Ugly American

The brain is an amazing thing.  

Somehow, I was able to remember that I needed to get my passport renewed last month.  I don't know how I remembered 10 years after my last renewal that in March 2008 I would need to do this again.  But somehow, something in my brain went on alert last month and said "remember to check your passport.  it is going to expire soon" and sure enough, it was up that very month.  Now for the part I hate most - the photo.

I don't consider myself very photogenic.  I don't think I am particularly ugly, nor particularly good looking.  I am fairly average I think.  The problem is when a photo is being taken.   Something happens when I have to pose for a picture that makes my face go awry.  As good as my brain is at random reminders from 10 years ago, it falls short when it comes to controlling facial muscles to produce a pleasant smile when a camera is aimed at it.  It is a difficult trade off.  

So on a reasonably warm Saturday, I went to Kinko's to get my photo taken.  Problem #1 - what do I wear for the photo?  I will be stuck with this one for 10 years, so pick something good.  I grabbed one of the many blue shirts I have in my closet.  I wanted the photo to reflect vacations and good times, so I chose a short sleeve variety.  It was only about 30 degrees outside, so I figured it was time to break out a blue polo.

I try to psych myself on the drive there, telling myself "you can do this!  you can have a normal smile!" as I vainly looked for confirmation in the rear view mirror.   Even thought it would be a digital image, I doubt they would let me have do-overs, and if they did, it certainly would not be as many as my friends give me when they attempt to get me with a normal smile.  I was told where to stand - right in front of the envelope and book section.  A fake background was pulled down - I was scarred to see what it looked like; I was having flashbacks of my high-school grad picture with the fake library.  I get lined up behind the background, try to do a normal smile - hold it, hold it - and click.

I took it as a bad sign when he would not let me look at the picture.  I asked how did it look and he said "fine" as he ran to the back, suppressing either a laugh or his horror.  I took it as a really bad sign, when he gave the final prints to someone else to deliver to me.  I was scared to look at them until I got into the privacy of my own home.  

It was bad.  

Really bad.

For anyone who lives in Minnesota who doubts how cold the winter is and how pale you really are by March, all you need to do is have a passport photo taken against a drab backdrop and under florescent lights.  I looked like death reheated - barely any skin color at all, and I have a genetic advantage in this department.  My hair was seriously f-ed up - even for me.  My hair looked like a cross between Alfalfa and Buckwheat from the Little Rascals - a curly sprout sticking up straight from my head.  My "smile" had its characteristic warped twist, allowing visibility of my chipped front tooth.  About the only thing good were my eyes, which strangely looked blue, not their real green.

No way I could live with this for 10 years on my passport.  It does not say happy vacation time, it said doped up looser who can't control his bodily functions nor does he own a mirror.  So what to do?  

A few days later I remembered that my employer does free passport photos for employees (I can't figure out why, either.  It is one of those strange benefits that occasionally becomes useful).  I went in one day, when I was dressed up in better than usual clothing.  I had a meeting that day, so I had on a sports coat.  I figured the fun loving tourist motif did not work, so how about the ambitious go-getter theme?  

I walked in and it was set up like a real photo studio.  There was real lighting, a tri-pod, a decent looking neutral colored background.  I was feeling good about this one.  He directed me to the full length mirror to get myself ready, he said.  Yes, wishful thinking.  I looked at myself, and surprisingly everything seemed to be okay.  Hair is good enough, good shave, I didn't look to pale.  Lets do this thing!

I got myself seated, tucked the tail of my sport coat under my rear, to get that crisp look in the shoulders (I saw that in "Broadcast News".  It really works!).  I went for the more serious business look - I wasn't going to risk a smile again.  Hold it - and click.

I waited anxiously, knowing that if this didn't work, I was going to have to go to Glamor Shots or some place like that as my next option.  He patiently developed, cut and carefully handed me the folder like it was a sacred tome.  Now granted, I was praying the photo did come out looking human, but I think he took this exchange a bit too seriously.  But then again, it was this type of professional I needed.  I waited till I was outside to look at them and ....

Not bad.  Not great, but not bad.  Just one problem - I had psycho eyes.

My hair looked good, my mouth was at least even, with a slight hint of a smile.  My clothes looked good as did my color.  It was just my eyes that were messed up.  Badly.

The best way to describe them is a wide-eyed, darting, psycho criminal looking.  If you were to see someone on the news with eyes like these, you would immediately suspect that person had just committed a very serious crime against another human being.  You wouldn't even need to hear the story.  You would just assume it by looking at them.  So would passport control, I feared.

So - which set to use?  Ugly @ss smile, f-ed up hair, pale skin, with good looking blue eyes, or the well dressed, somewhat contained hair, decent-smiling, good color, psycho-eye photo?  How did I choose to define myself for the next 10 years to Immigration Officers around the world?

It was remarkably easy, actually.  In times of crisis, go with the good hair shot.  Criminal concerns be damned.  Psycho eye Jim will be traveling to far away lands for the next decade.

Bon voyage!