The Hunt Club

My artist's studio- The Hunt Club, is normally closed to everyone. Few people, even members of my family, have ever been inside. It has nothing to do with modesty. I'd rather that people imagine fine art masterpieces inside than see the cold practical reality of the mostly commercial art on display.

A few months ago I turned my keys over to a visiting relative in need of a stay. A dinner party broke out one night and The Hunt Club was abuzz with friends and relatives. Food and drink was served followed by the requisite tour and ended with (more) drinks on the patio. Little comment was made about my paintings.

"Did you notice all the framed pictures he has of himself?" slurred one.

"He doesn't even know who the other
people are!" managed another.

Dewey Defeats Truman!

I never expected to be recognized as a "Senior Superlative" in my high school yearbook though I thought I had a shot at "Best Looking."

I didn't play organized sports, dressed poorly and was graduated from the bottom of my class. Small objects and toys were a choking hazard. My academic history was summed up in a handwritten note tucked in my "Life's File" that the Guidance Counselor kept. It read "Grades below average but passing. Likes to keep his hair long."

So when the yearbook came out it was no shock to me that I wasn't named "Most Likely to Succeed" and crowned "Wittiest" instead. A bit of typecasting as I had been humiliated with the "Class Clown" moniker in my sophomore year. My hapless twin brother was named "Friendliest" which was another way of saying "not as dangerous or sexy as his twin."

To my chagrin, a popular athlete was named "Best Looking" probably because "Most Athletic" went to someone else. He looked okay, I guess. He had a decent car and dressed better than I. Since I counted surfing as "taking a bath" he probably beat me on personal hygiene as well.

I demand a recount!

Facebook- the Living Obituary

At first I uploaded old pictures to my personal albums out of pure vanity. It's common practice on Facebook to upload old pictures of yourself posing with old friends who you dutifully tag and share. Common sense dictates that you look really good in the photo- preferably better than your dear old friends.

Before Facebook, the only place we had this much control over our public image was on the obituary page in the local newspaper.