June

1999

Ugly

I think one of the reasons I think I have a nice ass is that I can’t look at it directly. I mean, I have a repugnant face,and I see it all the time; my room has an astonishing four (4 )mirrors in it! I was working for Isaac Mizrahi a while back and there were mirrors on every wall. I almost vomited from constant exposure to my deformed mug. But I digress. Actually, no, I don’t; this isn’t going to be about my ass at all (please, hold back your gales of disappointment) but rather about my face. My horrible, horrible face.

Let’s start from the top, with hair. I have been blessed with a full head, and my maternal grandfather is thankfully hirsute, putting to rest any genetic fears of baldness. But! the locks atop my cranium are a hideous mockery of real hair: if I wash them, they’re dry, frizzy and unmanageable; and if I don’t, they become greasy, dandruffy and foul to the nose. Either way I look like a moron. And I look stupid in hats (but who doesn’t?)

Moving down, past my sloping, monolithic forehead, peppered by nascent volcanoes of acne and furrowed by premature age-lines, you come to my eyebrows, which are constantly losing hair all over whatever I am working on. Actually, all my body hair falls out on a regular basis, making it look like my habitat is some kind of ape house or something. “Luckily,” I have a lot of it.

Moving on, we come to my eyes; sunken, bleary and unfocused. So many blood vessels have blown in the whites that my mom used to think I was smoking pot all the time; I always look like I’ve been awake for a week and a half drinking animal beer and popping Librium. The deep, grey bags beneath them that no amount of sleep can erase only add to the illusion.

And, located smack-dab between those two cracked windows to my soul lies the crowning glory of my visage: the Jensen Nose. Immense, red, perpetually dripping with the snot of 100 colds, the proboscis draws all eyes to it when I enter a room. And when I sneeze, I nearly pass out. And lucky me when a pimple decides to make an appearance on the tip, extending the length even more. I wish I could afford surgery, but I wouldn’t know where to start.

My face is a foolish experiment in ineffective juxtaposition; the sunken eyes and hawklike nose would be effective in a sort of tormented Edgar Allan Poe way if they weren’t placed above my ridiculous, ruddy Little Dutch Boy cheeks. I look like Ziggy gone horribly, horribly wrong(er) with these foolish apple-cheeks, so easily pinchable that you can gather the flesh of one firmly in a hand and shake so you’d think it would tear right off, like soft, sweet cookie dough instead of the greasy, cancerous flesh it is.

Oh, and my teeth! My teeth! The top row are quite frankly astonishingly straight (unfortunately urine-yellow) without any orthodontic finagling, but the bottom look like a demolished stone fence, battered into chips and crags by burly Irishmen with hammers. And three of my molars have disgusting fillings that refuse to pick up radio signals. Plus, my wisdom teeth are slowly growing in, deforming my jawline even further. And of course, my chapped, red, often bleeding lips, breath that even dogs hate, sunken chin, protuberant Adam’s apple, pubic-looking facial hair, jug-handle ears, of course we can’t forget the mole on my cheek that occasionally sends out a feeler of hair to the outside world and that’s probably some kind of face cancer, and overall grotesque complexion round out the package.

Below the neck (bear with me, I’m nearly done…) it’s not so hot either: sunken chest, bloated Biafran stomach, spindly arms, enormous hands and feet (especially feet, I’m 5’9″ and wear an 11 1/2 shoe, which makes me look like a goddamned circus clown), kneecaps that look like the heads of two badly deformed fetuses, non-Gaussian distribution of body hair, and overall degeneration round out the package.

And I didn’t even mention my tiny, tiny penis.