Friday, April 5, 2013


  I've had one real modeling gig in my life. In the early 90's  photog friend Jeff Vaughn had gotten a gig shooting a new ad campaign for SPORTS AFIELD magazine and was having a hard time finding a NYC pretty boy who knew how to hold a gun. Handsomeishness was put aside in favor of pragmatism. As a retired cop "gun wrangler" handed me a Remington Model 700 and a stylist clipped clothes pins to the back of my baggy pants, Jeff clicked away. "Visualize that deer." Click. "He's a big one. Chin up." Click. "Beautiful." Within a month my mug was gracing the sides of buses and those lit up shelters. Then my modeling career stagnated. The phone stopped ringing. Seems gun toting mannikins were not in great demand. Oh well, back to sheetrocking.
    About the same time my modeling career was on the rocks, I stopped shaving and cutting my hair. At a loss to figure out just where 90's grooming was going, I opted for not giving a shit. I still had brown hair and my beard, although quite grey, had yet to turn white. By the time I moved from the LES to the sticks I looked more hillbilly than the hillbillies. Over the years the beard has bleached out, the hair has thinned and turned grey- a perfect specimen of the "Countrosexual". And guess what? I'm once more in demand.
   A couple of days ago I got an email from a this guy Bill asking if I'd be interested in being part of an ad campaign he was shooting for a brand new company? I skimmed the long email and wrote "Sure." These days I'm wide open to offers of any kind that don't involve manual labor. He asked if he could grab pics from fb and that was that. Yesterday i got the word. They loooooved me. I hadn't closely read his email but remembered it involved "asses". So I got in the shower , lathered up and shaved down my junk. After so many years out of the game, I still had it. Aside from a few minor cuts (that I daubed with toilet paper) and some bruises from moving wood all winter, my ass looked pretty good. I emailed Bill back. "Ready when you are."
   It was then i re-read his original email and realized the word was GL-asses. He wanted me to model eye glasses. What we models go through to look pretty. Those little cuts stung like hell when i sat down and I was a bit disappointed that my scorched earth policy had been in vain. Oh well, as any supermodel worth her salt will tell you, it's all in your head. Even though the camera will never see it, my shiny ass makes me feel sexy. I'm sure you'll be able to see it in my eyes.      


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