Sunday, January 31, 2016

Little Inked Lion

Friday night, I went under the needle and got another tattoo. Yes, another blob of ink drilled into my aging but still hanging in there skin. It's a big tattoo. When I say it's big, I mean that it is the biggest tattoo I've ever gotten. It's big enough that I thought about not showing the wife for as long as I could avoid doing so.

You, delicious reader, might be asking why on earth I would get YET ANOTHER tattoo. I know psychologists have a whole lot to say about tattoos. There are all sorts of thoughts and judgments about tattoos. Some think they are for attention; others insist they are secured as a sign rebellion. Do they freeze time, a moment, a memory? Do they suggest that the wearer is a drunken slut swimming in youthful discretion? Is it cool? Is it outlaw? Is it art? Is it anti-art? Is it just another way of branding ourselves? Is it ridiculous? Are they, in the words of the wife, "too pricey, too painful and too permanent?" Do people get tattooed in an effort to fit in or stand out? To be counter-culture or to be part of the culture? Are they about a masochistic need for pain or pleasure? Do they serve as a permanent, desperate quest for self-esteem? To scare anyone? To say screw you or bless you to the establishment, whatever that is?

My tattoos are about love. My tattoos are a purposefully placed, cartoon-blazon map. They pay homage to those who helped mold me into who I am, to those who have my back. They serve as a narrative, a story lived out loud. I didn't get tattooed to fit in or stand out.

I get tattooed as a giant, public THANK YOU card, a billboard I carry with me day in and day out. Every tattoo has a very specific meaning and records a piece of my history. I'm not fool--I know the placement and the cartoons and the medium don't serve justice to this love letter. As an art major, I know I could have drawn a picture, painted a mural or built a sculpture to say thank you. But, what fun would that be?   :-)

Back to the new lion tattoo. The biggest one. The newest one. I wanted to get something in memory of Freckles. Lucy is represented as a blue bird tattoo on the inside of my left leg. Lucy made it easy. Her symbol fell into our lap. She says "hello" all the time. Lucy just about waves to us. Freckles, a dog deserving a place on my map, wasn't so obvious. She's quiet, waiting for us to figure it out. The more I thought about Freckles, the more I thought about how she was bigger than her stature. She was in charge. She was loyal beyond measure, a guard dog in a fluffy (and smelly) coat. She was regal. A shih tzu.....

...it was then I remembered that the shih tzu is often referred to as "the little lion." Tibetan in nature, guards of the castle....Freckles was a little lion, both in breed and in being! If any dog ever thought it was royalty, it was her.

So...the next day, I was riding as a passenger in a co-worker's car. Without warning, I blurted out, "I'm going to see a lion!" 

I scared the shit out of her. I mean, she had no idea why I'd suddenly yell I was going to see a lion. I apologized and explained I was looking for a symbol representing my dead dog.

Um, yeah. That probably didn't ease her mind. Who the hell asks aloud for a symbol of a dead dog? I turned and peered out the windshield. I reiterated loudly, "I am going to see a--"

And, right there before both of us: a sign with a Lion on it. I can't make this stuff up. There it was.
I had never seen that sign before. I didn't have some unconscious knowledge that there was a lion up ahead. I think my co-worker almost drove off the road. I think I almost peed. I was SOOOO glad I had said aloud what my intention was. It gave it that much more power. Thank you, Freckles!

Being skeptical (oh, ye of little faith) I asked again later that afternoon. I asked aloud to Freckles if she liked the idea of a lion being her symbol. "If that's good with you, show me a lion." God bless America, there she was, in less than a minute! Another sign with a lion on it.

So, my map now contains a little lion. Well, a big lion. Okay, a really big lion. When you see it, I don't want to hear about how my tattoo lion is a male and Freckles was a female. Freckles was a lion. When you think of a lion, I bet dollars to donuts you think of a lion with a mane--which is a male lion. The signs I saw were lions with manes. No offense to female lions--you just don't look like lions when it comes to lions in the mind's eye. Freckles is all good with having a mane.

She'd be pissed if I didn't get her a mane.

I had the tattoo created as if it were made in one of my favorite mediums: a woodcut. I love the look of a wood cut print. I love making wood cut prints. I thought Freckles might like something a little different from the other tattoos. Still cartoonish in nature, it is a bit more regal, a bit more personalized, a bit more artistic in nature. A bit more....regal. Strong. Worthy.

Condolences to the wife. She hates tattoos....

....oh, the shenanigans she endures. Oh, the ink she ignores.

Thursday, January 21, 2016

Positively Oppositivity

It is no secret that the wife and I are basically as opposite as you can get. I am an ENFP; she's an ISTJ. I love sci-fi; she loves reality. I like potty humor; she isn't entertained. I don't even know why anyone employs a spice rack; she likes the spices lined up alphabetically. I'm a vegetarian; she's a staunch carnivore. I want to swim in ice cream; she wants to be enveloped in warm bread. I want to drive (enjoy the scenery); she wants to fly (get there fast). I think the perfect going-out-for-dinner "date" is sharing dinner with several other couples; she think the perfect dinner date is just the two of us. For me, watching football is purely for entertainment;  for her, it's a way of life, which means she talks in "we" when speaking about the team.

The only thing we fully have in common is a love of Mexican food. Oh, how we both love authentic Mexican food. Thank god for Mexican food.

So, it is no surprise that we take different actions and approaches when it comes to real life. She worries about things I never even think about. I do things that she has no idea of why I might even consider. It's usually rather humorous. Well, at least to me. She is not usually entertained.

Case in point... I can't remember if I've ever blogged about the engine mount issues I faced a year or two ago. To recap, my engine mount problem, in which the engine mount was "bent" but not dangerous, meant that my car was REALLY loud, especially when idling. I didn't care about it; the wife did. After many months of her obsessing about it, I took the car to my mechanic. It went something like this:

Doc Car: Your engine mount is bent.
Me: Is that dangerous?
Doc Car: No.
Me: Is my engine going to fall out?
Doc Car: No.
Me: Is it going to get worse?
Doc Car: Probably not.
Me: If it were your car, would you fix it?
Doc Car: (shrugs shoulders) Depends on if the noise bothers you.
Me: Does it bother you?
Doc Car: (shrugs shoulders again) No. Does it bother you?
Me: No.

You know the result. I did not get the engine mount fixed.  It had nothing to do with money. I couldn't care less about the money to get if fixed. The noise and vibration didn't bother me one bit. Why fix something that isn't bothering me and that isn't dangerous?

I'll tell you why I got it fixed. Because the wife drove me bonkers about it. (Well, that and because my sister-in-law was mortified by the sound and vibration while I was driving her somewhere. I guess I didn't realize how obnoxious it really was.) My decision not to get the mount fixed came close to infuriating the wife. That noise and vibration consumed the wife. It's all she could talk about when riding in my car. That opposite way of being made for many a comment from both of us.

The wife: (Scowl on face) I can't believe you didn't get it fixed.
Me: It's not dangerous. It's not like my engine is going to fall out.
The wife: I can't stand it. Why wouldn't you get it fixed?
Me: Because it doesn't bother me.
The wife: It bothers ME.
Me: So I gather.

I finally acquiesced and got it fixed. For the record, it was worth every penny spent because it got the wife to stop talking about it.


Flash forward to yesterday. I took my car back to the mechanic for a different noise. My car gives an initial "scream" when it's started the first time every day. It only does it when it's 50 degrees or colder outside. It only does it once. The car starts just fine. It runs smoothly. Besides the initial noise, there is no other noise. It makes me laugh.

Imagine a baby pterodactyl getting pinched in the butt when sleeping, so it is startled and wakes up in a panic. That's kind of how the noise sounds. As you can imagine, this noise REALLY bothers the wife. She doesn't like the baby pterodactyl. Me? I figure the car starts just fine, runs just fine, is just fine. This has been going on for about nine months. Since the weather has been warmer than usual, the screaming hasn't been that bad....

....unless you are the wife. Then, the screaming is blood curdling and a sign of certain doom. The engine is going to blow up. The house is going to blow up when the engine blows up. Her Mustang is going to blow up because my Honda blew up.

Now, I'm not saying a screaming engine is a good thing. I'm100% sure it's not a good thing nor is it normal. The majority of you would not like having a scream to start your engine. I honor that.

I finally did a web search and figured that this screaming thing might be more problematic than I considered. After nine months, I gave in and called the mechanic. I dropped off the car and left it overnight so the mechanic could enjoy the full effect of a cold engine scream. While I was standing with a co-worker, I got a call fro Doc Car. Humorously enough to me, the conversation with the mechanic about the scream resembled the conversation about the engine mount:

Me: Did you hear the scream?
Doc Car:  Yeah. It actually did it a couple times for me.
Me: (laughs) What do you think it is?
Doc Car: I'm not sure. It's probably the starter.
Me: Do I need a new starter?
Doc Car: Up to you. It's pretty expensive. At least $500. The starter is buried way back in the engine.
Me: I don't care about that. Is it dangerous?
Doc Car: No.
Me: Am I ruining my engine?
Doc Car: No.
Me: Am I ruining anything?
Doc Car: Probably the starter.
Me: Am I gonna get stranded somewhere?
Doc Car: Well, you could get stranded at any time because of anything.
Me: (a milli-second of contemplation, then laugh): That's true.
Doc Car: I've got other cars that make the same noise, run just fine. Usually don't make the noise when it's warmer out. It's up to the owner.
Me: It doesn't bother me. So, I can leave it?
Doc Car: Up to you.Yeah.
Me: (thinking about how much I love my mechanic--he never tries to sell me anything..no pressure, no panic) As long as I'm not ruining my engine....
Doc Car: No, you're not ruining your engine.
Me: Okay, I'll leave it. I can always fix it later.
Doc Car: Sounds good.

As soon as I said this, I KNEW the wife was not going to be happy. After hanging up, I left the wife a voice mail and then I turned to my co-worker...

Me: (laughing) The wife is SO not going to be entertained about this. She is NOT going to be happy.
Co-Worker (also laughing) I'm guessing not.
Me: Would you get the car fixed?
Co-Worker: Get the car fixed.
Me: You're no fun. So, you'd replace the starter?
Co-Worker: Get the car fixed.

Just as soon as she said that, I got a text from the wife, directing me to call her. Oh dear. That didn't take long. I'll leave it to your imagination what she had to say about my decision to leave the screaming pterodactyl in place. Suffice it to say, she didn't agree with my decision and couldn't believe I didn't get the car fixed.

I got a well-deserved and much earned lecture. Can't say I enjoyed it but can't say it swayed me to change my mind. Again, it wasn't about right or wrong or money. It was because the noise doesn't bother me and because I'm not ruining my engine--what is the hurry? I offered the wife the opportunity to call the mechanic back and make an appointment to get the starter replaced. If it bothered her that badly, I'd get the starter replaced... but, she had to call. She declined to do so....

The baby pterodactyl gets to live another day!

I'm sure he won't be around for too long. Maybe spring break. Maybe summer. Maybe when I can't take the comments anymore. Until then, I'm gonna smile every time he screams. I'm gonna pinch his little butt....

....I'm gonna drive it to the nearest Mexican restaurant. I'll take the wife alone, not with a group. I may be dumb but I'm not stupid.

**********************************************************************************





Monday, January 11, 2016

Of Mice and Muggles

I had to stay far, far away from blogging and other modes of communication for the past few weeks as, due to safety reasons, I was not to speak of my upcoming trip to "Harry Potter World" until after the trip was completed. My mother taught me well: do not let the robbers know you're not home. The wife also taught me well: "I'm going to be home when you're not, so don't announce to the robbers that you're not home because they will come get ME."

It was really, really hard not to talk or post about it. After all, I was going to hang out with Harry Potter! I was going to be at Hogwarts! I'd be wandering the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley! The wand was going to pick ME!

Now that I'm back, my code of silence is broken. And, I am here to tell you that Harry is a whole lot of fun!

For those of you not in the know, Harry hangs out at Universal Studios in Orlando, Florida. Official referred to as the "Wizarding World of Harry Potter," it's not a bad place to be when you're from the Midwest, especially during the winter months.

For those of you thinking about that first paragraph.....
YOU: "Wait a minute, the wife wasn't with you?"
ME: "Nope."
YOU: "What? Why not?"
ME: "Because she has never read a HP book or watched an entire HP movie in her life. That's why."
YOU: [stare at me]
ME: "That's how I roll."

As you know, I am a much, much bigger nerd than she is. I am all about science fiction, fantasy, cartoons, cosplay. She is about screaming housewives and "famous" people whose last name starts with "K." It's probably best she stayed home. It's hard to hang with the nerds when you are outnumbered.

I've wanted to go to "Harry Potter World" (my nick name for the two sections at Universal, henceforth referred to as HPW) ever since learning about the opportunity. I've wanted to fly in a quiddich game, drink butter beer, taste an actual chocolate frog and be sorted by the sorting hat. I've dreamed of seeing Hogwarts, wandering down Diagon Alley and riding the train from Station 9 and 3/4 with abandon. I enjoyed the movies and loved the books. What more could a muggle ask than the opportunity to cast a spell with a bunch of cosplaying nerds?

Two friends (henceforth to be referred to as Thing #1 and Thing #2) and I planned the trip many a month ago. We invited a bunch of people to join us but we three muggles were the only takers (along with thin #1's daughter and friend). Thanks to Thing #1's research, we scored reservations for one of the "slowest" (lowest attendance) weeks of the year. We made reservations to stay on the grounds so we wouldn't need a car and so we could get one hour early entry to the parks. We decided to live large and thus purchased unlimited Express Passes and park hoppers.

The two 19-year old girls who joined the fun definitely did not know what they were getting themselves into when the decided to come along for the ride. I think they are scarred for life. Hanging out with such energetic, nerdy, unreserved 53, 55 and 57 year old women can be traumatic. I daresay they could barely keep up. More money is needed for their therapy funds.


I am not exactly known for my love of roller coasters but one must do what one must do when it comes to Harry Potter. I decided I would suck it up, take Dramamine and go on as many rides as I could. I purchased a thingy to keep my glasses on my head and made sure to wear shoes that were comfortable AND that would stay on my feet. I bought a new rain coat, as it was forecast to rain. I stuffed everything into a book bag-sized back pack and hit the road with Thing #1 and Thing #2.

Before I profess my love for HPW, I think it's important to note that Universal is NOT Disney. You must embrace this fact before stepping foot into the park. Although both are based on fantasy, they are quite different in many aspects. To be honest, you can't really compare the two--it's like comparing mice to muggles. They are two completely different beasts. Both are very special places, but they are not the same.

Disney: attractions, mystique, time-honored happiness.
Universal: experiences, behind-the-scenes-Hollywood and current day heroes.

Disney: adult soft pop, with a kid's sound track thrown in.
Universal: rock, cranked up for good measure.
Disney: mouse ears.
Universal: wizard robes and house colors.

Disney: a big hidden Mickey, wondrous and inviting.
Universal: a big wand-interactive treasure hunt, challenging and familiar.

Disney: huge, sprawling--massive in scale.
Universal: small, compact, condensed, verging on claustrophobic at times.
Disney cast members: happy, calm, never-ending smiles--the Stepford Wives for mice.
Universal cast members: "normal" amusement park folk--nice enough, dressed in theme, lacking that Disney trance. (Hey Universal--I'm all good with that. It makes sense. Please don't change this.)

Of course, the two parks have similarities. Everything costs a fortune. They both sell rain ponchos (thank god). They strive for customer satisfaction. They reward those who purchase park hoppers, fast track/express passes, tacky souvenirs. They have crowds. They provide "free" transportation to those who stay on site. They have kid/family-friendly attractions as well as adult-sized opportunities. They provide an experience.


As for HPW, it was wondrous. Dare I say magical? When I walked through the entry way of Hogsmeade, my mouth literally dropped open. I stood there, looking fully the geeky HPW tourist that I was. To enter the area was to enter the books and movies.  The details were incredible, true to the books. I'm sure J.K. was proud. Riding the Hogswart's Express was just like being a "first year" with Ron, Hermoine and Harry.  Gringotts couldn't have been more true to the movie. I was stunned by the fabulousness of the whole thing.

If you are looking for roller coasters, HPW will let you down. There is one major ride in Diagon Alley (Escape from Gringotts) and two major rides in Hogsmeade (Forbidden Journey, Dualing Dragons). If you are look for experiences that let you live in the world of wizards, you have come to the right place. I suppose people have puked on the rides but I didn't find them to be terrifying or disorienting in any capacity. Perhaps it's because they scare the shit out of you when you are waiting in line. I was sure my clothes were going to fly out and that my glasses would be sucked off my face. It was nothing like that.

A liking of 3-D attactions is a definite must. If you're not willing to wear 3-D glasses, you might as well stay home. If 3-D movies make you nauseous, this might not be your cup of tea. Most of the attractions are 3-D in nature. Remember: this is a movie studio making rides. It's a visual feast. Wear the damn glasses over your glasses and keep your eyes open.

Try the butter beer. It is surprisingly good. I was prepared to hate it. I loved it. You can get it cold, hot or even frozen like a slushy. It's like drinking pure sugar, so be warned. I have no idea if it has gluten in it. I pretended that it does not as I didn't want to waste time trying to find out.

I'm here to tell you: if you are going to ride all the rides in the two parks, pay for the UNLIMITED EXPRESS PASS. It's worth the cost. Although you can't use it for the three HP attractions, you can use it everywhere else in the park. We never waited longer than 15 minutes in any line when using that pass. If you are going to go to both parks, get a park hopper, lest you don't ride the train between parks.

Ride as single riders. Who cares if you are riding with your friends the second time around? If you get in the "single riders" line, it cuts the waiting time down to almost nothing, including on the two HP rides. (Dang, now you'll all be doing this and the wait times will get longer.)

Watch the kids wave their interactive wands. Really--why buy a wand when you can watch others do the work for you for no cost to you? Yes, the interactive opportunities are really fun but I say save the money to buy more butter beer.

Wear your house colors proudly. It doesn't matter what house you belong--wear your red, yellow, blue or green with abandon. Don't own anything? Bring your charge card and splurge. Want to wear a wizarding robe from your house? Trust me, you can buy one. You can buy socks, scarves, hats, robes, shirts, blah blah blah. I chose to wear Slytherin colors, which led to many a fun conversation or two with park employees.

Listen for the dragon on top of Gringotts to make noise...then, look up! He makes a ruckus before he spews fire.

Don't bother looking for Luna or Snape. Never saw or heard them. Sigh.

Don't listen for Hermoine's voice. It's not a very convincing voice-over used to say her lines. Ugh. At least Ron and Harry sound true to life.

Find Nockturn Alley. Movie fans will find it quite...delightful. You have to look for it.

At least watch the first movie or read the first book before you go. The parks won't be as exciting to you if you don't know what's going on. The references on the train ride won't make sense. The gremlins in Gringotts won't be as spectacular. Tasting Bernie Bott's beans (without looking) won't be as terrifying.

If you don't like or understand Harry Potter, you can still enjoy the parks....but, what's the point? Be a nerd and join the fun. Be a wizard. Fly a broom. Eat an earthworm bean. Pray for light rain so the parks are emptier than not.

Did I mention you should drink the Butter Beer?