I’m having my makeup done and from my point of view, it’s not going well.

It’s nine a.m. on Sunday morning. I’m seated in a chair in someone’s living room in a neighborhood near LA International Airport. In a few moments I’ll be on camera, talking about my book on a show described to me as a Web-based version of The Daily Show. The target audience is stay-at-home dads and the production team is comprised of (mostly) men who worked together for many years on Dateline NBC.

Linda, the makeup artist, turns her back to me momentarily, squirts a dollop of babyshit green goo into her hands and begins to apply it to my ears. Aside from the time I let my daughter put her Skittles-scented lipstick and cheek stuff on me, this is the first time I have ever worn makeup and I’ll be honest: I don’t know why anyone would need babyshit green goo on his ears.

“Whatcha got there, Linda?”

“Your ears are really red,” she says. “When you wear sunscreen, don’t forget to put it on your ears.”

So there you have it. Wear sunscreen or wear baby shit.

She wipes the green goo from her hands and turns to examine my face again. This is an uncomfortable predicament for me. There are two parts of my body that I don’t really like to have scrutinized, and one of them is my face. But here I am, and there she is, and wow is it warm in here or is that just my self-respect going down in flames?

Had she stopped right here, right now, I may have been able to escape with at least a limp wisp of myself intact. But she didn’t. She put a black drop cloth around me and tucked napkins inside the collar, against my neck.

Then she broke out the airbrush. The fucking airbrush.

There is a small metal well on top of the airbrush and Linda fills the well with a soup of various shades of tan and beige. Then she tells me to close my eyes and begins to spray back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. I can feel the spritz landing on my face and it occurs to me that this is how a giant barn door must feel when it’s being hosed down with bright red paint.

A minute passes. Then two. Then five. Still spraying.

I take this as a bad sign.

“Wow,” I say. “That bad, huh?”

No response. Question answered.

I wonder what comes after the airbrush. A belt sander? A nail gun? Explosives?

Finally, I am saved. The director busts in and firmly says, “Linda, we have to go right now. Finish up and let’s get Danny to the set.”

She sighs a little, as if to say “OK, but there’s still a LOT of work to do on this one.”

And then I sat down and started talking about men with depression, which was actually quite perfect because I was wearing a three-inch-thick blanket of paint on my face and baby shit on my red ears and where’s the god-damned happiness news in that?

Comments

Oh yeah? Try doing that backwards. In heels.

"I wonder what comes after the airbrush. A belt sander? A nail gun? Explosives?"

All of the above. It's hard work being a woman, you know.

Just be happy she didn't get to waxing/plucking anything, okay?

No pictures? C'mon!!

I'm with beta dad: let's see some before and afters!

LOVE this. I'll bet you looked almost as pretty as the day your daughter dolled you up in Skittles makeup!

Fame's a bitch, ain't it, Danny? These days, with high-def, make-up doesn't help much anyway. My husband and I regularly play the exciting new T.V.-based game, "Spot the Not-So-Hidden Blemish."

Linda is obviously a perfectionist. Those are the people that like to hurt others, right?

You should ask her to airbrush your chest so it looks like your nipples are even.

Wouldn't it be awesome if they had an airbrush that could make your dick look bigger? Maybe Linda knows...

I'm certain they would have saved the time and effort and just gotten a stand in for me.

Oh! Danny. You know how cute you are. Though Momo is pretty funny on that one.... Hope you had some fun and your mascara didn't run.

"Yeah, and your looks are kinda pretty. When your face isn't screwing it up."

Is there a situation where a Goonies quote does not apply? I THINK NOT.

I'm off to buy suntan lotion for my ears. IMMEDIATELY.

Lol. You told us how you felt like after the air brush session, but you didn't tell us how you looked like after the airbrush. So do tell, did it make you look any more dishy? :)

(By the way, i'm not Linda, the makeup girl. haha)

I LOVE that you let your daughter put make-up on you. When I was little, my dad let me put necklaces and clip on earnings on him, but he totally refused to let me put on make-up despite all my begging!

I just wanted to say I finally got enough peace from the husband and kids to finish Rage this weekend. I LOVED it! You are an amazing writer!! I can't wait for the next book! :)

"...wow is it warm in here or is that just my self-respect going down in flames?" You've got a great way with words Danny!

Kittenpie is right - "Just be happy she didn't get to waxing/plucking anything" :)

Oh hell. I totally agree with Kittenpie. The plucking would be miserable!!

You have a way with words man, lmao just sorry to be at your expense! Hope the interview went well. Beauty is pain!! :-D

All that was brilliant. I had my first professional make-up experience last week complete with airbrush and yeah, it was everything you described. I didn't get the green goo though.

Danny,

just finished Meshugenah. Definitely a great book.. I want to thank you for it. It helps me understand me. My first time on your blob, but not my last. I am so happy for you and your family.
Keep us laughing and keep us looking up to true north. I am a poster child for your book as you obviously wrote it about me.
Just reading it gives me impetus to help myself. I have 3 great daughters who all support me with their love and attention. My wife doesn't understand my depression and sees me as a failure, a shirker and lazy. I am neither of those. I left a copy of Rage against the meshugenah for her to pick up and read, but i have no confidence she will.

Gee dash Dee (if he exists) should bless you for your unselfish exposing of your condition.

Most sincerely,

Gary