Tuesday, April 18, 2006

Picture Day

My gawd I despise to the core of my being taking pictures.

Self-consciously, maybe that's why I entered radio in the first place. It's all imagination.

Whenever I'm out at live broadcasts, I ALWAYS hear the same frickin' thing.

"I thought you were taller."


I probably should be grateful for the height I do possess.

Five foot seven baby.

Before my first kidney transplant, they knew that the immunosuppressives to keep the kidney functioning would totally destroy I had at developing normally.

So they waited until the very last moment to undergo the kidney transplant and I ended up looking like I do.

Even though my baby sister towers over me (and most likely, so will my little nephew) I've adjusted to my height. Most tall people I meet usually have egos to match, so being tall isn't the cat's meow.

But back to Picture Day.

If you were to take a moment and browse pictures dating back to grade school, through middle, high school and college, you would discover one overwhelming fact.

I can't take a picture to save my life.

The photo you see attached to this blog took quite some time to take. It was achieved with a desk lamp, webcam and a lot of editing in post-production.

Thank goodness for the software bundle that came with the camera.

I adjusted and tweaked, cropped and dusted my photo until I thought it looked bearable.

Which is why I love black and white photography. It just looks more real to me, as though you get the true essence of an individual without all the distracting colors.

My boss phoned me on Sunday afternoon, which is never a good sign.

"Hey, you know tomorrow's picture day, right?"

With the enthusiasm of someone being castrated with cooking oil.

"Yeah, I know."


Since I wanted my hair to look it's best, I recorded the first hour of my show the night before so I could get up early Monday and get a haircut.

With all the hair I've been having go AWOL from my head, I looked ridiculous. Nearly a comb over on top and all shaggy on the back and sides.

And now, everytime I get a haircut, more and more grey seems to be infiltrating my head. Little grey hairs gaining energy and strength with every passing day. My dark brown follicles at the mercy of their shared wisdom.

The woman cutting my hair probably thought she was funny when she called me the "Silver Fox."

At least she styled my hair so I wouldn't look like a total dweeb.

I entered the small conference room and the photographer was already set up. He had the background, lighting and camera all ready to capture my soul for all to witness.

"You should know, I'm terrible at taking photographs."

In a very thick accent, he didn't seem bothered by my exclamation.

"Iz okay. I'm PRO-feshunull. I cap-chure troo ezzence."

Uh. Okay.

He had me stand in twenty different positions, moving my head and shoulders in twelve different orientations.

I was an Action Figure for someone besides God for a change.

He must have taken over thirty photos. It was unbearable.

The camera finally came from in front of his face. My ordeal was over.

"Wull, vun uv dos fotoze shud wurk."

Speaking of which, I had to get back to wurk.

My shoulders and neck relaxed as I went from being the star of one to the star of thousands in the studio.

It was much easier to deal with.

The picture they finally choose is supposed to go into a sales brochure for the company and then on to the station website.

I'll make sure to post a copy here when it arrives.

I've always been willing to put myself in harm's way for the sake of laughter.

Especially when it's at my expense.

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