A model opportunity!

I can't remember the last time I did anything wild and/or crazy.

I mean, something reeeeeally outside of my comfort zone.

Then, a few weeks back, I read a review on yelp where a yelper recounted her experience at a local art studio. Apparently they hired a nude mode and sometime during the session, the model totally lost it for a while and started to cry.

The thought hit me out of the blue: "Man, I can stand around naked. And I can not lose my cool either. I should try that."

That thought proceeded to leave my head, and right when I turned my attention to something else, it came back again.

"Hey, maybe I should try it!" Screw it! When the hell was the last time I did anything totally out of character? Well, there was that time in Denver when I ate a plate of fruit and yogurt for lunch.

All right: I'm not the most buff, studly person out there. But I remembered that I read an article a while back that said most artists tend to prefer to paint people that aren't perfect hardbodies... they get more experience painting different body types.

So I emailed my yelper friend the next day and asked how I'd go about getting started in the biz. She recommended getting in contact with a local artist that she knew. Armed with her recommendation, along with another one I came up with (more below), I started to make my availability known to the DC art world!

My first call was to the Corcoran Gallery of Art. A few years ago, a woman on Slate (maybe it was Salon) did a series of articles where she undertook a new and unusual job on a regular basis. One of her gigs was as a nude model.

The chipper receptionist transferred me to the model coordinator, and right then and there, I started to get nervous. I had successfully steeled my nerves during the initial phone call, but now I was feeling that familiar tightening of the chest and throat. Hmm... maybe she'll be out of the office and I can just leave a message (or hang up, most likely).

No dice! There was a real, live person at the end. So I introduce myself, state that I'm specifically looking to model nude, and would be willing to do whatever it takes. Understandably, her first question was what made me decide to pursue this, and decide to stifle my first response (post-quarterlife crisis) and go with what really drew me to the Corcoran: the Slate article.

She proceeded to laugh and I felt at ease. She said she got a lot of inquiries after that article ran, and apparently the author took some creative liberties in her recounting of the story. But she did say that she was interested, although the Corcoran slows down during the summer, so it might be a few weeks before anything happened.

I told her I wasn't in any rush, and frankly was happy to have the opportunity to have an interview with her at a later date. I also cautiously made mention of the fact that I'm not exactly Brad Pitt (well, maybe Brad Pitt if he discovered a lust for beer and burgers with blue cheese). She reassured me that it's all professional and that they look for all ethnicities, genders and body types: the world is diverse, and the artists need to be able to capture that diversity.

Relieved, I thanked her, agreed to forward her my contact info, and proceeded to call the artist that my friend recommended. Turns out she didn't really have anything, but suggested I contact someone in Georgetown who serves as a clearinghouse for DC figure models in general, nudes in particular.

I say goodbye and I hang up. Okay, nothing's gonna come out of that lead. She probably thinks she was talking to some weirdo or perv and just wanted to get me off the phone. Hey, it's a strange world. I don't blame her.

Fast forward to last Wednesday. I'm having a HORRIBLE day and am feeling really burned out. All of a sudden, my phone starts to ring. I don't recognize the number at first, so I let the VM get it. I turn back to my work and for some reason, the area code starts to sound familiar, but I can't place it (it was an out-of-state area code). Hmm... I'm definitely recognizing it. Could that be the artist I spoke with last week?

Naaaah! Probably some random caller with an information request. The "message" light starts to glow cherry red. Curiosity having gotten the better of me, I listen to the message.

It's the artist! Turns out she had a model cancel, and she was hoping I could fill in for her! It took me all of .5 seconds to pick up the phone and call her back.

She thanked me profusely, gave me directions, and told me kickoff was at 7. The rest of the day just dragged by. A whirlwind of thoughts and emotions were rushing through me. I couldn't cancel now, even if I wanted to: she'd never get someone this short notice. I emailed my yelper friend (who I also knew from grad school) to thank her for the reco and proudly tell her I got my first gig. "I know," she wrote. "I got the email with tonight's information from Sarah (the artist)." Hoo boy! I wasn't counting on actually appearing in the buff in front of someone I actually know. Things are gonna get interesting...

So 7 rolls around and I'm in an old building that's now being used as an arts center. The yelper in question showed up, along with a few other people. I met the artist, Sarah, and after exchanging pleasantries, she handed me a bathrobe and said I could go ahead and get changed while the artists set up shop. I swear, it was the longest time I've ever had getting undressed. It's like time just stood still.

I'm in my robe and out in the studio now, and the artists are setting up. There's only a few people, so Sarah suggests that we'll wait a few more minutes. She initially wanted to do a standing pose, but my height plus the height of the podium thingy I'd be standing on made me way too tall. She opted for a sitting pose instead.

By this point, I'm starting to get a little antsy. It's like I'm ready for "go time!" People are setting up the lighting and the backdrop, and it felt like it was going on forever, that's how apprehensive I was. Then, the fateful call came out:

"Okay, it looks like we're all ready and I don't think anyone else is coming," Sarah said. "so why don't you go ahead and get into position?"

My heart skips a beat. I fumble with the stupid knot I managed to tie on the bathrobe. Jesus, what kind of f-ed up knot did I feel the need to tie tonight? Finally it comes loose. My heart's totally racing at this point. Sarah instructs me to put the robe to the side. I take off the robe and climb on to the podium and sit down on the chair they have for me.

And all of a sudden, I feel fine. I don't feel any pressure, fear, or anything. I'm just basking in the warmth of the studio lights. I know I have a job to do, and at this point all I'm focused on is trying to get into the position Sarah wants. That, and remaining still. I'm just happy that it's relatively warm inside, and that I'm not sporting wood or otherwise losing my cool. The only thing I was really concerned about as the session went on was that my feet were starting to get dirty (I think the studio doubles as a woodshop during the day, and since I was called last minute, I didn't have a pair of flip flops on me).

I should probably note that we weren't the only people there. Since it's a general-purpose arts center, there was a band rehearsing in the next room, and they'd come out every so often to grab something between sets. Sarah told me about this when she called me, but it was kinda weird sitting totally nude while complete strangers walk back and forth in front of me, especially since they weren't gawking or staring. They'd seen it all before...

How it worked was I'd pose for 20 minutes, take a 10 minute break, and pose for another 20 minutes. I'd repeat this for three hours. The first hour was easy, but it started to get surreal at one point, almost like an out-of-body experience. Seriously. Towards the end (after the band left) someone turned the stereo on to a classical music station. As the music started up, I got these really weird visions before me and started to imagine a French movie plaing with the opening credits rolling. I was staring down a tree-lined road as this random jumble of words flashed by.

During the breaks, I'd put on my robe and go over and check out how everyone's work was progressing. I was really impressed! One did a full-body profile, another focused on my midsection. One sketched my knees, and Sarah painted a head portrait that was incredible!

I was SORE when it was all over, though the $60 check helped limber me up considerably. I got some very nice compliments on my professionalism, and I can definitley see myself doing this in the future (in fact, I meet with the Corcoran on Tuesday). I was also on something of an artistic high, since there was some really good art that was created that night, including an uncanny head shot of yours truly! Really, it was a totally accurate image! I was happy that I was able to help, in some small way, such talented people for one night.

My friend and I climbed into a cab for the trek back to Arlington and I wisely took a few Motrin before heading to bed (I was still a little sore in the morning, but was fine when I got to work). I can definitely see this as being a fun side gig!

I'm done!

I'm done!

Stick a fork in it, close the book, cap the pen.

For it is over.

After three long years (which, at the same time, feel like only yesterday) I graduated with my Master's in International Commerce and Policy!

It couldn't have come soon enough. I was feeling a major case of burnout this semester (actually, it started up towards the end of last semester), and I was really slacking. I don't think I did any reading, save for that required for a test or term paper, since February.

Now when all my friends and colleagues went into their final year, I could never understand the fact that they essentially just shut down and stopped caring. That would never be me, super-student! I would approach the twilight of my education with the same intensity as I did the dawn.

Up until around December, that is. I just stopped caring, and half-assed my finals and one of my papers. Still got decent grades, but the rot had most definitely begun.

This semester, I think the only real work I did was studying for tests and slamming out a bunch of papers for the last two weeks. I just felt incredibly fatigued by it all... like I was ready for it to be over.

So, after uncomfortably yanking two term papers that I was exceptionally not proud of out of my ass, and showing up and taking a final I know I could have done much better in, I got my final grades. Both passing. And after a quick call to GMU juuuuuust to confirm one last time that I have enough credits, I'm a newly-minted master's recipient.

How do I feel? To be honest, I really don't care. The MA was undertaken strictly because where I live, a BA is pretty much like a high school diploma (and sadly, this is happening elsewhere too). I've never been one to believe that academic credentialling automatically confers intelligence, nor do I believe particularly that it measures a person's worth. I played the game because I had to, not because I wanted to.

Am I more well-read? I couldn't really tell you. Most knowledge gleaned left my head as soon as I regurgitated it for a test or a paper. To this day, I couldn't tell you squat about economics... I think it has to do with supply and demand and economies of scale and stuff.

When I was an undergrad, I spent the last month or two taking long walks in the buildings and around campus. I wanted to take it all in for one last time. My mood was most definitely somber, but also reflective and never melancholy. I knew even then that my life was at a crossroads, and while I had the souvenier map, the trip was over. Not so with grad school. There was no long walk around the campus (not that I would have had that far to walk... it's a satellite school away from the main campus and is undergoing major renovations. The School of Public Policy is housed in an old department store, and will be torn down soon to make way for a brand new school). Getting your BA is a rite of passage. Getting your MA is something that just needs to be gotten out of the way ASAP so your life can resume to normal. I grew really resentful of having to give up two nights of freedom a week (but let's face it, those days would probably have been spent drunk or asleep) just to jump through a bunch of hoops that society (or some other force that is unseen, intangible, yet controls your mores) thinks you should, for no reason whatsoever.

So how do I really feel? Tired. I don't feel particularly proud. Just tired. But happy too.

Happy that it's ALL OVER!!!

Yelp!

Recent reviews by Jason C.

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Weekend reflections

24 hours. That’s plenty of time to study.

Unless you’re me, of course, and have been coming down with senioritis (hey, spell-check says that’s a real word!) ever since going back to school this semester. For the life of me, it is absolutely impossible to focus on my studies.

Like this one book I’m trying to read. Horrible, horrible book. Even my professor said as much. I have to be prepared to answer questions on it this Wednesday, and I’m the only person who volunteered to read the book. Now it’s only 200 or so pages, so you can bang that out over a weekend.

Unless you’re me!

It doesn’t help that the guy who wrote it blew his intellectual load after the first few chapters. I guess he felt he had to offer some “value added” after making his point. Ugh. Read some pages, have a beer, check the email, read some more pages, do some laundry, read some more pages, reread the last 20 pages because I haven’t been paying attention…

And I still need to check in to make sure I’m fully on track to graduate. I’ve been keeping track on my own, and I think everything’s okay, but I’d like to have someone at Mason check my records, just to make sure. I SO do not want to go a semester longer than I have to!

All this yelping has been paying off :) First, I go and have a pedicure at Ibiza on Saturday, and it turns out they actually checked out my yelp review! Wow! I was in shock. I mean, did they recognize my picture? Do they check out their reviews every so often and figured I was the Jason in question? At any rate, I didn’t argue… I’d much rather slip back in that comfy leather chair and have my feet rubbed.

And when I went to check out my profile today, I thought yelp was having a seizure. There were 5 or 6 compliments. I’m struggling to think what the hell I wrote that warranted all this attention all of a sudden, since my last review was a week ago. So I go to read my compliments, and it all makes sense.

I made Review of the Day today! When this happens, the review in question is profiled on their home page. I still haven’t figured out the formula for having a review made ROTD, but I’ll take any attention I can get. It was really nice to get those compliments… it’s things like this that keep me writing. That and Trivia Night :)

Dinner should be really good tonight. I say that because I’m going back to the training table come Monday. I started that Abs Diet a few weeks ago, but was only doing it half-assed. Now, I’ve been sticking with the actual diet part about 50-50, and I’ve taken some weight off. But I’ve been cheating too, and I haven’t been going to the gym as often as I should. Though it’s a scapegoat to a certain point, I’m gonna have to lay at least some of the blame on school.

So I work from about 8am to 4:30pm Monday through Friday. On Mondays and Wednesdays I have class. Unfortunately, both classes are from 7:20 to 10pm. Even though they let us out a little early, by the time I come home, I’m damn tired, and it’s tough to eat healthy. You don’t wanna cook. Even if you do, you just know your meal’s gonna sit heavy on you, adding more pounds. The alternative tends to be a cop-out… getting snacks from the grocery store when I walk home from class. And since I can’t get into a regular sleep schedule, I’m waking up later and ignoring breakfast when I get up. And between the nights I go to class and the nights I’m recovering from class, I have no desire to hit the gym.

So I’m going to try to make another go of diet and exercise. I really don’t have a whole lot to lose, and I’ve still been eating much better than this time last year, but I’d still like to make some changes. My dinner tonight, a ribeye marinated in KC Masterpiece Steakhouse marinade and washed down with either beer or wine (haven’t decided yet!) is going to be my last splurge until next weekend.

Is it Saturday yet?

Bak 2 Skule!

God, do I ever need a break from school! Shut up. I know I’ve only just resumed classes. Fortunately, one of them is starting to get interesting. Unfortunately, I still have another 12 weeks or so of classes, and then one more semester on top of that!

I got really jaded this summer. While I didn’t get to spend it with a woman, I still had a good time and got out there and did stuff. It’s tough to get back into the daily grind. I really don’t want to start backsliding. I only have until this May (knock on wood) and I’m done.

I remember how grad school first started when I first started my program. I was sooooo nervous after being away from a classroom for almost a decade. I was trying to keep it that way too. Unfortunately, a Bachelor’s is now the new high school diploma, and I started to see the writing on the wall career-wise. But I was thisfuckingclose to dropping out, and if it wasn’t for my boss at the time (thanks!), I guarantee you that I would have quit. It didn’t help matters much that my first class was Macroeconomics.

I had Macro back at Stockton. To this day, the only thing I can tell you about it had to do with the baseball strike that was going on (this was back in 95 or 96). Professor Elmore totally sucked back then, and according to a professor review site, sucks just as hard now. In fact, all the things her students are calling her out for today were things I went through with her over a decade ago! Thank goodness for tenure, huh Prof. Elmore? So I was freaked out having my first class in something I really know nothing about. Turns out this was the easiest guy in the world to take. Take good notes, and you’ll be fine!

The other prof had a hardon for group work, and that really freaked me out. New weekly assignment, new group. A 40 page group paper! Ugh. And of course I got a dim view of this early on because one of my teammates was president of her Penn State DC alumni association and trekked up to the big game every Saturday. So our first meeting was at something like 4pm on a Sunday. Man, the point of graduating college is to get on with your life, not relive it with a bunch of current students. It must suck peaking at 21.

Well, sure enough, I was able to endure, and I’m in the home stretch of my grad school career. I can assure you there will be no dual Master’s or Ph.D. for me. Period. End of story!

Things I learned about Denver

1. Tattoos are mandatory in Denver. I swear, pretty much everyone was sporting at least one tattoo, and there were quite a few people with tats running up and down the full length of their arms. I’m not really into body “art,” but it seems to be the norm there, regardless of age.

2. Air conditioning is inherently evil. I’ve never seen a place with such an aversion to air conditioning. Granted, since I’ve mainly lived in Houston, New Jersey, and the DC area, I’ve known the need for A/C all my life. I don’t care what people say about “dry heat.” Hot is hot! Now, it was nice to be in 90 degree weather and not sweat like a whore in church, which is what I pretty much do in DC’s summers. But man, get the A/C on just a little bit!

3. People are much nicer. Most people in DC suck. There’s no way around it. You know it. I know it. From the boot-lickingest intern to the highest corridors of douchebaggery, people in DC are petty, passive-aggressive meanies. Denver was such a change. It wasn’t like a southern/Midwestern make chitchat to death nice (and I’m not opposed to that). More like people would smile when they talk to you and make eye contact with you when you passed them down the street. I distinctly remember meeting the glances of the first few people in Denver and thought it was weird. But then I remembered that this is normal behavior, and I’m the one who’s weird!

4. Denver’s more expensive than you might think. We got a whopping $48 per diem in Denver, which is standard Federal per diem. You lose 25% of that on your first and last days (I guess they assume no one spends a full day on travel days). You could kill the bulk of this on lunch. In fact, I spent (sit down, please) $30 on BREAKFAST one day. Yeah, breakfast. At the hotel. I mean, it was good and all (crab meat, cheese and leeks), but not $30 good! I know I lost at least $100 out of my own pocket on that trip. But I had a good time, so I’m not really upset. I remember filling out my travel report and my supervisor said “Hey, Jason. You can go ahead and claim full per diem on your site visit days. It’s okay.” But I did put down my full per diem, I told him. He couldn’t believe it.

5. Denver has a trolley system (sort of). There’s a section of town called the 16th Street Mall. It must span about 20 blocks, maybe more. It’s closed off to vehicle traffic, except for buses that do one huge loop from start to finish. It’s completely free, and is really neat. Unfortunately, the 16th Street Mall is essentially a stretched-out version of Clarendon. I mean, if taking the bus from Pottery Barn to Williams Sonoma is your cup of tea, go for it, but it felt very commercialized. But they had a lot of restaurants in the area, and it looked like a happening place.

6. Beer is way cheaper outside of DC. “Man, $3 for a pint of beer? How do these yokels make their money?” It was surreal to see booze actually affordable. Nothin’ like laying down a fiver for a Bud Light to really humble a man.

Denver, part un

I recently (okay, several weeks ago) got back from a business trip to Denver. I had never been there before, and was looking forward to going.

The trip out there was great. I was lucky enough to fly out of National (hooray short airport trip!) and was extraspecialsuperlucky to fly Frontier.

I really like Frontier. I had only flown them once before to visit my mother, but I was really impressed. For one thing, they seem to use only Airbuses. Now I don’t have any comparative data, but I can tell you anecdotally that there seems to be a l’il more legroom on an Airbus as opposed to a Boeing. The fleet looks new and clean, and the flight attendants are usually quite friendly. Nowadays, you usually get flight attendants that must've gone to the casting call of "DMV: The Motion Picture." Best of all, they don’t pull a US Airways and pour your soda in a cup, and then give the remainder to someone else. I’ve never figured that out. How does that help your bottom line? Is all your overhead really spent on in-flight refreshment? How many less sodas do you need to pack? Is it that much of a space saver?

At any rate, I've always enjoyed flying with them. For that matter, I’m willing to try most second-tier airlines since personally I’ll do whatever it takes to not give my business to American, United, Delta, etc. They’ve rode the gravy train for too long, and have gotten fat and complacent. Lousy service, uncompetitive fares, and hey, when they fuck up (and you just know they will every few years), Uncle Sugar gives ‘em a big cash bailout to reward shitty management. I should be so lucky to land a job like that.

Government: Jason, you really ran Air Suckfest into the ground. What were you thinking?

Me: Well, I had a lot of good ideas that looked nice on paper…

Government: Shag carpeted planes? Fondue service in coach? Paying staff in Canadian dollars? Man, you really screwed up. Here, here’s a big bag of money.

Okay, I kid. But I’ll never fly a major airline if I can avoid it. I’m not rewarding them with my ticket money for their lousy treatment of the flying public.

America West used to be a great airline… I’ve heard they’ve merged with US Scare, so I’m not holding out hope for continued success. Their in-flight meals were better than some sit-down meals I’ve had. Full-course meals, and hot too! I flew with them several times, and was always impressed.

But now, I think Frontier is gonna get the bulk of my travel dollars, at least as far as travel out West goes.

Now, onto part two…