In the Naked City...

This weekend, Bee and Rebecca and I went to Grand Central Station at 2 a.m., took off all our clothes and got photographed by Spencer Tunick. This may have been the strangest experience of my life, especially when we all ran naked in a big crowd down the hallway that I walk down every day on my way home from work.

People who saw us naked:

447 other naked women
Spencer Tunick and his assistants
HBO film crew
Other reporters
Quite a few police officers
A couple of guys hanging out on the catwalks in the windows
Two of the happiest Transit Authority workers I have ever seen

Other items of note:

The floor was extremely cold
I think I'm going to cut my hair short again after the wedding.
Rebecca stepped in gum. Then I did.
At one point we got to lay with our toes against the big clock in the middle of the station.
By the end of the naked hour, we pretty much didn't feel self-conscious any more.
Spencer had to stand on a ladder with a megaphone to give us all directions, but it's a big cavernous space with lots of echoes, so we were still quite confused most of the time.

What I learned:

Most women don't have elaborately groomed pubic hair, although some of them do.
There are a lot more tattoos in the world than you think
When you see people in clothes and then you see them naked it's hard to tell who's who.
When you look at a photo of yourself among 450 naked ladies, you can't figure out which one is you. Your hairy butt/blobby stomach/tiny boobs/bad hair/overbite/slight moustache do not stand out in a crowd. Maybe you should stop worrying so much.

I'm on the left in this picture with my toes against the clock.