Fistful, I'm the guy you'll look like in 25 years.
Wanna know how bad that can be? Go to
http://www.wisconsingunowners.org/main.cfm, and wait for the Flash panel on the right side of the screen to bring up my picture. Damn that Corey Graff.
Since some here think that I'm dwelling on thoughts of depressing stuff, I thought I'd present some examples of my not thinking about important stuff.
Grampster, just a word of caution: I was born with congenital foot-in-mouth disease.
True story:
Back in the early 1990's, the marketing manager at Allen Edmonds Shoe Company annointed me his Golden Boy. I got all of the photography work for the company; I could do no wrong.
They decided to test-market shoes for women (bad idea, as most women tend to favor quantity over quality when it comes to shoes).
For the first test-market brochure for women's shoes, they had me work for a design company called Culver Design.
The art director--I forget her name now, but she was a real pleasure to work with; one of the best people I've ever known--had bought tons of props.
The main spread in the brochure was heavily propped: lots of wicker baskets, silk scarves, etc. I still have a copy of the brochure somewhere; it was a nice shot.
There was a hole, though, in the arrangement of props. The shot needed something.
The art director--was her name Beth?--had bought a tiny, antique perfume bottle with some ornate filigree on the top of the bottle. It was the perfect little prop to fill the void.
All morning long, though, Wells Culver (owner of the design firm) kept remarking how the liquid in the bottle--I'd mixed some water and yellow food dye, and inserted it into the bottle using an eye-dropper--looked like pee.
I've seen perfume before, and it's usually yellow. Wells Culver was getting on my nerves.
Right about noon or so (why is it that people who make good money show up just in time for a free lunch?), the three women who were in charge of the new marketing project arrived.
Wells Culver explained to them what we had been doing all morning, and did a good job of selling them on the photograph.
He then said, "but we had a hell of a time getting the pee into that little perfume bottle."
Before my assistant could stop me--before he could put duct tape over my mouth, throw me into an industrial-strength body bag and deposit me at some undisclosed location in another state--I blurted out:
"Yeah, but fortunately Wells had something small enough to fill it with."
The three women from marketing broke out in hysterical laughter.
I turned every shade of red, as I'd once again stepped in it.
Wells Culver gave me a look that said, "I'm going to ruin your career and pee on your grave, and use that perfume bottle."
That was the last time I did any work for Culver Design.
Me? Think?
Far from it.
