Day 1 of 30 Shredded Comfort
Also check out day 1 of 30 Uncomfortable Days (warning, apparently this fictionalized version of me is slightly racist; also there’s another picture of my teeth)
I hate the way I look.
Okay, that’s not really true. I don’t hate the way I look. I just don’t believe in it. I don’t identify with my physical appearance and body very much at all. My face feels like a mask somebody dared me to spirit gum to my face one night while I was drunk that I’ve never been able to take off. It just doesn’t look like me. I recognize it as me. I don’t have a condition, or anything. I’m not likely to mistake my image in the mirror for a hat. But it doesn’t look like me. I’m a non-extended matrix of sentient generative energy, dammit!
Or something like. There’s a whole philosophy here about how I don’t think my brain really believes in the physical world. I consciously believe in it, but I kind of have to force myself to. But that’s a discussion for a different day. One where I’m drunk. Let me hide the spirit gum.
The upshot of all of this is that I hate pictures of myself. They make me anxious and they feel wrong. You might notice there are no pictures of me on the blog. Nor do my Facebook or Google+ profiles have portraits of me. The only pictures of me on the internet are those taken of others. This is a problem, since I need photos for some professional stuff. So it’s blood well time to get over it! So here we are:
There I am. In all my bald, shaggy glory. This is doubly uncomfortable because I feel horribly self-indulgent for doing a blog post about pictures of myself.
But actually, that’s not a bad picture of me. I look a lot like my dad, but that’s okay. I heard he was a pretty sexy bastard in his day. You might have noticed, keen detective that you are, that I’m not smiling in that image. It’s not because I’m suffering from depression, or trying to be ironic, or too-hip to smile. It’s because when I smile I look like this:
I don’t have any idea why I’m doing the Tim Roth head tilt thing. I don’t remember doing that. But that shows off my most hatedest of my features: my teeth. I’m reasonable fine with my baldness. I have stupid, unmanageable hair, but so does Harry Potter, so I’m in the clear. But those damn teeth. They’re crooked, and my incisors are distinctly of the “buck” variety. I have one tooth on the bottom right just below my canines that is out-and-out sideways. Sometimes I go through months where I can’t stop rubbing it with my tongue. It drives me crazy. Fortunately I haven’t done that in a while, AND IT’S NOT GOING TO START HAPPENING AGAIN JUST BECAUSE I WROTE ABOUT IT IN MY BLOG DAMMIT.
Ahem. Just to make sure this experience is really uncomfortable, I am about to show you the close up of my teeth. I warn you that this is unpleasant. I clearly need to take better care of them given the buildup that I didn’t realize was there, and there’s a black speck stuck in one of them that my wife who took the picture didn’t tell me about thank you very much. This picture also shows off my protuberant nose-hairs.
Again I am going to warn you. This is not pretty. If you want to look away now is the time. I’m going to put a few pictures of my cats between here and there, just so you don’t glimpse it accidentally if you don’t want to.
Are you still here? Okay. Well, here we go.
Now that you’ve read through all of it, I want to let you know that during none of those photographs was I, in fact, wearing pants.