Hanging Out All Day At The Tattoo Shop

"My body is my journey and my tattoos are my story."

-- Johnny Depp

Tattoo machine and ink 10-27-14

My tattoo appointment started at 1 p.m. yesterday.

I didn't get home until after 3.

3 a.m., that is.

That's 14 hours. Some of that time was spent getting the design and stencil prepared, and I took a short break for dinner. But otherwise, I was in the chair, under the gun.

I totally dig hanging out at the tattoo shop -- I dig the vibe, the artists, the conversation, the music, the atmosphere -- all of it.

I even dig the pain. For me, the pain of a tattoo is pain that makes sense. I understand this pain. It's pain with purpose and a cause that I can grasp logically.

To a point, tattoo pain is strangely pleasant for me.

To a point.

But after the 12 hour mark or thereabouts, it didn't feel so quite good anymore.

I got a rather large rib piece, and by about 1 a.m. my skin pretty much felt like raw hamburger. I would have sworn my tattooer, Robin, was inking directly onto my ovaries. She promised that she wasn't. But still.

Also, I don't have much extra flesh on my ribs, and a tattoo needle right on the hip bone and the rib bones is less than pleasant.

But I did it. I made it through.

I always feel proud when Robin tells me I "sat like a beast" and am "a badass motherfucker." I love it when she tells me she has clients -- big, burly tough guys -- who can't take even a fraction of the pain that I can.

It's not a skill that's good for much except getting great tattoos.

But at least it's good for one thing.

Paying Tribute

 "Carve your name on hearts, not tombstones."

-- Shannon L. Alder

My new tribute tattoo 8-9-14

"This is like a tribute to them,

the people who helped me to get here."

-- Allen Iverson

Tattoo inspiration 8-9-14

After my Dad died, my Mom was cleaning out some of his things and came across a big book of children's stories that he'd had as a child.

She gave the book to me, figuring that because I had two small boys, they'd probably enjoy the stories their grandpa enjoyed when he was small.

The stories are great. The pictures are great. But the best part of this book is on the title page, right across the editor's name. There, in his little kid printing, in pencil, in all caps, pressing down hard like he really meant it, my Dad scrawled his very own name, "RONALD."

The first time I saw his name written there I had a couple of thoughts. First, that I was so incredibly lucky to have this very personal piece of my father's history. And second, that his kid-printed name would make a really great tattoo someday.

I thought the same thing about a little face -- just a silly, careless doodle really -- that my Mom scribbled one day when she was coloring with my boys. The kids were little. Mom was happy. Dad was still around.

This little face, in red pencil, looked like a self-portrait in a scribbly, silly doodle kind of way. At least I've always thought so.

When I cleaned up the crayons and pencils and paper that day, I secreted her childlike little scribble away and have kept it in my jewelry box ever since. It, along with my Dad's name in the book, are two of my most treasured treasures.

I've always thought it would make a really great tattoo someday as well.

Someday came yesterday.

A couple of weeks from now will mark the tenth "anniversary" -- a much too celebratory word for the circumstances -- of my father's death. It seemed like the right time to have his name inked onto my skin as a tribute to him.

It didn't seem right for him to be there alone, though.

So I put Mom's little scribble face right beside him on the inside of my left wrist (Mom's a lefty), as a tribute to her.

To them.

To us.

For better and for worse, my parents are an integral part of me. I'm a mashup of their personalities, their tendencies, their good and their not-so-good qualities. I see them in me every day -- in the way I look, in the way I behave, in the way I am. And now, I can see them on my skin.

When I lay my fingertips across my Dad's name, I can feel my pulse beating strong there.

My parents were together since they were both 14 years old. Their birthdays are 3 days apart. They clung to their marriage and to each other through good times and bad, sickness and health, just like they promised they always would.

I like that his name and her face came from times in their lives when they were both happy and life was good and death hadn't barged in and stolen the most precious thing from them yet -- each other.

I like the idea that they are together, forever.

On me.

Fresh Ink

"Inking is meditation in liquid form ..."

-- J.H. Everett,

Izzy and the Candy Palace

Self portrait 3-24-14

"I plan on leaving my mark on this world, in ink,

with a pen spill that'll make all the oil spills combined

look like literature."

-- Jarod Kintz

The Days of Yay are Here! Wake Me Up When They're Over

My new tattoo of my favorite quote, from Groucho Marx.