Underpinnings

Years ago I purchased a book titled, The History of Underclothes. It isn't prominently displayed in my bookcase, but people notice it nonetheless.

The book isn't as exciting as the subject matter may suggest. I didn't make it past page 60.

Over the weekend I went to an exhibit about underclothes at the Merchant's House Museum. My former burlesque teacher had posted a link to the exhibit on Face Book. She hinted that it was sensational, and I was intrigued. Through Face Book, I made an arrangement to see the show with a former work colleague who also expressed interest in the show.

Unfortunately, the underwear exhibit was weak. It was composed of approximately 6 items: a pair of stockings, a corset, and three hoop skirts or petticoats.

The museum was small and a bit worn down, and the meager exhibit was disappointing. But on closer inspection, the place revealed some some charming aspects.

I learned that a pie safe was intended to keep bread products safe from vermin. My 20th century-formed mind thought it safe guarded goods from snacking residents of the house.

An artist had spruced up a falling ceiling with a faux leg, which struck me as a positive way to handle the crumbling ceiling crisis. I wish I had been as clever when dealing with a similar problem in my apartment.

The pulley system on the gas chandeliers was interesting. It is an elegant combination of frill and function.

Most importantly, I got better acquainted with my former work colleague. We often interact on Face Book, but hadn't socialized outside of work. We are both a little geeky about historical details, so meeting at the museum was perfect.

She is smart, and has unusual qualities. She is a marathon runner who has completed races on every continent (including Antarctica). She recently visited a remote town in Alaska because it is the northern most point of the United States. She is a chocolate enthusiast with a refined palate, and she has organized a chocolate tasters club in New York. She kindly introduced me to a marvelous chocolate lunch at MarieBelle in Soho.

Spending time with her reminded me that there is much in the world to explore, even on a small scale. Sometimes things that initially disappoint deserve a second look to yield modest wonders.

The Uncanny Vacation

An unemployed friend has been meeting with me once a week to work on our job searches. He has two Ivy League degrees, including a MBA, and until recently, earned six figures. I was working on my CV when I heard him call a travel agent and book a vacation.

While his circumstances differ from mine (a vacation is a major expense even when I am employed), I marveled that he could enjoy a vacation at this time. Uncertainty erodes my enjoyment of any indulgence at this time. Unsure about what the future holds, I don't want to spend money now and regret it later. When I hear about unemployed people enjoying leisure activities -- taking vacations, traveling, or enrolling in art classes -- I wonder how they can be so relaxed while unemployed.

Last week events coalesced to allow me to spend the weekend in Cape Cod. A friend was spending the month in her boyfriend's family's house in Truro. She invited me to come up for the weekend. Another friend agreed to drive me there, with many rest stops to prevent blood clotting.

I rarely step outside of New York City. Most years I leave the city two or three times. Of course, I know that the landscape is radically different outside, but each time I leave the city limits I am surprised by the environmental shift that takes place within an hour of travel time.

Traffic was thick and we had to stop often, so it took about 8 hours to get to Truro. The longer emotional distance (from feeling limited, unemployed, and depressed to feeling like a hopeful, capable person) was transversed as well.

Traveling can be an indulgence in escapism, but it also is a way to gain another perspective. It was good for me to get out of my hot, dark apartment and away from the phone that wasn't ringing and the computer that didn't have the long-awaited email message. With the environment of job seeking replaced with a cool, light, and airy environment devoted to sunbathing, conversing, and cooking, there was no option except to relax.

It was also good to be introduced to new people. While I readily acknowledged my status as an unemployed person, most of my discussions were about other topics. Conversations with New York friends tend to be about recent events, but conversations with new acquaintances tend to touch on experiences over a lifetime. It was good to focus on the overall picture rather than the recent failing.

It is a cliche, but I returned home energized and better able to focus on my search. I am so grateful that I got this chance to temporarily remove myself from the current, oppressive unemployed experience to reacquaint myself with a more carefree existence.

The 32 Cents Lady

My view of the Great Recession is that it and the rise of social networking tools will encourage more community. As people tighten their belts, they will rely more and more on one another.

Today I bought soda at Gristides and was 32 cents short. I was running the errand during a wash cycle at the laundromat, and didn't have my full wallet with me. The cashier readily loaned me 32 cents.

I returned to the laundromat to put the wash in the dryers, which were full. As I waited, a man pointed out which machines ran hotter and dried faster. It was clear he was living on a tight margin. He bragged that he could wash and dry 2 loads for less than $10.

He checked his drying laundry and gave me his drier, which had 4 more minutes on it. I thanked him.

When I was done with the laundromat and had put my clothes away, I went to the supermarket to give the cashier 32 cents.

The minimum wage in New York City is $7.25 per hour, so 32 cents is nearly 5% of a cashier's earnings in one hour. I thought it was generous of the lady to give a stranger that much money.

When I found the cashier in the store and gave her the money, she was surprised. She also seemed to think it was silly of me to bother returning the money. I will be known forever more at this store as the (stupid) 32 cents lady.

Later, I passed on the street the man who gave me 4 minutes of his drier time. I smiled and said hello, but he didn't recognize me or return the greeting.

It appears that my theory about the recession and community needs revising.

The New Macho

Someone scrawled this on a Levi's advertisement on 9th Avenue and 22nd Street: In God We Thrust.

It is juvenile humor. Yet, I find the mix of blasphemous historical text and macho male image funny and intriguing.

Who is thrusting? Is he on the top of the sexual food chain because he is giving it to God? Does God like it? Does this imply God is female or is God gay?

Big Time

Today I took advantage of an offer to see a play workshop with another unemployed friend. The team putting on the event had a recent Broadway hit with Xanadu. Many of the writers, musicians, and actors from that production are working on this piece, called Big Time.

The workshop was organized to attract investors. Essentially, the producers of the play, knowing that people have a deep-seated desire to mingle with celebrities, offer an opportunity for wealthy people to pay to meet celebrities without appearing to do so.

It is an interesting farce. Broadway plays are notoriously bad investments. They have about a 33% chance of making a return, and that return tends to be modest.

Although this workshop was intended for possible investors, there were many theater insiders in attendance. The men seated in front of me were fit like dancers and very attractive, and I assumed they are actors.

This was confirmed when a heavy-set man in a red shirt walked over to introduce himself to one of the men, who was an actor in The Rocky Horror Picture Show on Broadway. The dentist explained that he recognized the actor from a cast photo that hung on his office wall. One of his patients was a fellow cast member. The dentist was sycophantic, and I felt embarrassed for him.

New York is studded with celebrities. Non-celebrities are expected to pretend that they do not recognize the celebrities.

Yet, the cool, non-celebrity New Yorker will relay to anyone who will listen that they saw so-and-so at dinner, walking down the street, or at a party. Each time the story is told, they will emphasize that they didn't approach the celebrity. Strangers who try to talk to celebrities are regarded as uncouth tourists who resemble star-struck, fainting tweens.

Shortly before the show began, a woman moved down my row to take the empty seat beside me. As she passed my companion, he said her name and she nodded.

She is pretty but not by Hollywood standards. She appeared to be in her mid-40s. Her curly hair was untamed and she wore scruffy flipflops. These attributes are not damning, but in a world in which the notion that a woman peaks in her early 20s has taken hold, I would not have expected her to be a famous actress.

The lights went down and the score began. I didn't know who the woman was, but I could sense a lot of attention directed her way. When I looked around, many eyes were on her.

As I watched the actors on stage, I thought about how theater actors and actresses differ from those who do television and film. The stage performers tend to have greater talent and are allowed physical imperfections. For example, middle-aged actresses continue to perform lead roles.

The stage performers more closely reflect the population as a whole. There are beautiful people, but there are far more character actors than in films. Plays are more likely to depict the stories of blue-collar workers, the middle class, and the poor than films.

Big Time featured people tangential to a G8 summit: the entertainers on a cruise ship, a CIA agent, a UN employee, and terrorists from a small, fictional country. It has a silly plot, but it made an interesting parallel between terrorists and bitter critics who attack art work while harboring jealousy toward artists. It also emphasized how anyone, regardless of talent, can gain joy by participating in the arts. The play is both brilliant and hilarious.

During intermission, my friend informed me that the woman seated by me was Jule White. She won a Tony for "The Little Dog Laughed" and had a role on "Six Feet Under." I had seen neither of these shows.

It occurred to me that I recognize few celebrities, probably because I don't watch television, rarely see mainstream films, and can afford to see few plays each year. Celebrities must be all around me, yet I am unaware of their presence.

It is ironic that the people genuinely giving the celebrity anonymity in private circumstances are the very people who subtly damage the celebrity's career by witholding attention to their public works.

In light of this fact and the message of the play, it appears that New Yorkers are doing celebrities a disservice by ignoring them. Trying to gain status by mingling with a celebrity is still uncool. But snubbing the celebrity is similar to assuming the role of the bitter critic. Informing an artist that you like their work, with just a smile or thumbs up, must be appreciated by even the most prominent celebrity.