For the Love of the Pain

Freshy!

I am tattooed. Quite heavily, actually. Or, at least, heavier than most. I have a complete “sleeve” on each arm, a large piece on my outer left calf, an interesting piece between my shoulder blades, script around my collar line, and, most recently, a large Monarch butterfly on my left pectoral. I never intended to be the “tattooed guy”. As a kid, while I did like to write on myself (my mom used to tell me if I was supposed to do that my skin would be made of paper. I love “momisms”), I never envisioned myself as a guy with lots of tattoos. When I first moved to San Diego in 1996, I answered an ad for a blues band looking for a singer. I have been singing my whole life, and was itching to get back into a band, and learn the city by playing around in it. I had, at the time, two “quarter-sleeves”, basically a couple of good sized tattoos from the shoulder to the elbow on each arm. By chance, the guitar player for the band was a tattoo artist. Not only was he a tattoo artist, come to find out, he’s THE tattoo artist in San Diego. The rest as they say is history. We played music together for a few years, built a friendship forged by common values, common interest, and the bond of mutual creativity. It took about eight years to finish the arms.

I can’t speak for others, but I’m pretty sure anybody with a lot of tattoos will tell you that the more you get tattooed, the less it becomes about the tattoo. I firmly believe that everybody knows what their tattoo looks like. Anybody who doesn’t have a tattoo, has, in their minds eye, in their creative conscious, their first tattoo. Someone might comment on my ink, and I’ll ask if they have any. They’ll say “No.” but that is almost invariably followed by, “But I know what I’d get if I had one…” There's something about the first tattoo. It's alluring. It's dangerous, it's renegade...it's one of those things you wish you could do, but up to now, you haven't. The thing is, as you accumulate the work, it becomes much more about the experience of tattooing. It's about the idea, the creative process, the ritual of preparation, and then, ultimately, the needle. When I say the "Ritual of Preparation", I'm talking about the half hour or so leading up the actual tattooing. The artist prepares his work area; he’ll lay out his hermetically sealed needles, pick out a gun or two (this is the actual machine that drives the needle), He loads the chosen needle assemblies into the guns, securing them in place with the snap of a rubber band. He puts on his surgical gloves, and then sets up his little ink tubs. Small thimble sized plastic cups that the colored inks are put into to be used for the tat. As the individual getting tattooed, there is a sense of anticipation and heightened awareness. Yer adrenaline starts moving, you start to get a little “pre-game” pump going. In fact I get the same feeling I used to get right before a football game. This is intensified by the sound of the tattoo machine buzzing in short staccato bursts as the artist gets the needle set up. You settle into the chair, get comfortable, maybe a glass of water, and you set your mind to 'Endure'.

There is no way that anyone who has a tattoo can adequately explain what the pain sensation of a tattoo needle is really like. Fucking impossible. The sting of the needle is not like, I dunno, regular pain. It’s different. I can’t tell you how, but make no mistake, it is a different pain experience. Don’t get me wrong, it hurts. Some spots hurt more than others, and some spots hurt like a mutherfucker!

I am not sure how many times I’ve been “under the needle”, somewhere between 30-40 times is a fair estimate. More often than not I find myself asking myself what it is that keeps bringing me back…to the pain. This is something that happens over time, not a sudden realization. You keep going back. You love the sound of the gun. The smell of the anticeptic, the medieval look of the hand made needle assemblies. There is something very raw and primal about it. You anticipate the burn of the needle, you wait for any sudden change in sensation, and you most certainly know what it's like to feel and hear the motor slow down as the needle digs in. There’s nothing like the feeling of one long solid well burned-in line.

I love those. I call them "Hot Ones". A single strong stoke of the needle that covers seven or eight inches of flesh in the process. Your nostril’s flair, yer jaw sets, you smell the adrenaline in yer sinus, and you breathe deep and feel the endorphin rush kick in. This is reason number one for the purist. Endorphin means "endogenous morphine". They are, in chemical terms, polypeptides that are able to bind onto the neurotransmitters in the brain and provide relief from pain. They are one of several “morphine-like” chemicals that were discovered in the brain about thirty or so years ago. There are actually about twenty different endorphins that are released within the brain, all having different applications and uses, most of which are, as yet, undiscovered. The strongest of these, or at least the one that seems to have the greatest impact on the brain and the body, is Tyrosine. Its molecular structure is very close to that of morphine itself, hence the related effect and comparison. Let me tell you, in the midst of a serious tattoo session, those babies start firing in bunches. The sensation can be intense, pleasing, and downright sedating. The effect, unfortunately, is short lived, and after about twenty minutes it starts to recede, and yer left with a lot of inflamed, exposed, and hyper–sensitive nerve endings in the skin, that are still being subjected to the sting of the needle. This is where it gets serious, this is the part that separates the herd. As hard to believe as this might be, this is the other reason, I believe, that people come back. From this point on, it becomes a mindset. You focus yourself. You gut it out and endure on sheer will, fortitude, and strength of character. You would love to get up from the chair, but will not until the artist says it’s time. Until it is done. It requires putting yerself, mentally, on a whole different plain. And when it’s finished, there seems to be another rush. This one is a rush of relief, confidence, empowerment and satisfaction, and sometimes it's so intense that's it's down right enlightening, fucking life affirming...you know yer awake and alive!. And that is why you do it. That’s what you’re paying for. That's what you come back for. The actual tattoo, after a while, is just a by-product.

Serious

Gasundheit!

Are you prepared to die? Are all of your things in order? Because the odds are changing dramatically and rapidly, and yer chance of dieing before ya want to just went up; and it's climbing. I'm talking about the Bird Flu. It's in the media, just a small story here and there on the evening news, or a blurb in the paper or on the net. WHO meeting in Bucharest. Guess what?? It's gonna kill MILLIONS of people; in rather short order, actually.

In 1918 the world was slammed by a Pandemic Flu. It swept the globe and took between 20 and 40 million lives in the process (being the turn of the century, record keeping wasn't very comprehensive...go figure). This flu, an avian or bird flu, infected one-fifth of the global population, and 28% of the U.S. got sick. It killed 675,000 Americans, which is ten times the number of men killed in the War. And of the American men who died overseas during World War I, half of them died from the flu. It was prevalent in the healthiest demographic of the population, the majority of those infected being between 20-40 years old.

In a nutshell, these start off as a viral flu transmitted easily between birds. As the virus mutates, it becomes easier for the germs to travel from foul to human. On the same token, as it mutates in humans, it becomes easier to pass and easier to get, it's exponential. Sounds great, huh? The truth of the matter is we have minimal defense against it. It's coming, it's on it's way. It's not about if, it's about when.


These guys are hiring!

These nasty fuckers come around every few years, and reek havoc on our poor, wimpy little imune systems. Folks are going to be dropping dead by the tens of thousands right here in our own country.

I got this from the Center for Disease Control's website. A little background:

Influenza Pandemics during the 20th Century
During the 20th century, the emergence of several new influenza A virus subtypes caused three pandemics, all of which spread around the world within a year of being detected.

1918-19, "Spanish flu," [A (H1N1)], caused the highest number of known influenza deaths. (However, the actual influenza virus subtype was not detected in the 1918-19 pandemic). More than 500,000 people died in the United States , and up to 50 million people may have died worldwide. Many people died within the first few days after infection, and others died of secondary complications. Nearly half of those who died were young, healthy adults. Influenza A (H1N1) viruses still circulate today after being introduced again into the human population in 1977.
1957-58, "Asian flu," [A (H2N2)], caused about 70,000 deaths in the United States . First identified in China in late February 1957, the Asian flu spread to the United States by June 1957.
1968-69, " Hong Kong flu," [A (H3N2)], caused about 34,000 deaths in the United States . This virus was first detected in Hong Kong in early 1968 and spread to the United States later that year. Influenza A (H3N2) viruses still circulate today.
Both the 1957-58 and 1968-69 pandemics were caused by viruses containing a combination of genes from a human influenza virus and an avian influenza virus. The 1918-19 pandemic virus appears to have an avian origin.

Now...Add to that, global recession, depletion of the gross national product, weakened infrastructure, social and economic chaos, and lack of adequate resources and qualified personnel; and you have the makings of a disaster of epic proportions. It'll make New Orleans look like...well...Mardi Gras.

The Government knows about it, has known about it, but is fucked to do much about it, because if they really do tell everyone the straight poop, there's gonna be Pandemic Pandemonium. People are gonna freak-the-fuck-out, like the tiny brained, "Chicken Little's" that they are. So they, the gov, are giving us the info in measured doses. Little bits here and there. The internet blurb on a World Health Organization meeting. Something in the paper about Bush's new plan to fight the disease*.


Is it me, or does he ALWAYS look stupid??

A TSA announcement that travel restrictions to certain parts of the world may be imposed. Small, strategically placed nuggets of info. Hoping like hell that the population figures it out, and doesn't go ape-shit when it does.

It's called H5N1. Pay attention people. Do your homework. Tell your loved ones. Seriously.

*Bush has proposed spending 71 Billion Dollars to deal with the Pandemic, and experts are saying that's a drop in the bucket.


www.pandemicflu.gov

GW Rant In E Minor

Monkey-Boy

What are we doing, America? What the fuck? Get off your 65% Obese asses and take a stand (if you can). How is it GW is still in office unchallenged?

This dude is in charge??

Where’s the grassroots movement to oust this imbecile from office?

Uncanny, Isn't it???


Where’s the revolutionary spirit that built this country and made it great? Too few folks shouting Revolution! anymore, and too many shouting Creationism!


First he steals election number one with help from his Governor-brother and the cunt in charge of vote counting in Florida. Then again in election number two…very questionable as to what was going on with those inbred, Christian conservatives in Ohio. Then we got him on vacation for the first year of his administration, sitting on his ass during 9/11, Carl Rove, and now Tom DeLay. If Bush had any more egg on his face they’d being naming an omelet after him at the IHOP. The Red-Neck Special. Fer Christ’s sake, look at the pictures he takes! If ever there has been a more vacuous face, I’ve never seen it…maybe on Howdy Doody? Corruption is rampant in his administration, glad handing, and glory-holing are running un-abated. These fuckers managed to start a War for Oil, that they and their cronies will undoubtedly make billions on (Oil Company net profits this year…41 Billion Dollars…NET, MUTHERFUCKERS!), and we bought it! His father was a one-term President, and he only got that ‘cause we couldn’t just kick his whimpy ass out. His old man started the current Mid-East conflict, then got his mini-me to come in and attempt to finish the job. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree at all. They justify their actions with out and out lies (WMD’s!), or set the stage early (we sold ton’s of weapons to the middle east, then used their “incredible weapons capability” as justification to go in the first time).

I quote the late, incredibly great, Bill Hicks,
“Iraq. Incredible weapons! Incredible weapons technology!”
“How do you know?”
“Well...um...We looked at the receipt. But as soon as that check clears, we’re going in!”

The Dark Prophet Himself, Mr. Hicks...R.I.P

Wake up America, ya fat, gelatinous, lazy fuck-holes. All hell is breaking loose around you. And when the shit really hits the fan, it really will be survival of the fittest. What are you gonna do without yer fast food, yer pizza delivery, yer instant gratification - jack-off to the internet lifestyles? No elevators or escalators to carry yer gargantuan, wheezing asses wherever they have to go. The streets will be littered with sausage-fingered pork-pies, clutching their chests, and gasping their last death rattling breaths as tiny, cholesterol packed heart muscles seize up under abnormally high stress and physical exertion…walking!

Fucking sheep. Lambs to slaughter.


This is your fearless leader, America. Literally wearing blinders…

Do yourself a favor: http://www.billhicks.com/

Walk Of Shame

Mr. Jimi, a deserving recipient

At this rate, it's just a matter of time. I predict I'll get my star on or about September 21st, 2011. This is based on a mathematical formula that takes into consideration all variables associated with Hollywood's Infamous Walk of Fame. Large, approximately 3 feet across, and covering several blocks of this decaying town's stained and soiled concrete sidewalks, Hollywoods Walk of Fame is Tribute to those great individuals , or enitities that were instrumental in building the town it is named for. Lately, the Walk of Fame has lost it's luster, and has found itself being prostituted, to no feasible end, to anyone with enough wallet or marketing support to pay the going rate. Sidewalks that were once trod upon by some of those great cinema royalty whose names are now immortalized in bronze and red and black tile. Pioneers of the film industry who have every right to carry the honor bestowed on them by the grateful city they helped build; John Huston, John Ford, Cecil B Demille, Jane Russell, Henry Fonda, Olivia de Havilland, Abbott & Costello, the list is incredible. It used to mean something if you got yer name on one of these sidewalk squares. It meant you had made an important, defining, and indelible mark on the Hollywood landscape. That Hollywood, had you not had an impact, or ever existed, would somehow be less of the historic place that it is.

Granted, Hollywood has gone from being a Silver Screen Queen to a Porno Theater Crack Whore. She's lost her youthful good looks, perky breasts and vitality; and now looks like one of those nasty, haggard, skinny chain-smoking grandma's with the cancer cough, the weathered, leathery skin, and scars caused by decades of scandal, abuse, and over-indulgence. She laughs a horrific laugh. She's trying to be nice and approachable, but what comes out it a witches cackle that degrades into a fit of whoops, wheezes and hacks, with the occasional hunk of flying lung butter for all to dodge. Her precious sidewalk squares are being sold for a price, and the only qualification seems to be a checkbook with an FDIC insured bank.

Charlize Theron got her star today, sort of what set me off, altho I have been choking on this particular subject ever since Keanu Reaves got his. Not that Charlize doesn't deserve it (fuck my opinion!), I mean hell she's got an Oscar, right? Ugliest Performance by a Hot Piece of Ass, I think it was...? I mean this is the Academy, they must know what they're talking about, the same folks who gave you "Titanic" for Best Picture a couple years ago (for the record, the last time I watched that Academy Award shit). Whatever...my point is, what has she done, like five fucking movies? I think I saw one, it was That Thing You Do, the Tom Hanks movie. Great flick. I loved it. Steve Zahn is hysterical, and Charlize plays, guess what? You got it! A hot piece of ass! The fact is, there are vomit stains on Hollywood Boulevard that are older and more impactful than Charlize Theron, or Keanu Reaves, or Morton Downey (RIP), or Tony Danza, or Sandra Bullock, or Paula Fucking Abdul (that one kills me every time!), or, the Anti-Christ, Brittany Spears.


Britt, at her Star unveiling, just how we love her, on all fours!!


So, Like I said, It's coming. I have invested a small nest egg in a nice aggressive, interest earning growth fund, and should have the necessary capitol to grease Johnny Grants fat ass. I don't have to establish talent, merit, ability, or significance in any way, so, fuckin'-A, I'll see you all at my "unveiling".


Charlize, one hot piece of ass!!! (How come Katherine Hepburn never took pictures like this???

Beluga

I was surfing a secret spot one beautiful morning, by myself. It was non-stop, perfect A-frames, 6 to 8 foot, barreling and spitting both ways. The sky was a slate gray, almost charcoal color that seemed to blend into the ocean at some indefinable place on the horizon. The air was cool, the breeze stiff, and off-shore. It stood the faces of the breakers open, turning them into tall, proud, peeling cylinders of heavy, green-gray water. Clear liquid beads blew off the falling lip of the waves, creating fans of spray that showered anyone in range in a salty rain. I was alone, on the main peak, getting the best surf of my life. I had been in the water maybe an hour. My thighs were already fatigued from at least a dozen incredibly long rides. I was trying to recount a better day, and firmly convinced that nothing could make this dawn patrol more perfect, when... I saw her. She was standing on the beach checking the surf. I don't know how long she'd been there, but she was a vision. She was about 5 foot 2, blond hair, weighing 195, maybe 200 pounds. She was wearing a pink and yellow, flower print Wal-Mart one piece, with the ruffles around the waist (they were actually sort of projecting out from between a coupla belly rolls). She had a sweet 6'6" Rusty C-5 Surfboard that looked to be about 23" wide and 3 and a quarter thick. I watched, mesmerized, as she waddled to the shoreline, deftly flopped onto her board (almost rolled off one side, but got it together), and started stroking out toward me. She duck-dived a couple of set waves (actually, I think she just blew out any air that was in her lungs, and her natural body mass just sunk that board like it was fuckin nothin'!), then found herself in perfect position for the third wave of the set. She turned and started to pull herself into this wave, three solid, full arm strokes, and she was dropping, front-side, down the face. It had to be double-overhead, 12, maybe 15 foot, a macker. She had so much speed when she hit her bottom turn, I thought sure she was gonna go right thru the surface, and not stop till she hit the reef. Instead, she flawlessly arced thru her bottom turn, pulled tight into the bowl, shifted her massive weight back onto her tail, shoved her meaty, ham-like arm into the face, slowing herself almost to a stop, and let the curtain fall around her. I felt like Ahab, seeing the great white whale for the first time. I was in awe of her massive, gelatinous beauty. She seemed so deep that I was sure she'd never get out; and she was so fat, I thought she'd get stuck way back in the barrel like that! But NO! And when the wave spit, it shot her fat ass out of the tube like a pretty pink and yellow Howitzer shell. She pulled another bottom turn; then a beautiful, long, drawn out carve off the top, her two cannon sized arms triumphantly thrust skyward, claiming the peaks for her own. I, humbled, paddled in, rode the shore break to the beach on my belly. I walked up onto the sand, fell to my knees, and wept. Wept for I knew I had seen something most never will. Like Bigfoot, the Yeti, and the Loc Ness Monster. I carry this memory with me, share the story with a trusted few, and look for her everywhere. Someday, somewhere, I'll find that fair ocean maiden again, and this time, I'll woo her, make her my love, and spend the rest of my days in complete Neptunian bliss.

God, Jerry Springer, and the BBC

I found this interesting, but, I don't know if you are aware, I wasn't, that, uh, there is an Opera currently running on the London Stage, based on the Jerry Springer Show, called...of all things...Jerry Springer-The Opera...who'da thought?

It actually won the award for Best Musical...which...at the very least...makes you wonder about the state of affairs in modern society...but...I digress. Now, I haven't seen it, and I can only imagine what kind of stuff they have in this play, but, what intrigued me, is the fact that, there are an estimated 8,000 swear words in the 90 minute show. 8000 in 90 minutes...let's do the math, shall we? 8000 swear words divided by 90 minutes is 88.88 swear words per minute, which is divided by 60 seconds per minute, giving us a total of 1.48 swear word per second. More than 1 swear words per second.... That's impressive... even from a Jerry Springer stand point. 8000 swear words with 3000 utterances of fuck and 1000 of cunt. The 'C' word! We all know the 'F' word...fuck. It's the most common, multi-use word. Fuck, fucker, fucking, fuck, fuck , fuck...no big. And you have to admit it is useful...and there's a respectable difference between "I'm pissed", and "I'm fucking pissed!". But cunt... Now that's a whole different thing...at least on this side of the Atlantic. Man over here if you call someone, most especially a woman, a...the 'c' word...all hell breaks loose man. Somethin' about that word. I remember I went to see 'An Officer and a Gentleman" when it was in the theaters years ago, I was trying to get laid...what do you want? I'm honest. Anyway. I'm watching the movie and it comes to the part where Richard Gere's best friend, played by David Keith, has killed himself 'cause his girlfriend dumped him, and Gere's confronting her with it, and she says, "I want a piiiilot, I wanna marry an ayeveeyater, I don't want no Okie from Muskokie!", and Gere says, "You little cunt!" I don't remember what he said after that cause I was too busy cheering. I don't vocalize at movies very often...but, I gotta admit...I was right there with him on that one...that word is reserved for special occasions...but that was definitely one of them. Needless to say...I didn't get laid.
Now on the other side of "the pond" it's a whole different thing, they actually make the word cunt sound reasonable almost elegant.

(accented) That cunt. That bloody cunt. Pesselhue, will you look at that cunt! None the less, the BBC is planning on airing the Opera on TV...and the English conservatives are going fucking bonkers. There calling it indecent, apparently there's a "Jesus" character whose "a little bit gay"..., and a few other tawdry bits that are ruffling some feathers. But, and here's where it gets fucked up, there is a Christian group in England that is claiming the last years tsunami disaster is the result of Gods wrath on the BBC for there decision to air this "Unholy" musical on a National Broadcast. I'm crapping you negative. I mean, come on, even Christians have to draw the line somewhere. Gee, wanna know why I have a problem with some Christians? Hmmm. Maybe it has something to do with a all powerful, all loving God, who in the blink of an eye dusts off 300,000 of his "children", because the British Broadcasting Company is going to show something distasteful. Yeah, sure, I can buy that...I'm in, where do I sign? Quick, quick...anoint my head! Anoint me. If God's prerequisite for natural disaster/global annihilation was bad TV...there'd be none of us left!!! Fuckin' christians...aren't they cute?

If you don't believe, exactly, according to these rules....YER GOING TO HELL! Damned to hell for all eternity! Hellfire and Damnation! Forever! Now, being that Christians make up about a third of the worlds population...that means that the other two-thirds is...well...fucked. And that people like Buddha, and Gandhi, and Confucius, and Socrates, and a lot of other really good people of other religious beliefs are back-stroking in the Lake of Fire! Yeah...I'm in. Where do I sign? Anoint me please!

Factor Five

The King of the Morons, trying to keep up...


So a few years ago my buddy and I were discussing the fact that most people are idiots. In fact we figured about 95% of the population are fucking sheep that will eat whatever the media, and popular culture spoon feed them. "Moron Syrup" is what we call it the thick, sticky, ultra sweet goo that these mindless fool suck up lickety split, and ask for thirds. This explains the bizarre success of things like Boy Bands, Ashlee Simpson, J-Lo, Rascal Flats (how did these guys EVER get a record deal?!), PT Cruisers, The OC, Reality Shows (with the exception of The Contender!), lowered jap cars, sideways baseball caps, and Titanic winning the Best Picture Oscar!


exhibit "A"

The fact of the matter is, very few people think for themselves. The ones that do would be other other 5%. The "Factor Five". I don't want to come off completely elitist, because, honestly, we all do stupid shit. So let me clarify. It is possible for a sharp, smart member of the 5% to, occasionally, slip up and fall into the 95% catagory of morons. But it is virtually impossible for one of the idiots from the 95% to jump the gap to the 5%...just doesn't happen.

Anyway...where do you fall???