Conversations

I sometimes wish that my phone calls could be recorded and broadcast on a low-budget late night Public Access Show. All there would be is a really cheezy photo of me pursing my lips and nearly blowing a kiss, or, better yet, giving you my best abercrombie and fitch close up. My hair would be photoshopped darker, my lips pouty-er, and my cheek bones more severe. And then a photo of whom ever I am talking to spilt screened next to mine. This photo would be one of those "caught on the street photos." Maybe they are tripping on the sidewalk or sucking too intently on the straw in their frappacino. Or, it's a photo of them lifting an oversized club sandwich or something of the sort toward their gaping mouth.

Then you would listen to whatever conversation unfolds. Regardless of how stimulating or dreary. If you chose just the right picture of me and the person on the other end, and you spilt screen them next to each other, it wouldn't matter what was being said. It would always be slightly entertaining or mildly interesting at the very least. You would associate this conversation with the two images you were looking at and begin to make assumptions and conclusions about me and the unlucky friend or colleague gorging on french fries and mayonnaise.

If it was done just right, I could take the most mundane conversation and make it entertainment. I could also always make myself out to be the good guy.

This is what goes on in my mind when we talk on the phone. Or at least after we have finished.

Good-bye!