When a World Record Is at Stake, a Kiss Isn't Just a Kiss

The last contest I judged in my capacity as a media "celebrity" was a chili cook-off a few years ago that raised money for research into pediatric esophageal reflux. In other words: baby puke.

No, the Miss America pageant and "Dancing With the Stars" are not exactly beating a path to my door.

But I think I turned a corner Valentine's Day, when I spent the evening standing on a stool watching dozens of strangers kiss a woman I'd never met before. Ever the romantic, I'd invited My Lovely Wife along, too, and encouraged her to plant a few smooches herself.

Just another night inside David Lynch's head? No, it was an attempt to set a Guinness world record for most kisses in a minute. The old record was 108. Held by a French woman. Of course.

"I was really interested in the Guinness World Records book when I was a little girl," Deborah Gist, the "kissee," told me before the puckering commenced. We were in a stunning penthouse home on the outer reaches of Capitol Hill, scene of the record-breaking attempt.

A few years ago, Deborah said, she was flipping through a copy of the Guinness book and realized she didn't want to grow her toenails to epic lengths and had little chance of running 100 meters in less than 9 seconds. "Then I got to this record and it said 'Most Kisses in a Minute.' I've kind of been known for being affectionate in my kissing, and I thought, 'That's it. That's the one.' "

All she needed was 109 people -- you see, the record is for most consecutive kisses by different people.

On Saturday, about 140 people gathered at the house. Tubes of lip balm were piled in bowls near the door. So were breath mints.

Successful kissing might depend on finesse, but successful record-breaking depends on speed. "Be quick about it, be very quick about it," said Jock Friedly, Deborah's husband. "Get your lips on her, then get off quickly."

A lot of thought had been put into the mechanics of the record bid, and it was decided that the best approach would be to have two lines of people moving rapidly past a stationary Deborah, planting kisses on her cheeks as they sped past. The rules stipulated that simultaneous kisses would not count. Also, licking was prohibited.

Cynné Simpson from WJLA (Channel 7) was the official timer. D.C. Council Chairman Vincent Gray and I were counters. Philippe Cousteau, grandson of Jacques and a Discovery Channel presenter, and D.C. Council member Tommy Wells were disqualifiers, charged with tossing out nonregulation kisses. (Said Tommy: "As a politician, I'm generally dealing with people saying, 'Kiss off.' Or 'Kiss the baby.' ")

A little after 8 p.m., everyone gathered in the cavernous cathedral-ceiling living room for a pep talk.