My Glass House

Well, I just lost my entire Glass House post while trying to edit it.  Nice.  I was being pretty sanctimonious, so maybe it’s for the best?  The gist of it was blahblahblah–don’t make fun of people’s looks or take pictures of strangers and post them online, especially not children–blahblahblah.  Word count reduced from over 600 to under 100.  Maybe I should always write gist only.

[Jamie Anne and Amy sent me the original text, so it follows.]

Ever taken a bad picture?  I have.  I’ve learned how to pose and work my
lighting over the years, but they won’t let you do that at the DMV.
And, as I said earlier today, I have mugshots out there somewhere.  All
I know for sure is that my hair and nails looked fantastic.  The rest of
my close-up probably resembled Alice Cooper after a really physical
show.

I like to look good in photographs.  It is my preference to look
fabulous, but I gave up on attaching emotion to bad ones.  I mean, good
or bad, the photo is still me.  Hate to think I look like that some of
the time, but if I do, I do.  That’s that, and that’s me, and I’m happy
with myself.  Besides, I can find something to tear apart in every
picture of me.  We all can.

I am fairly blase about my image, but I can afford to be.  For the most
part, I control when and which images you see of me.  Even if I am going
to post something that isn’t the most flattering, chances are I won’t
ever post something I think is grossly unflattering.  For example,
you’re probably never going to see me in my leggings and wife beater,
when my hair is yanked back, and I’m wearing last night’s makeup.
However, if you go to any number of websites dedicated to making fun of
what people look like, you could probably find a fair facsimile.  I
don’t visit those sites because I can’t help but think of how I would
feel showing up on one.

Listen, I’m no saint.  I swing wildly between, “Oh my god, Becky!  Look
at her butt!” and “If you can’t say something nice, then shut your damn
mouth.  That’s a person who has feelings inside those ill-fitting hot
pants.”  I like to think that the needle wobbles nearer my closed mouth
these days, but even as I type I am recalling that I have been guilty of
forwarding photos that have been sent to me after adding my own
commentary.  Usually saying something like, “Christmas on a cracker!
Why would she even SEND this?!  Has she no eyes?!”  Obviously, I need to
get better before I knock all the windows out of my glass house here.

Still, I’m going to throw a couple of rocks.

One:  Don’t take pictures of strangers and post them on your website, or
your social networking page, or email them to your friends.  I worked
for a company whose customer service philosophy was Imagine It’s You.
It is a simple philosophy, but covers a lot of bases.  Imagine that
someone took that picture of you and used you as a jumping off point for
their entertainment.  Or your sister.  Or your best friend.  Or, God
forbid, your child.  Imagine that.

Two:  How about not making fun of people’s looks to begin with?  Good
rule of thumb is that if someone was born with it and/or it would
require surgery to change it, it is off limits.

Three:  Especially not kids.  And listen, this is where I have been
chief among sinners.  If I thought you were making fun of my child, I
would happily pull your lower lip over the back of your head.  You
remember Mrs. Jumbo’s freak out when the other lady elephants laugh at
Dumbo?  You would wish you were dealing with a mad elephant.  So why
would I ever think it was okay to do it?  That’s just being a yotch.  I
expect you all to hold me to this.  Print it out.  Roll it up.  Slap me
across the nose with it.  I’m ashamed just typing this, but I ought to
be, so that’s okay.  Some shame is healthy, and confession is good for
the soul.

I have been bullied, and I have been a bully.  Either way, I lost sleep
at night.  Better to lose sleep in innocence, right?

Woo.  I’m feeling a draft.  I’ll catch you guys tomorrow.  I need to go
board up these holes.