Utils in Bat Country

Lollapalooza, 2010, Redux

I am home from Lolla. And various other wanderings.

To wit: On the 29th of July, I drove to Michigan, dogs in tow. I went to karaoke at the not-Elbow Room (oh, Elbow Room, how I miss thee). I hung out with my dad on Friday and was offered a pittance for my engagement ring. Thus, instead of selling it, my dad and I went to Knight's Steakhouse and drank vodka. The 31st was the Z Family Summer Gathering, and gather we did. Replete with full family photo and everything.

Things start to get fuzzy in my head then, about when I left Michigan, but I think it was the following Wednesday. Last Thursday I left for Chicago, arriving (much to my surprise) after C did, and then walking several blocks in the wrong direction before turning around and figuring myself out. We went out for dinner, found 'our' bar in Chicago, and were in bed early for the show the next day.

Friday: It was looking like prototypical Lolla for C&T. Show, heat, food. After the show, we made a half-hearted attempt to go to a bar, wouldn't wait, and so got Subway and ate in our room watching a Tomb Raider movie. Oh, how I wish I was kidding.

This came, of course, on the tail of seeing Lady Gaga perform. Now, I'm sure that some of our 10 readers are not Gaga fans, and I wouldn't blame you. It's dance-pop, and not something I am usually drawn to either. But. DEAR GOD. HER STAGE SHOW. Was so good that I STILL cannot talk about it. The woman breathed into a microphone, and the crowd (estimates are around 80,000 people) went nuts, myself included. So perhaps we can be excused our lame evening.

Saturday: Dear 14-year-old Tassie. Get up earlier and get those tickets to that Green Day show. In doing so, you will save your slightly older self the pain and suffering that is hearing Green Day in 2010. MAKE. IT. STOP.

On the way out of the show, someone was handing out fliers for a Necromantix show. So we went. After I changed into a Britney Spears tshirt. (Duh.) Then back to our bar for drinks, where we waited in line with some equipment crew from Lolla. Who offered to double up on a table with us, to be seated faster, and then paid for our drinks, in a not at all creepy way. Good. And beer.

Sunday: SOUNDGARDEN. I WAS TWO FEET AWAY FROM CHRIS CORNELL. And then some whore slammed up against me to get closer to him as he walked through the barrier area during Outshine. Which wouldn't normally be a problem, except I was up against the very-heavy barrier fence. And I have the bruises to prove it. When he walked away again, I had to throw a Bill Lambeer-style elbow at this bitch's face to make her GET THE FUCK OFF ME.

We went back to the bar after the show. And then the night got Epic. EP-IC. And that's all the tantalizing information I shall give you.

But it was so good that I had to slam TWO bloody marys at the airport bar the next day to function. In retrospect, I should have had them at the hotel bar before we left, and I would have been much better off. (And seriously, people, I can drink. I am no lightweight. I am a partier. So if I REQUIRE booze to function the next day? It's been a Night To Remember.)

Fast forward, slightly. Got home Monday night. Tuesday afternoon I drove BACK to Michigan to retrieve my dogs, thinking I would go home Wednesday morning. Except I started feeling lousy, and realized I had a cold/flu/ZOMGI'MDYING. I laid on my parent's couch all day Wednesday, feeling like ass. Started to feel better, went to C's to get some stuff she took home for me, and realized no, I did not feel much better at all. Yesterday, I drove home, finally.

This morning, I took a bus to New York City. I am an unstoppable force of nature, people. UNFUCKINGSTOPPABLE. I had one of my tattoos photographed for use in a cookbook coming out this winter. Seriously. My lemon and I will be featured in a cookbook. How fucking badass is that?

I am back home now. In Baltimore. And I swear I'm not leaving my house for at least 48 hours straight. I seriously just need to meditate on the meaning of life. And the dishes.

Book of Tattoos, Chapter the Second Point Two

Way back here I discussed a tattoo. My second tattoo, actually. I got it in Baltimore, years and years ago. My ex-husband drew it for me, because he was much like a penguin, and I wanted to commemorate that.

Fast forward to a few days ago. The ex and I? Not exactly on good terms anymore. I honestly don't know why, because we were friends, and then we weren't. Something in him snapped, and that was it. So whatever, you know?

Except that the tattoo, as tiny and insignificant as it was, started to bug the hell out of me. Why carry around a constant reminder of this guy? So, when I went with C over the weekend so that she could get tattooed, I talked to my guy in the shop. And asked if he would cover it up. Because he owed me a free tattoo from back in the day (he told me, after my fourth YGWYG that he'd do one for free if he could pick it).

And so we went from this:

To this:

And lo, my leg is much happier.

Book of Tattoos, Chapter the Seventeenth

And, the final You Get What You Get is shown.

It's a spider chic. Except, I'm thinking I got the pirate after the spider. Or something. It's all a tattoo blur in my head.

Big news to annouce next week, along with my tattoo.

Also, I finally, on my third attempt, bought and actually received the Twilight books on ebay. And foolishly I started New Moon last night, and was therefore up until 3 in the morning. And awake at 7 this morning. So I'm rolling on four hours of sleep, and it's not bothering me. Which probably should be worrying, based on how my week started with a flu-like illness.

Oh life. Why do you fuck with me like this?

Book of Tattoos, Chapter the Sixteenth

Also known as a day late, but a new tattoo.

As in New New. As in, I got it yesterday.

The last week has alternated between being great and being terrible.

I'm not going to go into details here, yet. But yesterday I took the day off work. And after doing a lot of nothing for a good part of the day, I had to run an errand. And after the errand, I ran to the tattoo parlor. An idea, spurred by something silly, had wormed its way into my brain. My artist back in Michigan recommended a guy in Baltimore, but he wasn't working yesterday. BUT, I decided I needed the work, and I needed it ASAP. And so, to the shop I went. And walked out many hours later with this.

This was taken maybe 20 minutes after he was done. He's on the front of my right leg, just under my knee. Ouchie. But I loves him very much. And he's so colorful. As is my leg, because you can see how red and swollen it is around the tattoo.

(Really, it wasn't that bad. There were a couple of ZOMGOUCH places, but on the whole...) 

Book of Tattoos, Chapter the Fifteenth

Or however you spell 15th.

Gosh, I have a lot of tattoos.

Remember You Get What You Get? I've posted two that I have, the Reaper and the Rat. I honestly can't remember if this was my third or fourth YGWYG piece...

 But I think she's awesome. She was, technically, a part of a larger piece, but the shop cut her down for the purposes of the box. She's pretty fresh here, which is why there are some gross spots on her, and why my leg was sticky enough that dog hair is clinging to it.

I love everything about her. My artist gave me very little room to say anything about color. In fact, if I remember correctly, he didn't let me say anything at all. Which was fine by me.

The penguin below her? That I listed in Chapter Two? I'm going to get that covered, and probably very soon. My divorce is near final (thank you very much), and I just don't like what it stands for anymore. I'll also probably get my Star Wars piece covered, and replace it elsewhere with a bigger, better Star Wars tattoo...

My day is a little strained, so I'm not hip to the writing. Which is why I give you this very simple tattoo with a basic story...

I'll be back on Friday with my daily tarot throw. This weekend COULD be very interesting...

Book of Tattoos, Chapter the Fourteenth

Dude. I have an overwhelming urge to use today's post to talk about how much I'd like to find Chuck Klosterman and make him marry me, so we can talk about indie rock and college basketball for the rest of our lives.

In fact, I wonder if he's married...

Dammit. He got married last year.

He's still fucking amazing, and I love his writing. And I'm reading his new book, and I've laughed out loud several times on the Metro in the last couple of days. And I don't care. He's that funny.

(And when I find an author I like, I tend to gobble up everything they've ever written. Soon I'll have to start searching the internet for dated essays from Klosterman's back catalog. But whatever, I digress.)

Anyway! Tattoos!

Today, for your viewing pleasure, a tattoo I got for my mom.

Awww. You thought it was going to be either 1) some flowers, 2) a heart with a MOM banner, 3) a swallow/bird with a MOM banner, 4) her signature? No way, dude. It's a devil. It's a very specific devil, actually.

That's right. It's the Underwood Food devil. This version is from the 1970s-80s. Today's Underwood devil is a little more cartoony, and a little less evil. Not that this devil is really all that evil looking. But the modern one just doesn't convey the same message. Not to mention, it's this one that I remember from when I was little.

My mom is a good cook. She does things midwestern style, and that's fine by me. She can't make Jello to save her soul, and the one time she tried to make gingerbread that I had...well...that was just a bad day. But everything else she makes is aces.

That said, it's deviled ham sandwiches that I chose to commemorate her with on my leg. (Oh, and mom is very much still alive and kicking [HI MOM!], even after a couple bouts with cancer a couple of years ago.)

My dad won't eat the stuff, but mom and I sure will. On white bread, preferably Wonder bread. With nothing more than a giant smear of the meat-like substance and some yellow mustard. Are there other ways to eat this? Who fucking cares? This is how it's DONE.

I have no idea why the memory of eating deviled ham sandwiches with my mom when I was little is so clear to me, but there it is. She also made a badass grilled cheese (Velveeta only, please. Dipped in ketchup, with a pickle on the side). But that just doesn't translate as well into a tattoo.

This picture was taken right after he was done. I had to go back and get another layer of color a couple months later, because GIANT swaths of red are hard to heal (at least, for me they are). I don't remember exactly when I got this, but I think someone went with me and got one at the same time. I do remember that it hurt. He's on the outside of my right calf. Steph here, jumping in to assert that it was I actually that was with Tass when she got the devil and I got my first and we had pizza afterwards in the shop and then went out afterwards and met our friend Jim and she whipped off her bandage and I was wearing white socks and old pajama pants and looked like someone who should not be on the streets let alone out places and OMG HOW DO YOU NOT REMEMBER THIS ANASTASIA!!  I weep, piteous tears.

Every once in a while I get a dirty look because of this tattoo. Being an atheist, I never thought twice about the idea of satanic symbols on my leg...so I suppose there are those who are offended. I don't worry about that. Because I know that the tattoo is for a disgustingly good potted meat product, even if others don't.  

Book of Tattoos, Chapter the Thirteenth

Part of the problem I have, when deciding what tattoos to post on what weeks, is that I forget about doing it until sometime Wednesday morning. And by then, I'm tied to posting whatever tattoos I have pictures up on FB of. Because I'm at work, and can't just access my home computer. So, although I should be putting up something more interesting for the epic 13th tattoo, you're getting one with a long, and probably not as humorous backstory to you, the reader, as it is for me.

It must have been my birthday in 2007...I think. I had a small group of people meet at a local brewery in my home town. Nothing exciting, just a few friends having a few beers and chatting. And although I never ask for gifts, some were brought. Now, I never turn gifts down, and seeing what people buy you is always good times.

One friend had recently started a new job at a Whole Foods. Her gift to me, because I camp during the summers, were the makings of s'mores. A box of organic graham crackers, some organic chocolate. And a bag of kosher marshmallows. And a couple of camping fork things, to roast said marshmallows on.

Yes. Kosher.

The bag of marshmallows was the source of much amusement around the table. There were illustrations of smiling, happy marshmallows on the bag. And each one of us at the table took up one as "us", our interchangable marshmallow persona. Good times, you know. And the marshmallows themselves? To make them kosher? Were made out of ocean perch and tilapia. FISH GELATIN, my friends. FISH.

It was all fun and games until C looked at me and said the fateful words..."Dude. We should totally get those as a tattoo."

Duh. OF COURSE WE SHOULD.

And so, the Shalomallow tattoo was born. C found the quote. Or she already knew it. Or whatever. It was either this or "I'll stop the world and melt with you." But this one worked so much better. It's Robert Frost. And I think his estate would be epically pleased to know that there are two women running around the US with burning marshmallows tattooed on their legs (C's is on her thigh), highlighted by a piece of Frost's poetry. Wouldn't you be?

I love this tattoo. First because it makes me think of C. I mean, I can never get away from her now. We MATCH. Second, just look at how happy they are! With flames licking around their delicate little faces, these Shalomallows stand tall and proud and HAPPY with their impending destrution. (Find the poem, it's called "Fire and Ice", and you'll understand.) Which, now that I'm waxing philosophic about it, is actually JUST LIKE ME. I would prefer the fire to the ice, the searing blaze of glory to the cold. Hmmm.

And let us not forget that the kosher symbol is included in the tattoo (the circle U). C was unsure about this detail, but it was a requirement. They can't be Shalomallows without it, you know? (And before you say it, all props to Jews and their kosher ways. I'm not making fun of anything other than myself with this tattoo, or calling them Shalomallows.)

We had fun getting these tattoos. The very top of my knee hurt like a motherfucker, I won't lie. But we joked and laughed the whole time. We had plans for a matching one with popsicles, but they never happened. I'm working out the details of a giant squid tattoo with C instead, now. And by "working out the details" I mean asked someone who's a good artist to put something together for us. Someday.

Interestingly, I'm more than halfway done with my Book of Tattoos, as far as the numbers stand right now. Posting one a week, minus a couple of weeks I missed, goes through them quickly. Either I need to get more tattoos, or just deal with the fact that at some point the book will be closed for a while. But no worries, I've got a couple more months worth... 

Book of Tattoos, Chapter the Twelfth

Oh, interwebs. My life, it is complex and mostly sucks right now. And so I shall give you this tattoo, which was hardly the twelfth that I got. But right now, it means so much more.

First, let me set the stage for you.

I was married once. Once.

OK, there's more to it than that. I was married once. And as my marriage was crumbling around my ears, I found Kate Nash. And on her album Play was the song "Foundations."

 

 

Now, for those not willing to listen to a young British woman sing about almost breaking up, let me give you the line that caught my attention.

"You said I must eat so many lemons, 'cause I am so bitter."

And lo, an idea was born.

Once I got to DC and moved in and all comfy, I spent a good many nights drinking and crying. Alone. On the phone with people. Mostly alone. And I was OK with that, for the most part. Getting over a ten year relationship is never easy, and mine was no different. And then one day, that line caught my attention. Because not only was I getting over being married, I was going through a couple of really weird things with people, and I WAS bitter. Because love? It sucks. Really, relationships suck, whether the love is there or not. And so, I told C about it. And she gave me the idea for the whole thing. And then I went to an artist and said make this happen. And lo she did.

Some people like to point out that lemons are not, technically, bitter. Whatever. The zest is bitter, and in the song they're bitter, and that's enough for me. Those are pickles in the back. Dill pickles are not necessarily bitter either. But. That is neither here nor there. Because there's a lemon. With a heart in it. Dripping and bitter.

I was going to save this particular tattoo for the day I get the documentation that my divorce is final (yes, it's been since mid-2008...don't ask). But...instead I felt the need to post it today. I'm not bitter right now, but there's some stuff going on. And I could get bitter pretty quickly. Again. Not that it ever really went away. 

And I am sometimes impressed with the fact that I got as far along in academia as I did, when reading things like this that I have written. Ouch.

Book of Tattoos, Chapter the Eleventh

Steph just asked if I was going to post a tattoo today. And I was. And then I forgot. So here I am! With another exciting installment of How Many Ways Can Tassie Force Herself to Wear Long Pants to Work for the Rest of Her Life!

Ahh yes. Another literary tattoo. The big red fist, gripping a peyote button. What, that doesn't sound literary to you? Well, it is.

When I was something like 16, Rolling Stone magazine ran a 25th anniversary piece about Hunter S. Thompson's Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. I read the excerpt, jumped in my car, drove to downtown Ann Arbor, went to Borders, asked where his stuff was found, and proceeded to buy as much as my 16-year-old-self could afford. And LO! Did I love me some HST. I reread F&L every year, usually in a few hours. In parts it is one of the most disgusting things you can ever read. In others, Thompson is so poetic about life, its squalidness, its nastiness, its ability to create the Fear for those atuned enough to realize what was going on around them.

Yet, somewhere in that book, there is hope. In a passage about the high water mark of the 1960s, when Thompson seems to genuinely feel there was a Chace for society, that real Change could occur if the people were given the room to run...it's almost breathtaking to read. I don't know if that's because Thompson was just that good as an author, or if not having been alive during the 1960s means I, like so many others, find it easy to glamorize the decade.

I have also, for the last few years, found myself walking a fine line between the likes of HST and Janis Joplin. I'm certainly not doing the drugs they did (me and cocaine...just doesn't sound like a good idea). But the way they looked at life, some of the ridiculous risks they took, and the way they both drank...oh the way they drank. Not really something to aspire to, my friends. And yet, there it is.

I had talked about this tattoo for several years, and last summer said, "Screw It!" And got it done. I was going to get the first line of F&L around it (We were somewhere around Barstow, on the edge of the desert, when the drugs began to take hold.) but I didn't. I don't know now if I'd like to squeeze them in or not.  All the other HST quotes seem too trite and overdone.

The fist itself is part of a large piece, that includes a dagger and the word GONZO. But I didn't want the dagger, and gonzo...just wasn't what I was looking for. I'm not a journalist, after all, and that's what gonzo is in reference to.

Anyway. The larger piece was a campaign poster for HST in either 1970 or '72 (I can't remember which, but I lean towards 1970) when he ran for sheriff in Aspen, Colorado. He almost won, too. On the Freak Power ticket. For real.

I also have a Janis tattoo. Perhaps, if I'm thinking about it, I'll post it next week.

And, because so few people respond or comment to our posts, I'll throw a question out there. If you were the type to get tattoos (and who knows, maybe you have full sleeves...I can't see you) is there an author you love enough to devote skin space to? Never mind the "I could never get a tattoo" thing, I care not about that. But who's your fave? Books that shaped your young minds? Buehller?
 

Friday Round Up

I made baked polenta with a mushroom ragu for dinner last night and I am less than thrilled.  Such high pseudo-gourmet hopes, such longing for Papa Romano's pizza. 

My nephew's 3rd birthday party is tomorrow and since it's on the way, we're going to head out early and stop at Anthropologie.  On my list: Balletomane Tank, Climbing Cowlneck, maybe the Rare Bloom Tee (opinions, please, I already have it in turquoise and LOVE it...is navy too close?), the Free Flow tank which has looked beyond adorable on Kim and Chloe and many other people much tinier than I am....  hmm.  And many other things I'm sure as whenever I walk into the store I tend to fling myself into the racks and roll around with the pretty pretty sweaters. 

Dear Anthropologie employees, please don't call security.

Dear bank account, I apologize.

It's World Nutella Day! My preferred Nutella consumption method - slathered on some deliciously salty pretzels.  Or in Rocher's.  Or baked into a dessert pastry. 

I was chatting with a colleague about our weekend plans and we both got through to Sunday and said eh, nothing really, I guess.  Hours later I remembered, oh, yeah, there's a...game of some sort?  With lots of commercials?  And I've already talked to some friends about getting together?  Way to care about the country, self.

After chatting with R last night, I really realllllly want to get another tattoo.  This is bad idea jeans as the one I want next will probably require a consultation and design and more thought on the artist's part than me walking in and being all weeee tattoo! Now! 

I am absolutely 100% waiting for the Dear John wiki page to be updated with the ending before I decide whether or not I'm going to see it.  I need a happy ending dagnabit! 

Yes, as a matter of fact, if the books I'm reading don't have a happy ending, I'll fling them at the wall.  Too much strife in life, I'd like to escape to the land of happy dancing gnomes in my books please.  Whatever, literature, with your strife and human condition-ness.

The flinging satisfaction has been greatly impeded since I've begun reading on the Kindle.

I am positively gleeful about the news that they're making a sequel to Enchanted.

Any enjoyable weekend plans out there in blog land?