An Essay on Art: A Type Of

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about tattoos. And when I say “lately”, I mean for about 5 minutes earlier today.

I remember when I got my first one at the precocious age of 19 and my dad found out. He FLIPPED out! (Yeah, you all thought he was always so cool, didn’t you). His largest concern was that the act had put me into a different class of people, a “type”, if you will. He got over that and now finds them interesting…tattoos in general, not just mine. I think Mom always had a “eh, it’s your body” feeling with regards to my socially accepted self-mutilation…with the exception of letting me dye my hair (mean!)

They are a funny thing, though. Special, in that you have them forever – but not so in that everyone and their grandmother has one these days. We no longer have to worry about being 80 with saggy inked body bits flapping about because we’ll all be in the same boat. And I don’t know about you, but I love seeing old people with tattoos. It gives them that much more character. Tells you a little something about them.

That being said, I often find myself looking at someone’s tattoo and (on a regular basis) having any of the following reactions:

1. “Dear god, why?”

2. “Oh!”

3. “REEEEally?”

4. “That makes my heart cry”

Earlier in my life, I was of the opinion that they were a very personal thing. Time and thought went into the choosing of one. And each had a reason for its existence. Of course the amount of time and the type of reason can sometimes be directly related to the proximity of a vacation and/or alcohol…but the fact remains. For some people, I still believe the “personal” theory to be true. For others, I believe their free time and any disposable income should be taken away.

I could take up space with examples here, but we’ve all seen them. And if you haven’t, all you have to do is google.

For my own, personal experience…I think I got my first tattoo too young. The good news is, I’m not sorry I got it and think it still looks great. It’s just, I’m not sure I would’ve been quite so keen on the size and detail at 30 the way I was at 19. It’s a good tattoo, purchased in an old parlor on Frenchman in New Orleans. It’s not there anymore. They painted the hundreds of year old brick yellow and made it an Electric Ladyland. It’s Egyptian – taken from a sketch in an old book I found at the university library. My only complaint is that the feet of the tattoo peek out from my shirt if I ever lean over and to this day I have children AND adults lifting UP my shirt to try to see it in it entirety.

You may or may not know the story of the second one. I posted here when I got it, but I don’t remember if I explained why I chose the barn swallow. There’s a nautical myth that says a sailor would get a barn swallow tattooed for every 5,000 nautical miles he traveled. I’ve traveled significantly more than that, but tattoos hurt and are expensive and so only purchased two.

I have two restrictions on any tattoo I commission:

1. It must be placed on a part of my body that is least likely to get fat

And

2. No color – if they had color and were visible, I’d feel the need to match my outfits to them.

I don’t imagine I’m alone in my pickiness…but I’m interested…call it anthropologically…in who out there among my acquaintances has tattoos? Don’t tell me here…comments are too hard to compile. Email me. Or comment that you’ll email me. OR if you don’t have one, tattoo me why. Or just comment it. And I refuse to let you say that you just haven’t figured out what you wanted yet. I bite my thumb at such a lack of originality/funds/inspiration.

I’ve finally given this blog its own email address, so send a description of your tattoo(s) to condishair@gmail.com. You will presented (anonymously if you so desire) as a portion of my scientific findings (within a sample size of the dozen or so people who read this blog). Feel free to out friends and loved ones if you yourself are not inked.

Just know - I refuse to blog again until I get at least 10 emails.

My, that was verbose, wasn’t it.

Fresh Ink

I did my state taxes during a conference call today. Sometimes I have no right to complain.

So I got my second tattoo last week. Well, in actuality, I got my second and third tattoos last week. A lot of thought went into it. And some pain. But that came later. But I got it and I'm extraordinarily happy with it. And I've tried to take pictures of it without totally succeeding. Anyway...you'll see it on here.

This is my first "public" tattoo. I have another on my back that only makes appearances in the swimsuit season...and sometimes not even then. I got it when I was 19 and it's my homage to Egyptian mythology. It's lovely but I always swore it would be the only one I would ever have. I liked that it could be hidden and it's situated just so, so that in the event of sudden mass obesity...it won't stretch into Jaba the Hut. All things I thought important at the time.

Then 9 years passed. I changed a bit. My body...my job...my perspective...all changed. I used to be so concerned about maintaining a certain standard when it came to my skin. I'd look at chicks with tattoos on their stomachs, legs...the fleshy part of the arm and I'd think, "when they get old that's gonna look like a rubbery turtle". But then I thought about getting old...something I don't generally like to think about, given my hatred of all things elderly, and I realized, what the fuck do I care if I look like a rubbery turtle? Your skin rots right off you're body when you age. Who cares if it's less than peach? What am I preserving it for? It's not like I'll be sporting a bikini...and if I try to, I invite anyone with a permit to take me down on site.

So what I'm saying here is, I decided to get a second tattoo...and in that same little internal planning session...I decided to allow it to be visible. Now I have it. And it currently itches like a motherfucker.

I enjoy that my generation is such a fan of the ink. This social acceptance allows me to have a corporate job and wear and look how I want without any fear of losing my position. In fact...I have several colleagues who are much more colorful than I. And I enjoy it. Not so of my parent's time. Sucked to be you, parents.

The pictures aren't very clear...but no one else was here to take them so it's all you get.They're a stylized adaptation of a swallow brooch from the 1950s. According to people who may or may not know what they're talking about (in other words...lore) sailors would get a tattoo of a swallow for every 5,000 nautical miles traveled. There's more to it than that, but I've grown weary of typing and you all know how to use google...or a library. Anyway, I've traveled enough that I should've gotten something like ten...but in case I didn't mention it before, tattoos fucking hurt...so two it is. And this picture's just kind of awesome because the blurriness gives them a 'mid-flight' appearance.

Wonders Never Cease

What’s this?! Two posts so close together!? What can I say…I’m feeling…inspired.

So, without further ado...

Reasons Why Viggo Mortensen is Hot:

1. He never seems to age past a rakish 43ish
2. He can rock long hair and not look...you know
3. His name is 'Viggo'...which is Danish for 'hot'. Not really, but it should be
4. He can rock a slicked back pompadour and not look...you know
5. He seems like he might be tall
6. I can watch him put a cigarette out on his tongue and think "yummy"
7. Cary Grant chin…few can pull it off…so many try
8. He’s a poet and a painter and I still like him (turn offs. What.)
9. I never see him in gossip rags or on dlisted
and…oh YES…
10. The sauna scene in Eastern Promises
11. He's hot because there's ten whole reasons why he's hot

I hope you all enjoy the fact that I review movies way the fuck after everyone else has already seen them. I know I do.

Eastern Promises…no wait…let me back up. I am not the world’s biggest David Cronenberg fan. This is mainly because I’m too weak-stomached to handle middle school health films let alone the bloodbaths that this guy directs. I’m concerned about the man. Someone needs to make sure puppies aren’t being tortured in his basement for inspiration. Anyway, I am one of four people of my aquaintence that didn’t pee themselves over History of Violence. This was…as many movies are to me…almost a good movie. It had all this promise in the beginning…and then it fucking TANKED. I’d like to blame Maria Bello…but I can’t. It's not her fault this time.

So, when the preview for Eastern Promises came on…I was intrigued, but not enough to go see it. I figured it would be a disappointing squibfest and it would tarnish the hotness of Viggo. Besides…Naomi Watts only has one facial expression. Dumbfounded. But, you know…then Netflix happened and *poof* it arrived on my doorstep. Or mailbox. Or mailbox a cote d’my doorstep. And I watched it. And now tattoos for everyone!

Seriously though…the plot interested me, the violence, though squibtastically gushy, was “tasteful” given the subject matter…and, um…the sauna scene was nice. I walked away from it with an interest in learning a bit more about the Russian Mafia and mild disappointment that Vincent Cassel didn’t do any of that kick ass capoeira shit over laser beams like in Oceans 12. Though to link it in plot-wise, but that's what screenwriters are for. What I’m saying here is that I didn’t hate it. And I was ready to. And then there was the sauna scene. Did I mention that already? Hmmm.

If that doesn’t get you to rent it…then fuck you, I give up.