what the hell? forehead vampire?....

The man at the door's name was Dean, but he was more like a "Deano". Sliding the cellphone away from his flappy little mouth, he made a motion to his balding head and the mysterious pair of nicks and stated almost as soon as he said hello, "Sorry about the appearance. I was on the phone earlier with a call from the UK, and just found out I'd been nominated for the Academy Award equivalent in London England. Well, I just fell over and hit hard on a cabinet and gave myself a pretty good gash here." Right away I had no other thought than that the successes in this man's life had been small to say the least. He proceeded to rush us through his rather standard middle class one story house. As I pasted through a living room that looked like a cheap Florida condo (mind you one that wasn't beach front). A faux leather sectional couch surrounded the entire living room shaded by a multi-bulbed brass reading lamp. In the background against the wall was what had to be a 50+ inch t.v. with some obligatory film playing, maybe one he worked on somewhere in some non-credited copacity that I assure he had increased and exploited in his mind to something pretty impressive for his friends and family. To the right was the real profession, and money work he did, though he was sure not to point it out, still portrait photography for weddings, birthdays, barmitza's (sp.), and the list went on I'm sure. As we started to descend the stairs to the "studio" Dean was eager to get us in I was stricken with a quick fear that maybe we were to be lead to our doom. A horrible Midwestern cult would await to sacrifice us to some Hollywood God, or maybe be sold into some sort of menial slavery in the fields of Springfield and surrounding counties. Maybe this is where all the missing people of the world ended up. Instead, my fears were quickly demenished as the name dropping, and bravodo began. It was evident that my partner was immediately impressed, I was a bit overwhelmed and spinning....