Tattoo Me!

I can’t believe I’m going through with it. Maybe it’s been the eleven 12-hour night shifts. Maybe it’s this crappy weather.

I’m going to get a tattoo. At the Addict’s tattoo shop in Salem. On Wednesday.

This, from a father who has forbidden his daughters from getting one. (The oldest got one anyway.)

Who always balked at those young people who have them: “You’ll regret that when you get married or want to go to a formal function in a sleeveless dress!”

Who’s wife (a nurse) told him horror stories of old people with wrinkled faded blue tattoos in the worst places…

Yep, I’m gonna get one! Now I’m a weenie so it isn’t going to be the eagle’s wings spread across my chest or even Betty Boop or a heart with Cupid’s arrow on my bicep. I have to confess, I’ve been seeing a lot of tattoos on ladies’ backs, particularly arousing when underlined by the top of a thong slightly showing above the belt…there oughta be a law! So yours truly has decided to get a tattoo on his back. No, not a leafy Celtic thing. I’m not a girlie, you know!

A Mickey Rat Tat.

Now Mickey has been with me since high school. I can’t remember the exact year; I think it was around my Benita phase. (Benita was a cashier at a grocery store I worked at; She’d ring ‘em through, I’d pack her bags). She was attached to another guy (of course) but that never stopped me, and my highlight with her was a Grand Funk concert at Maple Leaf Gardens in Toronto. Sigh.

Anyway, this is about Mickey. He’s just a little rat I drew one day, and have been drawing ever since. He was kind of anti-Mickey Mouse, although I’ve had a thing for Mickey the Mouse too, having seen the light after numerous visits to Disney Land and Disney World.

Mickey (the Rat, that is) has found himself in many places; …several ladies’ t-shirts strategically located over the heart, or on the back of a friend’s car, or on some “modern art” in a park in Kingston late one drunken night, or as a signature on thousands of love letters. (For those that don’t remember what a love letter is: This is a piece of paper with writing on it stuffed into an envelope, affixed with a stamp and put in a mailbox. Miraculously, 2 weeks later it ends up at the recipient’s, who tear it open to read the latest meanderings and vows of love.)

He even found himself drawn on my newly-wed wife’s butt. (Yes I have the photo!) But that was a long time ago and he was quickly washed away.

T’was a time when Mickey was sought after by many a young lass, and those who qualified got their very own Mickey Rat t-shirt. But that was even longer ago.

Mickey was dormant for many years, only making casual appearances – he had become a recluse, a Mickey Hughes, and had been at risk of passing away altogether. But alas, he lives, and has been making somewhat of a comeback lately. No young nubile has asked for a t-shirt in the last 25 years, but he has found his way into numerous birthday cards, Christmas cards, etc. People still use these as methods of communication.

He even went high-tech, got himself scanned, and onto the Internet.

And now, after watching my back all these years, he will be permanently positioned there. I just had a thought…. If I had been born 25 years later, maybe today’s young lasses with their affinity for tattoos…oh never mind. It’s just not gonna happen.

He’s kinda cute, dontcha think? I know, I know, he looks more like a mouse than a rat.

But looks can be deceiving.

Broken Arrow

“.... Some songs still get to me, how about you? Who else is gonna bring you a broken arrow?”

Mike sat, staring at the email, deep in thought. He hadn’t heard from her in over 6 months, and here she was again, and the memories started flooding back.

He remembered that, all right. Robbie Robertson, one of his favorites. Just the other day he had heard it and thought that she probably wouldn’t remember that one, although it was always his favorite. He was wrong about a lot of things.

“I'm coming to town this weekend with my mom and brother.” A chill ran down his spine. Would he see her, on the off chance they crossed paths? Should he reply and ask if she wanted to meet for a coffee in a public place? Not a good idea, he thought. He replied, after a lot of reservations, with a nice friendly update, but made no reference to her coming to town.

Later that day, alone on the road, he pulled out the Robbie Robertson CD and played the third song.

Who else is gonna bring you, a broken arrow,
Who else is gonna bring you, a bottle of rain?

Shouldn’t have done that, he thought. The tears ran down his face as he drove down the highway oblivious to the traffic streaming past.

Later on that weekend he drove his boys across town to the hockey arena for their practice. He dropped them off early and went to get a coffee before coming to see them skate. The evening was black and the rain was threatening to start up again. Coming back to the ice arena, he drove through the maze of unfamiliar streets and noticed a red Mazda just like her car. It was parked on the street in front of a tiny old house in Chesterton, the low-rent part of town. Lights adorned the eaves and a Christmas tree glowed in the window. It wasn’t that unusual of a car, there were dozens the same model and colour around town, but he knew it was hers. He stopped and pulled a U-turn without even thinking and parked across the street to have a closer look. There were people in the living room window, watching a hockey game on TV. He got back in his car, drove up the street and parked. Got out and walked by the house and car. There were two people in the front yard, talking. A man and a woman. It was dark. It was her, he was sure of it; the hair combed high above her forehead, like a country singer. Did she see him? No. He kept walking, feeling a fist tighten in his stomach, got in his car and drove back to the arena. He hadn’t seen her in a year and a half, and there she was, just standing there, so close.

The boys were still waiting to get out on the ice. He waited with them for a bit, then headed for the exit, telling them, “I just gotta go out to the car for a minute.” He quickly drove back, it was only a couple of blocks away, tore a page from the steno pad he kept under his driver’s seat and grabbed a pen. He neatly folded the page, parked up the street, quickly walked up and stuck it under the windshield wiper.

He rushed back to the arena just in time to see his boys take shots on an open net, the hockey moms and dads huddled in the bleachers, offering loud tips to their offspring. He felt relieved as he drove them home after the practice.

On the scrap of paper he had drawn two lines. An arrowhead on one line, feathers on the other.

This has got to be one of the most clever E-mails I've received in a while. Someone out there either has too much spare time or is deadly at Scrabble. (Wait until you see the last one)

DORMITORY
When you rearrange the letters:
DIRTY ROOM

PRESBYTERIAN
When you rearrange the letters:
BEST IN PRAYER

ASTRONOMER
When you rearrange the letters:
MOON STARER

DESPERATION
When you rearrange the letters:
A ROPE ENDS IT

THE EYES
When you rearrange the letters:
THEY SEE

GEORGE BUSH
When you rearrange the letters:
HE BUGS GORE

THE MORSE CODE
When you rearrange the letters:
HERE COME DOTS

SLOT MACHINES
When you rearrange the letters:
CASH LOST IN ME

ANIMOSITY
When you rearrange the letters:
IS NO AMITY

ELECTION RESULTS
When you rearrange the letters:
LIES - LET'S RECOUNT

MOTHER-IN-LAW
When you rearrange the letters:
WOMAN HITLER

SNOOZE ALARMS
When you rearrange the letters:
ALAS! NO MORE Z'S

A DECIMAL POINT
When you rearrange the letters:
IM A DOT IN PLACE

THE EARTHQUAKES
When you rearrange the letters:
THAT QUEER SHAKE

ELEVEN PLUS TWO
When you rearrange the letters:
TWELVE PLUS ONE

AND FOR THE GRAND FINALE:
PRESIDENT CLINTON OF THE USA:
When you rearrange the letters(With no letters left over and using each letter only once):
TO COPULATE HE FINDS INTERNS

Yep! Someone with waaaaaaaaaaaytoo much time on their hands!

Yogi Bare

I went to my very first yoga class last summer, and I’ve been hooked ever since. At the local gym I frequent, there is a very good instructor who gives a one hour Hatha class three times a week. She’s a wonderful, bubbly, tiny specimen from India. I think her name is Kavita Pretzel. She’s been doing yoga since Gandhi went on his first diet. The first couple of weeks were very hard…I’ve spent years running and lifting weights, so the yoga stretches for an old man like me…well, I can’t bend very far, that’s all I’ll say. Not to be discouraged, there are plenty of incentives to go:
1. The classes are mostly women.
2. Most of them wear spandex outfits.
3. I love spandex.
4. The instructor wears spandex
5. Did I mention that I really really like spandex? (And camel toes, one yoga move I can’t do but have fun observing in others.)

I’ve been noticing some improvements in my range of motion, and the truth is I feel better after a session. So when I got down here into Washington State, I cruised the net for a yoga studio so I could get my spandex fix. And I found one. Boy, did I find one.
It’s Bikram Yoga. Now for the uninitiated, Bikram Yoga is hot yoga. Each session is 90 minutes long, and in a room heated to 105 degrees F.

Oh….My….God!!!!!

The first time I went, there were about 30 people there, all ages, shapes sizes, even a pregnant participant. A lot of skimpy spandex. Yum! The routine is simple but goes very quickly from one pose to the next and I broke into a sweat after the first 5 minutes. By the end of the 90 minutes I felt like I’d gone for a swim in a hot tub with my clothes on. No, that’s not right. Imagine a pool heated to hot tub temperature and then doing 100 lengths. Or maybe visualize running 10 miles in the jungle on a hot day.

Bikram Yoga is yoga on steroids. It turns a basic yoga session into a phenomenal cardio work-out. The moves are no more difficult than traditional beginners’ Hatha yoga, but the heat cranks up the heart rate and the sweat just pours out.

Now I am assured by our instructor, who by the way is a real cutie named Kelly and is 6 months pregnant and still looks great in spandex…. but I digress. I am assured by Kelly that the sweating releases toxins and the heat allows the victim to stretch even further than traditional yoga. All this is true, in my estimation. The second and third time I went were not quite so dramatic, I think because I knew what to expect. The end result of all this, after my heart rate calmed down, showered and chugged a large bottle of water, was that I felt great! And now I’m hooked.

Synchronicity: As it turns out, there’s a Bikram Yoga studio starting up my home town in Canada this week, so I’m going to have to check them out when I get home. Anyone else tried this thing? Check out Bikram Yoga.

Namaste!

Anyone seen the Instructions for Life from the Dalai Lama? Check this out.
Also from the Man: Truth
Dontcha just LUV the internet?

I wanna go sailing

Did I say I have a sailboat? I took this sunset photo while anchored at Pirate's Cove in the Gulf Islands. The light was unbelievable!

Ok, down to business. I'm currently working a graveyard shift in a mill in Washington State... Trying to stay awake. I've been reading a lot of blogs lately (not just looking at the pictures!) and I am amazed at some of the writing talent out there. I am also amazed at how many bloggers are totally horny and love writing about it in minute detail. And I'm also amazed at the frank honesty of many of the bloggers. I'm new to blogging, and although I've been on the internet since Christ was a carpenter , the whole blogging scene has bypassed me until now. Blogs from all over the world. OK, ok, so I don't read guy's blogs. BOOORRRRIIINNNGGG!

Except Obasso, the genius behind HNT.

I'm not ready to open up myself...Still too scared, paranoid, whatever. And does anyone read guy blogs anyway? I could tell a story or two (and will one day).

The thing about getting older is that the field of women has opened right up for me. When I was 18, anyone over 25 was OLD! Now, truth be known, I know a few very hot grandmothers! Oh there are so many more now, the range in ages is a good thing about getting older.

I want to ramble on about Yoga. I discovered it this summer and I am hooked.

Alaska

I took this picture last June during an Alaskan Cruise. At Skagway there is a train that takes you high into the mountains, retracing the steps of the Klondike Gold Rush. The views were spectacular! You can see our cruise boat docked in the distance.

Ok, so here's my blog... I've decided to keep it anonymous as possible so I can be as open an honest (or dishonest) as possible. This is me from a year ago at a mafia party....long story. Needless to say I don't look like this on the street.