This story starts out well enough–Tuesday night was Whirlyball time, which is always great for one night a year. The tournament winner seems pretty random, since none of us are that good at driving bumper cars while throwing whiffle balls at targets–and I have always gotten into a shouting match with the referees (mostly because they referee for only 3 of the 8 minutes of every game)–but it’s always a good time.
And then the story takes a turn. Each team determines their team name and can create uniforms. I knew something was up when one of the teams announced their name . . . as my full name. I knew they had something bigger planned with their uniforms, but I didn’t find out until the next night at the tournament.
And in walked a team of five sporting this t-shirt:
That’s me on the right–half of my wedding picture from 1993–and David Beckham on the left (it was pinned on since Kinko’s refused to print his image on the shirt without his consent). So the question is–where did they get my wedding pictures.
Well, as the great blog Oh Crap. My Parents Joined Facebook. continually chronicles, having your parents on Facebook can lead to all kinds of issues. And my mother had posted the wedding picture a few weeks ago. I have no idea why, but she did.
And no, my team didn’t win.
Wait a minute. Kinko’s wanted Becks’ consent but not yours. That’s weird.
At what point does one become famous enough for them to require consent?
I think it has to be when someone wants to put their image on a t-shirt.
Was that a bar question?
In actuality, Kinko’s initially wanted my consent but eventually relented.
So apparently, I’m quasi-famous enough. But I’m a pretty serious blogger.