Picture Perfect, for 40 Years

Usually, in this column, I talk about myself.

But this being the 40th anniversary of the magazine and all, I thought I would talk about something different.

My picture.

See it over there? On the top left-hand corner? Or maybe on the bottom right-hand corner? Hard to say where it is these days. Playing peekaboo with it is part of the fun.

Wheeee!

Fun, huh?

The real fun is that it isn't actually a picture at all. Not in the photographic sense.

It is an illustration.

No more of that stodgy exact-likeness-of-me stuff, what with all that silly recognition hoo-ha. Nosireebob. We're going for something a bit more … what's the word? Oh yeah - fun!

I'll admit it, I fell into a little snit earlier this year when the magazine replaced my photo with a drawing, er, illustration.

I said some things to the editor that I shouldn't have. Things like "editing under the influence." And "crazy as a TV commercial mattress salesman." And "if you like it so much, why don't you have them make an illustration for your column?" And … um … wait a minute. According to my Mail Waiting to Be Sent folder, I never dispatched that e-mail. [To whoever edits my column: Please delete this entire paragraph before Sherri Burns sees it. Thanks. ­- Jim]

But I am over my pique now.

That's because I prefer the anonymity that comes with being unrecognizable. See, the illustration does not look like me.

Those of you who recall the photo that used to run with this column know that I look exactly like Brad Pitt.