An INKredibly Measured Decision

Over the past few weeks of writing these few ramblings I have received a number of delightful comments from people who have seemingly enjoyed reading them. One question I was asked this week was “why did you start to do it?” This got me thinking. For me, there was no concrete reason as to why began to write publicly, for as long as can remember I have hated my work being read out; In fact, even the thought of my own mother proof-reading bits and pieces that I wrote for school and college still brings me out in a cold sweat. I suppose the reason was twofold. Firstly, I can only imagine that I wanted to write publicly as a means of practice. Studying for a degree in English, the way you write and how you present yourself in an essay or other piece of work is the University’s only means of assessing your academic capabilities (except when you’re doing African dancing in a theatre workshop and wondering how your life went so wrong). Secondly, and I think the aspect of doing this that seems most apparent, is that I actually really enjoy it. I’ve never had any quarms about writing (heaven help me if I did being on this course) and I like the fact that I am providing a medium for people to read, hopefully enjoy and sometimes empathise with me on some of the subjects on which I write.

Now forgive me for being so blunt but I’m going to go right ahead. Many of you may be aware that my favourite band of all time is the LA funk-rockers, Red Hot Chili Peppers. Many I spoke to were annoyed (and many repulsed) at the amount of times I went to see them on their current UK leg of the tour they are currently working their way through – the opening UK date at London’s O2 Arena and both dates at Manchester’s M.E.N. Arena for those who didn’t know but are interested (presumptuous I know but I always presume that some are as nerdy as me). Now with love for the band very much out in the open so to speak, you would be forgiven for presuming that the subject of the rant this time would be focused on the train wreck of a television show, The X Factor. Alas, I haven’t the energy to write as much poisonous spite as I want and could do about that farcical rendition of Under the Bridge. I’d just end up giving myself a heart attack so I’m straying very much away from that.

No, the subject of my thoughts this week – and indeed for many a previous week – is tattoos. Again, bear with my seemingly random change of direction. Now every member of RHCP is no stranger to a tattoo or five (with the exception of new blood Josh Klinghoffer), many of which are personal images and all of which have a story attached to them. For a long time, I myself have wanted a tattoo of the bands logo somewhere upon my person (for those who are unaware of said logo it is a thick asterisk shape; you’ll recognise it when you see it), my preference being my inside wrist however I can comprehend the aesthetic reasons against such a decision and have been thinking about other positions. There is not one member of my family that agrees with me getting a tattoo and I can’t really see why. It’s not that I can’t comprehend their opinions, I just don’t necessarily agree with them. After all, perhaps I don’t want to work in an establishment in the future that doesn't allow an, all-told, fairly basic form of expressive creativity.

Now I know many people who have tattoos, and cannot understand, in most cases, the stigma placed by many people upon the tattoo adorned community. Granted, there are some people, and some designs that let their side of the argument down. We’ve all seen a complete horror story of a tattoo and to be honest, it’s often funnier when the people themselves cannot see how woefully awful it is. Pictures are always popping up on Facebook of Chav’s getting pretentious Latin phrases or Arabic scripture tattooed across their forehead or something even though the furthest from the UK they’ve been is on holiday to Mykonos and their gene-pool doesn’t expand further than Liverpool. It truly makes you despair of the human race.

Also, it’s not as though this is a whimsical decision I have made. I haven’t got drunk and stumbled into a tattoo parlour demanding an image of a frog dancing with a chicken on my arm or had a relative strangers name branded onto my knuckles, it’s a measured, reasoned and considered choice. I doubt this will make any kind of impression on those that don’t like them (and like myself there are plenty of people without tattoos who enjoy a tasteful design, with shows such as LA, NY and Miami Ink exploiting this), but it’s something I thought I ought to bring up. Good tattoos showcase a diverse art form and when done well they can be incredible. And plus, who’s going to want to argue the toss with Ami James or Corey Miller? Didn’t think so.