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Famous for 15 nano-seconds

Famous for 15 nano-seconds

Well, this is as famous as I’m going to get. A picture of me and a profile published and delivered (ON PAPER!) to about 25,000 of the top media workers in the UK. Strangely, the phone hasn’t rung at all with offers of my own TV show, hot dates, or even a milk bottle top. A couple of emails, a few congratulatory “I didn’t know he was interesting!” emails, a thread on the work forum, and that’s it.

It is very very strange seeing your words unfiltered in print. On a blog, it’s very easy to just write away, take your words where they want to go and not employ any filters. Although to be fair, anyone who knows me tends to know that I don’t operate any filters. What you see is unfortunately what you get.

When the interviewer (ahem) interviewed me down the phone line, I obviously tried to give them the best anecdotes just to make the profile interesting, as well as what I wanted to say, in a way. It’s not till you read it in cold hard print that you realise just how you’ve managed to kill your career by highlighting all your cockups, misdemeanours and cavalier attitude towards sensitivity, in the drive for sensationalism, anecdotage and an interesting story, while all the “extra” content about the rest of your life gets chucked by the wayside. Maybe I ought to be a tabloid journo.

The photograph was even worse. After a morning of posing and preening, they chose one of the worst photographs. Taken against a graffiti-strewn wall on a summers’ morning, the end result looks like it was taken just before the lights went out in a dodgy TV studio set of urban decay. As a work colleague also unkindly pointed out, I just can’t smile convincingly.

Then again, there must be something about me and urban graffiti that appeals to photographers. On one of my holidays, H literally dragged me to a wall of urban graffiti for our archetypal holiday shot. With the pose, the sun etc. it’s hilarious, but it’s not an accurate depiction of who I am.

If only I could do it again, and get it right this time. Then those sixteen vestal virgins would surely be mine.

3 Comments

  • 16 virgins? Isn't that what you get if you blow yourself up and kill a load of infidels at the same time?

    *backs slowly away from Andrew*

  • dude, you should have had your leather jacket and demanded a picture be taken (and ultimately used) while you wore it. =)

  • Sheff

    "It's not till you read it in cold hard print that you realise just how you've managed to kill your career by highlighting all your cockups, misdemeanours and cavalier attitude towards sensitivity, in the drive for sensationalism, anecdotage and an interesting story, while all the "extra" content about the rest of your life gets chucked by the wayside."

    Mate – I couldn't have put it better. In fact this is what everyone's been trying to tell you since you were about 12. At least if after "career" you add "1st impressions" and "chances of getting laid". But would we all love you as much if you changed…..?

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