Normally I spend countless hours carefully handcrafting the articles you read on NoChance (or at least keeping the whip hovering over the heads of the Malaysian children I have working for me) but some urgent matters have come to the forefront which demand my immediate attention. A writer’s work is never done…sigh.
*Some reader mail: For those of you who may have missed it, NoChancer Heather from the great state of Texas (a.k.a. Mexico part 2) had a follow-up question to the tattoo article. Here’s the essence of the response:
"I think I would have to add one obnoxious question to your list though... this is the one that gets me themost. "So, what does it mean?" I probably asked you that about your first one way back in the day, but I have become much more older, wiser and more tattooed since then, so I'll just skip the apology. Also, I have no problem with friends asking me this, but strangers... WTF! To me asking what the tattoo means or why I chose the ones I did is fine from friends but from perfect strangers it seems like a very personal question. It is along the lines of "so, what kind of person are you, anyway?" or"do you believe in god?"
Preach on sister! In order to address the “what does it mean” dilemma we have to consider both sides of the question. On the one hand, it’s like asking “what’s art?” one of those questions posed to hopelessly enthusiastic freshman in humanities classes (oh the good old days). Tattoos can be intensely personal and symbolic, or simply serve the same aesthetic function as a Rothko painting. In the spirit of full disclosure, all the tattoos on my sleeve are taken directly from the Tibetan Book of the Dead. The large flaming-headed demon on my forearm is named dharmamahakalapala, and for those scoring at home my spellcheck just has an aneurysm. He’s the guardian spirit of the Dharma (the Bible of Buddhism) and also the protector of the East. Plus he looks badass. So basically he’s the badass guardian of words that come from the East, rather appropriate for yours truly, no?
On the other hand, some tattoos are stupid and meaningless; don’t be afraid to think so. When I lived in San Diego, I knew I guy who had an enormous crying clown tattooed on his leg. What could have possibly been the story there!? “My dad was a circus clown who died one morning in a terrible pie accident, so I got this tattoo to memorialize him?” “I love clowns, but I hate happiness, so I got this crying clown tattoo to properly express the paradox that is my soul?” It wasn’t just a tattoo, it was his entire leg. If I’ve said it once I’ve said it a million times, people are stupid. You read this column, so you’re obviously at the apex of intelligence. Use your best judgement; if it feels appropriate, ask someone about the meaning of their tattoo, you just may get a fascinating story. And if they have a huge crying clown make a mental note, and then rush home and write me so NoChanceNation can collectively mock them. I love reader mail!
* On a completely different note…there’s no way to say this without sounding like the epitome of LA, so I’m just going to go for it. I met someone famous, actually infamous would be the proper term. That’s right, I met Mike Tyson. It was one of the most surreal moments of my life. There is an endless parade of minor celebrities in my gym desperately working the elliptical machine like their career depended on it (I’m looking at you cast of Real World/Road Rules Challenge), but a bonafide celebrity is rare. The sequence of events was completely ordinary; I’m walking to the squat rack, the large black man in front of turns around, his face is tattooed, and it was Mike Tyson. Sometimes you see a celebrity and there’s that moment of “Is that? Could it be? Oh my God it is.” This was not one of those moments. This was more like the type of “Sweet Jesus that’s Mike Tyson” moment that gazelles must feel right before they spot a lion creeping towards the watering hole. It was all I could do not to pee my pants. He was surprisingly calm, like he was on serious psychological medication calm, but I was ready to run at any moment. He could have pulled a trident out of his gym bag and speared Jeff Goldblum and I wouldn’t have been surprised. We were essentially face to face when he asked me something in such a soft voice I had to ask him to say it again.
“How are you?” asked the former heavyweight champion of the world.
“Um, I’m fine, how are you,” I responded numbly. It would later dawn on me that this was an extraordinarily dangerous question to ask someone who once bit another man’s ear off, but it only seemed polite at the time.
“I’m wonderful, just wonderful,” lisped Iron Mike, “it’s important to be wonderful, are you wonderful.”
“Um, yeah, sure, I’m wonderful,” I responded. At his point every moment I was still alive was a wonderful moment.
“Good, I want you to be wonderful,” said Mike as he walked away to do some sit-ups.
That was it. Nothing spectacular, but I can legitimately say I’ve never been so terrified of another human being in my life. My heart was racing for an hour afterwards. And one last bit of tattoo advice, someone with their face tattooed has officially announced that they have no chance of joining the normal world, not even for a moment. Mike Tyson is so far outside the normal world he makes Flava Flav look like Tom Hanks. I’m not sure that analogy technically makes sense, but you get the idea.
I’ll post a more worldy relevant article next week, that is if Tyson hasn’t hunted me down and eaten my unborn children. That’s basically a direct quote, he actually threatened another boxer with such a fate during a pre-fight press conference. God, I feel so blessed just to be alive right now. Until we meet again…
NoChancer Headlines
Friday, March 9, 2007
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
Ink You Very Much
Here at NoChance we’re committed to not only entertaining you with tales of Hollywood happenings and removed organs, but we also strive to provide our readers with thoughtful and balanced information. And when I say “we”, I mean myself, and the magical elves that sneak into my room late at night to write articles. I firmly believe that knowledge is peace, and that the more we know about each other the better the world will be. Also, a lot of people make me angry when they ask me stupid questions, and that needs to stop. So in the spirit of inclusion and harmony I present:
The Average Person’s Guide to Dealing with Tattooed People
In this handy-dandy little guide I’ll answer some frequently asked questions and review some protocol for dealing with those who are tattooed. The first step is to figure out where you belong. Are you a tattooed person?
Do you have a small turtle inked on your ankle from a spring break in Mexico? Then no, you’re not, and there are probably some embarrassing videos of you on the Internet. Do you have barbwire around your bicep? Then no, you’re not, and steroids have shrunken your testicles to the size of raisins. If neither of these scenarios describes you, than congratulations, you’ve done something right with your life.
Still not sure where you fit? If you’re routinely asked about your tattoos by strangers, than you are, and if not, than you just might be annoying the bejeezus out of others (like say, Nathan Richards Slavik). I’ll also try to let you in on a little bit of inside information that you can use to ridicule people who think they’re cool because of their lame tattoos. Think of this like a public service announcement, I’m in negotiations with Al Gore to do a documentary.
Question 1: “Did it hurt”?
Jesus Christ on a bicycle! Yes it hurts! When you’re tattooed a needle (which can range from the size of a highlighter to a pin) repeatedly punctures the layers of skin directly below the surface. That’s not pleasant. Some parts of the body hurt worse than others, the general rule is the more skin you can pinch the more it will hurt. For example, the inside of your arm hurts far more than the outside. The next time you see a “barb-wire around the bicep” guy, check to see if the ink extends completely around his arm. If the ink is incomplete than he’s a wuss who’s obviously overcompensating for something. Feel free to share your observations with him.
Also parts of the body that don’t have much protection at all (ribs, elbows, collarbone, etc.) are routinely the worst. It’s not so much that the pain is excruciating, as you have to overcome your instincts. When a needle is being driven into your elbow every nerve in your body wants to jump away, it’s exhausting to stay still. That punk kid on the bus who thinks he’s hardcore because of the star tattoo on his arm (that conveniently goes around his elbow but not directly on it)? Call his mom, he’s probably late for piano lessons.
Question 2: “Who did your tattoos? Can you hook me up?”
This is like walking up to grizzled crackhead and asking, “Where’d you get that crack? Can you hook me up?” If you don’t already have a dealer than a true crackhead isn’t going to point you to the good stuff, and he’s certainly not going to share his own stash. Tattooing is a unique art form in that it involves a contract between two people: you need the artist to get tattooed, and the artist needs your skin/canvas to practice his/her art. It’s a partnership. Most tattoo shops operate under the partnership principle. If you bring an artist a piece that they can be genuinely excited about or that you worked on together, the tattoo’s price will be minimal. Artists make their money by overcharging people who bring them typical and boring tattoos (hello sorority girl with flower tattoo). Just like I imagine a crack dealer would take one look at me, assume I have no real idea about the market price of a crack rock, and charge me double. You’d be surprised how useful crack can be in various analogies.
Question 3: “Can I see your tattoos?”
This is by far the most innocuous but most aggravating question, and I hear it all the time. I now routinely cover my tattoos in unfamiliar situations. The demand is a very abrupt invasion of my personal space, yet if I were to say, “No, you can’t look at my tattoos,” people would think I’m a jerk. In other contexts you can’t just approach strangers and ask them to show you their bodies. Here’s the best analogy I can come up with, and no it doesn’t involve narcotics. It actually involves imagining myself as a woman (I think my mother may be starting to get worried.)
Let’s say you decide to really get in shape, and you work out every day. After a while you start looking pretty good. Sure enough, summer comes along and you think “you know, I usually wear one piece bathing suits, but this summer I’m feeling so cinfudent about myself I’m gonna wear a bikini.” If a friend or family member were to compliment you on the new look, you’d feel pretty good, but that doesn’t mean you want every guy on the beach coming up to you and asking to see your breasts. Think about that the next time you’re tempted to talk to someone about their ink. And if you’re the type of person who just routinely asks people to expose themselves anyway, there’s nothing I can do. May I recommend a barb-wire tattoo.
I hope this little tutorial has taught you how to deal better with tattooed people, or given you ammunition to more effectively mock them. You know, either one. Because here at NoChance we’re determined to change the world, one convoluted, rambling, barely read article at a time.
The Average Person’s Guide to Dealing with Tattooed People
In this handy-dandy little guide I’ll answer some frequently asked questions and review some protocol for dealing with those who are tattooed. The first step is to figure out where you belong. Are you a tattooed person?
Do you have a small turtle inked on your ankle from a spring break in Mexico? Then no, you’re not, and there are probably some embarrassing videos of you on the Internet. Do you have barbwire around your bicep? Then no, you’re not, and steroids have shrunken your testicles to the size of raisins. If neither of these scenarios describes you, than congratulations, you’ve done something right with your life.
Still not sure where you fit? If you’re routinely asked about your tattoos by strangers, than you are, and if not, than you just might be annoying the bejeezus out of others (like say, Nathan Richards Slavik). I’ll also try to let you in on a little bit of inside information that you can use to ridicule people who think they’re cool because of their lame tattoos. Think of this like a public service announcement, I’m in negotiations with Al Gore to do a documentary.
Question 1: “Did it hurt”?
Jesus Christ on a bicycle! Yes it hurts! When you’re tattooed a needle (which can range from the size of a highlighter to a pin) repeatedly punctures the layers of skin directly below the surface. That’s not pleasant. Some parts of the body hurt worse than others, the general rule is the more skin you can pinch the more it will hurt. For example, the inside of your arm hurts far more than the outside. The next time you see a “barb-wire around the bicep” guy, check to see if the ink extends completely around his arm. If the ink is incomplete than he’s a wuss who’s obviously overcompensating for something. Feel free to share your observations with him.
Also parts of the body that don’t have much protection at all (ribs, elbows, collarbone, etc.) are routinely the worst. It’s not so much that the pain is excruciating, as you have to overcome your instincts. When a needle is being driven into your elbow every nerve in your body wants to jump away, it’s exhausting to stay still. That punk kid on the bus who thinks he’s hardcore because of the star tattoo on his arm (that conveniently goes around his elbow but not directly on it)? Call his mom, he’s probably late for piano lessons.
Question 2: “Who did your tattoos? Can you hook me up?”
This is like walking up to grizzled crackhead and asking, “Where’d you get that crack? Can you hook me up?” If you don’t already have a dealer than a true crackhead isn’t going to point you to the good stuff, and he’s certainly not going to share his own stash. Tattooing is a unique art form in that it involves a contract between two people: you need the artist to get tattooed, and the artist needs your skin/canvas to practice his/her art. It’s a partnership. Most tattoo shops operate under the partnership principle. If you bring an artist a piece that they can be genuinely excited about or that you worked on together, the tattoo’s price will be minimal. Artists make their money by overcharging people who bring them typical and boring tattoos (hello sorority girl with flower tattoo). Just like I imagine a crack dealer would take one look at me, assume I have no real idea about the market price of a crack rock, and charge me double. You’d be surprised how useful crack can be in various analogies.
Question 3: “Can I see your tattoos?”
This is by far the most innocuous but most aggravating question, and I hear it all the time. I now routinely cover my tattoos in unfamiliar situations. The demand is a very abrupt invasion of my personal space, yet if I were to say, “No, you can’t look at my tattoos,” people would think I’m a jerk. In other contexts you can’t just approach strangers and ask them to show you their bodies. Here’s the best analogy I can come up with, and no it doesn’t involve narcotics. It actually involves imagining myself as a woman (I think my mother may be starting to get worried.)
Let’s say you decide to really get in shape, and you work out every day. After a while you start looking pretty good. Sure enough, summer comes along and you think “you know, I usually wear one piece bathing suits, but this summer I’m feeling so cinfudent about myself I’m gonna wear a bikini.” If a friend or family member were to compliment you on the new look, you’d feel pretty good, but that doesn’t mean you want every guy on the beach coming up to you and asking to see your breasts. Think about that the next time you’re tempted to talk to someone about their ink. And if you’re the type of person who just routinely asks people to expose themselves anyway, there’s nothing I can do. May I recommend a barb-wire tattoo.
I hope this little tutorial has taught you how to deal better with tattooed people, or given you ammunition to more effectively mock them. You know, either one. Because here at NoChance we’re determined to change the world, one convoluted, rambling, barely read article at a time.
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