It’s an awful truth that suffering can deepen us, give a greater luster to our colors, a richer resonance to our words. That is, if it doesn’t destroy us, if it doesn’t burn away the optimism and the spirit, the capacity for visions, and the respect for simple yet indispensable things.”
“Finally those you love are simply…those you love.”
–quotes from Lestat in Anne Rice’s Queen of the Damned.
As some of you know, I’m considering getting a tattoo next week in honor of my brother’s memory. I’ve been thinking about getting one for some time. At first, I wanted to get the Chinese symbol for life. A friend of Scott’s told us that he had planned to get that particular tattoo when he got back home from Iraq the last time. Unfortunately, he didn’t make it back that time. So, that was the tattoo I was going to get. Either the timing wasn’t right, or I didn’t have the extra funds to justify it, or one time both was right and I wasn’t right. I was sick.
When I started thinking about getting one, I immediately started asking people questions. When I bartended, if someone had a tattoo, I would ask, “What is it?” (One friend of mine has an awesome tribal tattoo). My second question was always, “Why did you get it?”, and the third, of course, “How bad did it hurt?”
The answer to the third always varied based on machismo and the body part the tat was applied to.
I don’t think that tattoos have the same stigma they had years ago. I remember when tatoos were something only the bad boys had. And if you were a girl with a tatoo, that was completely taboo. Even in my wild teenage years when I wore all black, had big multi-colored hair, ripped jeans, and anything else I could get away with, I NEVER considered a tattoo.
Maybe a bit of that wild teenager is still a part of me. That girl that so loved that bad boys, but I love a guy with a tattoo. Not too many of course, there can be tattoo overkill. If a guy has well-defined arms, and a tattoo highlighting those well-defined arms, my eyes glaze over. Great arms, a tattoo, and a great sense of humor? I make the Homer Simpson noise. Add a British accent to all that, and I become a giddy school girl again. (There’s been some new and interesting additions to the D.J.’s regular crowd recently.)
Recently, I downloaded StumbleUpon after reading that this site was a great way to increase blog traffic. I am hooked. You select a list of interests, download the toolbar, and when you have free time, or are bored, click on the icon and it shows you websites based on your interests as rated by other members.
I, of course, chose books. Which brings me to the quotes I posted earlier. One of the sites I stumbled upon this morning was Literary Tattoos. I was impressed by what people chose.
“I have the choice of being constantly active and happy or introspectively passive and sad. Or I can go mad by ricocheting in between.”
– Sylvia Plath, The Journals of Sylvia Plath
What would I choose if I were to do a literary tattoo? It would be a toss-up between the two quotes I posted in the beginning. The first always stuck with me after Scott died. It always made me think, as long as I never gave up hope, I’d be okay. Changed, but okay.
The second, I found when looking for the first one. It’s simple and it’s true. The ones you love are the ones you love. And I am lucky to have the friends and family that this quote describes.
So, what tattoo am I getting? The Chinese symbol for Rooster. If I don’t chicken out before then. I have chosen two friends to go with me, friends that won’t baby me, who will in fact tell me to “Suck it up and just do it!” So, who knows, maybe this time next week, I’ll have a birthday hangover and a shiny new tattoo. 🙂
Until next time…..