Yesterday afternoon, while avoiding a particularly tedious report for the funders of my programme that doesn't have to be submitted until next month and since I'm done anyways except for verifying the stats why should I worry about it now, I discovered that all I need to do to take pictures of high artistic integrity of myself with my phone cam is to move it slightly as I press the button. Observe:
Note the stunning, almost three-dimensional effect created by this genius little manoeuvre. Admire the emotions evoked in the panoply of images and colours, a veritable cornucopia of feeling and sensation: "Is he happy? Is he sad? Is he slightly peckish and in need of a chocolate bar?"
Stand back in wonder at the beautiful mustard-coloured hoodie I had to go out and buy yesterday to ward off the Antarctic temperatures imposed upon me by the sadistic building manager in charge of the air conditioning. Note how it covers my professional, complete-waste-of-money, officy clothing completely. What isn't shown is the little flecks of mustard dandruff that cover my professional, complete-waste-of-money, officy clothing when I remove it at the end of the day.
It was a toss-up at the cheap cheap store between mustard and a startling electric cherry. I guess I shouldn't complain about lack of selection when the item I choose cost less than my lunch. Plus in comparison to electric cherry, mustard seems almost subdued. And that's me all over. Subdued.
I suppose I shouldn't complain too much. The air conditioning was broken for two very long weeks. I spent those weeks in a hallucinatory state, melting into little droplets of myself at my computer, too heat-fatigued to find the strength to crawl under my desk and wait for the Cold Season to start. I also developed a joyous case of heat rash on my torso, which, of course, makes all the boys want to talk to me. Once they see my artistic genius shots of myself, they won't be able to get enough of the real thing, I expect.
