21 November 2005

Tattoo ME...

Well, Michael was in town this weekend, ready to get amped and par-tay like you know we do. Example- upon arrival on Friday, we went straight over to the Pizzeria Uno's over on 86th and didn't even wait around to hang out a bit. Seriously, no joking.

So after a wild night of 7-11 trips, Boy Meets World and Cheeseburger Big Bites, we packed it in around 4 AM and got ready for our big day- Saturday- for which we had a thing or two planned in advance.

The first thing we had planned was to get up around one in the afternoon, which we promptly (or not, actually) did. Our plan for this day? To get me a tattoo. And fast.

We finally settled with Inkstop Tattoos on Ave. A between 12th and 13th streets. I was interested in getting a silhouette of an elephant on my left forearm- nothing to complicated. When I first walked in and explained this to the guy up front, he was more concerned that I didn't bring a picture as reference. I told him it wasn't anything in detail, just a black, filled in outline of the sideview of an elephant. He expressed doubt and told me to look at all the designs around the shop for something close. I was confused- these guys are artists, right? They can't just make that happen on some scrap paper first? Weird. Things were looking somewhat dismal.

But then out of nowhere one of the parlor employees ascended with a perfect side-view of an elephant, exactly as I'd pictured it. Perfect. So in we went and away he poked.

Mike was telling me that the sensation, the "pain" of getting one isn't really comparable to anything else- not that it's worse than anything else, it's just not like, say, a beesting, or getting pinched, or whatever. The best analogy I could conjure was that it felt like someone had fired a lighter for a while, let the metal get hot, and then put it to my skin. I'm sure that would have actually hurt a lot more, but there was a burning sensation. Your first inclination is to focus on how much it hurt, but upon consciously ignoring it, it got less uncomfortable. That's what Mike said was the best word for the pain. "Uncomfortable." Rugi, the artist that worked on me, said it was "annoying." Both worked for me. Even after the skin got numb and you couldn't feel it as much, there were a couple times that for whatever reason it hurt especially bad, and it actually shot shivers up my spine. But not the end of the world. As soon as he stopped drilling, per se, it stopped hurting.

Erin talked to me the whole time, too, trying to take my mind off how bad it hurt. That was nice. She was more worried about me than I was. What was really funny was when she took off before I went to get started to find a bathroom, and she came back and we had moved to the back of the parlor. Mike and I looked into the security camera and watched her look around for us. I don't know, it was funny for some reason.

I'm psyched though- Rugi did a great job, and it looks exactly how I wanted it to. Now I'm in the process of oiling it up 4 times a day until the "wound" eventually heals. I'm psyched though. It makes me look more bad-ass.

Next, for dinner, Erin, Mike and I went over to the legendary Chumley's, a pub noted as a former speakeasy and hangout for the literary crowd. The walls are lined with bookcovers of the published works of former guests, and hanging in the bar is a wooden plank signed by, among others, ee cummings, Ernest Hemingway, William Faulkner, Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac, John Steinbeck, Buster Keaton, William Styron, and a ton more. Mike took a good picture, considering the lighting, which is right here in the blog entry!

While there I looked down at the tattoo, which Rugi had wrapped in Seran wrap and taped down, and as a result of some blood loss, trapped under the wrap, my forearm looked like a package taken from a butcher shop. Ewww.

Then we went home and watched the appallingly bad bootleg of The 40 Year Old Virgin I'd purchased a couple weeks earlier. Mike decided he'd rather keep trying his hand at The Warriors- which he totally fell in love with. He was talking to the game the entire time, saying stuff like, "who wants some?" And "so does anyone want to die tonight?" At one point, in a level where both fellow gang members AND cops were after him, Mike was being pursued by a cop when a Moonrunner came out of nowhere and clotheslined him. Frustrated, Mike yelled "goddammit man, come on! We're both trying to get out of here, man!"

Sunday was spent with Best Week Ever, more Boy Meets World and some breakfast at the 79th St. Diner. Mike headed home at about 345, and Erin and I missed him very much.

Also, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the top-three of all time headache I got Sunday night. Combine it with an intense bout of nausea, and I thought I was going to die last night. Wow did that suck.

______________________________ |