My good friend Austin Leonard called me up from Tejas the other day, but I was at work and so he left me a musical message in my voicemail inbox, set to the tune of an old Western song but with new lyrics. It went, “Shucking shucking shucking. Keep them oysters chuckling. Chuckling chuckling chuckling, and calm!” The oysters may indeed be chuckling tonight and tomorrow night, not because of my luminant presence or shellfish witticisms, but because of my absence. Yes, it seems my regular tour of duty to the raw bar is over now, the time is mine once more. I will only be called in to shuck on special occasions or to relieve the Main Man Shucker. I have hung up my shucking gloves and sheathed my shucking knife. Tonight was the first Sunday night that I could watch 60 minutes in months, and so I watched Ed Bradley interview Neil Armstrong and never once ask the question on every real American’s mind: Did you go to the moon? Did you really?
Yesterday, with my mind determined, I unpinned the picture of the female lemur that I’d drawn up over early morning coffee at Rein’s deli this past summer, and took my roommates down the street to Pino Bros Ink, to get my lady lemur tattooed over my heart. There is a lot of symbolism to all this: the male lemur on my arm, a father figure, Adam, the smoking afro monkey. A lady lemur on my heart, for my mother, Eve & my extra rib, my heart. The man who gave me my second tattoo scared me a little when I first met him. His voice had sounded professional yet friendly and reassuring over the phone, but when I met him and saw the body piercings, red hair, and tattoos from neck to ankles I got a little scared. However, as soon as the man put on his spectacles it was a different story. He looked like a doctor, or a scientist, and I knew he was the right one to do the deed.
On the homepage of Pino Bros Ink there is a group shop of all the artists outside the shop on Cambridge Street. Ken is the one wearing the shirt with “6 6 6” on it holding the shitzu high up in the air. The dog was in the shop last night and Ken actually picked it up and held it high in the air, just like that.
Mans name is Ken, and he loves Japan, much like I do. He has tattooed in Hollywood and has even done celebrities, and has tattooed in four or five Japanese cities. His artist profile can be found here. One problem; I didn’t tip the man. I was pretty out of it when he finished and at the cash register he offered to take the price down by twenty dollars because I was from the neighborhood, but I said no and that its value to me was worth the full price, because he had done a wonderful job and had put a lot of positive energy into it. Dilemna is, I don’t know if that extra twenty dollars went to him or the establishment. This will be resolved soon. Check out the 3rdarm tattoo parlor for complete coverage.
My sister shot me this link to a Washington Post report on Maureen Dowd. The article has an awesome picture of Maureen wearing leopard striped stilettos! Everyone loves Maureen Dowd, its not just me: The sharp-penned but thin-skinned columnist checks out what men really read in the courtyard of her Georgetown home.