So. My fingernails. They’re red. Bright red. Incredibly fucking red. I have incredibly fucking red fingernails. I’m typing this with fingers that have incredibly fucking red nails. It’s really distracting.
Last night, during the fourth quarter of the Super Bowl, while it looked like San Francisco might actually make a comeback, I had my fingernails painted incredibly fucking red. The actual shade of red, according to the label on the bottle, is Siren. No, I’m not making that up. Siren. Also on the label is a warning:
Avoid Heat and Flame
For all I know, Heat and Flame may be other shades of red. And if they’re redder than Siren, you can bet your ass I’ll avoid them. But I assume the manufacturers of Siren are actually warning me NOT to put the bottle of fingernail polish in a fire. I hadn’t even considered putting the bottle in a fire — not until they told me NOT to. Now it seems like it might be an interesting experiment.
You may be wondering why I had my fingernails Sirenized. I got to confess, there were moments when I wonder that my ownself. I did it for an Iron Photographer photo. I have discussed the IP process before. I can’t even begin to tell you about the phenomenally stupid shit I’ve done for Iron Photographer photographs. I need to point out that Iron Photographer is about creating artful photographs, not about doing stupid shit. But it’s surprising how often the process involves some degree of stupid shit.
This time it involved Siren. And a shovel. Seriously, it always makes sense while you’re putting the photo together. It’s only when you look at it afterwards that you begin to ask yourself “What the HELL was I thinking?”
Now I have to figure out how to remove this incredibly fucking red nail polish before I can leave the house. Or answer the door (I have an order of Thin Mints scheduled to be delivered and I do NOT want to have Siren-red nails when I’m handing over some cash to the poor innocent Girl Scout. Or her mother).