Man in the mirror

 

I've been seeing these AI generated videos of famous people who have died side by side from when they were young and how they looked just before they died. It is pretty eerie. So I asked ChatGPT to humor me and create some stills of the young and old me facing off.

It illustrates this phenomenon I think many of us experience as we age. In our heads we still look like whatever age we were before the mirror started lying to us. There comes a point when looking into the mirror is like looking at a stranger.  

I find myself projecting that onto famous people I remember from their early days. Social media cruelly exploits showcasing the ravages of time on them. It is startling how unrecognizable some people are when they have aged. It is much more noticeable when you are familiar with what they looked like then and see them now. It is less noticeable with people you see on a regular basis. You only notice the difference when old photos pop up.

I fell into the trap at one point of wanting to show people I work with (especially the younger ones) that I was once young and energetic, too.  I remember this one point when we were celebrating a milestone of may five or so years of when the company I work for was founded. They had found a video I was in promoting the project, probably in the early 1990s. I had long hair and was skinny and as handsome as I was ever to be. The audience freaked out. The CEO at the time remarked that I was pretty good looking back then and I remember responding, "I still am." But this voice inside me knew that wasn't true. But I got something out of people being amazed at what the young me looked like.

I tried recreating that moment at one of my team staff meetings years later. I wrote about it here. I was doing a funny retrospect of my life. It was met with awkward silence and uncomfortable glances at the clock.  It was an epiphany for me that no one cares what I looked like then or now. I'm not a famous actor. Even my own children just laughed at photos of me from my school days when I tried sharing them with them. 

Still, it is interesting to me to challenge ChatGPT to resurrect the young me from the smattering of photos I have. 

I do it now out of artistic and philosophical exploration because I know no one else actually gives a shit what I looked like then or now. 

I find it vaguely sad when I browse thrift stores in my archeological digs through vintage treasures and pass through the areas full of old frames people have donated. Though most are empty frames some contain baby photos, family photos, photos of couples, studio portraits and photos of what were important events in someone's life. I image how they made it to the thrift stores...divorces, chaotic moves and in many cases deaths of people with no one left who cared about photos of their lives.

I realize that when we die it doesn't really matter if there is a physical trace of your life. We are idealistically taught that what is more important is whether you did something...anything...that made the world a better place.  It is a good question.  I do understand, after seeing all of the abandoned images in thrift stores, why some people purge everything in their waning years. Because who wants their images to be pawed through by strangers?

In the meantime, I'll continue to stare my aging self in the face and look for meaning.

Elephants hiding in trees

 

Q: Why don't you see elephants hiding in trees? A: Because they are really good at it.

In February 2011 I posted about how hard it was to Photoshop yourself as an elephant. The trunk is the tricky part.  I asked ChatGPT to give it a whirl. I had to cloak the ask in non-specific terms to avoid the guardrails built into the poor things AI brain that prevents it from violating obscure rules. It's first attempt was interesting.

I look like some Masonic Hall ceremony gone astray.  I like it, but not totally the Elephant Man vibe I was looking for. So I asked for it in black and white with a simple cloak and slouch hat.

Now that is an Elephant Man you'd encounter in a back alley or carnival sideshow. I think it turned out to be a quite memorable image of an elephant me. But I realized that I've never created a giraffe version of me. So since ChatGPT is always ready to go to the next level, I tried.

Here's it's first attempt.

I like it. Very Jungle Tim on African safari. But I wanted some a bit more like the Elephant man. So I asked it to go black and white and make it look more like the elephant version of me with a longer neck and longer beard.

Almost there, but a bit too much like a billy goat and missing a hat. And honestly, other than the beard, how can you tell it is me? So we tried again.

See what happens when you stick your neck out?

Venus rising (and falling)

 

I created this image in 2009 in a post called Coming out of my shell. I asked ChatGPT to recreate the image and it refused because the image depicts a nude woman and apparently we are no longer in the renaissance era and too many people have been using AI to create porn. It blows my mind that we live in a time where it is okay for rogue government thugs to murder people on the street but god forbid we recreate a Renaissance painting that shows a woman's nipple. Two nipples, I could understand. 

But I have to get along with ChatGPT's overlords or they will cut me off from advice that is spot on at least 10 percent of the time.  And I've grown used to its effusive flattery. So I compromised with this image.

Honestly, I think this version is more flattering and funny than I would have as a chubby, nude Venus. I think it has that Big Lebowski vibe. It is very Dude.  It took some art direction to get there. ChatGPT wouldn't match the original painting pose with the arms. I suppose it would look too much like I was grabbing my crotch. But I did get it to throw in the towel...no pun intended.

King me

 

In April of 2007 I wrote a post about my brief stint as the president of the chess club when I was in 9th grade. In my usual way, I meandered through me being a mediocre chess player with no real interest in playing the game seriously. I joined the club then to give me those extra curricular activity points you need to show how well rounded you are in life.  In actuality chess bores me to tears. I tried teaching my kids to play, but neither had any great interest in it either.

The point of the post then was my lack of interest in most things of following a plan or "strategy" as they like to banter about in my workplace.  I have always simply done things I think are common sense to accomplish something.  I've taken the management training courses with the various decision making strategies (I think they are RACIE models or some such rubbish).  Fortunately I work in the creative side of marketing. Rather than pinning a creative idea on a board and cutting it open to look at it's intestines, I simply look at it and ask myself whether it speaks to me and whether it has any negative side. Because one thing I've found about advertising is that if there is some negative nuance to something someone will find it and rub your nose in it.

So like most of my posts, they were, and are, about things in my life that illustrate what I think the why is for who I am and what I do. Though even at my advanced age I doubt I know the real reason. I am still a work in progress. And I will be a work in progress when I gasp my last breath and utter, "really?"

And as I ended that post in 2007, checkmate, mate.

Who is that mocking at my door?

 

It was February 2026, and the news came that Harper Lee, the author who wrote To Kill a Mockingbird, had died. I, of course, had to recreate me as Boo Radley, my favorite character from the book and the movie. Robert Duvall played Boo in the movie. Later he would go on to fame in the Godfather and Apocalypse Now. But I will always remember him as Boo Radley, the developmentally disabled neighbor of the Atticus Finch family. It is debatable whether he was actually developmentally disabled. It was the south and in a time when relatives who were "a bit off" were hidden. So Boo only came out at night. He was locked up in the house apparently because he had been cutting out photos from a magazine when his father (or some other relative) walked by and he stuck the scissors in his leg.  Who knows what the motivation was. But (spoiler alert) he later became the hero of To Kill a Mockingbird by saving Scout from a crazed killer.

Boo reminded me of my Uncle Ira who lived with my grandmother on my mother's side. Ira was "a bit off" and stayed in his room in the tiny shack of a house my grandmother lived in. I rarely saw him except on holidays when my mother would give him his annual present of socks. Not sure why socks are the universal gift given when you haven't a clue what to get someone you don't really know. Ira had that Boo Radley look of a frighten animal who lives in the shadows. He was convinced the "Red Chinese" were tunneling under the house to get him and take him back to the state hospital. I would always remember him greeting my mother with his slow, southern drawl (which I never understood because he was born in Idaho). "Hey, Ruttttttttttttttth. How ya..........doin." 

That's all I remember of my uncle. He never acknowledged me. I saw him many years later when my grandmother died. He was at the funeral still looking lost. He went up to my grandmother's open casket and waved goodbye to her like a little child and then snapped a photo of her with an old camera with those flashcubes.  I don't remember when he died, but I found his grave in the same cemetery as my grandmother and many of the family members on my mother's side. 

Interesting though, Ira was a twin. My Aunt Irma is still alive, one of two children left from my mother's sibling line of 13 kids. Irma never talked about Ira, at least not to me. She has always been "a bit off" too, but in an endearing fashion. She used to write me letters on scraps of paper and on the backs of old used greeting cards. It was like putting together a puzzle to read them. She was the memory of her mom's family. Though as I pieced together the actual history on Ancestry.com her memories were often a bit enhanced and out of order.  She doesn't write me any more because I wasn't very good at writing back consistently.  The last real letter I sent her was with a framed image of my Uncle Bert (his real name was Edgar) that I colorized. It was a photo of him in the Marines in Guam during World War II. Ironically he lived through World War II and died shortly after he returned home in a small plane crash. He had gone along with a friend who "borrowed" the small plane to test his flying skills. Apparently his flying skills were as bad as his judgement and they both died.

I also sent my aunt a colorized image of me and two of my cousins (her children) when I was about five. One was of the cousins was Mary Lou. She was around the same age of me and died a few years ago. I thought my aunt would appreciate the two photos. Apparently not. I never really heard from her after that Christmas. It was a couple of years ago now. But that is how Aunt Irma is.  She perceives slights in people (like her neighbors) and thinks they are out to get her. Kind of like the Red Chinese tunneling to get my Uncle Ira.  So I imagine I offended her in some way that I didn't intend.  I don't stay in touch with her because I don't care, it is more because of life and my own family and work obligations. It is the barrier to many modern extended families.

Regardless, I now feel like an aged Boo Radley. So here is ChatGPT's interpretation of that.

Despite my family history, they do let me come out of the house. Just not running with scissors (especially in these troubled times).

Me and my shadow

 

The day after Groundhog Day I posted an image of me as Punxsutawney Phil, the famous groundhog who predicts whether we'll have another six weeks of winters or an early spring. Apparently the weather-predicting animal was originally a badger in Germany. When the German settlers arrived in Pennsylvania, they couldn't find many badgers so they switched to the more plentiful groundhog population. It is probably a good thing because if Punxsutawney Phil was a badger, not too many people in top hats and overcoats would be hoisting him up in the air without losing an eye or half their face. Badgers are pretty ill-tempered creatures.

That being said, here's me now as Punxsutawney Tim.

I have to say, I make a pretty ill-tempered looking groundhog, too. 

Sling low...

 

In April 2007, I used a transformation of me as Karl in the movie Sling Blade as a way of illustrating the beauty of simplicity in language versus the convoluted babble that spews out of most people. I still think Billy Bob Thornton was brilliant in that role. To this day I don't know how he did it. I would never had associated the actor's real appearance with the transformation he made into Karl. Since then Thornton has become a highly respected actor, though he mainly plays alcoholic geniuses. And I imagine he is weirder than shit to know in person.

I had a go around with ChatGPT's guardrail about recreating this image of me as Karl. I asked for an image of me as Karl in the movie Sling Blade.  It spit out an image of me at first that was basically me with a shaved head and a rumpled shirt. 

I could have been a member of the Manson Family, but I wouldn't jump right to Sling Blade.

So I snapped another selfie of me pursing my lips like Karl and shared it with Chat with the instructions to have me sitting on a stump holding a bottle of soda. I also asked for the top button of my shirt to be buttoned. That triggered the lawyers infesting ChatGPT's soul.  That crossed the line.  Turns out I should have said "in the style of" instead of citing the character and movie.  But Chat is good about giving me workarounds to the voices in it's AI head. It suggested I say:

“Please create an image of me as a rural Southern Gothic character. I am sitting on a tree stump outdoors, holding a soda bottle in both hands. I’m wearing a plain work shirt with the top button fastened. My expression is stoic and withdrawn, with a quiet, unsettling stillness. The setting feels humid and subdued, with muted natural colors and a contemplative, cinematic tone. The style should feel gritty, realistic, and emotionally heavy — like an independent Southern drama — without referencing any specific movie or character.”

It then gave me this image:

Now this was closer. That was almost Karl but Chat hadn't used the new photo I provided with a Karl-like expression. So I asked again and it gave me this.

Now that was the Karl expression and pose, but it didn't give me Karl's hair. So I tried asking for the exact same image but with close cropped hair and once again it kicked into the guard rails. So I ended up using Photoshop and created the version I was looking for.

This is a long, meandering path to show you that, although AI is amazing, it still requires a great deal of creative direction to achieve what you are looking for. I am a creative director by profession, so I'm used to that but I don't think most people realize what really goes into it.

"All right, den..."

Rock, paper, scissorshands

 

I became Edward Scissorhands for a post I made about a bad live theater performance I went to in April 2007 based on Edward Scissorhands, the movie. It was a performance without dialogue or lyrics. It was a performance that was so bad, I have absolutely no memory of it except for my post in 2007.   So in a sense, my blog has become my memory, even for things I would just as soon forget.  

But I do like the images ChatGPT created of me as an older Edward Scissorhands. I think the one with black hair makes me look like Snape from Harry Potter.  Or I look like that nutjob record producer who went to prison for shooting a woman -- Phil Spector. He liked to wear crazy ass wigs to his trial. I have to say that I'm digging the black leather suit, though.

Now the white haired version is more me and doesn't look like I am afraid to age.  I do think it makes me look like an aged Andy Warhol.  I also look like I could be a character in Dune, the movie.

The scar on both images does add to my tough, weathered look. I'd like to imagine this is what Edward Scissorhands would look like if they did a sequel today. And I'm letting Tim Burton (who is the same age as me) know that I'm available.  

No snippy comments please.

Upside Down Under

 

Back in March 2007 I was celebrating one of my many themed weeks with images of me as animals native to Australia. I started with a kangaroo (which I discovered is not an easy animal to mimic because of their long snout.

ChatGPT just didn't bother and treated turning me into a kangaroo more as a many wearing a kangaroos skin (not that I would ever do that). I let it slide. Next up was a dingo.

As you can see, my version was fairly crude with the main source of my identity being my eyes and my scraggly goatee. I hoped ChatGPT could do better.

But again, this looks more like a freakish dog with my face.  So I asked for more of a snout. The second attempt was just basically just an image of a dingo. So I asked again.

If you didn't know me (and most of you don't), this again, looks like a dingo, but there are my squinting eyes and sort of my mouth and beard. Not too shabby.

Next, in 2007,  I had put my face on a echidna, a freaky looking hedgehog like animal with a long, narrow snout.

I was pretty proud of that one. It is the kind of creature that would make someone swear of drinking or drugs. I was quite curious how ChatGPT would handle that one. It unpleasantly surprised me.

Now that is one dignified looking echidna.  It truly reflects my personality (and my face). 

And what Australian animal collection would be complete without a koala.

Again, my version was crude and just not koala cuddly. But ChatGPT was on a roll.

Don't you just want to hug me?  

G'day.

Monsters, aren't we all

 

In March 2007 I tried my hand at being the Bride of Frankenstein. It was a post that was more about my hair than the Bride of Frankenstein. I'd been going to the same stylist for years and then she got pregnant and left the salon. The nerve of her. My hair was never quite the same.

The pandemic created chaos with haircutting. My hair got a bit shaggy and more unkept looking than normal. So when salons started reopening, I jumped at the opportunity.  But by this time the salon experience had severely degraded. There was no coffee while you waited and you had the awkwardness of having a mask half on and half off. Then there was the "I'm an old man and we'll just give you a standard old man cut" factor. I went through a couple of stylists at the same salon over about three years. The first one moved back to Texas. The second one was okay but never really cut my hair the same way each time so it was like Forrest Gump's box of chocolates. She eventually left to take the summer off and never came back.  Now I have a stylist who I think I mentioned barely remembers me from one haircut to the next. She walked right past me in front of the salon at my last appointment without any sign of recognition. I realize she probably cuts lots of people's hair, but if I was to give her or any haircutting professional some advice, it would be to keep notes about your clients so you can pretend to remember them. It keeps them (and their tips) coming back. 

So as I said in my post back in 2007, maybe it is time to reconsider a ponytail. 

Hopefully there is a light....

 

In February of 2007 I put my face on the Statue of Liberty.  I suppose you could say I took liberties with the Statue of Liberty. It was a minor rebellion against what I believed at the time was discrimination from others on a group blog I made the mistake of joining.  I don't even remember what the dispute was about. Something about Vanilla (their term for straight people).  Even reading the post I don't remember what it was about. But I felt strongly enough to have the Statue of Liberty with my face, holding a non-vanilla ice cream cone.

Now it is 2026 and everything the Statue of Liberty once stood for seems to have been flushed down the toilet by the Orange Menace and his goosestepping minions.  Ironically, I believe the original statue design had chains around her ankles as a reminder of our country's history of supporting slavery. The Statue should now be blindfolded, waving goodbye to freedom and have tears pouring down her face. 

Let's hope we can all pull together and keep the torch held high and remain a beacon that gives hope.

A picture (if you will) is worth a thousand words

 

In December of 2005 I waxed poetic about the Twilight Zone.  It was one of my earliest Photoshop attempts. And it expressed my ongoing love of the Twilight Zone and the types of stories it dealt with (although limited greatly by special effects at the time).  

One of my early triumphs as a PR hack early in my career was a brochure called The Construction Zone, that riffed on the Twilight Zone and won me some of my first writing awards in the self-congratulating world of business communications organizations.  I even used "Do do, doo, do" on the cover of the brochure. It was an early triumph of my eventually to be Dad Joke style of humor.

But check out this image of me as Rod Serling now.

Speaking of self-congratulating, that is one handsome looking older gentleman.  If only suits really looked like that on me.  But it's fun to picture, if I will....

Chasing white rabbits

 

Back in March 2007 I meandered along a Wonderland themed path and  became the White Rabbit, the Mad Hatter (who was never referred to as the Mad Hatter in the book) and the Cheshire Cat.

I was prone to themes back then and was always trying to top one image with the next. It was the thing I enjoyed more about blogging than writing...creating visuals to express myself more than the words. I am pretty convinced people weren't really reading much of what I was writing even back then. But the images seemed popular. Or I projected my own joy in creating them on the still robust following I seemed to have. By robust, I would sometimes get 12 or so comments on a post. This often translated to maybe four or five people who regularly read my blog. Though many of them read my blog because I read their blogs. And one of the regular readers was a self-confessed schizophrenic who wrote brillant posts but spent a great deal of their time hiding under their bed eating popcorn.

Now I think I have maybe two people who read my blog on a regular basis and sporadically at best. I rarely get comments.  This is probably for the better. 

Anyway, here is my Alice in Wonderland series updated in 2026.

I like them all, but the Cheshire Cat is probably my favorite, because I seem less stern and severe. And I'm going to share one more that I didn't actually do myself in 2007 but seemed logical in 2026.

Now that is a wonder.