So I’m reading Entertainment Weekly this morning, after breakfast, in a lazy sort of way, trying to decide whether I’m going to spend my Saturday writing the first notes on a strange sort of collaborative tale I’ll be doing with Gene Wolfe, to be published at World Horror Con next year, or whether I’m going to read The Black House, the new King/Straub collaboration (as opposed to The Talisman, the old King/Straub collaboration), and I’m turning the pages the way one does at the back of EW, especially when one hits the music section (their tastes and mine usually failing to intersect) and I turn a page and notice a photo of Andy Dick and look up to the top left of the page and see a photo of Snoop Dogg, and stop to read the article, which is, it turns out, about blogging: keeping journals like this one.

And I’m in there, and they say some very nice things about this one (if you’re coming in late, we’re really at the tip of the tail here. Read the archives…). And finally, after reading the whole article, I notice there’s also a photo on the page, immediately under the picture of Andy Dick, that I had singularly and utterly failed to notice the first time, and it’s a photo of me.

Which left me really puzzled. I mean, I thought I’d be — at least to me, if not to the rest of the world — more recognisable than Andy Dick. Apparently not.