Friday, May 27, 2005
Contrary to Popular Opinion, N J is O K (Relatively)
Good News, fellow Jeresey-heads. In a recent test of driver knowledge and behavior completed by GMAC insurance, NJ was ranked as only the 3rd worst state in terms of driver competence. Massholes took second place. And the smallest pimple in the union, Rhode Island, managed to prove home to the dumbest of the dumbasses on the road. Suckas!
|
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Stuck with Needles, Stuck with This
Tattoos are entirely permanent-- excluding unaffordable laser removal surgery.
I have tattooed the inside of both my arms, under the (barely existent) bicep, with an upside down heart and ?uestion mark, left and right respectively.
I wanted to cry for the first hour. What have I done? Why? For what?
I could feel a nagging itching, a shameful heat where the freshly punctured skin was acquainting with its new tenant, thin squiggly lines of blueblack ink.
I walked up the avenue, the concrete painfully resisting my reluctant feet, the sky a limbo of low scudding phantoms of fog and rain.
As I picked up momentum, as I committed myself to acceptance of the irrecoverable, I began to feel a coolness settle on my bandaged wounds, I began to relax and step a little more lightly.
I love my tattoos. I love the non-reactions their roughly sketched straightforwardness engender. I will watch them slowly evolve into larger murals that will appeal more to mass body art aesthetics.
To the curious: the harpoon-sized needle they use a compressor to reciprocate into your skin is more bark than bite. Don't be nervous about the pain of the action. Fear the painless but permanent result. This is perhaps tattoo's moral for living: Change isn't scary. Committment is.
|
I have tattooed the inside of both my arms, under the (barely existent) bicep, with an upside down heart and ?uestion mark, left and right respectively.
I wanted to cry for the first hour. What have I done? Why? For what?
I could feel a nagging itching, a shameful heat where the freshly punctured skin was acquainting with its new tenant, thin squiggly lines of blueblack ink.
I walked up the avenue, the concrete painfully resisting my reluctant feet, the sky a limbo of low scudding phantoms of fog and rain.
As I picked up momentum, as I committed myself to acceptance of the irrecoverable, I began to feel a coolness settle on my bandaged wounds, I began to relax and step a little more lightly.
I love my tattoos. I love the non-reactions their roughly sketched straightforwardness engender. I will watch them slowly evolve into larger murals that will appeal more to mass body art aesthetics.
To the curious: the harpoon-sized needle they use a compressor to reciprocate into your skin is more bark than bite. Don't be nervous about the pain of the action. Fear the painless but permanent result. This is perhaps tattoo's moral for living: Change isn't scary. Committment is.
Saturday, May 21, 2005
Requiem for a Dream
I want to thank my mom and pops for living their lives right.
I want to thank my boys for never going too far into experimentation.
I want to thank Lauren and Cait for being straight and having solid goals.
I am shook up.
I have never been told a lower-depths story and so much experienced it as this one. I am frightened this exists in the world.
I was warned, by several people, that although it was brilliantly made, I would want to die for the emptiness in my soul.
Alone, in the living, skittishly getting up and moving around for the pain in my arm, in my mind, in my heart, I watched Jared Leto, Jennifer Connelly, Marlon Wayans, and Ellen Burnstyn weave lives of bitter agony and misery. Beautifully acted, wild filming and editing, and so painful to watch. It'll take me a while longer to process it.
Also, from the first I knew that it was taking place in Brooklyn. I recognized the rollercoaster, the Cyclone, and even the beaches down on Coney Island. They'd be hanging under the boardwalk and I knew I had ridden my bike on the boards over them. Walked on those sidewalks. Things fall apart.
I want to thank my boys for never going too far into experimentation.
I want to thank Lauren and Cait for being straight and having solid goals.
I am shook up.
I have never been told a lower-depths story and so much experienced it as this one. I am frightened this exists in the world.
I was warned, by several people, that although it was brilliantly made, I would want to die for the emptiness in my soul.
Alone, in the living, skittishly getting up and moving around for the pain in my arm, in my mind, in my heart, I watched Jared Leto, Jennifer Connelly, Marlon Wayans, and Ellen Burnstyn weave lives of bitter agony and misery. Beautifully acted, wild filming and editing, and so painful to watch. It'll take me a while longer to process it.
Also, from the first I knew that it was taking place in Brooklyn. I recognized the rollercoaster, the Cyclone, and even the beaches down on Coney Island. They'd be hanging under the boardwalk and I knew I had ridden my bike on the boards over them. Walked on those sidewalks. Things fall apart.
