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A MATTER OF RECORD
It's a Tuesday evening at the Hilton Hotel, and while offi ce workers headed home to their families fill Midtown’s sidewalks, Stuart Claxton is sitting in a suite watching nine live rattlesnakes dangle from the mouth of a man in a top hat and snakeskin boots.
Claxton appears not the least bit alarmed about this, not even when the man, Jackie Bibby, a k a the Texas Snakeman, takes things a step further by lifting his right leg, tipping his top hat, and leaning forward in a bow-like motion.
For Claxton, it’s all in a day’s work. As the Guinness World Records judge for North America, he makes a living watching people attempt the extreme and the unusual. And part of his job is to remain composed regardless of how extreme and unusual those attempts get.
“As much as I might expect something from the person breaking the record, that person also has expectations for me, and I have to live up to those,” says Claxton, who’s wearing a striped tie and a dark blue blazer with the Guinness World Records logo on the left breast. “I have to be professional, decisive and ultimately fair.”
Claxton, a 35-year-old Upper East Sider, witnesses around 50 record-breaking attempts each year. (The vast majority are successful, a boon for Claxton, who rates having to tell people they’ve failed as the worst part of the job.) Tonight, he has two more records to verify before heading home to his wife and toddler son: He’ll verify that Cathie Jung still has the world’s smallest waist (15 inches) and that card stacker Bryan Berg still builds the tallest house of cards. “It’s been an interesting day,” he says.
But so is every day. The next few days will include traveling to Mall of America in Minneapolis to inspect the world’s largest gingerbread house, then returning to New York to witness the largest simultaneous bell ringing (in Bryant Park) and the world’s largest chalk drawing by a single artist.
So how did a nice British man like Claxton end up with a bizarre job like this? “It was literally an advertisement in the paper,” he laughs.
A former academic, he’d just returned in 2000 to the U.K. from Mexico, where he was head of the University of Guadalajara’s scientifi c dissemination department, a job that involved publishing journals. "Guinness was expanding, and looking for researchers. They wanted someone with a publishing background who had worked abroad, and I fit the profile."
Two years later, he was transferred to New York as head of U.S. research.
According to Claxton, his job isn't all that unusual. When he's not traveling to Dubai to see the world's largest incense burner, he can be found typing away at his desk. "We get around 2,000 letters every year from people all over the globe vying for a spot in the book," he says.
Along with verifying records, Claxton is responsible for creating new categories and collecting material on record holders. He's also the official spokesman for Guinness World Records, a reference book published annually since 1954. "Essentially my job is publishing," he says.
While he downplays the coolness factor of being Guinness' only North American judge, he admits the job has its moments. "I never get sick of going to work, that's for sure. Just when you think you've seen it all, something new will happen. We're always exploring limits." - Wendy Straker
THE SWEET LIFE
When he was six months out of Yale School of Management, and considering getting into biodiesel, Sage Friedman got a life-changing phone call from an old friend.
"What are you doing with your life," asked the friend, Richard Perl, "that's better than chocolate?"
A lifelong chocophile who credits the stimulant properties of high-grade chocolate with getting him though grad school, Friedman gave it some thought. But it didn't take much.
Today, instead of working in alternative energy, Friedman is one of a handful of chocolate sommeliers in the U.S., dispensing his deep knowledge of all things cacao-related at Chocolat Michel Cluizel, the shop he and Perl opened in 2005. It grew out of an encounter Perl, a fellow fanatic, had with legendary Parisian chocolatier Cluizel, who agreed to entrust him with creating a New York offshoot.
"We'd joked for years about having a chocolate store, and all of a sudden reality aligned with desire, with our joy in life," says Friedman, a bearded 30-year-old from Maine who eats a chocolate bar in lieu of coffee each morning.
In addition to curating the offerings at the store - which sits in the rear of ABC Carpet and Home, on Broadway north of Union Square - he and Perl host from five to 20 guided tastings every week, onsite and off. They range from a 30-minute introductory tasting to an intensive, two-hour version, with or without alcohol pairings.
And how much is there to know about something most people purchase at a bodega? Plenty, it turns out. As with wine, there are matters of the terroir of different growers and regions, of how rainfall affects crops, and of different varietals and blends, be it Madagascar Noir or "single-source" varieties from a specific plantation.
"It's such a complex food," enthuses Friedman, who needs little encouragement to hold forth on his favorite topic, whether he's discussing types of beans, the chocolate-drinking habits of the Aztecs (who gave it to warriors headed into battle) or the world's top cacao-growing regions (there are five, including Papua New Guinea and Venezuala).
"It's a lifetime process," he says. "I'll be learning about chocolate until I die."
Part of that complexity stems from the roughly 300 brain-affecting chemicals chocolate contains, including tryptophan, caffeine and related stimulants, and anandamide, aka "the bliss molecule."
"It is a drug," says Friedman. "It's the only legal mind-altering substance enjoyed by everyone from 2 to 99."
No doubt this helps account for the unusual passion chocolate arouses in its many devotees. Seeing that passion, sharing it and stoking it, is the best part of his job, says Friedman.
"What I love most is watching people's eyes light up when the magic of chocolate infects them," he says. "There are few things that make people as happy." - Chris Erikson
PROTECTION RACKET
When Mike Harrison rides in an airplane and his seatmate asks what he does for a living, he says something vague. That he's "in the medical devices industry," maybe, or that he works "in packaged consumer goods."
When he gets into specifics - that he's at the forefront of condom innovation - a conversation inevitably follows that he's had too many times.
"I know how it's going to go, and it gets monotonous. There's an embarrassment factor for some people, or sometimes you get a locker room response," he says. If it's the former, "the conversation ends, and that's particularly bad if you're stuck on a plane with them for the next three hours."
Harrison, 45, is the "senior principal scientist" for New Jersey-based Trojan condoms. That means he spends his days thinking about what new designs, materials, textures and lubricants might appeal to the condom user, and doing the research and lab work to develop ideas into products that will fly off shelves and into bedside-table drawers.
"It's all about enhancing the consumer experience," he says. "We literally scour the world for new technologies to make better condoms."
That might mean mint flavoring, polyurethane condoms for those with latex allergies, Trojan's Warm Sensations line (with "a lubricating system that interacts with the body fluids to create a mild warm feeling") or condoms with vibrating rings powered by miniature batteries.
The latter, based on the same technology that makes cellphones vibrate, have been a hit, says Harrison, a matter-of-fact Brit who, whether by temperament or by long experience, discusses the finer points of his trade without a trace of self-consciousness. As in: "It's something new for the consumer to experience. It provides vibration, which is stimulation for the guy, and it pushes against the woman in her most sensitive area, so it provides stimulation for her, too."
Harrison earned a doctorate in chemistry in Britain, and was working for a medical-supplies company when Trojan offered him a job 14 years ago. Today he splits his time between the corporate offices in Princeton, where he lives with his wife and two kids, and the research and development lab, which sits by the Jersey Turnpike in nearby Cranbury.
"This is where we make stuff happen from a scientific perspective," he says, donning safety glasses and a white lab coat. One room contains a trio of inflating machines that measure how much pressure condoms can handle before bursting. (They can stretch out to a good three feet, like an oversized watermelon.) In a lab upstairs, where a bookshelf holds texts like "Encyclopedia of Emulsion Technology" and wall cabinets are loaded with jars of chemical compounds, a worker puts prototypes of a new design into unmarked boxes, for distribution to field testers.
It's rewarding work, says Harrison. He likes that his product is "socially responsible," and that his innovations help reduce people's reluctance to use condoms. He likes coming up with new designs and seeing his products on the shelf at the CVS - or even, in the case of plus-sized Magnum condoms, referenced in rap songs.
"I love to see a product get launched and be successful in the market," he says. "It's a real kick."
Currently in development are a number of new products he's excited about. He can't give away details, but he allows that "we're working on different ways to apply them, different ways to carry them."
Consumers are an occasional source of inspiration. Trojan has an "open door policy" for anyone with an idea, and he says there's no shortage of them, defying the notion that there can't possibly be any new twists to put on a product that's been around since the ancient Egyptians. "They just keep coming," he says. - Chris Erikson
GIVING A HAND
ELLEN Sirot is, by many accounts, the most successful parts model in the country. Her hands, feet and legs have been featured in ad campaigns for everything from Bloomingdale's to Toilet Duck, and she once had the singular honor of palming Howard Stern's love handles in a promotional photo for his film "Private Parts."
But folks who see Sirot on the street occasionally mistake her for a New York eccentric.
"During the summer, complete strangers approach me and ask why I'm wearing elbow-length gloves," says Sirot, whose hands and feet haven't seen sunlight in 15 years. "Sometimes people assume I'm obsessive compulsive or germophobic."
Sirot owns over 500 pairs of gloves, and if you were to meet her, she would probably decline to shake your hand. Years of disuse and constant moisturizing have made her mitts remarkably photogenic yet susceptible to bruises, which could jeopardize her employment status for weeks. She recently earned close to $10,000 for a four-hour Verizon shoot. It would be a shame to miss that kind of payday over a mere social convention.
Asked what she'd do if she were to suffer, let's say, a paper cut, Sirot is incredulous. "Well, I would never get a paper cut. That's just how it is."
She avoids lifting heavy objects, to prevent building unsightly muscle. Knives? Forget about it. Pens, paper, doorknobs, car doors and wine glasses are regarded with apprehension, while animals - "pets are scary and unpredictable" - are given the widest of berths. And on no condition will Sirot rush to a shoot. "The veins in my hand might get pumped up if I hurry."
Her meticulous regimen may strike many as too great an assault on life's conveniences, even at up to $500 an hour for magazine ads. But it hasn't dented her cheerful demeanor. A 15-year veteran of the business, she'd like nothing more than to continue for another 15 years - about what she's got left before she ages out of the trade, she figures.
A native of Greenwich, Conn., Sirot came to New York to attend Barnard, and after graduation set out to be a dancer. To that end she had headshots taken, and when the photographer noted her perfect extremities, he referred her to a parts-model agent.
"I got my very first pedicure," she says, "and beat out 50 pairs of feet for a Dr. Scholl's commercial."
There are around 100 parts models in the city, but Sirot says she's "one of five in the world working hands full-time, without relying on side jobs."
It's no wonder; her fingers convey the highly marketable feminine ideal: slender, yet graceful, youthful, supple, and free of wrinkles and blemishes. Estée Lauder considers her hands suitably sexy to double for those of supermodels Elizabeth Hurley and Paulina Porizkova, and she's performed a hand job (a little industry humor for you) on behalf of Rachael Ray.
Then there was her racy spread in Penthouse Forum. "I thought it was a business magazine called Forum. I got there, and they wanted me to hold a banana in different ways. I got a lot of mail after that."
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