You won't be seeing me on any lotion commercials anytime soon.

Because I work for an ad agency, occasionally an opportunity arises to model for various projects. We've got a studio here at the office. A few weeks ago I was asked to model for an added-value project, something for the portfolio, and now this is hanging on the wall in the hallway:

I call it my Star Trek picture. Also, good reason to never, under any circumstance, shave my head.

Today one of the artists came to me and asked to see my hands. He had with him a photo of what looked like a hand holding a cell phone. I shirked, telling him that I don't have pretty hands. I've got a callus on my right ring finger that I've had since the second grade because I never learned how to hold a pen properly, and I haven't had a manicure since I took up a guitar again, several months ago. Which means don't even look at my left hand. Let's all just pretend it exists only to produce music. I can't expect anything else from it at this point, and neither can anyone else.

"Come on," he said. "They can't be that bad." So I stretched my hands out in front of me, palm up at his request.

First, "Hmm," as he moved in for a closer look, his hands under mine.

And then, "Look at these lines!" He traced with his finger a long vertical line stretching diagonally across my left palm, from my index finger to my wrist.

Finally, "Man, you've got some STUFF going on in your life!" And then he dropped my hands and moved on to the next girl.

And just like that, I was left standing, my palms still out in front of me, mouth agape, not only passed over as a hand model but also given the most ominous fortune of my life.