I like me just the way I am...

Last week I was at a get together, or maybe it was a post-party, or maybe it was post-party-get-together, I have no idea. Anyway, someone called my name and I turned to find a girl I had first met many, many months ago and hadn’t really seen since. She does some modeling and is quite a beautiful woman. "David," she asked, "You’re writing for the Sunday Mag now?" "Well, kind of," I replied. "And for some reason," she continued, "You decided to use a picture of yourself from years ago when you were 30 pounds lighter and looking your best?" I stared at her for a moment and attempted to calculate just how many ways I had just been insulted. As usual, I laughed it off, explained that I really hadn’t taken editorial control over my blog in the paper yet, and that they had just taken the picture off my website.

But really, what the hell is that? First of all, when she originally met me, I was indeed 30 pounds heavier than I was in that photo. But now, after so long in Pakistan sweating my ass off I am back to the same weight I was then, perhaps even less. And looking my best? Why the hell wouldn’t I use a photo of myself when I’m looking my best. I guess I should call up the editors of Sunday and say, "Stop the Presses! Instead of the picture of me on top of a mountain looking like a prophet, please use this photo of me vomiting in my kitchen sink." Yes, I have a beard now, and yes, I do look different, but really, not that different. If you want different, you should see a photo of me when I had short hair. Besides, I kind of like people not being sure if I’m the one whose writings are in the paper, it makes things more interesting. "Are you the one who writes for the paper?" – "No, I run a music store." Also, it took me a few days, but I finally realized that she didn’t say a word about whether she liked the article or not, and to me, that’s slightly more important than the picture that heads it. So if it had been me, talking to myself at a party (which isn’t all that uncommon) I would have said, "Hey, I read your stuff in the Sunday Mag, that’s some funny shit. And that picture of you is fantastic, how long ago was that? You look quite a bit different now." Easy Peasey, Japanesey. But no, instead I have to smile at strange back-handed insults.

Oh well, if there’s one refreshing thing about the whole story, it’s that I know that whatever she says about me to my face is exactly what she says behind my back, which is more than I can say for a lot of people in these social circuits.

Reading this over, I sound like I’m all worked up over this. Let me assure that that’s not the case. It’s just that my own life amuses me to no end. And even if I’m an ugly bastard who used to be hot, at least I can laugh at myself.