Friday, January 07, 2005

Visual -> Counter Visual = photos... not so good.

Jesus Christ. Can't a person take two photos, within a reasonable amount of time between, and look like the same goddamn human being? I understand that people go through physical changes. People grow moles. They get haircuts. They get balls cut off or develop multiple sclerosis. But I, personally, do not change a whole hell of a lot from year to year. I gain 10, or I lose 10. I remain the whitest of white boys, with a doublish-chin, and kinda spiky-ish kind of hair. My pants never fit right, and my shoes are typically dirty. That's the baseline standard.

Yet here are two photos, posted courtesy of my good friend, The Big O, which have to have been taken maybe... four months apart? Four months, MAXIMUM. So I'll leave it to you, especially anyone reading this who does not know me, to judge. This shit's ridiculous.


In this photo, I am kicking it with Pat and Jason. I am the penguin on the right. It was a badass wedding, and Pat (the fellow on the left) was the Master of Ceremonies. He kicked ass, the couple kicked ass, and the whole damn thing was in Las Vegas (the Sinatra Suite at the Riviera), so it kicked more ass than anyone still alive could possibly comprehend. You do not understand how much it kicked ass. Get comfortable with the cold-hard fact of the thing.

Anyhow, back to my pointless narcissism. In Photo ONE, all things are not as they appear. I appear to be fairly tall in that photo. This is far from the truth. I am 3' 6". Yes, you read that correct. I am actually a Mayan descendent, from a family of curb-washers and hydrant hurdlers.

Second, I have a swagger about me. Almost as if I have some laid-back level of "coolness" to me. This, also would be a misnomer. I have no such cool-factor, and wouldn't know where to buy any.

Thricely, I am smoking a cigarette. This is preposterous. Totally beyond ridiculous. I always smoke more than one cigarette at a time.

Fourthly, I am without a drink. What the? No fucking way. At a wedding? Where I had to dress like a butler? I don't remember much about that wedding, but I do remember that I had a cup of Mandarin & tonic surgically attached to my left hand. I drank so much that Vegas got BORING to me. Now that is stinking drunk. And you cannot get that way by standing around looking a Dean Martin reject (sans booze). This, no joke, is proof that Photoshop was somehow applied to this "work of art" posted by Oscar. Congratulations Oscar, but your doctoring of the photo is proven quite cleanly by my empty left hand. This photo is a fake amongst fakes.

Now for your consideration...


Wow. What a specimen we have here. You wouldn't believe it, but I am the guy in the photo (the other two are very wonderful ladies who I am most blessed to be allowed to know in this world), and I am approximately thirty feet from the camera, one foot in front of the beautiful woman on the left. Her proportions are normal. So, you see, my head is the size of her torso. "One size fits all" my ass. My noggin' is beyond the comprehension of any fashion designer who peddles their shite beyond the automatic doors of Wal-Mart. This photo actually caught me eating the shoulder of the fantastic woman on the right. See it? I've already chomped down, and was chewing her rotator cuff when Oscar captured the moment. I had three piping hot Gyros after that. And then Best Wurst to get my bowels right. And then three pints of beer to wash that mess down. Jesus, I love good beer. And rotator cuffs.

I cannot knock this photo too much, because it is a much better representation of who I am, in my natural environment. I was at Deville, probably on a Friday, drunk as fuck, and being taken care of by the wonderful woman on the left. I'm sure there are three cigarettes lit and burning between my fingers, two shots of bourbon on the table, and someone across from me exclaiming "I remember that, you really should have kept your pants on." They were probably referring to an event like this one (I am the idiot wearing the black pants).

But the point of this whole post was for me to point out how different, and misrepresentative a photograph can be. These two are months apart. A month is not long enough for such change. The lighting, the angles, the head-tilting, all the GQ bullshit makes a photograph an almost worthless measure of what a person actually looks like. Besides, neither of those photos shows just how difficult I can be. Maybe the one with my pants down gives a hint. Whatever. That's my best side anyway.

Damn you tuxedos!


dungsta said...

i beg to differ,

your best side is the side you allow yourself to own without judgement.

your foxy man, don't believe The Big O's faulty photographic work.


Truecraig said...

Very true Dungmeistah. Perhaps I got a little down on the photos. But NOT on myself. I am not a good judge of myself, for the simple fact that I know every stupid thing I've ever done, and am incapable of an objective analysis. This is fact. So I am biased in the most pure form of the definition. I can, however, judge the appropriate treatment of my image supplied by photos.

I can safely say that a photo of my hairy ass is probably a better representation than the other two (close race though). Don't tell my lady that, though. I have her thoroughly tricked into believing I am El suave-o y debonair-o. And a billionaire. With my own battleship.

Hold up. She reads this fucking thing. Damn.