Look at this damn picture. Yes that’s me from early Feb. 2014, 58 godawful years old, mostly washed-out looking, pale and scrungy and aging gracelessly. I try in vain to get a good self-picture to put up here on WordPress just to have something that doesn’t scare even me. The look on my face is pure disdain for the camera that, I know from experience, isn’t going to make me look even as average as I look to myself when I look in the mirror at basically exactly the same time as when I take the picture.
Despite my whining, I accept this fact. I used to be photogenic compared to now, but I think you could say that about a lot of 58 year olds. What chaps my ass, though, besides the slow rubbing of sandpaper across it by my dominatrix, is the difference between the lighting on my mug, and the area around the lamp in the background. I mean, look at the lamp and the entertainment center area–it’s all cozy and dreamy like a damn Thomas Kinkade painting, only without the early booze-and-Valium death and the universal disdain by art critics. I assure you that in real life that lamp and the “aura” of light around it are as pale and washed out as I am; the light through the lampshade is actually more white than the romantic yellow shade in the photo.
I suppose I’d rather be a bristly rebel and get laid than be “cozy and dreamy” and get laid, but, since times are tough, and, well, I’ve bored my regular readers with how tough they are, but, if they insist on staying tough, I’d rather it be ME that’s cozy and dreamy-looking in pics, instead of my entertainment center lamp for pete’s sake. Life is unfair, isn’t it? Maybe I can get a disability for this. We’ll call it “photo-aura-not-terrifically-sexy” syndrome, or “PANTS” for short, and I’ll be getting paid, for sure. The requirement will be that a pro photographer will take pictures of me in various natural settings, not in front of a cloth background or whatever they use, and if the background continually looks cozy and dreamy, and I continue to look scrungy and washed out, no matter how the picture is lit, I qualify for “PANTS” and I get my pants pockets full, very full, of perfectly lighted cash.
Look up Thomas Kinkade if you get a chance; Wikipedia claims that he would “mark his territory”, literally, as well as other, odd, alcohol-fueled bizarreness, which would mark the first time that alcohol ever helped cause people to do strange things.
(There, I fixed it; made this post lamer but got rid of what I was uncomfortable with.)