I have a friend named Richard. At the moment I'm a little frustrated with him because he’s asked me to collaborate on a book project and I am hard pressed to find the words that would work with his aesthetic. Nor after doing research do I think the proposed product will actually sell, at least not in its current form. I’d like to discuss this with him but he is, at present, sitting on a beach in the Dominican Republic with his supermodel girlfriend, and so unreachable. By contrast, I am sitting in my dining room turned study in Siberia – err Saratoga, bundled up in four layers and speaking to my new friends – my goldfish.
Rich and I are unlikely friends. He is from West London and has been on his own since an early age. His table manners are severely lacking, though he graciously shares everything. His comfort zones are Irish pubs, no frills gyms, and pool houses. He wears tee shirts and ripped fatigues with sneakers bearing images of chainsaws. Rich has long lived in a ten by twelve studio with a community bathroom. It is only now, after five years in New York that he has even considered upgrading to a place with a kitchen. An aggressive agent and creative businessman, he vacations in Thailand, snowboards, and rides his fold up bicycle around the streets of Manhattan. Richard’s drink of choice, when we are together, is Jack with a splash of Coke. His most used adjective is a four letter expletive beginning with an ”F.”
If you’ve met me you can imagine what a laughable pair we are. I chose not to go to college until later in life, much against my family’s wishes. I drink martinis. My clothes are what Rich refers to as “preppy designer beige.” I cab it everywhere and prefer to watch pool rather than play it. My gym in New York was the kind where classical music is piped into the locker room and attendants bring fresh towels and shaving cream. I entertain frequently, and when going out for drinks, choose only lounges that my friend refers to as posh and overpriced. Vacation venues are chosen for the opulent comfort they afford, just like my apartments; large, with generous kitchens and nicely furnished. I am formal in my communication, creative too, but my aesthetic is polished whereas my friend’s is rough hewn. That Rich would want my words in his book is beyond me.
But we were long inseparable in the way that only men in their twenties can be. It is an easy comradery that is achieved with individuals who truly value the others company, respect their individuality, and seek it out, often. When we worked together we were known as the “boys" - acting as a constant source of entertainment for the elders in our office who shook their heads with fondness, feigning disapproval at our misadventures, remembering their own time in model world.
We conspired on everything, finagling invitations to events we had no business being at but felt entitled to attend. We arrived only at those parties with open bars, only those fashion shows whose gift bags would be worth the pain of having to sit through the loud music, obnoxious editors, and B list celebrities begging for press.
We were good friends based on what I believe now is a mutual understanding that our “fabulous” lives as model’s agents was really an exercise in creating as rewarding a survival as could be eeked out as young men working in the fashion business in Manhattan. In hindsight I know that both of us saw through the smoke and mirrors and were using the business as something to keep us busy while we each figured out how to do what we really wanted with our lives.
Rich is a fashion designer turned model agent turned designer/model agent. He has a tee shirt line, started with a photographer friend of his that sells out, all around the world. If you have children, it is likely that you have cringed at seeing they or their friends wearing black, white or pink shirts with block letter statements such as “Please don’t feed the models”, “I Did Brittany Three Times” or “On The Rebound, You’ll Do.” Those are my friend Richie’s shirts. It is his voice being carried through the media. Ever since Nicole Kidman, Ryan Seacrest, and Gwen Stefani started being wearing them the stores cannot get enough. When Paris Hilton was photographed wearing “This is not a photo opportunity” Urban Outfitters placed an order for a hundred thousand units. The irony lies in that he is poking fun at the entertainment business and the idiots he works with and for. People are paying $35.00 a piece for a bit of cloth that makes them cool. Richard is truly brilliant.
Rich and I had dinner last week. In fact I have made three trips this last month, bearing the four hour drive for the sole purpose of dinner with my friend. I stay with my baby brother in his tiny apartment littered with art students, empty beer bottles, dirty dishes, and other gorgeous accoutrement of nineteen year old city life. I sleep head to toe with him on this horribly uncomfortable futon thing that has likely not been washed since its purchase. I shower in a bathroom so littered with newspapers and empty shampoo bottles that I feel dirtier just by walking through the door. But I willingly endure these discomforts because I know that upon my arrival in my now former office I will be greeted with a warm “ello mate.”
Dinner was at Pop, a restaurant frequented by models and their agents because the owner brilliantly gave us all a standard fifty percent discount. To have dinner with three drinks a piece is less costly than going out for inexpensive Indian. So there we went. We took the back booth because Rich wanted to talk to the cute waitress who’d been checking him out the week before. He had Jack with a splash of Coke, and I a Stoli Martini, up with a twist. The waitress brought our drinks. Richard gave her a smile and I could sense her knees melting. He has a unique charm, this scruffy rogue friend of mine, and he uses it often.
They exchanged pleasantries and introduced themselves. Not that the girl paid any attention to me, the single one. She was not my type, but that’s irrelevant, because there has always been a healthy competition between Rich and I. He looks like Rob Lowe according to the ridiculous number of women who walk up to him just to tell him that , and well, it just frustrates me. I believe myself to be equally attractive - but my mother’s efforts to mold me into that perfectly sweet vanilla kind of upper middle or lower upper class boy who will one day make a great husband (who, let it be known is a rarity in today’s world) and so should be taken seriously only as a long term prospect, has forever been a challenge for me when trying to pick a girl up. I’m just too damned polite.
Frustrated from lack of attention, I turned to Rich. “I’m going to ruin this for you”.
“Now why would you go and do a bloody fool thing like that”
“Because I have a competitive advantage”
“Right” He grins.
“Right” I nod.
“How you gonna do that mate?”
“Watch and learn.”
The waitress returned with new drinks and Richard once again engaged her in conversation. Surprise, surprise, she was an aspiring model, and surprise, surprise, Richard let it be known that he is an agent. I should be noted that he did leave out a very important fact. He books men, not women. I had been the women’s agent.
He asks where she lived –
Ashley, as we have been informed is her name , replies: “On the Upper East Side”
My cue to butt in. “Really? Where about?”
“82nd and Third.”
“Great area. I used be at 84th and Third. Hey - Have you had the S’Mores at DTUT yet?”
“No! Oh my gosh I’ve been dying to try them! That place looks so warm and cozy.”
“It’s the best way to spend a Snowy afternoon”
“But I’d feel stupid going there alone. I’m new to town.”
“Well, you need to make it happen – what do you say we give it a try?”
“Sure!” Let me give you my number…”.
The beautiful aspiring model cocktail waitress who had never been to get S’Mores on Second Avenue turned around and sauntered towards the bar where she grabs a napkin with which to write her number. She returns wearing a smile, and hands it to me. I graciously accept it and inform her I will call next week. She nods and excuses herself to take care of another table.
I turned to Rich and smiled.
He frowned back at me. “Right mate, how’d you do that?”
“Because your smile says, I’m a great one night stand. Mine says, I’m gonna be a great Daddy”
He punched me. “Fucker”
A boy whom we each represented, individually, at different points in our careers, Mike, comes up to us to say hello. It is his last night working at Pop. He’s just given up modeling to work for VH1. I am pleased to hear he is doing something that interests him, for I had always thought, like many of the people I represented, that he was too smart to spend his days in front of, rather than behind a camera.
The exchange between the three of us is pleasant. Mike has no idea that Richard and I no longer work together, does not know of the recent changes in my life, does not know that I am a student rather than an agent. I have no reason to tell him. He treats me with the same regard he used when I was his manager - defers to me, looks for my approval with his plans.
Mike is almost overly gratuitous, the way one would treat a school teacher not seen in years with that obvious respect we have for someone whom we have only experienced in a power position. It is strange for me to participate in this exchange with all of the changes that have been going on in my life. I get a little thrill as I listen to the words coming out of my mouth. It is fun to be in that role again for a few minutes, and I process countless thoughts as I come to realization that the formidable boy I once was is morphing into a thoughtful adult. I am growing up, shedding adolescence, enjoying who I have become, taking each of the experiences that have molded me and sewing together an identity based on who I am, not what I do.
I turn to my friend, forever done with Mike and all that he represents.
“Richard. I am going to be a magazine editor.”
“What about marketing? You are far too talented not market something”
“What do you think an editor does? They are tastemakers. Dumbass”
“Great. The whole bloody world will be wearing nothing but beige by the time you’re through.”
“Designer Beige.”
“God help us. Now when are you going to start on that book of mine?”
“I need photoshop in order to open the files”
“You haven’t got photoshop?”
“Nope. Its something like seven hundred dollars.”
“What you got? PC or Mac”
“PC”
“Swing by the office tomorrow and I’ll have a copy for you”
“Nice”
“What do you say then? Shall we have another drink?”
“Don’t ask stupid questions.” I call out to Mike. “Bring us another round.”
The next day we are scheduled to meet for lunch. As I’ve told you, I cannot get enough of my friend, and so whenever in town, we see each other not less than twice. I parked my car on Crosby Street, just across from my old office, hopped out, and ran to a payphone. I called Rich who he said he’d be a minute. The actual minute lasted ten. Not a big deal, I wasn’t freezing or anything, given that it was December and two days before Christmas.
By the time I was appropriately frostbitten, my friend arrived with a bootlegged copy of photoshop.
“This is for you to help me with my book. It’s a little tricky to put on the machine so call me if you have troubles.”
“Thanks. I’ll upload it as soon as I get home and we’ll get this thing going.”
“Brilliant”
We walked to my car and find that I had gotten a ticket for sixty five dollars. We decide this entitles me to at least an hour of parking and so turn in the opposite direction and walk towards Chinatown. Once there I suggest a restaurant I used to order from quite frequently, the Excellent Dumpling House.
“Oh mate, they’re not excellent are they?”
“What do you mean, it’s a great place”
“They don’t even have dumplings”
“How could they not? The sign claims that not only do they have dumplings, but that they are in fact excellent.”
“Fine. But if they haven’t got dumplings I am going to punch someone”
“Look at the menu.” I point to it. “They have dumplings”
We walk in to the crowded restaurant where my friend brazenly walks up to the service counter and speak to the very flustered Asian counterperson.
“Right. Have you got shrimp dumplings”
She responds. “We hah seafood dumpring”
“Why not Shrimp?”
“No Shlimp dumpring. Onry Seafood.”
“Well, why haven’t you got shrimp ones?”
I decide to save the poor woman. “Richard, just shut up and get Seafood dumplings”
“Fine. I’ll take the Seafood dumplings and give us an order of whatever he wants.
“No odah heeah. Odah at taber”
“You mean I have to sit first? But I’m hungry now.”
I butt in again. “Richard. Please. You’ll have your dumplings at the table”
“Fine. But they better be good.”
We sit down and Rich begins to tell me about the trials of running a business in a part time capacity. His pr firm is frustrated with him, clients take too long to pay, and large companies are ripping off his slogans. I offer support, even suggesting that I get on the phone to act as his accounts payable department. He graciously accepts and changes the topic.
He regales me with stories about the adventures he had in Thailand the prior month, and much as I’d like to share them with you, I think its best I leave that to him. Let’s just say he had a ridiculous time. And had the stories come out of anyone else’s mouth I wouldn’t believe them. But this is Richard Wheeler, the man who came to vacation in America and never left, who gets into kickboxing competitions on the streets of Bangkok and miraculously lives to tell. This is a man who has booked male models for four years and somehow maintains a modicum of sanity. This is the man whose tee shirts you will likely buy if for no other reason than he is simply cool incarnate.
I am struck while listening just how impressed I am by my friend. To call him insane would be inaccurate, he is difficult, but then he’s an agent, and a designer. Moreover he is a fine human being, with impeccable talent, and a morality that is rarely found in people, let alone my former business. I am honored to collaborate with him on this project. I hope I do it justice, because it is my first attempt at writing anything. But I owe to our friendship, and the belief this sorry schmuck has in me, to see it through to fruition.
And so I am beginning this project for the both of us. It is for Richard, the completion of act – and perhaps his last stance as a model’s agent. He has wanted to see this book done for two years and I don’t think he can retire from the business without it first being published. My friend likes to have the last word on everything in case you can’t tell.
For me, it is an exercise in self discovery. I don’t know that I am a writer, but I do know I have a story to tell, and a great one at that. Richard is a part of it. And as we have crossed paths, over and over again, for four years, it seems fitting that we tell it together – he through his visual depictions and witty commentary, and I through my words. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I have had living it.
The dumplings come. Richard coalesces to the claim that this restaurant serves excellent dumplings. But they are not shrimp. We agree then, that there is a bit of false advertising taking place. It is however, as decided by us, reasonable that they not have shrimp dumplings. They could have been out of that particular crustacien. Or more likely, to have seafood as opposed to shrimp is slightly more democratic in that no one individual fish is being left out of the mix. This too, is decided by us, quite reasonable. Richard has determined he will return to the restaurant, for the dumplings are indeed worthy of a go again. I suggest we rename the place however, for they do not wholly deliver the promise of excellence. It is now called, between us, the Reasonable Dumpling House. After all, we are taste makers.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Not Quite New Years Eve:
“So,” I said, sipping my drink. I stretched my right arm along the oxblood banquette of the Belmont Lounge while crossing my legs in an effort to conjure what I hoped resembled a conspiratory pose. “Guess who I heard from at three o’clock yesterday morning?”
“Oh! Let’s see, hmm…” She rolled her magnificent blue eyes towards the tin ceiling. Furrowing her brow to feign surprise, she responded, “…now I wonder who the fashion agent could possibly have gotten a drunk dial from? Was it an invite to the after, after party, for the debut of a post holiday, pre cruise-wear collection? ” She lifted her glass and took a sip before continuing. “Or maybe it was a party to celebrate the sixteenth birthday of some not yet, but almost famous Brazilian??”
“Fuck off.” I replied, still attempting to master the art of looking cool, calm, and collected despite having some rather significant back pain. “This is big.”
“Sorry Baby. But I can think of at least twelve people who might have called you if only because it was 3 a.m. and wanted you to meet them at Lotus or wherever it is you people go to these days.” She held up her hands and started checking off names with her fingers. “Let’s see; Dale, Sunny, umm – either one of your Charlie’s… maybe Cora? It could have been British Chic, your brother, your brother’s–“
I sighed and rolled my eyes. Then shaking my head as though to reprimand her gaffe, I responded “Lotus is very ‘03, Carmen. You should know better by now. I’ve not been there since I got mugged after walking out of that VOX thing.” Then I leaned forward and whispered, “Zane Edmund Lambert.”
At the mention of her favorite of my former models, her face lit up. Sitting at full attention, she plunked her glass down with such a thud that it splashed onto the table, and from the table, up onto my cheek. I grimaced while she gushed “Omigosh!! And how is Zane Edmund Lambert?? You haven’t mentioned him in months! What’s he up to? I mean is he? Is he joining us??” Then she took a large gulp of the petit syrah to apparently calm her nerves before leaning in to light her fourth Marlboro of the hour. She wiggled with delight before inhaling with gusto. Side note: Carmen does all things in excess and to the extreme. Even something as simple as taking a sip from her drink.
“He’s doing well I suppose.” I put my glass down and turned to rifle through the shearling that still, two and half hours into our late afternoon debauchery, had droplets of snow remaining on its sleeves. “And, no, he’s not joining us. He’s just back from six weeks in Japan, has $27,000 in his pocket, and called me only to say he loves me and is leaving the business to go home to Iowa to become an engineer.” Her puffing had inspired me to search my jacket for a Parliament, but I could find none in any of its six pockets, and then recalled there would be none. I had quit smoking again yesterday.
Carmen, seeing my apparent frustration and consummately ready for a partner in crime, tossed me one of hers. It hit my other cheek before falling onto the oak table, just missing her spill, and landed in between the pack of matches and my glass of wine, providing me with a moment to recall that the effects of drinking are always enhanced with the accompaniment of a guilty little smoke. And that I was a fool to think I could participate in one without partaking of the other.
She too was thoughtful for a second before flipping out of squeal-ly schoolgirl mode. Sitting back, she switched her voice to that tone of hers reserved for negotiating deals and big sister-ing me. “So, how shit-faced was he?” she asked.
Looking down, I considered her question and replied “Shit-faced enough to tell me his start date for this engineer thing is the 30th of January – and that he was blowing off a request for the Aqua Di Gio campaign. The option was “too tempting” he said – because irony would prevail and he’d book the thing and be a model until he burnt out. Better to leave on a high note, he said”
“Smart boy.” She blew a large cloud of smoke toward the ceiling
“He was always a smart boy. Precisely why it took so long for him to take off.”
She laughed and with the jaded tone of an industry veteran, replied “it’s amazing what we can put them through…”
I continued with my story while putting my shades on, not to shield me from any light mind you, but because, well, my eyes needed shading. It’s often how I manage not to emote. “He said since it had all started with me, I should be the first to know…that he wanted to thank me and to say he’d never have any regrets.” I shrugged my shoulders. “So I lied, said I was happy for him, and made him promise to invite me to his wedding.” I sat back and took another sip of wine.
“My God.” She said, and her voice took on a reflective tone, as though she recognized that because I was getting older and in transition, that she too, so long my protector, must be as well. And that Zane’s retirement was serious business. She took a deep breath. “It’s the end of an era.”
I lifted my glass toward the light and inspected it in order to delay cognizing the significance of her statement. I knew it was the end of an era…had accepted as much the night before, as I had processed that Zane and I were not at a club ogling Brazilians together, but that his call had interrupted my editing, and that I had been sipping peppermint tea rather than vodka or bourbon. I didn’t know what it actually meant to me, and it was frustrating… overly final in a way that I wasn’t entirely ready to accept.
But instead of reflecting too much, and very much aware that this was the last time in the foreseeable future I’d be drinking with Carmen, I decided my wine was just as fit for consumption as it had been since the last sip. So I chugged the remaining two thirds of the glass before immediately pouring another. It emboldened me to continue with the topic. “The end of an era Carm; precisely what Mother said when I told her. Why’d you think?”
“Well, schnookems, he was your baby – the one you grew up for. When you took him on, you weren’t playing agent. All of a sudden you became one, Ben, you had too. It would have been complicated enough for a seasoned agent to do – I know I couldn’t have done it - and you didn’t know a goddamned thing back then. So you walked through walls for that boy, and took care of him like he was your kid brother.” She leaned in closer. “You took better care of him then you did of yourself Ben.”
Forcing the memory away, I changed the topic...“You know you said that all in one breath, right?”
“I did not!”
“Yep. You sure did, Darling. Once you get going, you’re unstoppable.”
“Fuck you!” she cackled.
I smirked. “Maybe later; there’s that new brand of black condoms I’m hoping to try.
“Eeeew!” She balled up a cocktail napkin and tossed it at my head.
I ducked. “Whatever Blondie – you know you’d love it!” And then I smirked as it missed me and flew toward the booth behind us.
She pouted. “You had your opportunity years ago and you blew it.”
And I smiled. “Only because I’d be written out of Mum’s will”
Carmen gaffed, “Your mother adores me.”
I lifted my right eyebrow in a perfect forty five degree arch. “As my friend, Darling, not my wife.”
“Why?” She looked offended.
“Your table manners are for shit.”
This time she threw a cigarette at me. “Sometimes you’re a complete ass!”
I blew her a kiss and went on. “Get over it.” Then I leaned back. ”Hey – I, I’d still be like that, wouldn’t I?” I nodded my head in the direction of the six foot tall strawberry blond across the room who was busy leaning her long, nubile frame more than a little seductively over the bar while rifling through bottles, looking for the next one we’d drink.
Sunny stopped short and emerged with a bottle of Petron in one hand and a shot glass in another. Pouring herself one, she threw it back and then just as quickly resumed her search.
I grinned with the pride of ownership. There is something amazingly sexy about a beautiful, no nonsense woman who throws back tequila shots mid task. “What about that one over there?” I asked.
“She’s different. You didn’t create her, just encouraged her to be who she already was. And you’ve got a – justifiable, mind you – crush on her, Ben. Zane’s different too.”
“How do you mean?” I scratched my chin with the still unlit cigarette where the wine residue had dried and begun to itch.
“Darlin,’ you boys grew up together. He was your partner in crime, you learned about model world together and probably each protected the other from getting too lost in all of that - what’s that you call it?” She took a drag of her smoke and blew it to the ceiling.
“Fabulousity.” I said. “But what’s your point? I’d never fall too far into that mess, and neither would he have. How is that any different than with Sunny? We’re tighter than Zane and I ever were.”
Carmen continued to embrace her big sister role and explained what should have long been obvious to me. ”Sunny, my love, chose you because she wanted you – she might not have remained the lovely person she still is today, but she’d have been fine. Zane on the other hand might never have made it were it not for you. And,” she leaned in towards me in that way of hers meant to intensify whatever she was about to say “Dare I say, Mr. Fisk. You would never have been the kind of manager you are if he hadn’t come into your life at exactly the moment he did.”
“What?” I asked, “When I was still young and stupid enough not to know you’re not supposed to care. That they’re “just models”?” I pushed my sunglasses closer to my eyes, lest she grasp how the profundity of her statement had hit me before I had properly digested its meaning. Not only was it reasonably true, but she was one of the few allowed to say it; had observed the whole adventure with the knowing eyes of someone who had long ago gotten lost along the same path.
I reminded myself how lucky I am to have her always in my corner and studied her gregarious consumption of all things through a perfect Prada Brown. I smiled as I thought back to the awkward boy I had been during our first meeting six years earlier, and once again, took to wondering how everything turned out as it had. A bittersweet calm enveloped me and I continued, resolved to begin to accept the changes. “So then, it’s fitting we leave at the same time then, eh?”
“Yes, my love.” She inhaled deeply. “You’re off to the Ivy League, and Zane’s on his way back to the cornfields. All is as it should be.”
“Who’s off to the Ivy League?” asked Sunny while sauntering over towards us, her strawberry blond curls cascading onto the soft blue of her sweater, the bold colors encouraging her skin to take on an almost ethereal quality. She continued to sashay those magnificent hips towards us until, in perfect contrast to the finely composed gait in which she had been trained for months, Sunny Beane, Canadian supermodel extraordinaire, the opener and closer of the biggest shows of last season, promptly tripped over her own left heel and sent the bottles of Pinot Grigio and Noir flying.
I stood as quickly as I could and lifted my jacket just in time. The heft of the shearling caught the bottles just so, and they stopped abruptly and landed on the poor, beaten table with only a thump. Carmen breathed sigh of relief. Nothing offends her so much as wasted hooch.
Sunny nodded to me in secret acknowledgment that my jacket had finally justified its price tag. Then she stood up straight and six feet tall, shook her mane of hair better than any Charlie’s Angel. Regaining her composure, she grabbed the cigarette that had somehow managed to remain unlit and unbent, from my hand.
I stood to face her. She had heels on, so I had to tilt my head up a few inches…. No, I’m not short, rather, it’s just that in heals, she’s nearly 6’3. Taking my cigarette back, and likely looking a little ridiculous with my shades still on in the twilight, I replied, “Nice work, Kid. You alright?”
She grinned and did a little curtsy before leaning in and pecking me on the cheek. “You can take the girl out of Canadia my love, but you can never take the Canadia out of the girl!!!” She looked at down at Carmen, “Carm, we still discussing Benjamin’s future as a Graduate Student?”
Carmen looked up and nodded while taking her phone out to do some pre drunken text-ing to both her boyfriend and her dog.
I looked first at one, and then the other, “No – we never were. I’ve not yet gotten in.”
Sunny made a face, took the cigarette back, and struck a match, determined to take a drag. “Oh you’ll get in Benji. You always do everything you say you’re going to… that’s just who you are. Besides, I mean, I’m sad to see you go and all, but it’s really about time you made some money again… I miss Gucci, and God knows, they miss me.” She lifted my cigarette towards her pouty, perfectly full lips, struck a match, and inhaled.
I stole it back before she could finish. “Hey. When did I become Benji? Last I knew my name had three syllables. BEN, JA, and MIN! And secondly – who ever said I was taking you shopping?”
“Benji,” Sunny took the cigarette back. “You’ve been Benji since I got back from Milan and moved in with you for that month, like three years ago. She inhaled. “And just like I thought, this whole tough guy thing you like to project onto your public is a hella load of crap. So,” she flicked my nose. “Benji you’ll remain until I decide otherwise.”
“Hmph.” I took the cigarette back while she continued. Finally, I inhaled.
“And” – she went on while opening the Pinot noir “As far as Gucci goes, it’s in your job description as my best friend, my protector, my brother, and my love to give me the things I need. You want me to always be beautiful, and so it’s you who have to keep me that way.” She refilled the glasses and took hold of my smoke, promptly thrusting it into her mouth and inhaling. The case was closed, she had won, cigarette and all.
I cracked up. “You know” I looked up and down and took in the beauty of my magnificent Canadian creature. “You’re the only person in the whole world whom I’d let do that – or say such ridiculous things!”
She rewarded me with her slightly imperfect but wonderfully warm smile and leaned in to peck me yet again, on the cheek. “That’s because you love me Benjamin Fisk. And you know that I love you too.” Her eyes almost misted. But the seasoned model with whom I have shared countless goodbyes caught herself. “Anyway,” she coughed “you like to take care of me, don’t you?”
“Mmm.” I grinned again. “That I do my angel. That I do.” I slid over to make room for her on the banquette.
Carmen looked up at us both, apparently having finished her text. The glowing blue eyes told us what she didn’t need to say; she liked what she saw. Wanted to see more of whatever it is that Sunny and I share. We had earned her approval, which, as fashionistas, as compared to her legit agent self, was nearly impossible to do. “You know” she said “your booker is leaving all of this” she gestured to the empty lounge and up and down at Sunny, and then toward the table holding five empty bottles of wine “for something bigger and better in the form of a brand name graduate degree.”
“Bah” reasoned Sunny. A pack of Parliaments suddenly appeared in her hands and I pretended not to notice. She took one out, and with slightly trembling hands, lit it. “He’ll never leave it all behind. It’s in his blood.” She stretched her long arms and let her hand rest on my shoulder, just close enough to my cheek so that I could feel its warmth – her own silent sign of ownership. “He’s just kind of breaking up with us for a bit. Like the prince gone to sow his royal oats or some other poetic bullshit his Dad probably fed him a hundred years ago back in Boston”
“Darling” I turned my head to face her. “I am not breaking up with you. It’s just that there’s nothing here for me right now, I’ve reached the end of the line and – well, you’re all set, moving to Elite, and for some reason or other prefer not to be romantic with me. So it’s not like I can justify staying for you.” She blushed and I went on. “Charlie’s got his label going, and really doesn’t need me right now. Zane’s leaving, Raiffe has, against my protestations, and with the lot of you helping, become a bisexual cocaine whore too far gone for salvation, and Carmen wouldn’t bring me on board if her life depended on it – so, please tell me, what is that I am I supposed to do?“
She looked down and whispered in so a faint voice I could hardly make out the words “write, baby, write.” Then she took a large sip of her drink and inhaled deeply.
“Hey Asshole,” Carmen chimed in” I wouldn’t hire you if Baxter’s life depended on it.”
I leaned in to give it right back. “Carm, do you think you place a little more emphasis on the importance of the role your dog plays in your life now that you’ve turned forty and are cohabitating with someone who doesn’t want children as much as you?”
“Hah! Fuck you Mister!!” She pointed at me, almost tipping her glass over. “I’ll have you know that Forty is the new Thirty!”
“Great.” I rolled my eyes. “Does that mean I’m nineteen and not twenty nine and now have to go through the second stage of puberty all over again? “
“I certainly hope not” she barked. ”I can only imagine that every publicist in town would have to coordinate their events to accommodate your pimple popping schedule.”
“Carmen,” replied Sunny, changing the topic and coolly taking another drag of her cigarette. “Ben’s the original Metrosexual.”
“I hate that term” I replied.
“Whatever” they said in unison.
Sunny sat up and continued. “Its not that he’s vain – it’s more that for some reason he‘s never understood he’s actually beautiful, so he thinks he needs to be Lee Press On Barbie Doll perfect all the time. But I’ve seen him in the morning. He’s actually much sexier when he doesn’t try”
“I think prep school did it to him” piped Carmen.
“Probably,” Sunny replied. In a whimsical voice she added “the preppiest boy to ever walk the red carpet.”
“Ladies.” I stood up. “I can think of better things to do than to consider whether my vanity is real or simply a marketing tool slash defense mechanism for the post adolescent in me to deal with when I find the appropriate Siberian shrink. Now - If you’ll both excuse me, I’m concerned that Chuck might be lost.“
I slipped my coat on and walked toward the door but could hear Carmen in the background – “Ben! Hey - don’t worry about him. You’re the only man in the world who could get lost crossing the street from Union Square to Fifteenth and Irving!”
Just as I reached the door I turned around and called out “Charlie does all the time!”
Sunny called back “And that’s why the two of you are our favorite men! You have to admit you need us, because you’re more lost than most!”
I blew her a kiss and sort of smiled as I thought back to our most recent needing of girls, on a road trip a few months back, while walking up the stairs and realized that I had not yet told him of my plans, wondering how a relationship based on interdependence would fare when one of the parties willingly cut the rope that has for so long tied them together. This too, was more than I could handle and, like the coward I can sometimes be, I continued to walk upstairs to try to lose myself in my surroundings before spending any more time pretending not to process what was really happening.
Outside of the Belmont Lounge, it was snowing in that way it does in the dream sequences one is prone to find in the movies. I knew it had been put there on purpose, by who ever coordinates the weather, that it was meant to frame a collection of moments I would never want to forget. Not quite New Years Eve, 2005. I was sitting with two of my closest friends in a not yet open bar, all of us not quite saying goodbye to each other while waiting for my only friend from my last adventure to travel with me back me to that thorn in my side; Siberia. I wanted to savor the last few moments before saying goodbye again to this place that I’ve called home for so long.
Looking up, I took stock, likely for the last time, of the magnificent construction just nearing completion at the bottom of Union Square – the building they’re calling Architectural Lofts. It’s the kind of place I’ve always believed I’ve wanted, the one I’d finally call home. I’ve always known that if I lived in a place like that I’d have the life of my dreams; that work would be perfect, and breakfast, dinners and everything in between, the stuff they make movies about. At night I’d make love to my supermodel/movie-star/philanthropist/ best- friend/wife against the backdrop of the park and in the morning, our Nigerian doorman would bring up Starbucks so I could carry mine to work, and she could drink hers while writing thank you notes and overlooking the park. I’ve still never quite figured out where we’d spend the weekends. Maybe Siberia?
For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved architecture. It’s one of the few art forms that truly rewards my aesthetic; indeed it fosters my dreams. I find comfort in the linear peace of it all – that sort of structural consistency that humans seem to continually impart into their building plans - as though the juxtaposition between what really happens in our lives versus what we actually want might somehow change if we can finally figure out how to build a building strong enough to protect us.
And my mind found something I’ll liken to inner peace as I studied this newest, most worthy undertaking and realized that all was not over, that my life, like the other twenty percent of the demographic Newsweek claims I belong to, is just in transition. Some day, I might be able to return to partake of the wonderful things that I had for so long dreamed of actually doing while living in Manhattan. For six years. For now though, I needed to say goodbye to the place I was leaving behind, but in whose lexicon my youth would forever remain.
I picked my phone up to take a picture of the snow falling onto my favorite street so that upon return to Mother’s, I could just call up the memory, or the dreams, or whatever they are that I seem to be willingly placing on hold. I wanted to savor the countless memories that had begun only a few feet from where I stood just then – to know they’d sit somewhere until I was ready for them again. But before I could, my phone abruptly announced I had a series of new messages from Charlie:
“HAPPY NEW YEAR YOU DUMB CUNT!!! OK. Did not make the form as I don’t have a printer in dumb Arab Hotel. Will do it soon as I return to states and arrive at my Bitch’s. Expect it a week from tomorrow afternoon. Cheers!!!”
I couldn’t help but smile at the reference to the recommendations I didn’t need for another month. The same I’d asked for a month earlier, knowing it would take him eight weeks to get them done. Another message appeared.
“Am stuck in Dubai, for the cunt arses in immigration do not believe I am a Londoner who would willingly live in New York. They are verifying, now, with even dumber American Immigration that I am who I say… Rob Fucking Lowe.”
Another reference I couldn’t help but smile at. Charlie, God bless him, seems to believe he looks exactly like Rob Lowe – whereas I have to constantly correct him and say “Dennis Miller.” Then promptly get smacked. But he’s the really creative one in our mix, so maybe he sees something I don’t. Another message arrived.
“Meetings went well. Am swamped with plans but can’t get enough motivated!!! Will have to next week. Think I will try to do some on plane if prick arse cunt towel headed fool ever lets me on.”
I made a mental note to make sure the newest version of his business plan was safely backed up on my laptop.
“Oh!!! One last thing. Anil got robbed at gun point in Brazil today. Now he’s stuck there. They took his passport! Merry Christmas on that one Mate! Cheers!!”
I laughed at the beautiful irony of my former boss being stuck wearing last season’s D&G in a place where toilets don’t flush. Serves him right, I thought.
CC ENC address too just in case. With your questionnaire that is!! I look forward to messing up your career!!! Yupee. Months to work on your book!!! Yupee! Hey – speaking of books, thought of a great idea… “Want to be a model” What do you think? It would have pictures of bad models in it and amusing comments feigned from a professional standpoint. Do you like the idea?!!!”
More laughter. I couldn’t help myself. Charlie, one of my best friends ever, is arguably the most ridiculous person in the world. And utterly adept at winning me over while making me feel guilty at the same time. This thing you’re reading right now actually began as his idea - was supposed to be a joint project making fun of my former business and everyone in it. I accidentally took it over and turned it into an autobiography type thing. Rather arrogant in a way, to presume that one has lived enough to write an autobiography at 29, but do you know who I used to be? I’m kidding. Sort of.
“And tomorrow remind me to call my Nan.”
I smiled and promised myself I would. God, I thought, I’m going to miss him. Then I flipped the phone shut and opened it again to reply. The thing about text-ing that I find so frustrating is that it takes so damned long. I’d much prefer just to call him back – but I had no idea what time it was in Dubai. They’re fourteen hours ahead, aren’t they?
Anyway, Charlie’s got one of those blackberry things with an actual key board, so it’s relatively easy for him to manage multiple conversations at the same time. Whereas I, on the other hand, still refuse to get one of the huge fuckers because of all the space it’ll take up in my jacket. Besides, they’re really not at all James Bond-ish; bulky and loud as they are. And while I may have no sense of direction, have never in my life changed a tire or shoveled snow, and am cursed with a touch of scoliosis, I still like to think that if necessary, I could put Pierce Brosnan and the lot of them to shame.
“Hey Dumbass!”
Speaking of James Bond. Well, more like Tom Cruise in this case, just not quite as short, I looked up and saw Chuck walking towards me in his alpha male gait…“Yeah – that’s right. You” He called out. “Mr. Sexy Important Guy with the phone always in his ear. I’ve been callin’ you for an hour. What’s up with your phone?” He gestured toward the building. “Is this the place?”
“It is.” I said and smiled. “Not much from the outside, but you’ll love what’s waiting in store for you.” I walked towards him. “I’m glad you came.”
“Yeah man,” he looked down and shifted his feet “me too.”
“How’s things?”
“Oh you know…” His voice trailed off.
I replied with a knowing voice, “I do.”
He smiled and looked up. “Hey man. The train took forever. Sorry I didn’t call, just got lost in the scenery and thinking about everything that’s goin’ on. You comin’ back and all that jazz, the baby, how I’m gonna go to school and pay off my credit cards” Then he hugged me. “Whatever. Thanks for makin’ me come, man… I don’t get to be with my beautiful wife on New Years, so at least I can hang with you and these amazing friends you never stop talkin’ bout”
“Hey” I smiled, while comparing my life to his and realizing my burden really isn’t so bad, “Chin up, Friend. You’ll see your wife in six days. Think about something else – it’s New Year for Christ’s sake!! ”
“Like what?”
“Sunny and her Breasts.”
“She’s here???” His face lit up. “When do I meet her?!” Like Charlie, Chuck, another of my bestest friends, has a penis with the attention span of a cocker spaniel. The moment an attractive woman is thrown into the picture, all else becomes secondary.
I laughed. “Go inside, warm up, and introduce yourself to my friends. They’ve been waiting for this for a year.” I pushed him in the direction of the stairs. ‘It’s high time my two worlds collide.”
He turned to face me. “Hey” he asked. “How will I know who they are?”
“They’re the only ones there” I laughed. “The place doesn’t open till nine.”
Chuck laughed back. “And you’ve been drinking for how long?”
“Three hours.” I grinned.
“You’re crazy Man.” He smiled and hugged me again. “It’s great to see ya – been too long!” He pulled back, smiled again, and play punched my arm to tell me that if nothing else, he’d be fine for the night. “See you inside!” He walked downstairs into the lounge and the boozy warmth of my dearest friends, Sunny and Carmen.
I turned my head and walked a few feet to the nearest stoops, the stairwell of the brownstone that contains Sunny’s place. Brushing the snow off so I could sit, I bent down, and gingerly placed my not so generously padded ass on the freezing cold stairs. I didn’t care. I needed the quiet and alone time and so sat for a moment, thinking about the race that I had never quite won. Wondering what it had meant to me for so long, and why? Do we ever know? Or is it that hindsight really is twenty-twenty and in this case, I’ve simply decided to change courses?
My sunglasses were still on, adding an other-worldly effect to the pre celebration quiet that shrouded Fifteenth Street. It’s a good thing too, because, as I folded my hands onto my knees and placed my head in them, a single tear dropped, and though no one was watching, I was grateful I’d been left alone. I looked up and down the street and silently mourned the passing of the countless memories created within this square block, simultaneously acknowledging that after a painful session of writers block, I had finally found something I wanted to write about.
“Oh! Let’s see, hmm…” She rolled her magnificent blue eyes towards the tin ceiling. Furrowing her brow to feign surprise, she responded, “…now I wonder who the fashion agent could possibly have gotten a drunk dial from? Was it an invite to the after, after party, for the debut of a post holiday, pre cruise-wear collection? ” She lifted her glass and took a sip before continuing. “Or maybe it was a party to celebrate the sixteenth birthday of some not yet, but almost famous Brazilian??”
“Fuck off.” I replied, still attempting to master the art of looking cool, calm, and collected despite having some rather significant back pain. “This is big.”
“Sorry Baby. But I can think of at least twelve people who might have called you if only because it was 3 a.m. and wanted you to meet them at Lotus or wherever it is you people go to these days.” She held up her hands and started checking off names with her fingers. “Let’s see; Dale, Sunny, umm – either one of your Charlie’s… maybe Cora? It could have been British Chic, your brother, your brother’s–“
I sighed and rolled my eyes. Then shaking my head as though to reprimand her gaffe, I responded “Lotus is very ‘03, Carmen. You should know better by now. I’ve not been there since I got mugged after walking out of that VOX thing.” Then I leaned forward and whispered, “Zane Edmund Lambert.”
At the mention of her favorite of my former models, her face lit up. Sitting at full attention, she plunked her glass down with such a thud that it splashed onto the table, and from the table, up onto my cheek. I grimaced while she gushed “Omigosh!! And how is Zane Edmund Lambert?? You haven’t mentioned him in months! What’s he up to? I mean is he? Is he joining us??” Then she took a large gulp of the petit syrah to apparently calm her nerves before leaning in to light her fourth Marlboro of the hour. She wiggled with delight before inhaling with gusto. Side note: Carmen does all things in excess and to the extreme. Even something as simple as taking a sip from her drink.
“He’s doing well I suppose.” I put my glass down and turned to rifle through the shearling that still, two and half hours into our late afternoon debauchery, had droplets of snow remaining on its sleeves. “And, no, he’s not joining us. He’s just back from six weeks in Japan, has $27,000 in his pocket, and called me only to say he loves me and is leaving the business to go home to Iowa to become an engineer.” Her puffing had inspired me to search my jacket for a Parliament, but I could find none in any of its six pockets, and then recalled there would be none. I had quit smoking again yesterday.
Carmen, seeing my apparent frustration and consummately ready for a partner in crime, tossed me one of hers. It hit my other cheek before falling onto the oak table, just missing her spill, and landed in between the pack of matches and my glass of wine, providing me with a moment to recall that the effects of drinking are always enhanced with the accompaniment of a guilty little smoke. And that I was a fool to think I could participate in one without partaking of the other.
She too was thoughtful for a second before flipping out of squeal-ly schoolgirl mode. Sitting back, she switched her voice to that tone of hers reserved for negotiating deals and big sister-ing me. “So, how shit-faced was he?” she asked.
Looking down, I considered her question and replied “Shit-faced enough to tell me his start date for this engineer thing is the 30th of January – and that he was blowing off a request for the Aqua Di Gio campaign. The option was “too tempting” he said – because irony would prevail and he’d book the thing and be a model until he burnt out. Better to leave on a high note, he said”
“Smart boy.” She blew a large cloud of smoke toward the ceiling
“He was always a smart boy. Precisely why it took so long for him to take off.”
She laughed and with the jaded tone of an industry veteran, replied “it’s amazing what we can put them through…”
I continued with my story while putting my shades on, not to shield me from any light mind you, but because, well, my eyes needed shading. It’s often how I manage not to emote. “He said since it had all started with me, I should be the first to know…that he wanted to thank me and to say he’d never have any regrets.” I shrugged my shoulders. “So I lied, said I was happy for him, and made him promise to invite me to his wedding.” I sat back and took another sip of wine.
“My God.” She said, and her voice took on a reflective tone, as though she recognized that because I was getting older and in transition, that she too, so long my protector, must be as well. And that Zane’s retirement was serious business. She took a deep breath. “It’s the end of an era.”
I lifted my glass toward the light and inspected it in order to delay cognizing the significance of her statement. I knew it was the end of an era…had accepted as much the night before, as I had processed that Zane and I were not at a club ogling Brazilians together, but that his call had interrupted my editing, and that I had been sipping peppermint tea rather than vodka or bourbon. I didn’t know what it actually meant to me, and it was frustrating… overly final in a way that I wasn’t entirely ready to accept.
But instead of reflecting too much, and very much aware that this was the last time in the foreseeable future I’d be drinking with Carmen, I decided my wine was just as fit for consumption as it had been since the last sip. So I chugged the remaining two thirds of the glass before immediately pouring another. It emboldened me to continue with the topic. “The end of an era Carm; precisely what Mother said when I told her. Why’d you think?”
“Well, schnookems, he was your baby – the one you grew up for. When you took him on, you weren’t playing agent. All of a sudden you became one, Ben, you had too. It would have been complicated enough for a seasoned agent to do – I know I couldn’t have done it - and you didn’t know a goddamned thing back then. So you walked through walls for that boy, and took care of him like he was your kid brother.” She leaned in closer. “You took better care of him then you did of yourself Ben.”
Forcing the memory away, I changed the topic...“You know you said that all in one breath, right?”
“I did not!”
“Yep. You sure did, Darling. Once you get going, you’re unstoppable.”
“Fuck you!” she cackled.
I smirked. “Maybe later; there’s that new brand of black condoms I’m hoping to try.
“Eeeew!” She balled up a cocktail napkin and tossed it at my head.
I ducked. “Whatever Blondie – you know you’d love it!” And then I smirked as it missed me and flew toward the booth behind us.
She pouted. “You had your opportunity years ago and you blew it.”
And I smiled. “Only because I’d be written out of Mum’s will”
Carmen gaffed, “Your mother adores me.”
I lifted my right eyebrow in a perfect forty five degree arch. “As my friend, Darling, not my wife.”
“Why?” She looked offended.
“Your table manners are for shit.”
This time she threw a cigarette at me. “Sometimes you’re a complete ass!”
I blew her a kiss and went on. “Get over it.” Then I leaned back. ”Hey – I, I’d still be like that, wouldn’t I?” I nodded my head in the direction of the six foot tall strawberry blond across the room who was busy leaning her long, nubile frame more than a little seductively over the bar while rifling through bottles, looking for the next one we’d drink.
Sunny stopped short and emerged with a bottle of Petron in one hand and a shot glass in another. Pouring herself one, she threw it back and then just as quickly resumed her search.
I grinned with the pride of ownership. There is something amazingly sexy about a beautiful, no nonsense woman who throws back tequila shots mid task. “What about that one over there?” I asked.
“She’s different. You didn’t create her, just encouraged her to be who she already was. And you’ve got a – justifiable, mind you – crush on her, Ben. Zane’s different too.”
“How do you mean?” I scratched my chin with the still unlit cigarette where the wine residue had dried and begun to itch.
“Darlin,’ you boys grew up together. He was your partner in crime, you learned about model world together and probably each protected the other from getting too lost in all of that - what’s that you call it?” She took a drag of her smoke and blew it to the ceiling.
“Fabulousity.” I said. “But what’s your point? I’d never fall too far into that mess, and neither would he have. How is that any different than with Sunny? We’re tighter than Zane and I ever were.”
Carmen continued to embrace her big sister role and explained what should have long been obvious to me. ”Sunny, my love, chose you because she wanted you – she might not have remained the lovely person she still is today, but she’d have been fine. Zane on the other hand might never have made it were it not for you. And,” she leaned in towards me in that way of hers meant to intensify whatever she was about to say “Dare I say, Mr. Fisk. You would never have been the kind of manager you are if he hadn’t come into your life at exactly the moment he did.”
“What?” I asked, “When I was still young and stupid enough not to know you’re not supposed to care. That they’re “just models”?” I pushed my sunglasses closer to my eyes, lest she grasp how the profundity of her statement had hit me before I had properly digested its meaning. Not only was it reasonably true, but she was one of the few allowed to say it; had observed the whole adventure with the knowing eyes of someone who had long ago gotten lost along the same path.
I reminded myself how lucky I am to have her always in my corner and studied her gregarious consumption of all things through a perfect Prada Brown. I smiled as I thought back to the awkward boy I had been during our first meeting six years earlier, and once again, took to wondering how everything turned out as it had. A bittersweet calm enveloped me and I continued, resolved to begin to accept the changes. “So then, it’s fitting we leave at the same time then, eh?”
“Yes, my love.” She inhaled deeply. “You’re off to the Ivy League, and Zane’s on his way back to the cornfields. All is as it should be.”
“Who’s off to the Ivy League?” asked Sunny while sauntering over towards us, her strawberry blond curls cascading onto the soft blue of her sweater, the bold colors encouraging her skin to take on an almost ethereal quality. She continued to sashay those magnificent hips towards us until, in perfect contrast to the finely composed gait in which she had been trained for months, Sunny Beane, Canadian supermodel extraordinaire, the opener and closer of the biggest shows of last season, promptly tripped over her own left heel and sent the bottles of Pinot Grigio and Noir flying.
I stood as quickly as I could and lifted my jacket just in time. The heft of the shearling caught the bottles just so, and they stopped abruptly and landed on the poor, beaten table with only a thump. Carmen breathed sigh of relief. Nothing offends her so much as wasted hooch.
Sunny nodded to me in secret acknowledgment that my jacket had finally justified its price tag. Then she stood up straight and six feet tall, shook her mane of hair better than any Charlie’s Angel. Regaining her composure, she grabbed the cigarette that had somehow managed to remain unlit and unbent, from my hand.
I stood to face her. She had heels on, so I had to tilt my head up a few inches…. No, I’m not short, rather, it’s just that in heals, she’s nearly 6’3. Taking my cigarette back, and likely looking a little ridiculous with my shades still on in the twilight, I replied, “Nice work, Kid. You alright?”
She grinned and did a little curtsy before leaning in and pecking me on the cheek. “You can take the girl out of Canadia my love, but you can never take the Canadia out of the girl!!!” She looked at down at Carmen, “Carm, we still discussing Benjamin’s future as a Graduate Student?”
Carmen looked up and nodded while taking her phone out to do some pre drunken text-ing to both her boyfriend and her dog.
I looked first at one, and then the other, “No – we never were. I’ve not yet gotten in.”
Sunny made a face, took the cigarette back, and struck a match, determined to take a drag. “Oh you’ll get in Benji. You always do everything you say you’re going to… that’s just who you are. Besides, I mean, I’m sad to see you go and all, but it’s really about time you made some money again… I miss Gucci, and God knows, they miss me.” She lifted my cigarette towards her pouty, perfectly full lips, struck a match, and inhaled.
I stole it back before she could finish. “Hey. When did I become Benji? Last I knew my name had three syllables. BEN, JA, and MIN! And secondly – who ever said I was taking you shopping?”
“Benji,” Sunny took the cigarette back. “You’ve been Benji since I got back from Milan and moved in with you for that month, like three years ago. She inhaled. “And just like I thought, this whole tough guy thing you like to project onto your public is a hella load of crap. So,” she flicked my nose. “Benji you’ll remain until I decide otherwise.”
“Hmph.” I took the cigarette back while she continued. Finally, I inhaled.
“And” – she went on while opening the Pinot noir “As far as Gucci goes, it’s in your job description as my best friend, my protector, my brother, and my love to give me the things I need. You want me to always be beautiful, and so it’s you who have to keep me that way.” She refilled the glasses and took hold of my smoke, promptly thrusting it into her mouth and inhaling. The case was closed, she had won, cigarette and all.
I cracked up. “You know” I looked up and down and took in the beauty of my magnificent Canadian creature. “You’re the only person in the whole world whom I’d let do that – or say such ridiculous things!”
She rewarded me with her slightly imperfect but wonderfully warm smile and leaned in to peck me yet again, on the cheek. “That’s because you love me Benjamin Fisk. And you know that I love you too.” Her eyes almost misted. But the seasoned model with whom I have shared countless goodbyes caught herself. “Anyway,” she coughed “you like to take care of me, don’t you?”
“Mmm.” I grinned again. “That I do my angel. That I do.” I slid over to make room for her on the banquette.
Carmen looked up at us both, apparently having finished her text. The glowing blue eyes told us what she didn’t need to say; she liked what she saw. Wanted to see more of whatever it is that Sunny and I share. We had earned her approval, which, as fashionistas, as compared to her legit agent self, was nearly impossible to do. “You know” she said “your booker is leaving all of this” she gestured to the empty lounge and up and down at Sunny, and then toward the table holding five empty bottles of wine “for something bigger and better in the form of a brand name graduate degree.”
“Bah” reasoned Sunny. A pack of Parliaments suddenly appeared in her hands and I pretended not to notice. She took one out, and with slightly trembling hands, lit it. “He’ll never leave it all behind. It’s in his blood.” She stretched her long arms and let her hand rest on my shoulder, just close enough to my cheek so that I could feel its warmth – her own silent sign of ownership. “He’s just kind of breaking up with us for a bit. Like the prince gone to sow his royal oats or some other poetic bullshit his Dad probably fed him a hundred years ago back in Boston”
“Darling” I turned my head to face her. “I am not breaking up with you. It’s just that there’s nothing here for me right now, I’ve reached the end of the line and – well, you’re all set, moving to Elite, and for some reason or other prefer not to be romantic with me. So it’s not like I can justify staying for you.” She blushed and I went on. “Charlie’s got his label going, and really doesn’t need me right now. Zane’s leaving, Raiffe has, against my protestations, and with the lot of you helping, become a bisexual cocaine whore too far gone for salvation, and Carmen wouldn’t bring me on board if her life depended on it – so, please tell me, what is that I am I supposed to do?“
She looked down and whispered in so a faint voice I could hardly make out the words “write, baby, write.” Then she took a large sip of her drink and inhaled deeply.
“Hey Asshole,” Carmen chimed in” I wouldn’t hire you if Baxter’s life depended on it.”
I leaned in to give it right back. “Carm, do you think you place a little more emphasis on the importance of the role your dog plays in your life now that you’ve turned forty and are cohabitating with someone who doesn’t want children as much as you?”
“Hah! Fuck you Mister!!” She pointed at me, almost tipping her glass over. “I’ll have you know that Forty is the new Thirty!”
“Great.” I rolled my eyes. “Does that mean I’m nineteen and not twenty nine and now have to go through the second stage of puberty all over again? “
“I certainly hope not” she barked. ”I can only imagine that every publicist in town would have to coordinate their events to accommodate your pimple popping schedule.”
“Carmen,” replied Sunny, changing the topic and coolly taking another drag of her cigarette. “Ben’s the original Metrosexual.”
“I hate that term” I replied.
“Whatever” they said in unison.
Sunny sat up and continued. “Its not that he’s vain – it’s more that for some reason he‘s never understood he’s actually beautiful, so he thinks he needs to be Lee Press On Barbie Doll perfect all the time. But I’ve seen him in the morning. He’s actually much sexier when he doesn’t try”
“I think prep school did it to him” piped Carmen.
“Probably,” Sunny replied. In a whimsical voice she added “the preppiest boy to ever walk the red carpet.”
“Ladies.” I stood up. “I can think of better things to do than to consider whether my vanity is real or simply a marketing tool slash defense mechanism for the post adolescent in me to deal with when I find the appropriate Siberian shrink. Now - If you’ll both excuse me, I’m concerned that Chuck might be lost.“
I slipped my coat on and walked toward the door but could hear Carmen in the background – “Ben! Hey - don’t worry about him. You’re the only man in the world who could get lost crossing the street from Union Square to Fifteenth and Irving!”
Just as I reached the door I turned around and called out “Charlie does all the time!”
Sunny called back “And that’s why the two of you are our favorite men! You have to admit you need us, because you’re more lost than most!”
I blew her a kiss and sort of smiled as I thought back to our most recent needing of girls, on a road trip a few months back, while walking up the stairs and realized that I had not yet told him of my plans, wondering how a relationship based on interdependence would fare when one of the parties willingly cut the rope that has for so long tied them together. This too, was more than I could handle and, like the coward I can sometimes be, I continued to walk upstairs to try to lose myself in my surroundings before spending any more time pretending not to process what was really happening.
Outside of the Belmont Lounge, it was snowing in that way it does in the dream sequences one is prone to find in the movies. I knew it had been put there on purpose, by who ever coordinates the weather, that it was meant to frame a collection of moments I would never want to forget. Not quite New Years Eve, 2005. I was sitting with two of my closest friends in a not yet open bar, all of us not quite saying goodbye to each other while waiting for my only friend from my last adventure to travel with me back me to that thorn in my side; Siberia. I wanted to savor the last few moments before saying goodbye again to this place that I’ve called home for so long.
Looking up, I took stock, likely for the last time, of the magnificent construction just nearing completion at the bottom of Union Square – the building they’re calling Architectural Lofts. It’s the kind of place I’ve always believed I’ve wanted, the one I’d finally call home. I’ve always known that if I lived in a place like that I’d have the life of my dreams; that work would be perfect, and breakfast, dinners and everything in between, the stuff they make movies about. At night I’d make love to my supermodel/movie-star/philanthropist/ best- friend/wife against the backdrop of the park and in the morning, our Nigerian doorman would bring up Starbucks so I could carry mine to work, and she could drink hers while writing thank you notes and overlooking the park. I’ve still never quite figured out where we’d spend the weekends. Maybe Siberia?
For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved architecture. It’s one of the few art forms that truly rewards my aesthetic; indeed it fosters my dreams. I find comfort in the linear peace of it all – that sort of structural consistency that humans seem to continually impart into their building plans - as though the juxtaposition between what really happens in our lives versus what we actually want might somehow change if we can finally figure out how to build a building strong enough to protect us.
And my mind found something I’ll liken to inner peace as I studied this newest, most worthy undertaking and realized that all was not over, that my life, like the other twenty percent of the demographic Newsweek claims I belong to, is just in transition. Some day, I might be able to return to partake of the wonderful things that I had for so long dreamed of actually doing while living in Manhattan. For six years. For now though, I needed to say goodbye to the place I was leaving behind, but in whose lexicon my youth would forever remain.
I picked my phone up to take a picture of the snow falling onto my favorite street so that upon return to Mother’s, I could just call up the memory, or the dreams, or whatever they are that I seem to be willingly placing on hold. I wanted to savor the countless memories that had begun only a few feet from where I stood just then – to know they’d sit somewhere until I was ready for them again. But before I could, my phone abruptly announced I had a series of new messages from Charlie:
“HAPPY NEW YEAR YOU DUMB CUNT!!! OK. Did not make the form as I don’t have a printer in dumb Arab Hotel. Will do it soon as I return to states and arrive at my Bitch’s. Expect it a week from tomorrow afternoon. Cheers!!!”
I couldn’t help but smile at the reference to the recommendations I didn’t need for another month. The same I’d asked for a month earlier, knowing it would take him eight weeks to get them done. Another message appeared.
“Am stuck in Dubai, for the cunt arses in immigration do not believe I am a Londoner who would willingly live in New York. They are verifying, now, with even dumber American Immigration that I am who I say… Rob Fucking Lowe.”
Another reference I couldn’t help but smile at. Charlie, God bless him, seems to believe he looks exactly like Rob Lowe – whereas I have to constantly correct him and say “Dennis Miller.” Then promptly get smacked. But he’s the really creative one in our mix, so maybe he sees something I don’t. Another message arrived.
“Meetings went well. Am swamped with plans but can’t get enough motivated!!! Will have to next week. Think I will try to do some on plane if prick arse cunt towel headed fool ever lets me on.”
I made a mental note to make sure the newest version of his business plan was safely backed up on my laptop.
“Oh!!! One last thing. Anil got robbed at gun point in Brazil today. Now he’s stuck there. They took his passport! Merry Christmas on that one Mate! Cheers!!”
I laughed at the beautiful irony of my former boss being stuck wearing last season’s D&G in a place where toilets don’t flush. Serves him right, I thought.
CC ENC address too just in case. With your questionnaire that is!! I look forward to messing up your career!!! Yupee. Months to work on your book!!! Yupee! Hey – speaking of books, thought of a great idea… “Want to be a model” What do you think? It would have pictures of bad models in it and amusing comments feigned from a professional standpoint. Do you like the idea?!!!”
More laughter. I couldn’t help myself. Charlie, one of my best friends ever, is arguably the most ridiculous person in the world. And utterly adept at winning me over while making me feel guilty at the same time. This thing you’re reading right now actually began as his idea - was supposed to be a joint project making fun of my former business and everyone in it. I accidentally took it over and turned it into an autobiography type thing. Rather arrogant in a way, to presume that one has lived enough to write an autobiography at 29, but do you know who I used to be? I’m kidding. Sort of.
“And tomorrow remind me to call my Nan.”
I smiled and promised myself I would. God, I thought, I’m going to miss him. Then I flipped the phone shut and opened it again to reply. The thing about text-ing that I find so frustrating is that it takes so damned long. I’d much prefer just to call him back – but I had no idea what time it was in Dubai. They’re fourteen hours ahead, aren’t they?
Anyway, Charlie’s got one of those blackberry things with an actual key board, so it’s relatively easy for him to manage multiple conversations at the same time. Whereas I, on the other hand, still refuse to get one of the huge fuckers because of all the space it’ll take up in my jacket. Besides, they’re really not at all James Bond-ish; bulky and loud as they are. And while I may have no sense of direction, have never in my life changed a tire or shoveled snow, and am cursed with a touch of scoliosis, I still like to think that if necessary, I could put Pierce Brosnan and the lot of them to shame.
“Hey Dumbass!”
Speaking of James Bond. Well, more like Tom Cruise in this case, just not quite as short, I looked up and saw Chuck walking towards me in his alpha male gait…“Yeah – that’s right. You” He called out. “Mr. Sexy Important Guy with the phone always in his ear. I’ve been callin’ you for an hour. What’s up with your phone?” He gestured toward the building. “Is this the place?”
“It is.” I said and smiled. “Not much from the outside, but you’ll love what’s waiting in store for you.” I walked towards him. “I’m glad you came.”
“Yeah man,” he looked down and shifted his feet “me too.”
“How’s things?”
“Oh you know…” His voice trailed off.
I replied with a knowing voice, “I do.”
He smiled and looked up. “Hey man. The train took forever. Sorry I didn’t call, just got lost in the scenery and thinking about everything that’s goin’ on. You comin’ back and all that jazz, the baby, how I’m gonna go to school and pay off my credit cards” Then he hugged me. “Whatever. Thanks for makin’ me come, man… I don’t get to be with my beautiful wife on New Years, so at least I can hang with you and these amazing friends you never stop talkin’ bout”
“Hey” I smiled, while comparing my life to his and realizing my burden really isn’t so bad, “Chin up, Friend. You’ll see your wife in six days. Think about something else – it’s New Year for Christ’s sake!! ”
“Like what?”
“Sunny and her Breasts.”
“She’s here???” His face lit up. “When do I meet her?!” Like Charlie, Chuck, another of my bestest friends, has a penis with the attention span of a cocker spaniel. The moment an attractive woman is thrown into the picture, all else becomes secondary.
I laughed. “Go inside, warm up, and introduce yourself to my friends. They’ve been waiting for this for a year.” I pushed him in the direction of the stairs. ‘It’s high time my two worlds collide.”
He turned to face me. “Hey” he asked. “How will I know who they are?”
“They’re the only ones there” I laughed. “The place doesn’t open till nine.”
Chuck laughed back. “And you’ve been drinking for how long?”
“Three hours.” I grinned.
“You’re crazy Man.” He smiled and hugged me again. “It’s great to see ya – been too long!” He pulled back, smiled again, and play punched my arm to tell me that if nothing else, he’d be fine for the night. “See you inside!” He walked downstairs into the lounge and the boozy warmth of my dearest friends, Sunny and Carmen.
I turned my head and walked a few feet to the nearest stoops, the stairwell of the brownstone that contains Sunny’s place. Brushing the snow off so I could sit, I bent down, and gingerly placed my not so generously padded ass on the freezing cold stairs. I didn’t care. I needed the quiet and alone time and so sat for a moment, thinking about the race that I had never quite won. Wondering what it had meant to me for so long, and why? Do we ever know? Or is it that hindsight really is twenty-twenty and in this case, I’ve simply decided to change courses?
My sunglasses were still on, adding an other-worldly effect to the pre celebration quiet that shrouded Fifteenth Street. It’s a good thing too, because, as I folded my hands onto my knees and placed my head in them, a single tear dropped, and though no one was watching, I was grateful I’d been left alone. I looked up and down the street and silently mourned the passing of the countless memories created within this square block, simultaneously acknowledging that after a painful session of writers block, I had finally found something I wanted to write about.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Degree Rationale
Jeremy Tick
Degree Rationale: Management & Organization Design
A degree concentration in the area of Management & Organizational Design is one designed specifically to serve the short and long term interests of the human capital contained within any organization, whether for profit or non. Such a concentration is, of equal note, designed to focus on the best interests of the organization with an eye towards sustainability, through the design of work flow, management of human capital and implementation of strategy based upon recognition of the interdependence which now exists between the many societies that participate in our global economy. This degree concentration is not geared only toward the increase of shareholder value, nor is it concerned exclusively with the proliferation of mission, rather it is meant specifically to focus on management; the sourcing, development, coordination, mentoring and maximization of various talent contained in the workforce in an effort to foster continued growth, through transformation, on an as needed basis. Exposure to various components of management, policy, and sociology, combined with independent research, I believe, will allow for the design of structures which will both serve the needs of the work community as well as the fulfillment of organizational objectives, independent of industry.
Strategic Planning for Sustainability:
It has been theorized that the entertainment business is ruled by a ‘winner take all’ principle, whereby an individual, only marginally better a performer than his or her equally qualified counterpart, may, because of the ease of access offered through technological advances, command the majority of a market share. This notion applies to the previously captured voice recordings whose substance nearly parallels that of live entertainment as well as to the movies featuring recognized celebrities whose value is often more substantive to consumers than the local live performance alternative. Such alternative decision opportunities have literally transformed the ways in which individuals choose to obtain not only entertainment, but a host of product offerings which range from advanced education to luxury vacation properties to human capital. Indeed, with the implementation of ‘always on technology,’ and ready, instantaneous and real time access to international communication endeavors, it can be further surmised that because of globalization and the proliferation of technology in every industry, the economy, as a whole, is now driven by the same notion that the ‘winner’ or the best in class, does indeed, ‘take all.’
Technology has emerged as a communications medium which penetrates industry and increases ready access to excellence in all areas, resulting in a general change in the perception of quality. Because of relatively easy access to alternatives in every product category, individuals must consistently compete with and out perform their peers in industry, worldwide, in an effort to preserve their competitive advantage. It is no longer acceptable just to be good; rather it is safe to say that in order to ensure survival, both individual and organizational output must be excellent, outstanding, and unique.
In a similar vein, because of an increase in education, the speed of modern, electronic communication, and the modification of global economic policy, access to human capital is at a level such as never before been seen. As result, ours is an increasingly competitive economy resplendent with seemingly endless options in all spectrums of the market. The competitive employee’s standard level of output must therefore be at a level of quality previously reserved only for outstanding achievers.
Consistent with this theme is the newly competitive employer, who, upon facing similar challenges, must provide skilled workers with incentive on a scale such as never before, lest they lose their talent to a neighbor, whether across the street, or across the globe. In short, the bar for excellence has been raised, both for employers and employees alike, and the pressure to perform has been increased. During a time when retention is at an all time low, competition between organizations for both talent and market share is at an all time high.
Organization Design:
Such organizational challenges are only further exacerbated by a propensity on the part of western firms to outsource with ever increasing frequency. The outsourced employee, accustomed to ‘traditional’ power structures is thus likely willing to participate in work designed by autocratic management. Here there appears to be a general cultural acceptance that ideas and communication should pass through a structured ‘chain of command,’ that longevity, age, and experience rationalize current power structures. But, while this orientation has long pervaded the larges of organizations, the very individuals responsible for its proliferation are preparing for the succession of their power unto current senior management. It will be important to recognize that there is a strong likelihood that the cultures being fostered by current power structures may well be in transition themselves. Shortly after the assuming of the proverbial ‘throne,’ a new CEO or Executive Director may well change the entire nature of how business is being done. Employees and organizations alike must be prepared for this possibility and armed with a substantive enough core value system to sustain a modification in organizational behavior.
Human Capital:
As the aforementioned transmogrification occurs, so too, does the recruitment of a new breed of worker on the western front lines, members of the so called ‘Millenial Generation.’ This group has been influenced by a value system never before seen in the workplace, one that, in many ways, challenges currently accepted organizational norms. Considered by many to be the most privileged generation in recorded history, the Millenials exhibit no notion of the concept of power based on age or experience. This is likely the result of the encouragement of their active participation in family decisions, and thus, the experience of ongoing recognition for being ‘a part of the team,’ having actively shared their opinion about the color of a car, the size of a television monitor, or where a vacation should be spent. Millenials have been raised in a world of instant gratification. They believe collaboration is the key to a productive work environment, and subscribe to the theory that they can ‘be anything they put their mind to’ an orientation contributed to, in part, because of their participation in virtual worlds where the suspension of reality allows them to actively engage in the fulfillment of fantasy, in any capacity they so choose.
Because of their education, exposure, sense of entitlement, and the general ease with which they have been allowed to consume, Millenials appear to be contained of a common notion that for they, and they alone, ‘the sky is the limit.’ This orientation is challenging enough to the parties who have spent years or decades working to reach their current responsibility levels, but add to the fact that Millennials seek certain security which they cannot offer, and the Millennial worker tends to be less loyal and more demanding than their predecessors. As result, in order to retain and develop these employees, Millenials require a certain form of supervision/mentorship/management which has yet to be identified.
This constitution, combined with the residual effects of the disappearance of the social contract, the eradication of ‘walls,’ downsizing, and the development of a migratory, professional workforce has fostered, in the Millennial, a sense of self protection and entitlement which does not bode well for the organizational cultures into which they are entering. The challenge, of course, is that these people are, in many ways, essential for organizational sustainability, both in industry and beyond. Communities need young people, industries require employees, and economies, in order to grow or sustain, require participation. As the power structure shifts and individuals from traditionally opposing cultures, each with different value systems, begin to work side by side, the traditional organization must be redesigned to ensure ready integration for all.
Organizational Management:
Healthy, active communication contributes to productivity and thus, competitive advantage. Communication is circular process, yet it is rare that the message being sent is the one actually received. Many times both parties will act upon their own distorted understanding of a situation from the point at which communication begins. In a global workplace, with no one language, set of behaviors, or culture serving as a ‘norm,’ it is, as such, imperative to work toward constant and ongoing employee integration, in an effort to circumvent misunderstanding and prevent stalemate. Organizations desirous of participation in the new global economy must thus make certain concessions in their traditional demands in order to understand the various communications attributes of each unique social group, their power structure and social norms, in an effort to demonstrate an interest in and desire to promote cross-cultural integration, prevent alienation, and attract and retain human capital.
In order to understand the effective modern organization, to understand what power structures or management models will best serve in our new economy, it is essential to recognize that independent of technology, globalization, or economics, at the very core of every organization are people. The effective leader will recognize the importance of emotional intelligence and communicate respect for the various cultural, educational, societal, and religious values which have contributed to the human capital contained in their employees. This manager must work to constantly foster new methodologies which employ the attributes of each, in an effort to create a truly dynamic workplace.
Thus the new, effective manager is one who works to fuse the social sciences with the practical. This leader studies the intricacies of communication, cultural influence, technology and intergenerational relations, conceiving that a general understanding of people, their government, and the various cultural, technological, and social influences which have surrounded them throughout their development have literally molded people into who they are. The manager will then work with his or her employees to assist in their goal toward self actualization, understanding that to aid individuals in finding satisfaction in their work, and thus their experience while at work, is to foster loyalty and, as result, facilitate organizational cohesion. This manager will participate in a form of transformational leadership, recognizing that it is often the organization that requires the employee, and so, it becomes management’s responsibility to work to fuse individuality with conformity. The individual who can succeed at this will facilitate loyalty amongst the ranks, and through participatory management, work toward organizational excellence, and thus, organizational sustainability.
Curriculum:
Two core MEIM courses, Creative Enterprises, and Managing Hollywood, I believe, are essential to my thesis, as in-depth study of the single most prevalent communications medium in modern history, the movies, and the business behind them, provides a certain form of insight into the forces which have shaped so much of modern thought. It is through the movies that, for over a hundred years, countless millions have chosen to escape, to be entertained, to satisfy their fantasies, to seek out that ‘something more’ which exists only in fiction – but that happens to replicate reality, almost to a tee.
Movies have provided a forum for five generations to develop their perceptions of other cultures. The theatre is often where individuals in the Americas, Eastern and Western Europe, and Asia, have shaped much of modern society’s attitude about themselves and perhaps more importantly, formulated their aspirations. It is for this reason that a study of the workings of various creative enterprises and the methodologies employed to facilitate their growth is imperative; to understand what has been experienced by viewers, and why. To remove their presence from this curriculum would be to negate much of the sociology which I believe applies to management in a global economy.
Degree Rationale: Management & Organization Design
A degree concentration in the area of Management & Organizational Design is one designed specifically to serve the short and long term interests of the human capital contained within any organization, whether for profit or non. Such a concentration is, of equal note, designed to focus on the best interests of the organization with an eye towards sustainability, through the design of work flow, management of human capital and implementation of strategy based upon recognition of the interdependence which now exists between the many societies that participate in our global economy. This degree concentration is not geared only toward the increase of shareholder value, nor is it concerned exclusively with the proliferation of mission, rather it is meant specifically to focus on management; the sourcing, development, coordination, mentoring and maximization of various talent contained in the workforce in an effort to foster continued growth, through transformation, on an as needed basis. Exposure to various components of management, policy, and sociology, combined with independent research, I believe, will allow for the design of structures which will both serve the needs of the work community as well as the fulfillment of organizational objectives, independent of industry.
Strategic Planning for Sustainability:
It has been theorized that the entertainment business is ruled by a ‘winner take all’ principle, whereby an individual, only marginally better a performer than his or her equally qualified counterpart, may, because of the ease of access offered through technological advances, command the majority of a market share. This notion applies to the previously captured voice recordings whose substance nearly parallels that of live entertainment as well as to the movies featuring recognized celebrities whose value is often more substantive to consumers than the local live performance alternative. Such alternative decision opportunities have literally transformed the ways in which individuals choose to obtain not only entertainment, but a host of product offerings which range from advanced education to luxury vacation properties to human capital. Indeed, with the implementation of ‘always on technology,’ and ready, instantaneous and real time access to international communication endeavors, it can be further surmised that because of globalization and the proliferation of technology in every industry, the economy, as a whole, is now driven by the same notion that the ‘winner’ or the best in class, does indeed, ‘take all.’
Technology has emerged as a communications medium which penetrates industry and increases ready access to excellence in all areas, resulting in a general change in the perception of quality. Because of relatively easy access to alternatives in every product category, individuals must consistently compete with and out perform their peers in industry, worldwide, in an effort to preserve their competitive advantage. It is no longer acceptable just to be good; rather it is safe to say that in order to ensure survival, both individual and organizational output must be excellent, outstanding, and unique.
In a similar vein, because of an increase in education, the speed of modern, electronic communication, and the modification of global economic policy, access to human capital is at a level such as never before been seen. As result, ours is an increasingly competitive economy resplendent with seemingly endless options in all spectrums of the market. The competitive employee’s standard level of output must therefore be at a level of quality previously reserved only for outstanding achievers.
Consistent with this theme is the newly competitive employer, who, upon facing similar challenges, must provide skilled workers with incentive on a scale such as never before, lest they lose their talent to a neighbor, whether across the street, or across the globe. In short, the bar for excellence has been raised, both for employers and employees alike, and the pressure to perform has been increased. During a time when retention is at an all time low, competition between organizations for both talent and market share is at an all time high.
Organization Design:
Such organizational challenges are only further exacerbated by a propensity on the part of western firms to outsource with ever increasing frequency. The outsourced employee, accustomed to ‘traditional’ power structures is thus likely willing to participate in work designed by autocratic management. Here there appears to be a general cultural acceptance that ideas and communication should pass through a structured ‘chain of command,’ that longevity, age, and experience rationalize current power structures. But, while this orientation has long pervaded the larges of organizations, the very individuals responsible for its proliferation are preparing for the succession of their power unto current senior management. It will be important to recognize that there is a strong likelihood that the cultures being fostered by current power structures may well be in transition themselves. Shortly after the assuming of the proverbial ‘throne,’ a new CEO or Executive Director may well change the entire nature of how business is being done. Employees and organizations alike must be prepared for this possibility and armed with a substantive enough core value system to sustain a modification in organizational behavior.
Human Capital:
As the aforementioned transmogrification occurs, so too, does the recruitment of a new breed of worker on the western front lines, members of the so called ‘Millenial Generation.’ This group has been influenced by a value system never before seen in the workplace, one that, in many ways, challenges currently accepted organizational norms. Considered by many to be the most privileged generation in recorded history, the Millenials exhibit no notion of the concept of power based on age or experience. This is likely the result of the encouragement of their active participation in family decisions, and thus, the experience of ongoing recognition for being ‘a part of the team,’ having actively shared their opinion about the color of a car, the size of a television monitor, or where a vacation should be spent. Millenials have been raised in a world of instant gratification. They believe collaboration is the key to a productive work environment, and subscribe to the theory that they can ‘be anything they put their mind to’ an orientation contributed to, in part, because of their participation in virtual worlds where the suspension of reality allows them to actively engage in the fulfillment of fantasy, in any capacity they so choose.
Because of their education, exposure, sense of entitlement, and the general ease with which they have been allowed to consume, Millenials appear to be contained of a common notion that for they, and they alone, ‘the sky is the limit.’ This orientation is challenging enough to the parties who have spent years or decades working to reach their current responsibility levels, but add to the fact that Millennials seek certain security which they cannot offer, and the Millennial worker tends to be less loyal and more demanding than their predecessors. As result, in order to retain and develop these employees, Millenials require a certain form of supervision/mentorship/management which has yet to be identified.
This constitution, combined with the residual effects of the disappearance of the social contract, the eradication of ‘walls,’ downsizing, and the development of a migratory, professional workforce has fostered, in the Millennial, a sense of self protection and entitlement which does not bode well for the organizational cultures into which they are entering. The challenge, of course, is that these people are, in many ways, essential for organizational sustainability, both in industry and beyond. Communities need young people, industries require employees, and economies, in order to grow or sustain, require participation. As the power structure shifts and individuals from traditionally opposing cultures, each with different value systems, begin to work side by side, the traditional organization must be redesigned to ensure ready integration for all.
Organizational Management:
Healthy, active communication contributes to productivity and thus, competitive advantage. Communication is circular process, yet it is rare that the message being sent is the one actually received. Many times both parties will act upon their own distorted understanding of a situation from the point at which communication begins. In a global workplace, with no one language, set of behaviors, or culture serving as a ‘norm,’ it is, as such, imperative to work toward constant and ongoing employee integration, in an effort to circumvent misunderstanding and prevent stalemate. Organizations desirous of participation in the new global economy must thus make certain concessions in their traditional demands in order to understand the various communications attributes of each unique social group, their power structure and social norms, in an effort to demonstrate an interest in and desire to promote cross-cultural integration, prevent alienation, and attract and retain human capital.
In order to understand the effective modern organization, to understand what power structures or management models will best serve in our new economy, it is essential to recognize that independent of technology, globalization, or economics, at the very core of every organization are people. The effective leader will recognize the importance of emotional intelligence and communicate respect for the various cultural, educational, societal, and religious values which have contributed to the human capital contained in their employees. This manager must work to constantly foster new methodologies which employ the attributes of each, in an effort to create a truly dynamic workplace.
Thus the new, effective manager is one who works to fuse the social sciences with the practical. This leader studies the intricacies of communication, cultural influence, technology and intergenerational relations, conceiving that a general understanding of people, their government, and the various cultural, technological, and social influences which have surrounded them throughout their development have literally molded people into who they are. The manager will then work with his or her employees to assist in their goal toward self actualization, understanding that to aid individuals in finding satisfaction in their work, and thus their experience while at work, is to foster loyalty and, as result, facilitate organizational cohesion. This manager will participate in a form of transformational leadership, recognizing that it is often the organization that requires the employee, and so, it becomes management’s responsibility to work to fuse individuality with conformity. The individual who can succeed at this will facilitate loyalty amongst the ranks, and through participatory management, work toward organizational excellence, and thus, organizational sustainability.
Curriculum:
Two core MEIM courses, Creative Enterprises, and Managing Hollywood, I believe, are essential to my thesis, as in-depth study of the single most prevalent communications medium in modern history, the movies, and the business behind them, provides a certain form of insight into the forces which have shaped so much of modern thought. It is through the movies that, for over a hundred years, countless millions have chosen to escape, to be entertained, to satisfy their fantasies, to seek out that ‘something more’ which exists only in fiction – but that happens to replicate reality, almost to a tee.
Movies have provided a forum for five generations to develop their perceptions of other cultures. The theatre is often where individuals in the Americas, Eastern and Western Europe, and Asia, have shaped much of modern society’s attitude about themselves and perhaps more importantly, formulated their aspirations. It is for this reason that a study of the workings of various creative enterprises and the methodologies employed to facilitate their growth is imperative; to understand what has been experienced by viewers, and why. To remove their presence from this curriculum would be to negate much of the sociology which I believe applies to management in a global economy.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
May 1, 2007
Today is the one year anniversary of my move to Pittsburgh. It is being spent in the basement of Hamburg Hall, in the smallest cluster, where each of about a hundred of us are scrambling to get a last homework in before crunch time and exams hit.
The challenge which exists with this, though, is that it is beautiful outside! I would far rather be racing sailboats or partaking of a barbeque than performing Keynesian Analysis. Alas, there is only one week of school left, and so instead of enjoying the magnificence of May, I will consider taxes, transfers, and aggregate spending, their impact on my life and yours, and toast my anniversary with a styrofoam cup from the student lounge.
The challenge which exists with this, though, is that it is beautiful outside! I would far rather be racing sailboats or partaking of a barbeque than performing Keynesian Analysis. Alas, there is only one week of school left, and so instead of enjoying the magnificence of May, I will consider taxes, transfers, and aggregate spending, their impact on my life and yours, and toast my anniversary with a styrofoam cup from the student lounge.
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