Thursday, July 08, 2010

Tattoos recession proof

Oh, don’t EVEN when it comes to tattoos in our family. Mom hates them and makes mean cracks. Somehow dementia has not dulled THAT edge.

I have always liked them and got the first of two when I was 37. Smokey Nightingale—a famous inker in DC at the time (now dead).

I got my second from a speed freak named Wade out here in Arizona—when visiting, before I moved here.

My sister and I got the same one—we sort of designed it from a brooch we saw in a catalog and then Wade, who had been to art school he trippingly told us as he tweaked away, refined it. Very pretty.

My sister later added a banner to hers with her husband’s middle name. Tattoos are so personal.

A 2007 Pew study says 40% of those born between 1961 and 1981 have a “unit,” as Smokey liked to call them.

Forty-five million Americans have at least one.

Of course, the bossy cows like to blat on about Hep C, etc. Hey, hope you don’t get hit by a bus. Make sure the joint has an autoclave. Buy some Hibiclens.

The stigma? Sure—you can run into it. I advise not to do neck or face and put your tatts places that can be covered during an interview at IBM.

Although---a unit that reads I B M – who knows? Maybe with a nice little banner that reads OR BUST.

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