Archive for November, 2013
Turkey trot
So, today I get to wreak havoc through the streets of San Jose by way of my Anybot.
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Tattoo #75
Tattoo by Kyle, Doc Dog’s Las Vegas Tattoo, Ybor City
So, this tattoo, number seventy-five, isn’t a song lyric, or a book quote, or a film quote, or even a quote anybody would ever recognize. Still, it’s a quote that suits me, I think. It was crafted to suit me.
I have a similar quote that Ira Glass crafted for me. He was talking about me, talking about our This American Life episode. He was telling someone about how I have all these experiences during which I could die, leaving my house is kind of a dice roll, but given all that, he said I’m just “so fucking normal.” I thought that was about right, I’m normal in that I’m pretty much as fucked as anybody else. Now, what he said is permanently etched into my leg.
Well, recently I was tweeting Aimee Mann about something I wrote and I ended with, “Yes, I’m weird.” I’m weird in a lot of ways, but I’m definitely especially weird about my writing. Everything that’s typed here is first completely “written” in my head. I hear the words, I know how they’re going to fit together, then I do the final physical act of typing. I know, that sounds a little weird.
I often like writing first-person present, some people don’t dig that, but I write it anyway. That’s what I was telling Aimee, that’s what ended with, “Yes, I’m weird.” That’s what garnered the reply that’s now permanently etched into my stomach…
“…just weird enough…”
I liked that, I’ll happily wear that label until time wears it away.
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Tattoo #74
Tattoo by my man, Colt, Doc Dog’s Las Vegas Tattoo, Ybor City
So, this tattoo, my seventy-fourth, is from one of my favorite Elliott Smith songs, Talking to Mary, which is off of the posthumously released two-disc set, New Moon.
Mary is the kind of woman that you’re lucky to ever meet. She knows you better than anybody ever has, or ever will; She can hear what you’re thinking like you were saying it right out loud. You love her so much, you’re scared, always, somewhere in your head, of the day she might go away.
I know this woman, that feeling. Nothing feels so bad, and so purely good, both at the same time.
