today i was at a photo shoot for a magazine ad and the german photographer named werner — pronounced ‘verner’, of course — said i looked very british.

when i woke up this morning, nothing after ‘was’ in that last sentence would ever have entered my mind as possibilities for the day ahead. add another passage onto the pile of ‘brian is amazed at seeing himself become a real person’ posts.

(oddly, others agreed with him on this, something i had never even considered — is looking british a compliment? at least if it’s coming from a 40- or 50-something german photographer with a ponytail? i will assume yes.)

i hate seeing typos in things i wrote a few days ago because i know it’s too late to fix them and prevent giving the impression that i am a poor writer, or at least a careless editor, when in fact everyone should know by now that i am not at all unskilled — i am keeping it real. word.

just like i hate thinking that people don’t get my sarcastic arrogance and end up thinking i am conceited, or my sarcastic insecurity and end up thinking i am self-pitying, when in fact i try to mix the two so no one thinks either because really i’m neither. i mean, i simply hate myself as much as the next guy.

[now hearing this: that totally shitty sting desert rose song playing over the loudspeakers for some office thing which i am about to go steal some food from. well, i guess take, not steal, since it’s for any employees. but i didn’t listen to the silly guest speaker beforehand so i sure got them, huh!]