Fun with mug shots

Time to renew our passports. I’m not a passport photographer but it’s not rocket science so I grabbed my a tripod, took a couple of test shots, and voila! passport photos.

Well, not exactly….

 

Girls are easy

My daughter Catherine, normally a paragon of photogenicity (I think I just coined a word!), objected to the rules for passport photos: no tilted head, no open-mouthed smile, no fetching expression. I told her it is just a mug shot. She responded with attitude, but luckily, the whatever! attitude is just the right one for a passport photo.

Amazing what the clinical approach can do to beauty.

I decided to pull her leg and tell her they need a profile view, too.

Catherine in profile.

You can tell she’s looking out the window and waiting for this ordeal to be over.

My wife was easy. She came home from work, I had the camera ready, and took the photo.

While I had her in front of the camera and (to all appearances) fairly cooperative, I decided to push my luck. She didn’t object.

I call that one “Lucky Me”.

I was even more surprised when she struck a hammy pose — just long enough for me to snap the shutter.

This is the picture that made me  think of my title: fun with mug shots!

Self portraiture is hard

The ladies were easy. Getting a shot of myself, not so much.

Here’s what I started with. Not promising.

Hair out of control

I give my clients a little hair advice prior to portrait sessions. Maybe I need to reread that advice myself. If you see the man above, please notify the authorities. He may be a danger to himself.

Combing didn’t help much:

Combing didn't help much

Water helped a little:

Look back at those three pictures again, if you have the stomach. Those are three photos of the same man (yours truly) taken on the same day. Man of a thousand faces, none of them very appealing.

Since I’d made Catherine do a profile shot, I thought it was only fair I take one of myself. I’m thinking of submitting this one to Police Blotter Quarterly.

If you kiss enough frogs, odds are that sooner or later one of them will turn out to be the distance cousin of a prince:

I think it was the shirt change that did the trick.

By the way, if you noticed that I’ve got glasses on in some of the photos and not in others, you’ve earned an extra five points. I was wearing my contacts, as I (almost) always do when I’m shooting. For some of the photos, I put my glasses on over my photos. Memo to self: Don’t do that again.

And now that I’d found my groove I decided to relax and have a little fun.

I sort of liked this photo on the computer, but when I showed it to Catherine, she said, very definitely, “Uh-uh.”

I asked her what was wrong with it. She replied, “You look mental.” I don’t think she meant “cerebral.” Me and Charlie Manson: separated at birth!

In desperation, I did what any boy does under these circumstances. I reached for my bear. Well, my lion. His name is Roland. I would like to state for the record that he was a Christmas gift. Sure, I asked Santa for him. But I didn’t actually buy him myself.

My daughters gave me Roland the Lion for Christmas eons ago.

If the photography thing doesn’t work out, perhaps I can try ventriloquism.

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