Friends, I had to have my portrait taken for display. I cut my hair two times and practiced my smile while snapping selfies over the course of weeks. In the end, the photographer just used the first shot because I began to progressively twitch, blink, and smirk with each successive snap. When he said to smile presidentially, my face collapsed like a hot air balloon without a flame. He let me see my photos and magically altered the one you see. I am not this bright and shiny, ever. Brian Twede is the photographer and he is my friend, a desirable trait for a someone who has editorial power over your image. It has been 24 years since I had a portrait taken of just myself. Brian told me not to wait another quarter of a century to sit for my next portrait.
I might, because this was just exhausting.