You’re not going to be able to get an entire, massive piece on your back or full arm sleeve in a half hour.
In grade school my penmanship was beautiful – calligraphy at its finest. However, by middle school cursive was rendered useless in the terms and conditions of small print. Unfortunately, nothing’s really changed since then. Yes, Cingular is now known as AT&T, but I still have the vocabulary of a fifth grader.
As per a noticeable cultural shift, tattooed girls are now seen absolutely everywhere, and bold tattooing is no longer reserved for punkers, bikers, inmates, soldiers, sailors, carnies, or anyone of “fringe class” (credit: Frank Reynolds).
Years ago, my Uncle Butch made a lot of money in the stock market. Apparently random people with no real knowledge of finance can actually do that.
The quest for permanence is what makes us tweet the set list right after the show. It causes us to announce every movie we watch, book we read, and to instantly review everything. Little by little, the camera in our brain and the pictures stored in our body’s memory have become antiquated.
It was a time when tattoos were still rare acts of defiance instead of thoughtless rites of passage now considered almost tasteless and passé. I wanted to make some kind of commitment, a statement of permanence, a badge of courage, an evidence of my tolerance for pain. I wanted to be a grownup, sure enough about myself to sit there among strange men and their tobacco, and actually take home a piece of their unpopular, devious art on my reckless, virgin skin.
I don’t mean to suggest that my tattoos aren’t a big deal to me. In fact, I cherish all of them — I’ve even come to appreciate the one with the Bible verse that I got shortly before I stopped believing in God.