My personal copies of Rant: Collected Ventings 1999 — 2004 arrived today, and I thought I’d display a copy with a thematically appropriate face. Overall it looks pretty nice, although I would say the cover seems susceptible to humidity, so if you decide you’d like a copy of your own, be sure to store it in a cool and dry place. If I’ve received mine, than some of the folks who bought copies of their own should be getting theirs as well within the next couple of days. Hopefully they will enjoy them. Remember to pick up a copy of your own: They make fine gifts and table balancers.
I should note that looking at the picture above, I’m always a little surprised at how little I look like my mental image of myself. Now, admittedly, when one’s face is contorted in mock rage, it’s not likely to look like anyone’s mental image of one’s self (and if it does, there are some fine medications one may wish to consider); however, even when my face is rather less twisted up I don’t look like I think I look.
It’s not actually a matter of getting older, although I admit my mental image of myself has more hair than I actually do. I also don’t think I look bad. I mean, I’m no looker, but I clean up decently. I think it’s more about the fact that when I was younger I spent substantially more time looking into a mirror than I do now, so anytime I look at my face today for an extended period it’s always mildly surprising.
Having shared with you a picture of myself at my most dweeby, allow me to continue this entry of extreme narcissism by sharing a photo where I think I actually approach looking somewhat cool. My AOL overlords wanted a couple new pictures of me and specifically asked for a couple with me in sunglasses (for a particular promotion that’s coming up this next week). So that’s why I took this one:
Should I ever decide to write a cyberpunkish novel, I think I’ll use that for the author photo. Rather unfortunately, for as much as I think this latter picture is more “cool,” I have to admit the first picture is quite a bit more in line with my personality: Heavy on the ham. I suspect this is why I was never actually cool in my life — “cool” implied a certain level of remove, and I’m pretty puppy dog-ish in my enthusiasms. Oh, well. There are worse things than not being cool.