Be sure to keep the phone number of the person you're working for handy in case you need to get in touch with them before your session. And also keep a set of directions handy.
Great! So now you've got the necessary tools at your disposal. Now you need to know exactly what it is you're getting yourself into :) Pretty much all of this applies to nude modeling.
First, I would think long and hard about how many people you choose to tell about your new side job. I would personally recommend not telling anyone about this until you've had your first gig and have had time to process the event. I'll be quite honest: I first modeled because I realized I hadn't done anything truly out of my comfort zone in ages. I needed something that would make me know fear, trepidation and know what it meant to truly overcome these feelings. And modeling has been a great way for me to bring some variety in my life and have fun (and get paid!) doing it. To that end, I posted on yelp a review of the artist's studio where I had my first assignment. I was at a bit of a crossroads in my life at the time, and I honestly thought it was such a positive experience that I needed to share it, and in doing so, gained even more confidence. Like I can do anything!
Your own experiences and desires may be more pedestrian. In any event, only you can determine who in your social circle really needs to know about this. Surprisingly, my mother has been much, much more supportive of this than my father (who isn't opposed to it. He just doesn't care to know that I do it, if you follow). I suspect that the more you model, the more comfortable you'll be in telling people. But you may think you have a totally open relationship with your parents only to find out how dare you do such a thing. Telling your friends and parents will hopefully feel easy and natural. But I would give serious, serious thought about telling your coworkers about it. I opted to, and they've been incredibly supportive (and curious) about what I do.
In my grad school classes, we talked a lot about blowback. Unintended results and unplanned resistance to policy implementation. You need to be aware that you might experience considerable blowback from people whom you may think of as being incredibly tight with. America has a real, real hangup with nudity. I just want you to reflect on who you'd like to share your new job with, and who really needs to know about it.
Similarly, you need to prepare yourself for the very remote--but still possible--chance that someone may recognize you as a result of your work. I haven't bumped into anyone I know before or during a session, but I did have another model come up to me before a session because she recognized me from a (get this!) ballpoint pen sketch another professor did in an earlier class. She introduced herself and asked her if I was today's model, because she recognized me from that professor's work. I was honestly flattered! But I do want to caution you that there's always the remote chance someone may recognize you, and you need to be prepared for that.
Hopefully, you've thought about all of this before you started your networking. But I wanted to mention it now, because if you're having second thoughts about this, you need to cancel any bookings well in advance of your class(es)! It's pretty common knowledge that a lot of models simply fail to show up for their bookings, and I think a lot of that is because someone waited until the 11th hour to give serious thought to what it is they were planning on doing, and got cold feet at the last minute. It's totally okay if you start to second guess yourself, but if you realize this isn't the career move for you, you need to cancel with as much advance notice as possible so another model can be secured.
You also want to consider how you'll manage your earnings, especially if you're paid in cash. You may initially tell yourself you're using this money to pay bills or save for a vacation, only to blow it on useless junk since it's not the money you bust your ass for 9-5. Also, some schools may pay you with a check but not withhold taxes, in which case it's incumbent on you to pony up with the IRS (a lot of places that don't withhold will notify the IRS at the end of the year, so don't think you can dodge this). Something to think about.
Okay, lecture over!
There are two basic types of modeling: portrait modeling and figure modeling. I'll talk about portrait modeling first. Figure modeling needs to be discussed in much more depth, so I'm going to save that for my next post because there's so much more that it involves.
Portrait modeling is generally done in a seated position and is performed clothed. You'll sit down for about 20-30 minutes at a time and focus on a particular spot on the wall to keep your head aligned. Don't focus on a student, easel, or any other object that could move in class. Your head will have a tendency to "drift" as your eyes are transfixed on a movable object. Make sure your eyes are comfortable and that any glare from the studio lights won't be a problem.
Now, all you need to do is sit completely still until your timer goes off :) Wash, rinse, repeat.
Before you leave, you'll want to check to see if you'll be needed for the next session, and if so, if you'll be required to wear the same shirt and tie (if applicable) over the series of bookings. If so, you'll want to have whatever you're wearing from the waist up washed or pressed the next day, so you can have it ready for the next session. You might want to put a reminder on your calendar just so you don't forget! You also don't want to get a haircut, color your hair, grow facial hair, etc. between sessions if they want you to keep the same look.
Don't wear your best clothes to a portrait modeling session (well, any modeling session, really) as you don't want to ruin a nice garment because somehow you got paint on it. I'd suggest wearing chinos and a button down shirt that, if push came to shove, you could live with if it got ruined.
When the professor calls for a break, don't immediately break pose. Hold it for another 5-10 seconds so that the class can make that one last addition to their work before you move. It's a small gesture, but I think it's generally appreciated.
During breaks, you can get up and walk around for a bit. Before breaking, try to remember exactly how you were sitting on the chair (straight up, leaning to one side, looking up/down, etc.). As you sit back down, you'll notice how your muscles "remember" how you were sitting as you get back into position. Chances are you won't return to your pose exactly the same way, so feel free to ask for some guidance from the artists who'll help steer you back to your original pose.
Keep in mind that you could easily have a group of 10 artists, and nine of them agree you're back to the same position, while one will insist that you're "off" somehow. I personally wouldn't worry about it. If you're back seated to the liking of the professor (or whoever's in charge) and the rest of the artists, that's what counts. Don't be entirely surprised if that last artist, however, doesn't sigh, mutter, or do something along those lines. It's rare, but happens.
Next post: figure modeling--taking it all off!
Monday, November 2, 2009
Naked networking
Over a meal of pho tonight, my friend M. (who is an artist) suggested I write a blog entry about networking in the art modeling biz, and how to line up assignments. While I normally hate the concept of networking (I find it to be absolutely phony, and the idea makes me want to vomit), her suggestion made perfect sense: if you want to be an art model, you've got to learn to network and to market yourself. No one is going to do it for you.
Especially in today's economy, where art schools are cutting down on the number of classes being held (particularly evening and weekend classes, which those of us with full-time jobs prefer, for obvious reasons). So the opportunities are shrinking quicker than a male model in a drafty room, yet the talent pool remains the same size (or even larger: a faltering economy leads people to do things they normally wouldn't consider in less lean times).
Unfortunately, the profession seems to draw an inordinate number of pervs and flakes (go fig), so it can often be a challenge for a new model to get their first gig. Artists and professors would generally rather work with models they have a professional relationship with. The talent's been vetted: they know they're punctual, reliable, professional. You take a big chance with a new model who might flake out all of a sudden. Why go out on a limb? You might be left hanging. The students get to draw yet another vase on a table. Better to go with someone you know and trust. And I personally maintain that you know when you've "made it" when someone does bail, and you're one of the first people that the professor thinks to call to get a fill-in. It's like a newly-graduated college student trying to get their first job: they need experience, but no one will give them that experience.
Frankly, your first gig may very well be luck of the draw. My first experience was with an artist, S., whose model bailed on her earlier in the day. She and I had spoken a few days prior about possible opportunities (via my friend M., who pointed me in her direction), but she didn't have anything available. Until one fateful day. I showed up, gave it my all, and when all was said and done, I had $60 in my pocket. More importantly, I had experience and a reference.
I also had a good friend in M. who was able to tell me beforehand a little more about what modeling entails. I mean, I did my research on the Internet, but she was able to answer my questions, give me good advice (like boozing up beforehand is a BIG no-no), and generally made the first time as comfortable as possible. As luck would have it, I found out later in the day that she'd be one of the artists in S'.s session, and as much as I was freaked out about it initially, when it came time to disrobe, it was helpful to have at least one friendly face in the room.
If you live in a large city, you've probably got a few local universities and art institutes nearby. Call up a few weeks before the new semester and see if they need any new models. Be honest as to why you want to do this. Let's face it: taking your clothes off in front of complete strangers isn't something most people are comfortable with, which is why you are getting the nod in the first place. They're going to want to know why you're the exception to the rule. I was completely honest with the model coordinator for the art school I primarily work with. I read a Slate article about a middle-aged woman who did some nude modeling for the school. I was intrigued, felt that I wanted to do something a little... different with my life, but was totally committed to the idea and was willing to do whatever it took.
That was enough to get me a formal interview and several bookings (aaaaand, I was able to use my experience modeling for S. as proof that I had experience and was professional). Frankly, I think my luck was, well, luck. I've had plenty of colleges ignore my calls and emails. You've got to be persistent, but also know when you're running the risk of being annoying. You've also got to understand that in many cases, the person who books models probably does several other jobs for their school, and a new model is probably the last thing on their mind. An art institute in DC expressed interest at one point, then didn't return my calls, so I waited a few semesters, called again, and now I've got a mid-semester booking later in the month.
Now, once you've gotten those one or two crucial gigs under your belt, things will eventually start to pick up. For instance, I just happened to find out that my art school moved to a new system where individual professors book their own models. So the school has a tiered list based on model reliability, and I was one of the few models whose name was highlighted in green... first tier. They're not trying to spread the work around. They want to use people they can trust.
And it's really not hard to get such recognition. Show up early. Bring your modeling supplies.* Do what's asked of you. Don't take it personally if you go into one pose and the professor asks you to get into another one. Don't try to pick up students (frankly, I avoid fraternizing with the students anyways unless one of them asks me a question). Be polite and energetic. When students thank you and look you in the eye as they do so, you'll know people got something out of what you did on the podium.
And here's where it pays off. Here's where the networking comes in. A few weeks ago, I had an intro drawing class with about 10 students. Some were there for continuing education credit. Including one woman who came up to me after the second class and asked me if I'd model for some of her classes. Turns out she was an art teacher at a local private school, and was impressed enough with my ability that she offered to run my name past her colleague to see if they'd be able to use me as a model for their classes. She flat-out said she was having incredible difficulty getting models who could actually hold a pose, and really wanted to book me for a few days.
So out of nowhere, I get two days' worth of gigs ($17.50/hour, plus free tea, coffee, bagels and lunch) essentially handed to me! And they were so impressed, they said they'd use me again. Not to mention, the art circuit is fairly close in most places, so there's always the chance someone you've worked with will know someone who needs a model and can drop your name. Art teachers often have side gigs like their own studio work or open sessions they host. They may very well think of you for outside work, so being professional goes a long way.
Now, I'd advise you to be extremely tactful if someone offers to give you more work while you're in the middle of another assignment. Talk quickly during the break, and either agree to discuss potential work after class, or swap phone numbers. You don't want to be canvassing for new jobs while you're currently in the middle of one.
I'd also advise you, while you're networking and cold-calling schools, not to come off as desperate. Frankly, much like a job search, you'll get only a handful of leads, and maybe one or two interviews from there. Don't take it personally. The key is getting into the system.
Next post: what your first gig will be like. Nothing will ever totally prepare you for it, but you'll never forget it!
*Even before your first gig, if you're serious about this, get a modeling kit ready in the event that someone needs you right now! A gym bag with a cheap bathrobe and flip-flops will be fine. I keep a small bag with deodorant, band-aids, hand/foot wipes, a small mirror, comb, and some other assorted goodies just in case. A timer is also necessary. You might also want to keep a neutral-colored thong or g-string in the event you get a gig where they want a modicum of clothing on (which happened to me once, so I keep one handy just in case). If you find yourself getting a lot of emergency/last-minute calls, you might want to keep a second bag with you at work or in your car, so you'll always be ready to accept an assignment.
Especially in today's economy, where art schools are cutting down on the number of classes being held (particularly evening and weekend classes, which those of us with full-time jobs prefer, for obvious reasons). So the opportunities are shrinking quicker than a male model in a drafty room, yet the talent pool remains the same size (or even larger: a faltering economy leads people to do things they normally wouldn't consider in less lean times).
Unfortunately, the profession seems to draw an inordinate number of pervs and flakes (go fig), so it can often be a challenge for a new model to get their first gig. Artists and professors would generally rather work with models they have a professional relationship with. The talent's been vetted: they know they're punctual, reliable, professional. You take a big chance with a new model who might flake out all of a sudden. Why go out on a limb? You might be left hanging. The students get to draw yet another vase on a table. Better to go with someone you know and trust. And I personally maintain that you know when you've "made it" when someone does bail, and you're one of the first people that the professor thinks to call to get a fill-in. It's like a newly-graduated college student trying to get their first job: they need experience, but no one will give them that experience.
Frankly, your first gig may very well be luck of the draw. My first experience was with an artist, S., whose model bailed on her earlier in the day. She and I had spoken a few days prior about possible opportunities (via my friend M., who pointed me in her direction), but she didn't have anything available. Until one fateful day. I showed up, gave it my all, and when all was said and done, I had $60 in my pocket. More importantly, I had experience and a reference.
I also had a good friend in M. who was able to tell me beforehand a little more about what modeling entails. I mean, I did my research on the Internet, but she was able to answer my questions, give me good advice (like boozing up beforehand is a BIG no-no), and generally made the first time as comfortable as possible. As luck would have it, I found out later in the day that she'd be one of the artists in S'.s session, and as much as I was freaked out about it initially, when it came time to disrobe, it was helpful to have at least one friendly face in the room.
If you live in a large city, you've probably got a few local universities and art institutes nearby. Call up a few weeks before the new semester and see if they need any new models. Be honest as to why you want to do this. Let's face it: taking your clothes off in front of complete strangers isn't something most people are comfortable with, which is why you are getting the nod in the first place. They're going to want to know why you're the exception to the rule. I was completely honest with the model coordinator for the art school I primarily work with. I read a Slate article about a middle-aged woman who did some nude modeling for the school. I was intrigued, felt that I wanted to do something a little... different with my life, but was totally committed to the idea and was willing to do whatever it took.
That was enough to get me a formal interview and several bookings (aaaaand, I was able to use my experience modeling for S. as proof that I had experience and was professional). Frankly, I think my luck was, well, luck. I've had plenty of colleges ignore my calls and emails. You've got to be persistent, but also know when you're running the risk of being annoying. You've also got to understand that in many cases, the person who books models probably does several other jobs for their school, and a new model is probably the last thing on their mind. An art institute in DC expressed interest at one point, then didn't return my calls, so I waited a few semesters, called again, and now I've got a mid-semester booking later in the month.
Now, once you've gotten those one or two crucial gigs under your belt, things will eventually start to pick up. For instance, I just happened to find out that my art school moved to a new system where individual professors book their own models. So the school has a tiered list based on model reliability, and I was one of the few models whose name was highlighted in green... first tier. They're not trying to spread the work around. They want to use people they can trust.
And it's really not hard to get such recognition. Show up early. Bring your modeling supplies.* Do what's asked of you. Don't take it personally if you go into one pose and the professor asks you to get into another one. Don't try to pick up students (frankly, I avoid fraternizing with the students anyways unless one of them asks me a question). Be polite and energetic. When students thank you and look you in the eye as they do so, you'll know people got something out of what you did on the podium.
And here's where it pays off. Here's where the networking comes in. A few weeks ago, I had an intro drawing class with about 10 students. Some were there for continuing education credit. Including one woman who came up to me after the second class and asked me if I'd model for some of her classes. Turns out she was an art teacher at a local private school, and was impressed enough with my ability that she offered to run my name past her colleague to see if they'd be able to use me as a model for their classes. She flat-out said she was having incredible difficulty getting models who could actually hold a pose, and really wanted to book me for a few days.
So out of nowhere, I get two days' worth of gigs ($17.50/hour, plus free tea, coffee, bagels and lunch) essentially handed to me! And they were so impressed, they said they'd use me again. Not to mention, the art circuit is fairly close in most places, so there's always the chance someone you've worked with will know someone who needs a model and can drop your name. Art teachers often have side gigs like their own studio work or open sessions they host. They may very well think of you for outside work, so being professional goes a long way.
Now, I'd advise you to be extremely tactful if someone offers to give you more work while you're in the middle of another assignment. Talk quickly during the break, and either agree to discuss potential work after class, or swap phone numbers. You don't want to be canvassing for new jobs while you're currently in the middle of one.
I'd also advise you, while you're networking and cold-calling schools, not to come off as desperate. Frankly, much like a job search, you'll get only a handful of leads, and maybe one or two interviews from there. Don't take it personally. The key is getting into the system.
Next post: what your first gig will be like. Nothing will ever totally prepare you for it, but you'll never forget it!
*Even before your first gig, if you're serious about this, get a modeling kit ready in the event that someone needs you right now! A gym bag with a cheap bathrobe and flip-flops will be fine. I keep a small bag with deodorant, band-aids, hand/foot wipes, a small mirror, comb, and some other assorted goodies just in case. A timer is also necessary. You might also want to keep a neutral-colored thong or g-string in the event you get a gig where they want a modicum of clothing on (which happened to me once, so I keep one handy just in case). If you find yourself getting a lot of emergency/last-minute calls, you might want to keep a second bag with you at work or in your car, so you'll always be ready to accept an assignment.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Naked Ambition!
“If anyone ever said that when we first met, that five or six years down the line, we’d see each other completely naked, I would have thought they were crazy!”
That’s what my friend Abigail (whose blessing was given to write this post) said to me after we both posed in the nude. In front of each other. Yeah, you don’t really see your friends naked much, do you? Never thought I’d see a close, personal friend in the buff, and she clearly felt the same way. Oddly enough, it wasn’t weird or smarmy or anything, and felt (to me at least) completely natural and normal. But still, how do you take a close personal friendship into clothes-off territory?
As most of you know, I’ve been figure modeling for about a year now. What was honestly once a response to a pre-midlife crisis has actually panned out into something I enjoy doing, and am completely comfortable with. And I’ve been pretty enthusiastic about it as a result.
One of the people I shared my enthusiasm was my close friend, Abigail. I’ve known Abigail for about seven years now. We met at a GWU grad school open house, and while neither of us pursued our studies there, we’ve maintained a close friendship since then. While her job keeps her extremely busy, we’re usually able to meet up every month or so for lunch over doner kebab and falafel. Invariably, the subject of modeling came up time and again, particularly when I was getting a good number of gigs.
I was regaling Abigail with some of my latest modeling experiences (namely religious zealots and the effect of ice-cold classrooms on the male physique), and I could tell that she seemed particularly interested that day, like her eyes were telegraphing the fact that she was mulling something serious.. So while I was halfheartedly munching on a particularly cardboard-y Reuben at the Corner Bakery, I told her that if she was interested, I could float her name by some people I knew to see if they had any need for new models.
Abby thought about it for a New York minute and said—hesitantly at first, but rapidly mustering more and more conviction by mid-sentence—that she’d definitely be interested.
As I’m sure you can imagine, the rest of our lunch took on a decidedly conspiratorial tenor :)
We soon parted ways, with me promising Abby that I’d reach out to a few of my contacts and let her know as soon as heard back from them. I knew that female models have a much easier time drumming up work, especially in DC, where over half of the models are male. I don’t consider that fact to be sexist in the least… more people (yours truly included) prefer to draw women, so naturally they’re in greater demand.
Well, at least that was the conventional wisdom, which was dispelled as soon as I contacted the art school I do the bulk of my work at. They were actually cutting classes, which meant they didn’t have much work for the models they did have. Shit! I figured they’d be able to land Abby some work in a heartbeat!
Undaunted, I called up the DC model guild (yes, we have a guild, of sorts!). It was established a few years ago by the curator of the Museum of Contemporary Art. He’s also a model, and because he was disappointed with the way some artists treat models (and in turn, with the unprofessional behavior exhibited by a lot of models), he formed the Guild to give prospective models the chance to learn how to model by watching experienced models, and then “audition” in front of the Guild. In this manner, new models can learn from more experienced models, and can in turn model in a safe environment (or refuse to model, if they realize that this isn’t the line of work for them—better for them to get cold feet now instead of flaking out on an art class because they realized Mother could never love them again if they did this!)
I spoke with the curator, David, and he informed me that the next guild meeting was coming up in a week and that Abby and I were more than welcome to drop in. So while I wasn’t able to get any paid work for Abby, I’d at least be able to get her “into the system,” so to speak. Models affiliated with the guild get an artist’s directory that they can use to pitch themselves to different art schools and artists. And I figured since I hadn’t been working for a while, I could always get some practice in.
So I called Abigail up, brought her up to speed, and emailed her some websites that had a good variety of poses, so she could get some inspiration for her own poses (a website I particularly like to use is Live Model Books, WHICH IS PROBABLY NOT WORKSAFE SO I WOULDN’T CLICK ON IT IF YOU REALLY LIKE YOUR JOB and can be accessed here: http://www.posespace.com/posetool/default.aspx). I also told her I’d leave the room if she decided to model, if that’d make her feel more comfortable. Our calendars were set for the following Sunday.
We met at the museum on a particularly damp Sunday afternoon. I made small talk with David, and as I was finishing up, Abby came up to me with an almost terrified look in her eyes.
“Did you see those photos in the other room?” she said, her eyes narrowing with a sense of trepidation and her voice only a hint above a whisper. “There’s some really… racy photos.”
Oh, snap! I forgot that the museum has hosted erotic art exhibits before. As far as I knew, it was all in good taste, but I headed into the main studio to be sure.
Sure enough, all I saw were a few innocuous photos, including a particularly curvy black woman lying down on a couch. Hmm… quite pedestrian, but I reckoned that if you weren’t expecting to see such photos, they might be a bit of a shock.
Please bear in mind my Famous Last Words for later.
So I told Abby that it was nothing to worry about, and that we wouldn’t be doing any sort of modeling like that. “Think classical Renaissance nudes,” I said.
The meeting started out with David giving a background on the model’s guild, the current state of modeling prospects (damn near dismal, given the economy) and offered some tips and suggestions, mostly for Abby’s sake. Then, it was time for the demo to begin, and after that, any models who wanted to could also model that day. I went back to change. I have my own model bag, and so I didn’t need to borrow any of the “house” robes that are provided for models who don’t have their own. After stowing my gear out of the way, I made my way out of the dressing room so Abby could get changed. She picked out a robe from a box and started to get ready.
As soon as she came out, her face was almost frozen in shock. “Jaaaasonnnn!” she drawled, “this robe has major BO!” with her voice sharply undergoing a decrescendo to the point where “BO” was uttered in raspy horror. Her face: like yours probably looked like when you found out where babies come from. And then watched Puppy Holocaust XXIV. On repeat. Her posture clearly indicated she was trying to channel The Force to lift her robe a few millimeters off of her skin to avoid direct funk particle contact. I had previously assured her the robes were clean, as I wore one once (about a year prior, which I apparently neglected to mention). In any event, Abby took it in good spirits, and it led to a post-modeling discussion on how the word “clean” is most definitely gender-subjective.
David got us kitted out with some drawing supplies since there was only one artist in the room and two other models, so at least we could have something to do. It was actually quite fun, as I found out I can draw (okay, so I found out I don’t draw as badly as I thought I did!). Abby and I had fun trading supplies back and forth and commenting each other’s work (namely, assuring each other that our artwork wasn’t nearly as bad as we were afraid it was).
And then we noticed we were the only people who hadn’t modeled yet. I figured that since I was the one who got Abby mixed into this modern-day Harrad Experiment, I should go first. Hoo boy! I’ve disrobed numerous times in front of strangers, and now I felt my fingers starting to tremble a bit.
“I can go leave the room if you want” Abby said, her voice conveying hints of both concern and reassurance.
“That’s okay,” I said, trying to control the slight tremor I felt working its way through my larynx. “It’s a walk in the park,” I continued, though whether I said it to reassure Abigail or myself, I wasn’t sure. In any event, I buttered her up to do this, and I figured I owed it to her as a friend to see my way through to the end.
“You sure?” she asked.
“Totally!” I said, turning my back to her so she couldn’t see any traces of doubt plastered on my face as I kicked off my flip-flops and headed up onto the platform.
Ask me in 50 years one of my top five memories that are permanently etched into my brain, and it’ll be this one: I took a deep breath, exhaled, and slowly unworked the knot on my robe and placed it off to the side. Naked, both physically and emotionally, as the day I was born.
I proceeded to do a few gesture poses and immediately started to relax and focus on counting off time. Seriously, focusing on my poses, and how long to hold them, puts me in a Zen-like state. I’m not naked. I’m not vulnerable. I just am.
Remember how I asked you to mark my Famous Last Words? For one of the longer poses, I decided to grab a stool and do a variant of Rodin’s “The Thinker.” So as I start to rest my chin on my hand, I notice something: the photos Abigail saw. Wow… I didn’t see those photos during my prior walk-around. Oh no. Noooow I see why she got a little freaked out! Wow! What an incredibly attractive, buxom, fleshy, pale-skinned brunette! She really wears that dog collar with pride as she’s getting ready to spank the blond on her firm, supple holy shit I’m feeling something stirring down below and it’s never happened to me on stage before and I’m really starting to freak out about it and oh god oh god it’s not going away and oh man Russell may not know art but he knows what he likes and he’s really liking him some modern art baseball baseball pi r squared work related stress work related stress oh thank god it’s going away do not EVER do that to me again!
I’m guessing I did damage control quickly enough for anyone to really notice because no one said anything or gave me any funny looks. But damn if I didn’t feel awkward about it.
The timer rings and I break pose, put on my robe and go get changed. I smiled and wished Abby good luck as she put her easel and pencils down and got ready for her big debut!
I’ll admit it: I took my sweetass time getting dressed because I didn’t know what I should do. Should I sketch her like I did the other models? Should I get dressed and rocket my way to the lobby where I could quaff a glass of wine and just chill? At any rate, I couldn’t just hide out in the changing area all day!
I quickly got dressed and figured I’d fetch myself a glass of wine before I had to make any decisions. Abby and I never really talked about what I’d do when it was her time to strut her stuff. I made my way to the lobby and caught a glimpse of Abby’s olive-colored skin as she was coming off of a standing pose. I poured myself a glass of red and threw it back quickly wondering what the hell I should do. Tossing the cup into the garbage, I realized that, her being my friend and me being hers, I knew exactly what to do.
I sat down and proceeded to sketch Abby, just like I did the other models. And there was nothing weird or crazy about it at all, even though we’ve known each other for years (or perhaps, as I suspect, because we’ve known each other for years). There was nothing smarmy or sordid about it, and frankly I was so engrossed in the artistic aspect of it (as I was sketching throughout the day, I began to truly appreciate the utility that a model gives to an artist) that I was more focused on issues of perspective and proportion than ZOMG nekkid wimmin!
Eventually the day came to a close and Abby and I headed out into the Georgetown rain and began to process the day’s events.
“If anyone ever said that when we first met, that five or six years down the line, we’d see each other completely naked, I would have thought they were crazy!” Abby exclaimed with a sense of disbelief.
“You were great!” I gushed apologetically. “You’re really good at it!”
“I didn’t wobble or anything, did I? I could’ve sworn I felt my arms shaking after a while!”
“Nah,” I replied. “Every time I get up on the pedestal, even the slightest move I make feels like I’m flailing my arms and legs!”
The splash of our feet in the puddles accumulating in the plaza seemed to echo off of the walls as we slowly made our way to M Street.
“I didn’t draw your penis,” Abby said almost apologetically. “I mean, I looked at it and all, but I thought it’d be a little weird drawing it.”
“That’s okay. I don’t take any offense. And, uh… I looked at your breasts. And, uh… drew ‘em, too.”
We hit M Street and proceeded to walk to the H&M, dodging corn-fed Midwestern fannypack-clad tourists and prepster Georgetown trust fund date rape allstars on the obscenely narrow Georgetown sidewalks. The sky began to turn greyer and greyer with the rapid onset of the evening hour. There was something I was about to broach with Abby, but almost intuitively, she beat me to it:
“It’s weird, but I did look at you when I wasn’t drawing.” Abby offered thoughtfully. “Mostly because when’s the next time you’re going to see someone you know naked?”
“Y’know, I was thinking the exact same thing,” genuinely surprised that she and I were on the same wavelength.
“Yeah, it’s not even sexual or anything, like if I was some kind of voyeur peeking in on you, and thought ‘OMG Jason’s totally naked’ or something like that,” she continued.
I concurred, and I had a bit of an epiphany: I realized that there was nothing wrong with appreciating someone’s body simply for what it is, no matter who it is. The human form is an incredible thing, a true work of art, and there’s nothing wrong about appreciating it as such.
Well, I’ve rambled on for far longer than I intended :) Abby, do you have anything to add?
That’s what my friend Abigail (whose blessing was given to write this post) said to me after we both posed in the nude. In front of each other. Yeah, you don’t really see your friends naked much, do you? Never thought I’d see a close, personal friend in the buff, and she clearly felt the same way. Oddly enough, it wasn’t weird or smarmy or anything, and felt (to me at least) completely natural and normal. But still, how do you take a close personal friendship into clothes-off territory?
As most of you know, I’ve been figure modeling for about a year now. What was honestly once a response to a pre-midlife crisis has actually panned out into something I enjoy doing, and am completely comfortable with. And I’ve been pretty enthusiastic about it as a result.
One of the people I shared my enthusiasm was my close friend, Abigail. I’ve known Abigail for about seven years now. We met at a GWU grad school open house, and while neither of us pursued our studies there, we’ve maintained a close friendship since then. While her job keeps her extremely busy, we’re usually able to meet up every month or so for lunch over doner kebab and falafel. Invariably, the subject of modeling came up time and again, particularly when I was getting a good number of gigs.
I was regaling Abigail with some of my latest modeling experiences (namely religious zealots and the effect of ice-cold classrooms on the male physique), and I could tell that she seemed particularly interested that day, like her eyes were telegraphing the fact that she was mulling something serious.. So while I was halfheartedly munching on a particularly cardboard-y Reuben at the Corner Bakery, I told her that if she was interested, I could float her name by some people I knew to see if they had any need for new models.
Abby thought about it for a New York minute and said—hesitantly at first, but rapidly mustering more and more conviction by mid-sentence—that she’d definitely be interested.
As I’m sure you can imagine, the rest of our lunch took on a decidedly conspiratorial tenor :)
We soon parted ways, with me promising Abby that I’d reach out to a few of my contacts and let her know as soon as heard back from them. I knew that female models have a much easier time drumming up work, especially in DC, where over half of the models are male. I don’t consider that fact to be sexist in the least… more people (yours truly included) prefer to draw women, so naturally they’re in greater demand.
Well, at least that was the conventional wisdom, which was dispelled as soon as I contacted the art school I do the bulk of my work at. They were actually cutting classes, which meant they didn’t have much work for the models they did have. Shit! I figured they’d be able to land Abby some work in a heartbeat!
Undaunted, I called up the DC model guild (yes, we have a guild, of sorts!). It was established a few years ago by the curator of the Museum of Contemporary Art. He’s also a model, and because he was disappointed with the way some artists treat models (and in turn, with the unprofessional behavior exhibited by a lot of models), he formed the Guild to give prospective models the chance to learn how to model by watching experienced models, and then “audition” in front of the Guild. In this manner, new models can learn from more experienced models, and can in turn model in a safe environment (or refuse to model, if they realize that this isn’t the line of work for them—better for them to get cold feet now instead of flaking out on an art class because they realized Mother could never love them again if they did this!)
I spoke with the curator, David, and he informed me that the next guild meeting was coming up in a week and that Abby and I were more than welcome to drop in. So while I wasn’t able to get any paid work for Abby, I’d at least be able to get her “into the system,” so to speak. Models affiliated with the guild get an artist’s directory that they can use to pitch themselves to different art schools and artists. And I figured since I hadn’t been working for a while, I could always get some practice in.
So I called Abigail up, brought her up to speed, and emailed her some websites that had a good variety of poses, so she could get some inspiration for her own poses (a website I particularly like to use is Live Model Books, WHICH IS PROBABLY NOT WORKSAFE SO I WOULDN’T CLICK ON IT IF YOU REALLY LIKE YOUR JOB and can be accessed here: http://www.posespace.com/posetool/default.aspx). I also told her I’d leave the room if she decided to model, if that’d make her feel more comfortable. Our calendars were set for the following Sunday.
We met at the museum on a particularly damp Sunday afternoon. I made small talk with David, and as I was finishing up, Abby came up to me with an almost terrified look in her eyes.
“Did you see those photos in the other room?” she said, her eyes narrowing with a sense of trepidation and her voice only a hint above a whisper. “There’s some really… racy photos.”
Oh, snap! I forgot that the museum has hosted erotic art exhibits before. As far as I knew, it was all in good taste, but I headed into the main studio to be sure.
Sure enough, all I saw were a few innocuous photos, including a particularly curvy black woman lying down on a couch. Hmm… quite pedestrian, but I reckoned that if you weren’t expecting to see such photos, they might be a bit of a shock.
Please bear in mind my Famous Last Words for later.
So I told Abby that it was nothing to worry about, and that we wouldn’t be doing any sort of modeling like that. “Think classical Renaissance nudes,” I said.
The meeting started out with David giving a background on the model’s guild, the current state of modeling prospects (damn near dismal, given the economy) and offered some tips and suggestions, mostly for Abby’s sake. Then, it was time for the demo to begin, and after that, any models who wanted to could also model that day. I went back to change. I have my own model bag, and so I didn’t need to borrow any of the “house” robes that are provided for models who don’t have their own. After stowing my gear out of the way, I made my way out of the dressing room so Abby could get changed. She picked out a robe from a box and started to get ready.
As soon as she came out, her face was almost frozen in shock. “Jaaaasonnnn!” she drawled, “this robe has major BO!” with her voice sharply undergoing a decrescendo to the point where “BO” was uttered in raspy horror. Her face: like yours probably looked like when you found out where babies come from. And then watched Puppy Holocaust XXIV. On repeat. Her posture clearly indicated she was trying to channel The Force to lift her robe a few millimeters off of her skin to avoid direct funk particle contact. I had previously assured her the robes were clean, as I wore one once (about a year prior, which I apparently neglected to mention). In any event, Abby took it in good spirits, and it led to a post-modeling discussion on how the word “clean” is most definitely gender-subjective.
David got us kitted out with some drawing supplies since there was only one artist in the room and two other models, so at least we could have something to do. It was actually quite fun, as I found out I can draw (okay, so I found out I don’t draw as badly as I thought I did!). Abby and I had fun trading supplies back and forth and commenting each other’s work (namely, assuring each other that our artwork wasn’t nearly as bad as we were afraid it was).
And then we noticed we were the only people who hadn’t modeled yet. I figured that since I was the one who got Abby mixed into this modern-day Harrad Experiment, I should go first. Hoo boy! I’ve disrobed numerous times in front of strangers, and now I felt my fingers starting to tremble a bit.
“I can go leave the room if you want” Abby said, her voice conveying hints of both concern and reassurance.
“That’s okay,” I said, trying to control the slight tremor I felt working its way through my larynx. “It’s a walk in the park,” I continued, though whether I said it to reassure Abigail or myself, I wasn’t sure. In any event, I buttered her up to do this, and I figured I owed it to her as a friend to see my way through to the end.
“You sure?” she asked.
“Totally!” I said, turning my back to her so she couldn’t see any traces of doubt plastered on my face as I kicked off my flip-flops and headed up onto the platform.
Ask me in 50 years one of my top five memories that are permanently etched into my brain, and it’ll be this one: I took a deep breath, exhaled, and slowly unworked the knot on my robe and placed it off to the side. Naked, both physically and emotionally, as the day I was born.
I proceeded to do a few gesture poses and immediately started to relax and focus on counting off time. Seriously, focusing on my poses, and how long to hold them, puts me in a Zen-like state. I’m not naked. I’m not vulnerable. I just am.
Remember how I asked you to mark my Famous Last Words? For one of the longer poses, I decided to grab a stool and do a variant of Rodin’s “The Thinker.” So as I start to rest my chin on my hand, I notice something: the photos Abigail saw. Wow… I didn’t see those photos during my prior walk-around. Oh no. Noooow I see why she got a little freaked out! Wow! What an incredibly attractive, buxom, fleshy, pale-skinned brunette! She really wears that dog collar with pride as she’s getting ready to spank the blond on her firm, supple holy shit I’m feeling something stirring down below and it’s never happened to me on stage before and I’m really starting to freak out about it and oh god oh god it’s not going away and oh man Russell may not know art but he knows what he likes and he’s really liking him some modern art baseball baseball pi r squared work related stress work related stress oh thank god it’s going away do not EVER do that to me again!
I’m guessing I did damage control quickly enough for anyone to really notice because no one said anything or gave me any funny looks. But damn if I didn’t feel awkward about it.
The timer rings and I break pose, put on my robe and go get changed. I smiled and wished Abby good luck as she put her easel and pencils down and got ready for her big debut!
I’ll admit it: I took my sweetass time getting dressed because I didn’t know what I should do. Should I sketch her like I did the other models? Should I get dressed and rocket my way to the lobby where I could quaff a glass of wine and just chill? At any rate, I couldn’t just hide out in the changing area all day!
I quickly got dressed and figured I’d fetch myself a glass of wine before I had to make any decisions. Abby and I never really talked about what I’d do when it was her time to strut her stuff. I made my way to the lobby and caught a glimpse of Abby’s olive-colored skin as she was coming off of a standing pose. I poured myself a glass of red and threw it back quickly wondering what the hell I should do. Tossing the cup into the garbage, I realized that, her being my friend and me being hers, I knew exactly what to do.
I sat down and proceeded to sketch Abby, just like I did the other models. And there was nothing weird or crazy about it at all, even though we’ve known each other for years (or perhaps, as I suspect, because we’ve known each other for years). There was nothing smarmy or sordid about it, and frankly I was so engrossed in the artistic aspect of it (as I was sketching throughout the day, I began to truly appreciate the utility that a model gives to an artist) that I was more focused on issues of perspective and proportion than ZOMG nekkid wimmin!
Eventually the day came to a close and Abby and I headed out into the Georgetown rain and began to process the day’s events.
“If anyone ever said that when we first met, that five or six years down the line, we’d see each other completely naked, I would have thought they were crazy!” Abby exclaimed with a sense of disbelief.
“You were great!” I gushed apologetically. “You’re really good at it!”
“I didn’t wobble or anything, did I? I could’ve sworn I felt my arms shaking after a while!”
“Nah,” I replied. “Every time I get up on the pedestal, even the slightest move I make feels like I’m flailing my arms and legs!”
The splash of our feet in the puddles accumulating in the plaza seemed to echo off of the walls as we slowly made our way to M Street.
“I didn’t draw your penis,” Abby said almost apologetically. “I mean, I looked at it and all, but I thought it’d be a little weird drawing it.”
“That’s okay. I don’t take any offense. And, uh… I looked at your breasts. And, uh… drew ‘em, too.”
We hit M Street and proceeded to walk to the H&M, dodging corn-fed Midwestern fannypack-clad tourists and prepster Georgetown trust fund date rape allstars on the obscenely narrow Georgetown sidewalks. The sky began to turn greyer and greyer with the rapid onset of the evening hour. There was something I was about to broach with Abby, but almost intuitively, she beat me to it:
“It’s weird, but I did look at you when I wasn’t drawing.” Abby offered thoughtfully. “Mostly because when’s the next time you’re going to see someone you know naked?”
“Y’know, I was thinking the exact same thing,” genuinely surprised that she and I were on the same wavelength.
“Yeah, it’s not even sexual or anything, like if I was some kind of voyeur peeking in on you, and thought ‘OMG Jason’s totally naked’ or something like that,” she continued.
I concurred, and I had a bit of an epiphany: I realized that there was nothing wrong with appreciating someone’s body simply for what it is, no matter who it is. The human form is an incredible thing, a true work of art, and there’s nothing wrong about appreciating it as such.
Well, I’ve rambled on for far longer than I intended :) Abby, do you have anything to add?
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Underaged to Perfection!
Over a delicious meal of pho with a friend of mine on a rainy Wednesday not too long ago, I was regaled with utterly amazing stories about her dad, and how he was on a crusade to liberate his community from the scourge of Canadian geese.
Utterly entranced by her storytelling, we headed back to Arlington and discussed the types of stories we’d like to write about. Completely out of nowhere, I got a blast from the past; a memory I hadn’t visited for ages, but an experience nonetheless that served to shape me, for better or for worse:
What it was like to get shitfaced, 1994 style. Wow, 1994... a heady year of lousy music and shitty fashion. A year I was lucky to make it into junior college due to my horrible high school academic record.
Now, before I, as the French say, "go somewhere with this," I’d like to get something off my chest first. It’s my personal belief that alcohol consumption in America is a lot like nudity in America. You and I can’t handle it. You see, you and I aren’t to be trusted. Now, who in America knows what's right and wrong for us without the benefit of having actually knowing us?
Jesus freaks and soccer moms.
I came to this conclusion like so: I distinctly remember Janet Jackson’s infamous “wardrobe malfunction” a few years ago. Specifically, I recalled the exact thoughts that were running through my mind when I saw her breast, laid bare for the world to see: “holy shit! Tits! I wanna gun down a Sunday school and come home so I can cheat on my taxes!” Ugh! We’ve let personal freedom and freedom of choice get held hostage by a bunch of damn holier-than-thou types.
At any rate, for all the negative things I could say about my parents, they never once treated alcohol like forbidden fruit. I remember when my dad was going to technical school when I was a kid, and he had a part-time job at a liquor store to bring in a few extra bucks. One day, I saw a commercial for Busch (“Head for the mountains… head for Busch beer!) and asked my dad what it tasted like. He said he’d try and wrangle a stray can and let me have a sip.
Now, for all the bad shit I could say about my father, he was really chill about certain things, and wasn’t afraid to treat me like an adult provided I didn’t abuse this privilege. So I took my first sip around the age of five, and immediately made the connection beer=nasty! I’d be permitted to take the occasional sip or 4 ounce glass of beer once in a blue moon, but I never really developed the taste for it. In high school a friend and I got the bright idea to mix wine and soda (blech!) and in my senior year, I’d buy the occasional can of MGD off of an acquaintance of mine. But I never went crazy with it. I’d say over the course of my high school career, I drank the equivalent of about half a bottle of wine, and maybe a six pack.
That all changed one fateful day. I was a student senator at my junior college, and the activities board hosted its annual retreat for the student leaders of each major campus organization (student senate, foreign language clubs, Phi Beta Kappa, the school newspaper, etc.). It was a two day retreat held in December 1994 somewhere up in the Catskills in New York State, specifically at a Jewish resort whose two claims to fame were (and I have no way of confirming this) that it was the inspiration for Dirty Dancing, and supposedly had the country’s first indoor heated swimming pool.
We did the normal bullshit icebreakers and teambuilding exercises on the bus ride up. Several times during the journey, they cautioned us that there would be hell to pay if we were caught visiting the resort’s bar if we were underage. I honestly thought nothing of it. I wasn’t there to drink… right?
Well, being the anal retentive type that I was back then, I changed into a suit after checking in. I really have no idea why, aside from the fact that I thought I ought to look professional (which is funny, because I absolutely hate having to wear suits nowadays. Funny how 10 years in the working world will change your views like that). So after the various workshops, etc. we were left to our own devices after dinner. I remember walking down to the lounge area and joking with one of my friends that I ought to try heading up to the bar and asking for a drink. Hey, I was the only one in probably a 50-mile radius wearing a suit, right? So you just know I’ve gotta be legit! After a bit of encouragement by my friend, I made my move.
I recall being nervous. Very nervous. Trying to bluff your way through your first underage purchase is like putting your hands down your girlfriend’s shirt for the first time: you’re trying to play it all calm and cool, but meanwhile all you want to do is make a beeline for your drink/her tits. While I knew fuckall about what I should get, I intuitively knew not to order beer or some trendy cocktail. Something that’d get the bartender’s antennae up. No way... I gotta olden it up a bit.
“Beefeater. On the rocks. And make it a double!” I had no damn idea what I just really ordered. I knew most late teens didn’t drink gin, and asking for a double on the rocks sounded a bit more middle-aged, like something out of a black-and-white movie. And I made sure to say "make it a double" as an afterthought while I proceeded to light up a cigarette. I figured there'd be something so casual yet mature about this. Like that extra thought into putting some acting talent into my drink order would help out. Well, it did. I got my drink and promptly got the hell out into the hallway and away from the bar, eager to not only whet my whistle on the demon drink, but to also giddily brag to my friends that I, GQ smooth, the epitome of grace under fire, just got served.
Turns out leaving was a good thing. Someone I knew who was at the bar at the time told me the bartender did a double-take as I was leaving. “Man, I should’ve carded him. But he was wearing a suit!” was how my friend described the bartender’s reaction.
I decided not to push my luck, and in any event, some of the college admins (including a few deans) were still up and hanging around. I gracefully quaffed my drink and retired for the night. It was a good thing I got nice and rested. Because the next day was absolutely insane.
Turns out the last evening we were at the resort, the deans and professors were strangely absent after we were done for the day. So a few of us work up the nerve to try to get served, and this cool-as-shit older bartender (a WWII vet) was serving everybody, including one of my friends who honestly looked to be in his early teens! Naturally, since about 80 percent of the students on this trip were underaged, we were tipping like crazy. While I won’t go into complete details about the night’s debauchery, I will say that I managed not to throw up that night or the next day.
In retrospect, I have to believe that this all went on with the knowledge and blessing of the college administration. I’m sure they figured hey, we’re out in the middle of nowhere with about four feet of snow on the ground. We don’t have cars and we can’t wander off even if we wanted to. Why not let ‘em cut loose for once? Trust me, the resort wasn’t that large, and it would have been damn easy to bust us (especially since I’m pretty sure I saw the president’s wife watching the proceedings at one point. They knew we were getting our jollies off in a secure environment, and the resulting hangovers that pretty much all of us were sporting turned out to be an appropriate penance. And I must say the bus ride home was damn quiet!
I tried the whole suit business a few more times at bars by my house in the months afterwards, as well as when I went to my four-year school the following year. Eventually I tired of it, and decided that my luck would run out at some point. Better to quit while you're ahead, right?
So, what did I learn from all of this?
1. Don’t order beer (ESPECIALLY Bud or Miller) if you’re trying to get served and you’re south of 21. Dead giveaway! Don’t order any trendy mixed drink crap like Sex on the Beach or a margarita. This also ties in nicely with step 2, which is...
2. Don’t go to anyplace that serves the gimmicky drinks in step one. Go to some shitty blue collar dive (and not a hipster “blue collar” dive. You want the real deal). Order stuff like boilermakers, Old Fashioneds and Manhattans. Don't try to make small talk, but don't make it look like you don't belong, either. Sip your drink in peace.
3. For god’s sake, don’t dress like a broheim or sorority bim! I’ve seen at least one person get busted with fake IDs that might have gotten away with it, but they were dressed in stupid shit like a polo and shorts and a backwards baseball cap. In December. Amateurs.
They say you never forget your first. Ahh! To be young and completely in love… with your first glass of Beefeater. On the rocks. And a double!
Utterly entranced by her storytelling, we headed back to Arlington and discussed the types of stories we’d like to write about. Completely out of nowhere, I got a blast from the past; a memory I hadn’t visited for ages, but an experience nonetheless that served to shape me, for better or for worse:
What it was like to get shitfaced, 1994 style. Wow, 1994... a heady year of lousy music and shitty fashion. A year I was lucky to make it into junior college due to my horrible high school academic record.
Now, before I, as the French say, "go somewhere with this," I’d like to get something off my chest first. It’s my personal belief that alcohol consumption in America is a lot like nudity in America. You and I can’t handle it. You see, you and I aren’t to be trusted. Now, who in America knows what's right and wrong for us without the benefit of having actually knowing us?
Jesus freaks and soccer moms.
I came to this conclusion like so: I distinctly remember Janet Jackson’s infamous “wardrobe malfunction” a few years ago. Specifically, I recalled the exact thoughts that were running through my mind when I saw her breast, laid bare for the world to see: “holy shit! Tits! I wanna gun down a Sunday school and come home so I can cheat on my taxes!” Ugh! We’ve let personal freedom and freedom of choice get held hostage by a bunch of damn holier-than-thou types.
At any rate, for all the negative things I could say about my parents, they never once treated alcohol like forbidden fruit. I remember when my dad was going to technical school when I was a kid, and he had a part-time job at a liquor store to bring in a few extra bucks. One day, I saw a commercial for Busch (“Head for the mountains… head for Busch beer!) and asked my dad what it tasted like. He said he’d try and wrangle a stray can and let me have a sip.
Now, for all the bad shit I could say about my father, he was really chill about certain things, and wasn’t afraid to treat me like an adult provided I didn’t abuse this privilege. So I took my first sip around the age of five, and immediately made the connection beer=nasty! I’d be permitted to take the occasional sip or 4 ounce glass of beer once in a blue moon, but I never really developed the taste for it. In high school a friend and I got the bright idea to mix wine and soda (blech!) and in my senior year, I’d buy the occasional can of MGD off of an acquaintance of mine. But I never went crazy with it. I’d say over the course of my high school career, I drank the equivalent of about half a bottle of wine, and maybe a six pack.
That all changed one fateful day. I was a student senator at my junior college, and the activities board hosted its annual retreat for the student leaders of each major campus organization (student senate, foreign language clubs, Phi Beta Kappa, the school newspaper, etc.). It was a two day retreat held in December 1994 somewhere up in the Catskills in New York State, specifically at a Jewish resort whose two claims to fame were (and I have no way of confirming this) that it was the inspiration for Dirty Dancing, and supposedly had the country’s first indoor heated swimming pool.
We did the normal bullshit icebreakers and teambuilding exercises on the bus ride up. Several times during the journey, they cautioned us that there would be hell to pay if we were caught visiting the resort’s bar if we were underage. I honestly thought nothing of it. I wasn’t there to drink… right?
Well, being the anal retentive type that I was back then, I changed into a suit after checking in. I really have no idea why, aside from the fact that I thought I ought to look professional (which is funny, because I absolutely hate having to wear suits nowadays. Funny how 10 years in the working world will change your views like that). So after the various workshops, etc. we were left to our own devices after dinner. I remember walking down to the lounge area and joking with one of my friends that I ought to try heading up to the bar and asking for a drink. Hey, I was the only one in probably a 50-mile radius wearing a suit, right? So you just know I’ve gotta be legit! After a bit of encouragement by my friend, I made my move.
I recall being nervous. Very nervous. Trying to bluff your way through your first underage purchase is like putting your hands down your girlfriend’s shirt for the first time: you’re trying to play it all calm and cool, but meanwhile all you want to do is make a beeline for your drink/her tits. While I knew fuckall about what I should get, I intuitively knew not to order beer or some trendy cocktail. Something that’d get the bartender’s antennae up. No way... I gotta olden it up a bit.
“Beefeater. On the rocks. And make it a double!” I had no damn idea what I just really ordered. I knew most late teens didn’t drink gin, and asking for a double on the rocks sounded a bit more middle-aged, like something out of a black-and-white movie. And I made sure to say "make it a double" as an afterthought while I proceeded to light up a cigarette. I figured there'd be something so casual yet mature about this. Like that extra thought into putting some acting talent into my drink order would help out. Well, it did. I got my drink and promptly got the hell out into the hallway and away from the bar, eager to not only whet my whistle on the demon drink, but to also giddily brag to my friends that I, GQ smooth, the epitome of grace under fire, just got served.
Turns out leaving was a good thing. Someone I knew who was at the bar at the time told me the bartender did a double-take as I was leaving. “Man, I should’ve carded him. But he was wearing a suit!” was how my friend described the bartender’s reaction.
I decided not to push my luck, and in any event, some of the college admins (including a few deans) were still up and hanging around. I gracefully quaffed my drink and retired for the night. It was a good thing I got nice and rested. Because the next day was absolutely insane.
Turns out the last evening we were at the resort, the deans and professors were strangely absent after we were done for the day. So a few of us work up the nerve to try to get served, and this cool-as-shit older bartender (a WWII vet) was serving everybody, including one of my friends who honestly looked to be in his early teens! Naturally, since about 80 percent of the students on this trip were underaged, we were tipping like crazy. While I won’t go into complete details about the night’s debauchery, I will say that I managed not to throw up that night or the next day.
In retrospect, I have to believe that this all went on with the knowledge and blessing of the college administration. I’m sure they figured hey, we’re out in the middle of nowhere with about four feet of snow on the ground. We don’t have cars and we can’t wander off even if we wanted to. Why not let ‘em cut loose for once? Trust me, the resort wasn’t that large, and it would have been damn easy to bust us (especially since I’m pretty sure I saw the president’s wife watching the proceedings at one point. They knew we were getting our jollies off in a secure environment, and the resulting hangovers that pretty much all of us were sporting turned out to be an appropriate penance. And I must say the bus ride home was damn quiet!
I tried the whole suit business a few more times at bars by my house in the months afterwards, as well as when I went to my four-year school the following year. Eventually I tired of it, and decided that my luck would run out at some point. Better to quit while you're ahead, right?
So, what did I learn from all of this?
1. Don’t order beer (ESPECIALLY Bud or Miller) if you’re trying to get served and you’re south of 21. Dead giveaway! Don’t order any trendy mixed drink crap like Sex on the Beach or a margarita. This also ties in nicely with step 2, which is...
2. Don’t go to anyplace that serves the gimmicky drinks in step one. Go to some shitty blue collar dive (and not a hipster “blue collar” dive. You want the real deal). Order stuff like boilermakers, Old Fashioneds and Manhattans. Don't try to make small talk, but don't make it look like you don't belong, either. Sip your drink in peace.
3. For god’s sake, don’t dress like a broheim or sorority bim! I’ve seen at least one person get busted with fake IDs that might have gotten away with it, but they were dressed in stupid shit like a polo and shorts and a backwards baseball cap. In December. Amateurs.
They say you never forget your first. Ahh! To be young and completely in love… with your first glass of Beefeater. On the rocks. And a double!
Sunday, May 3, 2009
I Feel Like Chicken Tonight!
Yeah, that's how the old Shake N' Bake jingle went. And when I'm truly hungry and time's a factor, well baby... I feel like chicken tonight.
I got back from a long day of modeling (upcoming post about that one) and when I got back to my apartment, I needed something quick and easy to make. My default meal in these situations always revolves around chicken.
In this case, fried chicken. Aside from steak, I think fried chicken is my favorite meal. When I was a kid, fried chicken was served very, very rarely. Never as a home cooked meal, and rarely as a fast food option, as neither one of my parents cared for KFC or Popeyes.
So ever since I got out on my own, I indulge myself in fried chicken whenever I get the urge. I've come up with a few tried and true recipes over the years, but I decided to do something a little different tonight.
But first, I made sure to start with the basics. Not any part of the chicken will do. Breasts are okay as far as a boneless, skinless, healthy option goes. But fried chicken defies any sort of notion of "healthy," so that's out the window. Wings are great on their own, but they're more of a snack as opposed to a meal. Drumsticks are pretty good, but there's only one part of the bird that can possibly serve as the vehicle for fried goodness...
Thighs. I get 'em in packs of four. Rip 'em open and trim off the excess fat and skin. Believe you me, when I was just starting to experiment with cooking, I thought cutting off all that skinly, fatty goodness was a sin. But trust me on this one: your bird will taste much, much better if you take the time to trim the excess flab off.
Now, I've battered up my bird with a variety of mixes over the years: flour, seasoned flour, breadcrumbs, corn flakes, panko, etc. Today, I decided to try something a little bit different.
Tortilla crumbs. Frankly, I never knew they made ground up tortilla crumbs. But I was at the local Harris Teeter today and saw this:
I was intrigued. So on a whim, I picked up a container. I was getting a bit tired of the usual flour-and-spice mix I'd almost always dredge the bird in. Time for something with a little crunch!
Okay, so now I've battered the thighs in egg and rolled them in the tortilla crumbs. Time to fire up Old Faithful.
In this case, Old Faithful is the CoolDaddy deep fryer I got at Macy's a few years back. Yeah, she looks a little beat, but she can still fry with the best of them!
Seventeen minutes later... TA-DAAAAAAH!
I sprinkled a little McCormick Chicken seasoning prior to putting the thighs in the fryer. And when I took them out, I doused them in Tony Chachere's Cajun Salt.
There's nothing like piping hot fried chicken, straight from the fryer, on a nasty, grey, drizzly day!
I got back from a long day of modeling (upcoming post about that one) and when I got back to my apartment, I needed something quick and easy to make. My default meal in these situations always revolves around chicken.
In this case, fried chicken. Aside from steak, I think fried chicken is my favorite meal. When I was a kid, fried chicken was served very, very rarely. Never as a home cooked meal, and rarely as a fast food option, as neither one of my parents cared for KFC or Popeyes.
So ever since I got out on my own, I indulge myself in fried chicken whenever I get the urge. I've come up with a few tried and true recipes over the years, but I decided to do something a little different tonight.
But first, I made sure to start with the basics. Not any part of the chicken will do. Breasts are okay as far as a boneless, skinless, healthy option goes. But fried chicken defies any sort of notion of "healthy," so that's out the window. Wings are great on their own, but they're more of a snack as opposed to a meal. Drumsticks are pretty good, but there's only one part of the bird that can possibly serve as the vehicle for fried goodness...
Thighs. I get 'em in packs of four. Rip 'em open and trim off the excess fat and skin. Believe you me, when I was just starting to experiment with cooking, I thought cutting off all that skinly, fatty goodness was a sin. But trust me on this one: your bird will taste much, much better if you take the time to trim the excess flab off.
Now, I've battered up my bird with a variety of mixes over the years: flour, seasoned flour, breadcrumbs, corn flakes, panko, etc. Today, I decided to try something a little bit different.
Tortilla crumbs. Frankly, I never knew they made ground up tortilla crumbs. But I was at the local Harris Teeter today and saw this:
I was intrigued. So on a whim, I picked up a container. I was getting a bit tired of the usual flour-and-spice mix I'd almost always dredge the bird in. Time for something with a little crunch!
Okay, so now I've battered the thighs in egg and rolled them in the tortilla crumbs. Time to fire up Old Faithful.
In this case, Old Faithful is the CoolDaddy deep fryer I got at Macy's a few years back. Yeah, she looks a little beat, but she can still fry with the best of them!Seventeen minutes later... TA-DAAAAAAH!
I sprinkled a little McCormick Chicken seasoning prior to putting the thighs in the fryer. And when I took them out, I doused them in Tony Chachere's Cajun Salt.
There's nothing like piping hot fried chicken, straight from the fryer, on a nasty, grey, drizzly day!
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Mondoburgers
I made a couple of what I like to call mondoburgers for lunch. It's not a Jasonburger, because a Jasonburger (named after me because it's that damned good!) requires ground up sausage to go in the mix. However, a mondoburger is pretty damned good on it's own. It's an exercise in gluttony, but if you can come up with a better foodgasm, I'd love to hear it.
The first thing you'll need are a couple of beef patties (duh!). Normally I go for fresh ground beef, but Giant had some prepackaged, preformed patties with bacon and cheese mixed in.
Now normally, I'd advise you to cook your burgers to medium rare, with straight-up medium being the highest temperature you'd want to settle for. Unfortunately, I've found pre-made patties to come out well-done regardless. However, while well-done is a sin for steak, for a burger, it's usually forgivable. Mostly since as long as you've got a decent fat content (I recommend 80/20. Yeah, I know it's a coronary under shrinkwrap), your should still get a somewhat juicy burger even if it's cooked thoroughly.
Next, you need bacon. Now, I'll be the first to admit the love affair with bacon has gone waaaaay too far (baconnaise, bacon salt, etc.). Enough already! It's the culinary equivalent of "irony" or horrible internete memes like "all your X belong to us." Over-fucking-done. But nothing compliments the taste of a burger than a couple slices of crisp bacon. I got a thicker cut applewood-smoked bacon, which was billed as being cruelty-free and free of hormones, preservatives, etc.
Pretty damn tasty looking, huh? Well, if you think it looks good raw, lick your lips in pleasure as I present to you the frying of the bacon:
Okay, so now that the bacon's done cooking, all we need to do is put the bacon on the burgers for a minute and take 'em out, right?
Wrong! Fill in the blank: some people like bacon and _________ for breakfast. Yup, now we're gonna fry up some eggs :) Two, to be precise. Mmm... eggs!
Some people like to have their eggs a yolky mess when they serve 'em on a burger. Frankly, I've found it to be a little too messy. I recommend over medium, so you still get some yolk mixing in with your burger, but it's not a dripping mess.
Okay, so now the burgers are ready to go, and I've added mayo, lettuce, pepperjack cheese and hot sauce, all on top of a potato roll. Behold, the finished product:
Yeah, I'm getting a heart attack just looking at it. Trust me, this is something I make myself once in a blue moon. Enjoy!
The first thing you'll need are a couple of beef patties (duh!). Normally I go for fresh ground beef, but Giant had some prepackaged, preformed patties with bacon and cheese mixed in.
Now normally, I'd advise you to cook your burgers to medium rare, with straight-up medium being the highest temperature you'd want to settle for. Unfortunately, I've found pre-made patties to come out well-done regardless. However, while well-done is a sin for steak, for a burger, it's usually forgivable. Mostly since as long as you've got a decent fat content (I recommend 80/20. Yeah, I know it's a coronary under shrinkwrap), your should still get a somewhat juicy burger even if it's cooked thoroughly.Next, you need bacon. Now, I'll be the first to admit the love affair with bacon has gone waaaaay too far (baconnaise, bacon salt, etc.). Enough already! It's the culinary equivalent of "irony" or horrible internete memes like "all your X belong to us." Over-fucking-done. But nothing compliments the taste of a burger than a couple slices of crisp bacon. I got a thicker cut applewood-smoked bacon, which was billed as being cruelty-free and free of hormones, preservatives, etc.
Pretty damn tasty looking, huh? Well, if you think it looks good raw, lick your lips in pleasure as I present to you the frying of the bacon:
Okay, so now that the bacon's done cooking, all we need to do is put the bacon on the burgers for a minute and take 'em out, right?
Wrong! Fill in the blank: some people like bacon and _________ for breakfast. Yup, now we're gonna fry up some eggs :) Two, to be precise. Mmm... eggs!
Some people like to have their eggs a yolky mess when they serve 'em on a burger. Frankly, I've found it to be a little too messy. I recommend over medium, so you still get some yolk mixing in with your burger, but it's not a dripping mess.
Okay, so now the burgers are ready to go, and I've added mayo, lettuce, pepperjack cheese and hot sauce, all on top of a potato roll. Behold, the finished product:
Yeah, I'm getting a heart attack just looking at it. Trust me, this is something I make myself once in a blue moon. Enjoy!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)