Where Are You on the Journey?

It is sometimes useful to describe as journeys the projects that we business people undertake together. Though it sounds kind of touchy-feely, I think this reflects the emotional process that we go through on long, hard assignments that require a lot of back and forth, give and take. A complex project can be a life event: new friends are made, fresh experiences gained, and a couple of enemies collected in the process. It sounds rather like life itself, which as we know is one very long (hopefully) journey, from innocence to deep understanding, from diapers to bikinis, and then, alas, back to diapers.

I was reminded of this idea of journeys last Saturday. Rich and I had a party, or should I say salon, at our house in Jersey City. The evening began with drinks, proceeded to dinner, and then on to performances by theater artists trying out new material. Among the first to arrive were Judi and her husband Allan, people we had met during the run up to the fall election when we hosted phone banking and debate watching parties. Allan and Judi are lively, engaging people. I don't know them well, but they seemed to have arrived at an OK place in their life's journey. Judi took us back a few years when she returned from a tour of our back yard garden and proudly announced that she had once had a Victory Garden. Was she thinking about her time in Boston and the popular PBS show created by WGBH that extols the virtues of home gardening? Or was she thinking further back to World War II when citizens were encouraged to grow food at home? Hmm, she has some gray hair and is of a certain age.

As we reminisced, I learned more about Judi and her work as a textbook designer. It turns out we have industry friends in common. While I was probing her resume and the reorganization of the book industry, Guillermo, one of the other guests, piped up and steered the questions to wardrobe. "What did you wear wear to work in the 'seventies?" he asked Judi. Of course, that's what a gay man would ask. These days Judy wears nice jeans, a sweater and comfortable shoes. Back then it was knee-high white vinyl go-go boots and mini-skirts. Hard to imagine that outfit in the staid offices of a Boston book publisher.

Guillermo probed, "what kind of stockings went with the mini-skirt - fishnets, perhaps?" Judi couldn't recall.

Emily, another guest piped in, "Pantyhose, no doubt."

Judi replied, "In those days I wore a girdle, but when the mini came along we ditched that."

Imagine putting a mini skirt over a girdle, the image is ludicrous. These discussions of girdles, mini-skirts and go-go boots triggered more memories from Judi. Apparently those days at the book designer's desk with brushes, pens, type galleys and T-squares weren't enough for our swinging Judi. Boston's Combat Zone beckoned and she set off after work one night appropriately clad in tall boots and short skirt to begin an impromptu career as a go-go dancer. In those years, the Combat Zone was appropriately named. Boston's entertainment district was a heady mix of decaying theaters, seedy bars and sex clubs. The confidence provided to Judi by a nice figure, a great pair of boots, and a flirty little mini-skirt melted at the door of the dance club, and she froze with terror. This new dance career was not to be. Oh well, back to the day job.

Speaking of which, the three performers at our Jersey City salon all have day jobs, vocal coaching, massage therapy and so on. But their real passion is creative work, in this case, both writing and performance. Our salon was a chance for them to try out some new material. James kicked off with several short pieces probing the travails of the modern gay black man, the sometimes weird and occasionally wonderful journey of a man searching for love and sex in the urban combat zone. The first piece was a touching quest for companionship "spoken" by his body parts, each looking for new friends in the old bed. His leg spoke of its desire to brush up against an unfamiliar leg, his arm wanted to caress something other than its matching limb on the other side. James worked his way around his body and spirit and the search for new companions, it was a remarkable way to give voice to a man's longing for sex and affection, quite touching and powerful. Other pieces explored actual encounters with other guys in and out of bed. I was struck by his story of Sir Laugh a Lot, the tickle master he found on the Tickle website, who led him to heights of ecstasy unimaginable to those of us who can take or lose a little tickle here or there. His pieces were raw, at times explicit. I squirmed a bit thinking of the audience. Then I remembered Judi and her own adventures in that other Combat Zone and relaxed, eagerly awaiting performer number two.

Deb is a tall stunner, with long brown tresses and the deep rich voice of a jazz singer. She gave us a painful brief moment in the life of a woman struggling to balance housework, a relationship, her day job, and the desire to bust out and become a rock singer. She captured the crackling energy of this working class woman trapped at home with a guy who didn't really care for her. Wow, I was captivated by her edgy vignette. And I loved the leggings and heels.

And then to Rich.This was a bit scary for me, I didn't really know what he was going to do and I understand that I, the man who shares his bed, his kitchen, his life, can be an easy target for his biting humor. Though this man I know and love was right there beside me at home all through late February and March, in fact I lost him - completely. He was consumed by an online competition to get a slot on a cable TV comedy show. Rich is an Internet networking demon. His skills propelled him through the competition and the process haunted me. His quest for votes became relentless and consumed every waking (and a few sleeping) moments of his life in late winter. Rich's performance last Saturday put that time in perspective for me. He brilliantly depicted the crazed performer looking for validation and support. I now understood where he went in those dark weeks of winter when I felt so cold and alone. On Saturday night I laughed and I cried as he acted out his desperate search for votes. And, thank God, there was only a passing reference to me. Sometimes I feel like Fang, comedienne Phyllis Diller's phantom husband who was the butt of so many of her jokes on TV back in the mini-skirt era.

Thus the journey ended on Saturday night. The police were never called to our quiet Jersey City street, even though the background music was sometimes very loud and the windows were wide open. I was dazzled that my honey has so much talent, that his mind and spirit had created this great new work while going about the daily routines of life. I was thrilled to bring some edgy culture to our block, to host artists sharing their work with people eager to absorb and enjoy.

Where are you on the journey? Perhaps you have something to share at our next Jersey City salon.