Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Boudoir Photos/Glamour Shots: Is it bonfire night yet, Charlie Brown?

Ooh! Before I start my story, here is an interesting thing from the Choice website:

"According to copyright law, you (the client) own the copyright of photos commissioned for ‘domestic purposes’ (including family portraits, wedding photos and glamour photos), unless you and the photographer agree otherwise."

I don't remember signing anything, or even discussing it, so the photos are MINE and I can sell them! For money even! Hmm . . .

Update (22/1/2007): Actually I can't sell them, because they were commissioned for domestic use. Oh well, they can't sell them, either, but why would they? Dammit! There goes my plan of starting a credit card access-only website!

Angie will start the story now.

So, on Tuesday afternoon I finally went to pick up those damn glamour shots. And as I left the headquarters, and Hard Sell Girl said goodbye, I snarked, "I hope you enjoy your holiday to Bali! That I am paying for!" From the car, with the windows up, of course.

Then I went home and had another look at all of the photos. I like the little ones, because they are small (A4), and cheap(er than buying an organ from China), and easily hidden under the bed/Yellow Pages/shoestand. But the big ones . . . Oh man, they are HUGE. And the trouble is, if you are a nit-picking, low self-esteem wearing, obsessive-compulsive like me, you do not want to be looking at enormous pictures of yourself, no?

The close-up is not bad, but I wish those two WISPS of hair weren't hanging quite so low.

The nude one of me covering my boobs. Y'all (this section needed a Southern accent), why is my thumb angled back like that? Why does my ear-ring look funny? What the hell am I staring at?

And the one of my back? I should have been wearing clown makeup.

Sigh. Of course normal people will look at them and go: Why, Angie! You look lovely! And not scary and all don't-touch-me like you usually do!

But all I will see is strangely angled thumbs, messy hair, and a clown picture, that I paid $2500 in total for . . .


I must perk myself up now. (But why? you ask. We were all enjoying the sweet warm darkness of your depression. Mmm . . . so warm, and dark. Never want to wake up . . .)

No, I insist. I'm going to go to my happy place now. And in a way that doesn't involve vibrating objects or chocolate pudding or shoes.

This is how I cheer myself up.

I am going to be a millionaire in 5 years. (Yes, I have made an executive decision. Try and stop me.) And to a millionaire, you know what?

$5000? It is nothing! It is spare change! It is maybe 3/4 of what I spend on a single handbag! Ahahahaha! Because I am a millionaire!

As a millionaire, I will actually have a house SO BIG that as you're wandering through it, the portraits you see on the walls will seem tastefully spaced apart. (I say "you", because when I am rich I will fly over my overseas friends to visit me regularly.)

Anyway, while wandering through my palatial mansion/house, you will see aforementioned portraits, and you will think, ah yes, a wise choice, having the closeup of Angie in the West Wing and the boobie shot in the East Breakfast Nook.

You will peek into the English games room* and wonder, Why is she using that clown picture as a dart board?

Oh, and perhaps one day, when I am a millionaire, I will be brave enough to tell my mother about them.

Angie: "Lookie, Mumsie! Now that I am a MILLIONAIRE, I've had some pretty photos of me taken! For you to keep! They're all professional and stuff. Oh, er, maybe not the nude one . . ." (gestures urgently to Gaston to take it away.)

"Why is your hair shorter?"

"Um . . . Photoshop? I do own Adobe now, you know. MFC bought it for me as a Christmas present."

"You're wearing too much makeup in those pictures."

"Yeah. It felt like old cake."

"I don't like them. How much did they cost?"**

"I . . . Gah! Never you mind, because I . . . am a millionaire! Now, let's have a bonfire! Because I am a millionaire!"

* This house is so massive that it has SEVERAL games rooms, and they will be sorted by country. The Australian one will be full of beer, pies, and hammocks. Haha! Just kidding! Yes, yes, we have great swimmers and athletes and woo-yay for us Australians.

** Asian mothers are programmed to ask this question in relation to ANYTHING.
"Mum, we sold one of the children today."***
"How much?"

*** N.B. The only "children" we have are a stuffed dog named Heen, Max the little dachshund statue, and MFC's step-son****, Oliver the wooden giraffe, whose picture you can see in this post.

**** Why 'step'? Because I had to fork out the money to buy Oliver! I had to pay for my own toy! At the Perth Royal Show, the equivalent of the county fair! So MFC doesn't get any custody and Oliver doesn't call him "Daddy". Yes, I'm still bitter about it. Can you tell?


Juliness said...

When flown to visit your millionaire self and taken on a guided tour of your mansion, as we pass by the photos on the walls, I promise that my only comment will be, "Hey, I love what you've done with the place."

Nary a thumb, hair or make-up word will pass my lips.

an9ie said...

juliness, that depends on whether you visit before or after the bonfire :)

First-class travel for everyone! No economy/coach seats for MY friends!