Saturday, February 25, 2012

high for a minute (lyn)

Last night I saw a $4 play, alone.  I could only get one ticket.  It’s a rainy night and I’d rather be in, but I go.  By the time I get to the theater, my hair is stating to frizz, and the little bit of makeup I am wearing is probably gone. 

The play, CQ/CX, is the story of the Jason Blair scandal.  Blair was a New York Times prolific journalist who, in 2003, was found to have written articles with unchecked facts, interviews that never happened, and even a story lifted directly from a Texas paper.  It is a fascinating story of race, hubris, and the fall of key executives at the Times.  I thought the play was great.

As I'm leaving the theater, I get in a conversation with the person next to me…a 64-year-old woman (I later learn) who seems culturally and socially aware.  I wouldn’t be surprised if she had been a protester in the 60’s.   She thought the play was flawed, and in some cases, didn’t get it quite right.  It turns out that she was an art director at the Times during those turbulent times.  It was fascinating to talk to her about the real story.

As we are walking together toward the subway, the conversation evolves to other things.  We get on the subject of blogs and photography and I tell her of my blog.  She looks surprised when I tell her its name, and says, “But you are so thin.”  Ohhh, those words still feel so good.

As we talk about photography, I mention that my best subject, my son, is now away at college.  She looks at me and says, “You’re kidding?  You don’t look old enough to have a child in college.”  I ask her how old she thinks I am and she says, “I don’t know, about 30.”  I tell her my age and she literally stops walking and looks at me.  “I don’t believe it.  Really, I just can’t believe it.”  My big fear is not looking heavy; it’s looking old.  I know that in better lighting, I look nowhere near 30, but it still makes me feel remarkably good.

This morning I am talking to M and tell her the story.  “I want to write about this, but do you think it sounds too obnoxious?” I ask.  She hesitates as she ponders my question.   Then she says, “No. I mean clearly there’s something wrong with that women.”

And with M’s comments, I’m brought back down to earth.

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