When I was in junior high, I had a Social Studies teacher who was a total hippy. He’d play records while we were working on whatever it was we were working on that day. One of his records was “The Worst of Jefferson Airplane”, and I’d always wonder why anyone would name anything “The Worst” of…until now.

Lately people have been asking about being male talent in this industry. I thought I’d reflect upon my experience.

This blog’s original air date: December 23rd, 2005

So I’m walking into my office when the girl who works in my building calls me over. She’s on her smoke break, and she cuts hair for a living. My editing/business offices are directly below – as well as next to – a pretty big salon; the salon is part of a three-story building. I’m on the ground level.

She’s smiling at me and says, “Hey Stud.”

This catches me off guard. I mean I’m not an ugly dude…but I’m no stud, either. Plus, I think this girl has a bit of a crush on me, so I just kind of laugh and say “Hi.”

“So who you bangin’ in your office all day long?”

This really throws me for a loop. I’ve never had sex in my office. Never once. And why would she be asking me something like that? I mean she’s cut my hair – once – and we say hi if I run into her on break. That about sums up our relationship.

“Um, no one.”

She calls me a liar. “Fuckin’ liar!” She’s smiling. “I mean don’t be embarrassed. I’m all about fucking. I love to fuck! The last salon I worked at…I was fucking one of the straight guys. We fucked all over that salon!”

Then she gives me a long stare. With a smile.

Again, I tell her no one, “but I wish.”

“Well, according to K., she came down and was gonna knock on your door and tell you to quit for a while. That’s how bad it got the other day.”

K. is the LMT – licensed massage therapist. K says the massage room is for quiet time…not to listen to people fucking for hours at a time.

“But she chickened out. Instead, she walked up to the salon and told everyone you’re down here fucking all day long. She says it’s nonstop some days.”

She says this through her grin. And she’s making direct eye contact with me…one she won’t break. I finally have to look away. “All the girls up there are amazed at your staying power.”

I know I’m blushing now. And that’s when I realize K.’s massage room is directly next to my editing bay. The only thing that separates us is a wall. And lately, I’ve been editing my ass off.

Now what do I tell her? That I’m a pornographer? My office is tucked away on a trendy street that the tourists hit to shop for their trendy clothes while sipping on a trendy Starbucks drink. I know if I tell her that I’m a porno dude, shit’s gonna spread like wildfire. Might even end up making it back to the landlord, who’s on the 3rd floor. He thinks I’m a computer consultant.

“Well, yea. OK. I admit it. I’m banging my new assistant.”

“I knew it!” She takes a long drag off her cigarette and smiles.

I smile back. “Don’t tell, ok? I mean I don’t want her embarrassed when she comes back Tuesday. And I know how you hairdressers are.”

“Oh, I’m not like that!” She puts her finger to her lips and says, “Not a soul.”

Uh huh.

Yea.

Not a soul.