Memories On Metal
Like many of you, I don’t enjoy pictures of myself. My reason is simple: In photos and—let’s be honest—real life, I look a lot more like Keyser Söze than Butch Cassidy or the Sundance Kid. And though that’s quite not the look I’m after, especially as age sends my hairline farther and father north, it is the look I have. I can live with that. I just don’t need pictures of it.
Outstanding go-fast powerboat photography is even more spectacular when printed on aluminum.
Even when I worked for Powerboat magazine and running boats for photo sessions was part of my job, I never got used to seeing my mug in the pages of any given issue. And if by chance I made the cover, which blessedly happened just twice in my 15-plus years with the magazine? Pure squirmy, skin-crawling hell. (But my mom loved it because, well, that’s just what good moms do.)
But thanks to Bob Christie, I finally have a photo of myself that I like. Strike that—I love it, so much I’m actually going to display it in my home.
and then