Sunday, April 12, 2015

     For those of you who take selfies on a regular basis, I am sure you cannot feel my pain. I am actually not asking anyone to feel my pain; rather, I would simply like to vent. My pain has a cure, but it would require a great deal of money and psychotherapy. I am making a conscious choice to avoid said expense and humiliation and just vent to whomever chooses to read this. For those narcissists, egomaniacs and vain souls out there, this is for you (and me). 

     If I ever wanted to get over myself, I should have had someone videotape me years ago.
Maybe that would have humbled me to the point that I would have ceased performing. This would have been a shame, however, as I do have a decent schtick that many claim to enjoy. I share my talent (not my food, my shoes or my deodorant). I never shared well as a kid, and I still don’t. They should have given me a treat every time I shared something so I would have learned (liked the Pavlov dog) that sharing was a good thing. I always saw it as a loss for me to someone else’s gain, usually my bratty little sister.

     So the videographer dropped off the video of my recent performance this morning. omg. Am I really this ugly? I thought I was a fairly good-looking mature woman, but are you kidding me? Maybe it was the lighting that made my face look like someone had resurrected me from an unmarked grave. Why do I look purple? No royalty in those cheek creases. And what happened to my lips. It looks like one is curled under so when I speak it looks like I’m talking out of the side of my mouth, like Al Capone. Is it the shadows that make it look like my chin is stuck in underbite? It looks mechanical when I speak - kind of like a puppet whose mouth goes up and down while the rest of his face is frozen in time. And the hands. The hands belong to a mummy (not mommy). They are peppered with brown spots and the veins protrude like a relief map. You are undoubtedly thinking, “Why didn’t you hide them?” Pretty hard to do when you’re playing the piano, and the photographer wants a close up of the keyboard. Fortunately, it was a good hair day, but the top hat squished it all down, and there was a giant curl sticking out of my neck. Ah, the thrill of performing.

     Why, you might ask, did I have this guy come and make a video of me? It is going to be a promotional tool to get gigs. The good news is that most of those who will watch the video will be women, as I am trying to market my program to women’s groups. They will take one look at me and see there is no threat, so maybe I’ll get hired. Maybe they’ll take pity on me and offer me more money to buy some Botox or a cheek pillow.

     As my beloved father always said, there is something to glean from every experience, no matter how negative or traumatic. What did I learn? I learned to tell the guy to put a pair of pantyhose over the lens next time and stand back, way way back. 


*My photographer was terrific, creative and amazing. I loved what he did, but he had no control over his subject in any way:)