Hi, group. My name is Karla and I’m a closet mocker. I started watching a reality show (which will remain nameless) because the average IQ of the contestants was barely above sea slug level. Even though I didn’t voice my opinions, I’m not proud of my snooty attitude.
What I learned from the show is that in order to take a good portrait, your eyes have to look like there’s actually a thought in your head. That wiped out half the competition. You also need to be aware of angles–bad news for me. I have a body that looks best head on, and a face that doesn’t.
In the unlikely event that the press will think I’m newsworthy, I’m updating my press kit. This means having a photo taken by a real payment-due-in-advance photographer.
This will involve plucking eyebrows, dying gray roots, and applying enough industrial strength concealer to paint the Taj Mahal – twice. More importantly, it means I will be practicing making faces in the mirror. When I smile, it sends my cheeks on a collision course with my eyes. I try to open my eyes wide while smiling, and it looks like I just found out that Sarah Palin is running for President. It’s that moment of shock before your brain registers the situation and you start projectile vomiting.
Getting back to the angles, I need to make sure that the light doesn’t emphasize my gut or my nose. I have never been a delicate little thing, and the camera adds about twenty cheeseburgers (give or take a few pickles). Perhaps that’s why the photographer suggested that the light would be best about 9:00 PM for an outdoor shoot.
I guess I owe it to the IQ impaired to go through with this photo thing. They can be proud of their beautiful portraits while they’re pasting my nose all over the internet. Karma’s a bitch!
(That’s my buddy, Barry Parham and me at the Briarpatch for a book signing.)