by Greg Olear
NEW PALTZ, N.Y. -
Recently it has come to my attention that I’m maybe not as good-looking as I’d thought.
I used to have a pretty good idea where I fit on the whole pulchritude scale: somewhere in the middle of the pack, for sure, but closer to the George Clooney ten than the Yasser Arafat zero. I’m not handsome enough to trade on my looks, nor am I not handsome enough that my deficiencies would impede me getting the girl. My attractiveness is neither dealmaker not dealbreaker.