I had my picture taken tonight.
In fact, I had my picture taken over two hundred times tonight. And the camera didn’t break once — what do you think of that, folks?
You see, this evening I had an appointment with a photographer to have headshots taken.
(That’s a standup comedy thing, by the way. You need headshots — pictures of your head, for those of you thinking something lewder — to send to prospective clients, and agents, and sleazy network executives. Or, in my case, local bookers who might have the odd spot at a Moose Lodge to fill on a Saturday night. Color me glamorous.)
The guy was very good, too. He spent an hour or so snapping digital pics of my ugly mug, all the while directing me and coaxing me into position.
‘Okay, tilt your head. Gimme that raised-eyebrow look again… nice. And lean forward… good. All right! Let’s get those pants off.‘
(Okay, he didn’t say that last one. That’s just wrong. At no time was the removal of any article of clothing requested. And honestly — he’d have probably been more comfortable if I’d put more clothes on. Like, a bag over my head, maybe. Or at least my forehead — he mentioned that I’ve got a lot of forehead. Who knew?)
Anyway, soon he’ll send me a CD of… me. How cool is that? A whole picture CD, filled up with shot after shot of little old… yeah, this is gonna suck. It’s hard enough facing my puss in the mirror every morning — now I’ve got to sort through thirty-eight of my slap-happy expressions on the computer? And pick one to let out into public, with the intention of helping to score me work? Riiiiight. No pressure there.
Maybe I’ll get the missus to help. Of course, seeing those itty-bitty pictures on the computer monitor won’t be good enough — she’ll want to make an informed, studied decision. How about if I print out all the piccies, blown up a few thousand percent, and plaster them around the house one night? Maybe before I leave for a show or something, so she’ll just find them when she gets in. And I won’t leave a note or anything — surely, it’ll be obvious what I want, right? I mean, if you walked into your house late one night, to find your spouse gone, but larger-than-life mug shot-style photos of him or her wallpapered throughout your rooms… you’d know what was going on, right? How clear could it be?
Damn. I see your point. Maybe I’ve been watching Law and Order: SVU too much lately. All those weird-ass perps are starting to rub off on me. How about if I just show her the shots on the computer when I get them, eh? And maybe I’ll save a couple of the scarier ones for you folks. Everybody needs a good laugh, right? I’ll work on that for you. That’s just the cool-ass kind of pimp I am, people. Straight up.Permalink | 2 Comments