Jimmy Buffett calls them a “Permanent reminder of a temporary feeling.” What can I tell, you, it seemed like a good idea…
Yep, the Middle Aged Crazy guy has proved it, he IS crazy. Grandpa got inked.
Show me a man with a tattoo and I’ll show you a man with an interesting past. ~Jack London
I know all the reasons a 54 year old man should not get a tattoo. They are permanent, they won’t look good when you sag, your kids will know you’ve gone round the bend, you are a moron and, oh yea: “It hurts.”
Hell yes it hurt. It hurt like nothing I’ve ever experienced, imagine a dental drill with no novocaine… on the outside! Hot needles crashed into bone, administered next to a sign that says “No Crybabies” by a guy half my age who was inked like a roadmap of Boston, while teenage girls watched and waited their turn. It hurt and I’ll be damned if I let on. Nope, I’ve taken foul balls between the legs and not rubbed, this old school catcher wasn’t going to cry. With one hand with a death grip on the leg of the massage table and the other in my pocket to avoid flinching into the tattoo gun, I endured.
I always look for a woman who has a tattoo. I see a woman with a tattoo, and I’m thinking, okay, here’s a gal who’s capable of making a decision she’ll regret in the future. ~Richard Jeni
A rather unique kind of hurt, I had volunteered for it, paid for it, and once the fun began, I couldn’t exactly quit and run crying from the parlor, there were girls watching. Usually, we strive to avoid pain, for some ridiculous reason, I signed up for this one. Not just a few minutes either. Could I stick to the plan and get a little star on the fleshy part of my arm? No, this Menza Member decided to go for the pectoral full Angel, so I was in for over an hour of torture, get some and know a lot more is coming. (Ok, I talked, gave away more than name, rank and serial number). The collar bone hurt the most, the fleshy part of the chest the least. By least, let me remind you, this guy was injecting dye into my skin with an electric needle. Ouch. Freaking ouch.
I know: I’m Zen Master, a Ninja, former Marine. I’ll quiet my mind. Yea, that worked for a few seconds, until the needle hit: “Owie”, my mind screamed, “I want an ice cream sandwich!” Natural my hell, I want an epidural. Could childbirth hurt this much? I don’t care, this hurt enough for this man. Respect, Mom.
Your body is a temple, but how long can you live in the same house before you redecorate? ~Author Unknown
Art? Well, I’ve drawn this distinction, the designer is the artist, the installer is the technician. If you execute someone else’s plan with no interpretation, you are a technician. I asked Brian, “Do you feel more like an artist or a barber?” “It’s a trade,” he answered, yet in reality, he was an artist. His booth was full of his work and he was patient and as gentle as a guy with a hot electric needle could be.
I went in looking for either an angel wing or a star, both symbols of personal inspiration, I wanted to show my commitment to this new creative approach to life and decided today was the day. I wanted to do something without asking permission, without worrying about what anyone else thought, something of my own design, something that was mine. I found a design of an angel looking inspired and made the decision, sign me up Sparky! Brian and I modified it and I was wondering what I’d gotten myself into mere seconds later.
The best part, a tattooed biker guy was waiting for an empty chair as I headed out. His eyes met mine and he smiled. “Welcome to the club” his eyes said. “Ouch” my eyes said back. Yet; I realized, I’m on his team now. I’m glad.
Someday, my Great Grandchildren will utter this phrase, “Oh, yea the old guy in the casket had a tat like that. He was weird.” And that, my friends, is a noble goal.