Don't look at me like it's not true.
Speaking of David Beckham. There was a life-sized wall poster of Becks in our high school cafeteria, muddy as all get out, sweaty and gleaming, milk moustache. It was a Got Milk poster. And always as I stood in line, I would wonder whose job it was to muddy him up for these photo shoots. And how could I get said job?
Kind of makes you want to buy milk, doesn't it. But really, artistic mud going on here. If I were the make-up artist, I might have the gall to insist that we get the desired effect not artificially, but by actually having him romp around in the mud for a while. And I would supervise, to ensure perfect result. I might even supervise with a camera in order to review the process for efficiency later on.
Today, I am still alive. Parts of me, like my childlike wonder, are dying. And optimism, that too, due to the fact that I have to wake up in a few hours to work all day a la Dark Knight fiasco. I love work. I love it. I love it like I love dieting and the fact that Rupert Everett is gay.
Tomorrow might be better than I expect. But I'm not putting all of my milk in one moustache.
1 comment:
As I recall, there was David for the girl types and one of the Williams sisters in a barely-there tennis outfit for the men types.
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