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Monday, September 20, 2004
Mister Popular
Friday morning, I received an unexpected phonecall: "Hi, I'm ----, the staff writer at DAILY (newspaper). The Director of ---- referred us to you. We want to do a segment on you."
"Uh, sure."
What followed was a 10-15 minute phone interview and a subsequent phonecall from a photographer to meet up with me ASAP. Ten pictures later of showing off my shy but confident smile, the photographer winks: "Don't you feel like a celebrity?"
"No, not really." Deep down, the vain me wanted to give him a threat: "You better make me look good in the layout or else! Photoshop me if you have to!" But I didn't say that.
By Saturday morning, I was excited to grab a copy of the DAILY. I glanced through the paper scanning for a big ass picture of myself. Suddenly, I felt a little like Jake did when he was chronicled in Chicago magazine (click 1, 2, 3 and 4).
On the article spotlighting myself, the writer had to focus on certain things that I had hoped would not end up in print. But ofcourse it did. Overall though, it was still well-written. My reaction to my picture was mixed. I thought it was decent, but apparently EVERY person that saw it said I was photogenic.
I guess I'm just being too hard on myself.
"The girls in the office was going gaga over your article. I didn't have the heart to tell them you were gay." says a colleague friend I've known for five years.
So yeah, I'm mister popular for a Saturday, and especially late Saturday night when I attended a huge festival party. I thought it'd be a bust bringing my camera, but final picture tally that evening was 76 pictures: mostly of people I've met in the past two weeks and others who probably I will never see again. I got asked out by a GWG (girl without gaydar) earlier last week. [I added her number to the BAD bowl.] I was also asked out by another GWG at the party. I just blushed then politely declined.
Coming home past 5:30am from an afterparty, it seemed rather not right to enter my apartment by myself. Suddenly, my popular status doesn't mean much. I wasn't looking for company that night to share my bed, but with a night of exuberant fun with tens and dozens of crowds, it felt weird being by myself. I blame the alcohol.
I guess after being so high, you're eventually bound to crash.
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