Self Abuse

I have recently read that the people behind the Oxford Dictionary (or possibly those who make the online edition) have named "Selfie" the word of the year. It seems rather early to do so, not even being December yet, but I suppose they must get their name out there now if there is to be any hope of making a splash in the Christmas shopping season. I don't know who buys dictionaries, but the publishers of them seem content to degrade themselves plenty in hopes of reaching that market.

In any case, I have found time and time again that I am either not good at taking selfies or my likeness cannot be accurately captured by selfies. There is something magical that happens when the picture is taken just a few feet further away and features both of my arms in frame. I don't always look good that way, but there's at least a chance of it. There's also a greater chance of my eyes being red, but it's a risk worth taking.

I really must remember the lesson this time. I recently posted a picture of myself to Twitter, meaning to look happy and smiley, only to see as soon as the picture was posted what a terrible creep I looked like. I ought to have waited until I could book an hour with a professional at a reasonable rate, for the cost would actually have been less (if in dollars instead of dignity). Thankfully, those who saw let it slide, but next time I might not be so lucky.

This is a big reason why I've just got to make it as a performer. More talented photographers would be eager to shoot me, and really only talented ones are capable of doing it. I'm lucky that a few do now, including a very dear friend who is as good a photographer (among other things) as I have ever met. If his ambitions didn't run higher, I would someday hire him as my personal photographer, on call 24 hours a day. I suspect I will have to settle for someone else, but I'll be content so long as I have someone. I really mustn't take another selfie.