Welcome to My Handsome Life

It's good to be handsome. Which I am. It's also good to be tall and rich, which I'm not. My father was handsome and he knew that as well. Once I overheard him say to himself as he finished his morning shave, "Ed Crowley, you gorgeous sonuvabitch, don't you ever die on me."  But he died relatively young leaving ma and me just this old guitar and an empty bottle of booze.                        

 I never learned to play that guitar, settling for the bagpipes instead. Most of my life was spent as an  Art Director and Political Cartoonist. But all that was yesterday- a harsh reality if I weren't so damned handsome.

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.

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.